All I could say was that I didn't know what to expect. Would there be lots of people? Would it be mass chaos? Would I even understand the lyrics? These questions sat comfortably in the back of my mind as we cruised our way towards Dodger Stadium. The idea that I was about to see LIVE one of my favorite bands really didn't seem to hit me till the lights dimmed and I saw the miniature man in white pants step out on the miniature stage.
Everything seems in miniature when you are sitting in Dodger stadium several stories above everything else. I felt so incredibly detatched from everything going on on the stage. My reality consisted mostly of what was occuring around me. The four preteen girls sitting almost bored two rows in front of me, the unsmiling woman and her equally unhappy date, the hippy family tripping the light fantastic five rows up ahead. Then there were the innumerable bodies, arms, heads of the other stadium patrons. The mass quantity of people destracted me from Dave Matthews' serenade to the moon "Satalite."
I tried my best to focus on the stage, trying in vain to watch the miniature Dave Matthews and his enormous face on the stadium screens at once. Inevitably, my eyes would strain and drift towards the other side of the stadium. Tina leaned over and told me to "Watch for the lighters." I stared into the speckled darkness and watched as flickers of light spontaneously danced. Joints, ciggerettes, pipes were being lit but as Tina put it: "It looked like fireflies." So, the Bic fireflies spoke briefly to the darkness and Dave Matthews pumped out tune after tune sewn together with mumbled utterances that only the first ten rows could understand.
So, rather than focusing on NOT seeing the man who sings to my soul, I focused on the sound of the music. Dancing to my favorites, cheering when he'd done a good job. I laughed at the people who yelled out messages of love to Dave Matthews, "Dave Matthews Rocks!" or "I love you Dave!" We were three to four stories in the air and God only knows how far from the stage. Yet, people yelled out anyway, the perposity of their attempts alluding them. And I thought, "These people really do love Dave Matthews or the icon of Dave Matthews." Because the love was so strong that even I found myself cheering, contributing to the roar of noise, knowing full well no one would know it was me. I became a blip on a screen, a drop in the bucket, an anonymous fan. The feeling creeped me out.
Then I became almost envious of Dave Matthews. Why him? Why not some other person? I don't know...because I respect him, his artistry, his lyrical ability. My envy did not necessarily stem from the huge pile of money he'd made from the evening's concert, more from the aspect of the amount of admiration fame brought to his life. Wasn't he some bartender? Didn't his band play to drunk puking bastards? And now here he is, with his band of talented musicians, singing to a crowd the size of a medium sized town. People treked (just as my friends and I had) to hear him sing, to watch the miniature puppet show from far far away. My brain boggled at the whole idea. I had to drift back to watching the hippies dance arythmatically (that's a big word). But even now, I gafaw at the thought of the hugeness of it all.
And yet, Dave Matthews has problems: he stubs his toes, he has nightmares, he has flaws. He's human. How strange is that?
Inevitably, the concert ended, and for real though. The first time it ended it was a cruel trick. I was almost angry that the band walked off the stage. After ripping our throats out screaming for their return, they casually walked on stage. Acting as if this never happens they picked up their instruments and again embarked on a musical journey. Eventually, that ended and a quick good-bye, the Dave Matthews Band had left the stage. I was pissed...sad that it was over...angry that Dave Matthews has a limit to his abilities. Unlike my cd player, he doesn't play endlessly, with consistant quality and adjustable volume. What a bummer.
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I needed that little trip. It did fracture my week. Walking into the bright white classrooms of CSUB I felt totally lost. Everyone was looking at notes and I got this weird feeling I missed out on something big. I asked one of the students, "What's on the plate for today's lecture?" And the person looked at me like I had horns growing out of my skull, "It's a test today." Oh yeah, a test, I remember those things. I sat and began to attempt osmosis memorization. It didn't work, and frankly, I didn't care.
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Michelle and Eric are moving to Colorado for something important like an Master's degree or something. Justin Zacharay (whome I was priveledged to see this week) was in a Susan Serandon movie, and because of Tina, Charlie and I actually ate real food. Thank God. He's doing well, cute as ever. I was so sad to say good-bye to him.
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Smooches, dearest ones and not so dear ones and everyone in between.
Chelsea