Saturday, September 24, 2011

Part 1 - Foo Fo Free

It's 9am. Saturday morning in the burgh n'at.  We went to the Foo Fighters show last night.  We parked at our favorite spot on the cusp of the hood.  St. Benedict of the Moors church parking lot.  Although I prefer to call it the Moops Lot (in honor of Costanza vs. Bubble Boy).  Gig and I walked down with the most basic of signs - "I Want A Free Ticket."

We encountered my friends Mark and Michelle who ended up going to the Souperbowl bar for a drink.  Things were on the slow side.  Then Gig scored a ticket and did a 2 for1 deal with this guy who had print-outs in the 200 section.  Boom.  As expected, Foo Fo Free.  But the quest would not stop.  This guy walked past and handed her 2 floor tickets.  VFC - Very Fuckin' Cool.  Now we were on the general admission floor for free.  This is properly addressed as  Floor Fo Fee in Pixburgh ebonics (regardless of the non-cost).  And we got still yet another seat in the 100 level form some other guy.  Now we have 3 extra tickets.

So Gig is yapping about having an extra ticket in 105 and some dude comes out of nowhere.  "Ohh, that's the section I want to be in.  The best I've found is 107."  I look at him and say, "Well, I'll sell you this one below cost for $30."  He counters with, "Oh, that's okay.  Here's $50.  I insist.  You guys are the greatest."  Well, that remains to be seen.  So I ended up selling the other 2 200 level print-outs for $20 to some scalper dude (weak).  Either way, we're now officially +$70 and haven't done shit.  Gig did ALL the work.  Kudos.

So we went in about 8:30 and hooked up with her friends for a bit.  The lights go out and we walk down to the floor.  But back in the concession area is a Mother Fucking Dome Hockey table.  We plug it in and I commence with a flurry of shots upon Gig.  Laser, Bethlehem Temple... followed by a Lotion in the Basket.  Then a possibly "slow" employee yells at us, "Hey, only the hockey wives are allowed to play this game."  With the score I think 4-1, he unplugs it.  Just as I was getting an accurate measure of the ice surface.

So we went back onto the floor - a 2 hour+ cacophony of screams and guitars.  This show seemed like more of a blur to me.  All the standard hits.  This is the 3rd time I've seen the Foo Fighters (Peterson in late 2000's and IC Light Ampitheater in 2003) - other than Pearl Jam, these are the 2 sick, live bands on the arena circuit.  I can't think of any others that come close.

When the house lights came on, we went on our usual scavenge for extra "scrapbooking tickets" - which actually means downstairs bathroom wallpaper.  One of the tech roadies tossed a drumstick into the crowd which grazed my middle finger.  I almost had it.  All my previous foosball catching experience didn't help seem to help.  

Walking back to the car, we saw a large black man in the early stages of being arrested by 2 plain clothes officers.  He was removed from a maroon Town and Country minivan which was blocking the main drag.  He had a monster duffel bag so I'm assuming he got busted for selling t-shirts.  We watched for a bit from across the street. 3 more cops show up with flashing lights.  Sitting on the ground, he was pretty adamant.  "I know my rights!  I didn't do nothing!"  I thought his treatment seemed a little excessive for a rogue t-shirt salesman.  Gig asked the cop what he did and the cop replied, "He pulled a gun."  This made everyone's behavior a tad more reasonable.  And it also served as a nice backdrop for parking with the Moops.

So now it's onward to 2 nationally televised football games in 12 hours - a feat which is difficult to replicate under any circumstance.  What's even crazier.  The participants in the first game (Notre Dame and Pitt) are my two most reviled teams.  I will actually cheer for Pitt... assuming we make it in.  Either way, I will be eating breakfast at a tailgate in Gold Lot 1 in about an hour and a half.  I think my sign will say...

but I want a free ticket."

Is "hate" strong enough?  Perhaps loathe, detest or despise.  I have an hour to think about it.

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