Saturday, February 12, 2011

Bon Jehovah / Anchovy

Last night, me and Gig checked out the Consol Energy Center website. We were curious to see what time Bon Jovi went on stage and if there was any opening act. Well, the show started at 7:30 and local rocker Norman Nardini would be the opening act (do not care). In fact, I really don't care much for Bon Jovi either. Never have. I do respect their strong commitment to aggressive touring, but I just don't really enjoy the over-the-hill pop/pseudo hard rock genre. In my mind, Ratt and Dokken blow them away. Still though, these guys are always one of the top 5 concert grossing acts year in and year out. Hats off to Richie Sambuco. If I could turn back time, I would fuck Cher too.

So just out of curiosity, I skimmed through the ticket prices. What a range. They start at a low of $19.50 and peaked at $500 + 47.85 service charge. The latter seemed like a good deal. Not only do you get a ticket in the pit, you also get to keep your commemorative edition folding chair. See, where you sit your ass is a scrumptious picture of all the Bon Jovites. Not a bad deal... Unfortunately though, Gig and I were committed to paying a grand total of $0.00. So we made a total of 4 signs. I came up with all of them.

(this one was the best)

(doesn't really convey the desire for a free ticket, but it does have ramifications for the after-life/inevitable spiritual journey - I think the Bon Jehovites are likely bound for the celestial heaven with the 144,000 chosen ones or whatever the fuck that's all about).

(I'll probably use this 2 or 3 more times before it gets old)

& last but not least...


The final sign epitomizes my zest for a life filled with canned humor. Hypothetically, Gig would play the role of Jon Bon Jovi's aunt if it came to it. Unfortunately, we would have to spoon feed people the "anchovy" punchline. People just can't seem to think outside the box these days. At next month's Elton John show, I already have my sign ready...


So we parked on the cusp of the hood in a church parking lot a couple blocks up from the arena. KILLER spot for all future shows. Safe and well lit with zero risk of towing. So we hit the lower box office and milled around for a few minutes. It was brisk and cold but hardly unbearable. I spotted a man with a ticket. He wanted money but we cornered him and executed a high pressure pitch. After going through each sign one by one, I think he was finally sold when Gig told him we wouldn't be sitting next to him. At that moment, I saw a glimmer in his eye. And he forked over to the freebie to a pleasant round of applause and a token "Michelle Obama jubilant celebratory fist pump."

Gig snagged the next ticket (a print out) from some guy who just came rambling through. He wasn't interested in any acknowledgment whatsoever. He gave neither two shits nor a fuck. So we guzzled our wine and zipped on in. We tried to hook up with some friends on the box level. But we couldn't get to the box level without arousing suspicion. So we walked down this stairwell and ended up in one of several utility/electrical corridors. I think we were directly underneath the upper level - definitely a restricted area. We really could have used a flashlight but I didn't have my car keys and the illumination from our cell phones wasn't going to cut it. So we took an access elevator out of there. When we boarded the elevator, the girl looked at us and said, "How did you get here? No one's allowed to be on this floor" We just responded, "We have no idea. I think we got lost. I was looking for an overpriced draft beer. Next thing you know, we're here talking to you."

She dumped us off on the box level but neither of our "friends" answered my phone calls. Oddly enough, the attendant said we didn't need tickets, just an escort who had valid tickets. Would have been somewhat fun but I guess it wasn't meant to be. I know. I know. I call people all the time. Way too often. I'm such a nuisance/pest/texting maniac. So we meandered off to some really good loge seats just above the 100 level. We were in a great spot, but Gig needed to invade the railing next to probably the most important Consol executive in the entire arena. She was immediately accosted by an usher. So we moved on down the road a little bit. After two more different seating arrangements, we finally walked down to the front row on the side of the stage. There were a couple of rows that were completely empty. We probably should have hit these up from the git-go.

So we're listening to the encores and Jon Bon Jehovah is waiving a terrible towel and the crowd is on its collective feet and the women are all blowing kisses and a sea of bald men are playing air guitar... But amid everything is a 54 year old woman in the back of the pit. She has a bleach blond mane that is perfectly feathered. Her cascading hair has this incomprehensible ebullience. I think the term "effervescent plumage" is an apt description. For me, this woman was head and shoulders above the rest. I have a hunch she was one of the $547.85 fans who went home with a Bon-folding chair. Kudos!

After the Jovites strutted through their encores, Gig and me scrounged around for some extra tickets for the downstairs bathroom wall. We ended up with a grand total of 6 extra tickets. Rock! But what was very cool is we ran into her friend who works at the arena. He snagged us a copy of the set list. One of these days, I'll get a scanner and the plug/thingamajig to upload pictures. Then, you'd able to see the unique signage, the free parking spot in the hood, the crumpled plastic bottles of wine, the authentic set list, all the good shit. Oh yeah, and the $45 Bon Jovi t-shirt I bought from the official merchandise concessionaires. Yeah, right! That too.


sonofsaf said...

I neglected to mention. Last night was a Consol attendance record topping the Sir Paul McCartney opener. It's because they sold ALL the seats behind the stage. I wonder if that Lady GooGoo shit was in the running.

Anonymous said...

I kid you not "the effervescent plumage" was back!! I have a photo to prove it! Hysterical. xoxox