I wrinkle my little nose, "Hmm, like I think 5?" He laughed incredulously.
I'm not sure if it's willfulness, the bliss of ignorance or both that makes me enjoy going to concerts unimmersed, but I figure knowing what's captured most of the attention is enough for me to predict an encore - AND I get to leave a completely glutted venue being the only person actually looking forward to looking up songs I'd never heard before. So far, I've reserved more thorough study for artists I either grew up listening to (Depeche Mode, Madonna, etc. - having way more free time then), had just rediscovered (Beatles, Pretenders, Queen) or am seriously lusting after - there isn't a parenthesis robust enough to hold THAT list so I'll refrain.
1) Shouting "Anaheim" or whatever the venue locale is, in between wobbly bits of vocalizing is generally enough to distract the crowd from shaky singing. I only wish it worked on powerpoint presentations to clients but alas no. Not that I've tried it but there's always a first time.
2) I suppose I'd be nervous too if I had to vocally perform in front of Stevie Wonder. I'm not sure what the logic was in seating him right next to the stage considering he can't fully appreciate Rihanna's prancing about on stage and he's obviously already got hyper-hearing abilities. Where they trying to make him deaf as well?
4) If Heavy Metal Concerts are complete Sausage Fests as B once told me, then Diva Pop Concerts are the complete opposite. It was Taco All the Way with an almost I'd reckon, 85% female audience. It is NOT the place to hunt for men as the few there are either gay, coupled or secretly gay while being coupled. I think the Help were likely straight, but also much too busy operating smoke machines to blow up the really buff dancers' skirts.
5) Unfortunately, most of the female fans didn't seem to have got the memo, and the evening's uniform was some variation of brothel attire i.e. super tight mini crotch dusting dress with sky high heels and if you're really loving Rihanna, a fire red wig. Oh, and fake lashes, nails, hair extensions and bling. They actually had a Rihanna tattoo booth so no need to do that at home, you can finish your toilette upon arrival. Frugen #1 got back in touch with his manhood as he went slightly faint at the plethora of spilling boobage.
6) Hence, aside from the girl tweenies chaperoned by parents, I was one of the only few women dressed in flats and an airy half shirt. But then again, I too would've dressed like a hooker if the man by my side was viable. As it was, we just looked like a really adorable couple, no one need know I had no access to Frugen #1's juice box, no? #6 as you can see is yet another excellent illustration of why a Gay BFF is essential for comfortable diva concert patronage.
8) It also happened to be the Night of the High Waist. While I'm all for fashion, I don't think there's anything more perplexing or nay, psychologically unsettling to men than this. I've seen grown men actually Grimace when face to face with the High Waist, and there seems to be little reprieve from the Rule of the Thong and the Low Rise. Not surprisingly, B once went out of his way to ask me wtf was up with this trend, which by his tone suggested he had as much affection for as a rash. He'd shot me a warning glance that clearly said, DON'T even think about it. I guess it's safe to say that when it comes to the belly, bare is best.
Judging by how men with normally Pavlovian responses to my visage recoil if I lean in for a kiss with Goddess help me, red lips, I'd say he was right.
Do I dress for other women? No, not at all. I dress for myself and to get chased. Not Chaste. I suspect that Fifties look was designed to preserve virtue. What is the point of all that effort? Sure there's fashion as art, which I adore, but I'm not about to volunteer myself as a lonely, free-standing museum piece no one wants to get their filthy paws on. Nein.
I'm not sure, but in an age of Gaga-esque Gyrations and Madonna's Contortionist antics, it's good to get back to basics. Just a bit of oomph really does go quite a long way. Again, let's not forget that men have Visualis Canis, as much as it might be for us, the devil AIN'T in the details for them.
11) Last but certainly not least, even as Rihanna poured herself into one spandex-y costume after the other, she was thankfully NOT gravity defyingly toned.
It almost seemed strange to be watching her body move with the inevitable folds occurring where they normally do for the rest of us. As well as noticing that her breasts either swelled or shrunk in size thanks to the supporting garment.
Dare I say that it was actually reassuring?? All I know is that she definitely eats bread, and will probably have to watch it by the time she's 30.
And for that, I will forever be grateful. Oh, nana..