I like to think of myself as an open person, but then so does everyone, right? It’s like how 90% of people (or whatever) believe they have above-average intelligence (ours really is, though — seriously). The truth is that I’m open about some things, and not about others. This week it was confirmed that one area in which my tastes are pretty limited (but seem varied to me!) is music.
I should have seen the signs. I hardly listen to the radio, for example, because most stations make me a little crazy pretty quickly. Ugh, seriously, David Gray? Switch. Dave Matthews? Switch. Ads? Definitely switch. I get my music on the internet, keeping up with several podcasts and exploring the songs and artists that pique my interest. I think they’re varied — I just bought a bunch of Nina Simone! And they are, but not across the whole spectrum that is music.
So last week I volunteered to buy Spoon tickets for a friend and myself. You save much $$ by going to the box office rather than buying online, but the box office is only open when there are other shows. So I showed up for Lez Zeppelin (an all-female cover band of — you guessed it), got my tickets, left, and laughed about it. Totally not my scene.
And then I lost one of the tickets! No idea where or how — I just hope it makes a poor Spoon fan very happy. So I went back last night to get a replacement. I don’t even know who was playing, but everyone there was high as a kite. No one was very focused on things like being in line or moving forward as it did. The “line,” in fact, was this nebulous thing that reeked of weed. The sweet, burny smell wafted out from the theater, too. One girl asked me if I wanted a mushroom chocolate. Somehow I don’t think she meant chanterelles. The guy behind me did, but only half of one. She didn’t sell halves (I didn’t even realize she was selling them, just thought she was friendly). She shared her water bottle (of vodka and orange juice) with another girl, who found a little weed bud (I’m kind of sheltered and probably don’t have the right words for these things — bear with me) on her lip after she’d imbibed. “Ha — well, what do you expect?” mushroom girl laughed. Then she went to ditch her beloved water bottle “in a bush.” When she returned she lamented that “everyone — everyone — has mushrooms, but no one has dosage! Apparently the family cut the supply.” I made a mental note to look up “dosage” in the Urban Dictionary when I got home. I think it means ecstasy.
Finally, finally, I got my ticket and left. All of that for a band I’m not really that into…