There is one thing I have come to
realize about Backstreet fans. We’re crazy. Absolutely psycho. Do we care? Not
in the slightest. We’re too busy having fun. You know that saying that goes
something like, “One out of every four people is insane; look at three friends;
if they seem all right, then it’s all you?” All I can say is that I need to
find new friends. It might save me a little money.
Nah.
I was thinking about all of this as I was shoving clothes
and random things into a bag while Bianca watched me with this goofy grin on
her face. For some reason, she thinks it’s funny as shit when I flip out, which
I was definitely doing. I couldn’t believe we were doing this. This was
something only psychos do.
Oh. Well, now it makes sense.
I had a reason to be flipping out. I really did. In a
matter of hours, we were going to be in Charlotte, waiting for the Backstreet
Boys to take the stage. Now, despite the fact that I was not really
classifiable as a teenager, I had to try to suppress a very Twinkie-like scream
about it. (Twinkie is my technical term for those teenyboppers who would do the
world a great service if they pretended they were Lemmings and followed each
other off of a very, very high cliff.)
“I need the damn T.V. remote,” I grumbled as I shoved the
last of my stuff into a bag of some sort.
“What for?” B asked.
“I need to tape the Boys singing at the Superbowl. We
aren’t going to be back in time and I need to set the timer.”
“Ah.”
We scrambled around the room looking for the remote (I
swear, my roommate and I need a pager on the remote, not the phone. We never
lose the damn phone. We ALWAYS lose the remote.) After several minutes of
fruitless searching, I gave up and ran down the hall to leave a note for Rachel
to tape it for me. She’s a Backstreet fan, she understands. She’ll record it.
“Ready?” B asked cheerfully.
“I think so. Tickets, camera, clothes…”
“Underwear?”
“Got it. I think we’re set.”
She whooped. “Then let’s go get some Backstreet Boys!”
“Yeah, but first we have to get down the stairs without
killing ourselves.”
This was not the first time I have cursed myself for
actually volunteering to live on the third floor. I wish I could blame it all
on Sarah, my roommate, but that doesn’t work because we have come to a mutual
agreement that everything is my fault.
We struggled down the stairs with enough stuff to fill our
own tour bus, and then B ran out to Siberia (parking lot…. God bless wretched
college campus parking) while I made two more trips back up the three flights
of stairs for stuff that I forgot. We finally got on the road about forty
minutes later than we planned. No biggie. It was only three hours to Charlotte.
We had plenty of time. The show didn’t start till 7:30 and it wasn’t even noon.
This was the plan. Charlotte was going to be the first
stop on a whirlwind trip that would take us to four different shows in four
different states, all in the span of a week. Our goals? See four kick ass shows
put on by 5 kick ass Boys, and meet them in person, something I had never done
and something B was determined to rectify, and get the letters we had written
the night before to Brian and Kevin. Stop one: Charlotte. Chances of meeting
the Boys: slim. That didn’t bother me though. We were going to meet up with Ty
and Eshey, and also Amy, friends from the fan fiction universe. I won’t even
say how excited I was, because it was embarrassing.
B and I had been planning this excursion since before
Christmas break. We’d plotted out a plan as soon as the tour dates had been
announced, and made all the arrangements after we bought out tickets. Rather,
she made all the plans, and I nodded my head a lot.
I met B through a Backstreet mailing list a while back. We
met in person for the first time in D.C. at a Johnny No Name concert, and we’ve
been hanging out together ever since.
She was the only person I knew who would be willing to go on this crazy
trip. (She says the same thing about me, by the way.) She had the car (whose
name was Ernie), and I was more than willing to get in it.
The current plan was to bust a move out of the venue
during the encore and haul ass to the car so we could park our bad selves near
the spot where the tour buses were going to pull out. We figured that since we
were headed to Atlanta anyway, we might as well follow a Backstreet Boy or two.
We’re all headed to the same place, right? (Psycho, psycho, PSYCHO!) Hey, you
only live once. Unless you’re Canadian.
I was pretty impressed. It really only took us three hours
to get there, almost exactly. As we passed signs for Charlotte, I leaned my
head out the window like a complete idiot to snap a picture or two (at B’s
urging).
“I can’t believe we’re seeing them tonight,” I said with a
ridiculous grin on my face. I swear I don’t act this giddy over anything else
other than the Kentucky Derby. It is just not fair the effect they have on me.
Really, it’s not.
“I KNOW!” B yelped, at a volume that almost caused me to
ram my head into the ceiling of her car. Damn, she was loud. Little does she
know that I can be louder. Plenty of time for her to find that out.
We pulled into the Charlotte Coliseum around three and
scoped out the venue, determining our best escape route for after the concert
before parking somewhere and pondering the eternal question….
“Now what?”
B pulled out her black and blue cell phone and placed a
call to Tamika, another Backstreet fan we know from online. She was due to
arrive sometime that day, and we planned to hook up.
“She’s not answering. Let me call Eshey and we’ll see what
they’re up to.”
“K.”
After a brief conversation with Eshey, we decided to go
join her and Ty at the mall. Whoo! I was starting to bounce in my seat. As we
drove, I finally got tired of the copy of Black and Blue that didn’t have “What
Makes You Different” on it, so I removed it, put in one that did and proceeded
to play the song about four times to make up for it. B didn’t seem to mind. We
found the mall pretty easily and parked ourselves somewhere. It was a beautiful
day outside. Perfect.
B pulled open the door and we walked into the mall and
went up an escalator, where we found ourselves in the food court.
“Where are they at?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s call and find out.”
Cell phones are so cool. She dialed the number and we
looked around while we waited for E to pick up. I started guessing who all the
Backstreet fans were sitting around the tables. It wasn’t hard. We’re not a
very subtle bunch.
“Hey! It’s Bianca. We’re in the food court…Um, we’re in
front of the Steak House.” All the sudden she started craning her head around
to and fro, and before I knew it we were walking towards a small table with
about four people at it. One of them held a cell phone and was looking straight
at us. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.
“I’m Ty,” the girl said when we had recovered. “Bianca I’m
assuming.”
“Yup!”
“Eshey,” another woman said with a big grin.
B started giggling. “I did not even realize it was Ty and
not you on the phone.”
Ty shrugged nonchalantly. “Her mouth was full when it
rang, so I grabbed it.”
We made our introductions and pulled up a few chairs. We
were being loud an d obnoxious to the others around us I’m sure, but we didn’t
give a rat’s ass, because in all likelihood they were Backstreet fans anyway.
Ty and Eshey turned out to be awesome. I love meeting
people whose stories and stuff I have read and admired. It’s fun to find out
that they’re real. The two of them were one hell of a pair. They were also on
one hell of a road trip. They had started out the night before and hadn’t slept
yet. The next morning they planned to be on the road to Atlanta as well.
Awesome.
“See, now that you’ve met us you can go tell everyone that
we are in fact two separate people. No one believes us,” Ty said at one point.
It seemed we had mostly Nick and Kevin fans at our table,
so poor lil ‘ol me sat looking innocent and meek when everyone took their shots
at the Reverend. I figured there was no harm in it. For the longest time I was
convinced Nick was on this earth for the sole purpose of giving me something to
abuse. (Not in a dirty way! Yikes! That train of thought comes later.) Anyway,
the Brian bashing didn’t faze me much. More for me.
We discussed everything from fiction (E had read Nowhere
To Run. I was excited), to their travel plans, to capturing the Boys attention
by chucking small children we had kidnapped from the mall up on stage. By the
time we parted to head for the venue I was ready to come apart at the seams.
But thus far, I had successfully avoided Twinkie-like behavior. I was quite
proud.
“Call us if you get them coming out of Atlanta,” E told
us. “Let us know what’s going on. We’ll call you if we come up with any news.”
“That’s right,” I said wisely. “Network people! It’s all
about networking.”
Once we returned to the venue we perused our parking
options again and finally settled on one. By then it was about five o’clock,
and we figured what the hell, let’s go stand in line. Too bad it was friggin’
cold outside.
It wasn’t that bad at first though. We struck up some
random conversation with a girl behind us, and had a great time enjoying the
Backstreet atmosphere. B and I were chatting up a storm, yapping obnoxiously
about how we were planning to tail them to Atlanta.
“Middle of the encore, we are busting ass out of here,” I
said. “We’re talking, warp speed.”
“Yeah,” B added. “I don’t run, but when I have a reason
for it stay the hell out of my way.”
“No kidding. Hey, I used to run track. It could happen.”
The girl, whose name was Tina, laughed along with us. I’m sure she thought we
were complete fruit loops, but that’s okay because we were.
It wasn’t long before we were absolutely frozen. Tina
bounced around a little and almost fell over, which made me laugh like an
idiot.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, “I do that all the time.”
“Do what?” B asked. She’d missed the whole thing.
“Forget how to stand,” I replied. That seemed to have
amused her, because then she laughed like an idiot.
“Damn,” I said, checking my watch. “I should have brought
my notebook. I could be writing while we stand here.” I was annoyed because I
hadn’t been able to work on Legend for about two days, and I like to write in
weird places, like long lines in freezing weather to get into the Charlotte
Coliseum.
“No shit!” B yelled, smacking me. “When the hell do I get
more Legend?”
“Soon!” I yelped, ducking out of the way.
“You write fan fic?” Tina asked.
“Yup,” I said as my teeth chattered.
“Oh cool, what’ve you written?”
“Legend,” B said without missing a beat. God bless her.
She should be my publicist whenever I get myself published. She’d get me on the
bestseller list guaranteed.
“Haven’t read it,” Tina said thoughtfully.
“Read it,” B ordered.
“Yikes,” I said with a laugh. “Yeah, my bigger one right
now is If You Knew What I Knew.” At that moment I almost died, because her eyes
bugged out of her head. She recognized it.
“That’s you?” she cried.
I am so glad B’s camera was hidden in her pants (no not
her pockets, she actually shoved it in her pants; there was no way in hell
anyone was taking that camera from her), because I never want to know how red
my face was. I flush easily.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Wow. I don’t believe it. When the hell are you going to
update that story?”
“Umm, eventually?” I offered. She laughed, and I continued
spazzing out about meeting a random person who had actually read one of my
stories. Talk about wow.
By the time we finally got let into the venue (after
amputating our frostbitten toes) the three of us stuck together and went to get
some food. B had to pry me off of the guy selling photos of the Boys, because I
was about to drool all over Brian. I didn’t see a problem with it, but she
didn’t seem to think that would have gone over well.
We wandered up to the 200 level where our seats were
(after my second hot dog), and took our first look at the stage. I swear, I
thought I was going to have a conniption right there. The stage looked fucking
awesome. B’s jaw had fallen open so far I thought we’d need a crane to pick it
back up. Right about then the adrenaline started to kick in, and we just stood
there staring for like, twenty minutes.
“That looks like another stage,” B commented, pointing to
a round circle in the middle of the floor that looked like a target. “Shit,
this is going to be awesome.”
It was starting to get close to show time, so we decided
to go our separate ways. Unfortunately, Tina was sitting on the opposite side
of the Coliseum. We refused to let her
escape without exchanging info though, and it was then that we discovered the
mother of all coincidences. Tina worked down the road from my campus, and lived
down the street from my roommate. We had a mutual freak out, which involved
lots of arm motions and girly squeals. B and I proceeded to try and talk her
into making the rest of the trip with us. We almost had her, but unlike us,
Tina had some common sense. I told her to come party in my dorm room anytime,
and we’d tell her all about it. We’re always open. Except Tuesday’s between
5:02 and 5:03 and 22 seconds.
Krystal came on right on time, and I actually got to hear
‘My Religion’ live. Squee! Our seats were pretty crappy but it didn’t really
bother us. It was the first of four concerts, after all. In the middle of the
next song, ‘Angel On My Shoulder,’ B shoved the phone at me.
“What the hell?” I yipped. (Yes, I yip.)
“Dani!” she hollered at me.
I burst out laughing, again. That was getting to be a
habit. “You freak!” I yelled, before taking the phone. Dani just happened to
live in Canada. She was also our list mommy, and my partner in crime for fic
writing. So I chatted it up with Dani while Krystal wailed on stage. I hung up
just in time for Krysta’s finale, which just so happened to be a mesmerizing
rendition of “I’ll Be There” Hello, pop’s next superstar. Wow.
Next on the agenda was to find Tamika. We hadn’t managed
to locate Amy like we had planned, but that probably had something to do with
the eighty billion and five people that had been out front. We pulled out the
handy dandy cell phone and called Tamika again, and finally got her before the
Boys took the stage. Damn, Tamika was cool. I won’t even try to recreate the
conversation, because it wouldn’t be half as funny. She was an absolute trip,
and had tailed the Boys more times than I am going to repeat. Everyone’s life
would be better off if they could have a conversation with Tamika.
When we had gotten to the point where we wanted to leap
backstage and haul the Boys out ourselves the lights finally went out, and I
swear you could hear the screaming in Singapore. We were at a severe
disadvantage by not being able to see the big screens (we were sitting almost
behind the stage), but we enjoyed ourselves anyway. How the hell could you not
when the Backstreet Boys are singing down below you?
They opened with, shocker, ‘Everyone.’ It was, in a word,
badass. Can I just say that once you’ve seen Kevin in leather pants, in person,
there is no going back? You can’t. You just can’t. The costumes kicked, and so
did the dance, especially during ‘our heartbeats are rising, they’re letting
you in…’ Man, I need that on tape.
Since I refused to read any concert spoilers, I had no
idea what was in store for us. I was praying that they would perform ‘What
Makes You Different,’ because I was dying to hear the harmonies between A.J.
and Kevin, and on the last chorus. When Kevin strolled on stage in his white
suit after ‘Shining Star’ and introduced it, I think I actually pulled off a
squeal. B says so, anyway. You see, I have this thing, where I can’t scream
like a girl. I bellow. Loud and long, and I can sustain it longer than you can.
Trust me. I got me a good set of lungs.
After that I did okay until they sang a little song called
‘More Than That.’ I swear, I heard those Spanish guitars kick in, and my heart
fuckin’ stopped. That song just does something to me. It didn’t help
that the visual was stunning. Our seats may have sucked, but the view we had of
that stage was something I won’t forget. The Boys were almost hidden from us,
and all we could see were wisps of fog swirling around below, until the stage
looked like a cloud. Then, in the middle of it, a lone dancer appeared and
moved gracefully through the mist. It was breathtaking. I wondered if it could
possibly get better.
I should know better than to think such things.
I was at least prepared for ‘Show Me The Meaning,’ because
I’ve heard them do it, both on TV and live. Still, every time I swear it’s like
the first time. It’s awe-inspiring. Show me someone who can perform better than
that (okay, so that’s a debate waiting to get me in trouble). Of course, at
this point in the show, the Boys take advantage of our weakened state to try
and finish us off once and for all. A.J., the punk, started clowning it up
onstage and asked us if we wanted to watch them change in their dressing room.
Well no shit Sherlock. Of course we wanted to see A.J. naked. So they make this
big production out of climbing down through this big blue trunk labeled “BSB
Wardrobe,” while the overhead screen shows a grand old show of them goofing off
backstage. B and I crawled back a section to see the show from the back of the
stage. If you ever wanted proof that the Backstreet Boys are total dorks, this
tour is it. Picture this: Brian, A.J., and silly string. Howie screaming about
needing more room for his hair. Stuffed animals flying through the air like
popcorn at a bad movie. Add it all up, and you’ve got five certified dorks. And
we just love them for it.
Make that five very sneaky dorks. As soon as the
show on screen ended, our attention was directed to the back of the arena to
the target we’d seen earlier, which had now risen up to become a mini stage.
Holy Snarky Turtles Batman! What clever Boys! We’d been too busy watching the Boys be idiots on the
screen (can you blame us? what is it about guys being stupid that we think is
so great? If you find out, let me know) to even notice. Hm. I recalled then
that B and I had floor seats for Atlanta. Crappy floor, but floor nonetheless.
Excellent.
I didn’t have much time to ponder that thought, because
right around then they sang ‘How Did I Fall In Love With You,’ and there is
absolutely no excuse for extraneous thought when that happens. All I have to
say is that the people who yelled and screamed and carried on during that song
have NO idea what they heard. It was magical, and those fools missed it. It was
the best performance of the night.
Now, thanks to the creation of things like Napster and
other mp3 sites, I have titled myself the Backstreet MP3 Goddess. If it exists,
I have it, or can find it. Every single, every live track, you name it. I’ve
got it. (And if I don’t, it’s because I rejected it.) B’s collection isn’t
quite as extensive, but that’s mostly because she’s bought all the singles, and
doesn’t really see the need to have, oh, 15 different versions of ‘I Want It
That Way’ live. Either way, we are familiar with every studio track that has snuck
out of the studio. This might explain why we freaked when the Boys
switched to ‘If You Stay’ in the middle of ‘All I Have To Give,’ and not many
others did. (Oh, if you were wondering, Booty Call soundtrack. Good song. Nice
a capella. Anything that lets them really vocalize is very nice.)
Well, in addition to all their badass singing, there was,
of course, badass dancing. Without a question, I think ‘Get Another Boyfriend’
came away the biggest winner there. Especially since A.J. missed a dance step. *cackle*
I let loose with that bellow of mine, which, in the long run, was not a good
idea. The best badass dance move they made though, wasn’t really a dance move.
It was during ‘The Call,’ the last song before the encore, when all five
appeared on the stage during the bridge wearing choir robes. A.J. Choir robe.
Come on. Are you laughing yet? Bwahahahaha!
Right, so, ‘Shape Of My Heart’ was next, and B and I stuck
to our plan. We waited until the A.J./Kevin harmony and then booked it. If
anyone at Charlotte saw a blur streaking for the parking lot around 10:30, that
would be Bianca and me. I hope we didn’t knock over any old ladies in the
process, because we were going too fast to notice. B tore out of the parking
lot and we wedged ourselves into a nice little alcove in the street, and
waited. I felt like a cat waiting to pounce of a grasshopper.
Ha. Brian the Grasshopper. Now there’s a fun image.
Anyway, B passed the time cussing out the other girls who
were trying to do the same thing we were, and I passed the time laughing at
her, though really I was petrified that we were wrong, and we wouldn’t see the
busses. I usually internalize panic. Unless it involves Washington D.C., the
metro, and being late for a Backstreet concert we don’t quite have tickets for.
But we’ll get to that.
“You know,” B said, “It’s a good thing you’re here to keep
me sane. I’d have flipped out by now and run someone over.”
“Yikes, if I’m the sanity then we’re screwed,” I
remarked. Horrifically screwed. I mean, wow.
It seemed like forever went by before a huge ass bus
pulled out and lumbered into view. As it came by, low and behold, there was
Brian at the window. I think the heaven’s opened up and started singing
Alleluia. Or maybe it was just Nick screaming at us to get another boyfriend.
(Guess what was in the CD player. I’ll give you three chances, and the first
two don’t count.)
“Follow that bus!” I shrieked. B needed no second bidding,
and we got honked at about four times before we made it safely on the highway.
At least we didn’t die. The only rule I had going into all of this was that she
wasn’t allowed to kill me. She did a good job of that. We never broke the rule,
not even once.
While she was driving like a maniac I was hanging my head
out the window snapping pictures. I am ashamed to say I think I took half a
roll of film of that damn tour bus. In the dark. That’s what happens
when my excitement gets away from me, I become attached to my camera and take
useless pictures. Lots of them.
After about an hour or two, there were about five cars
tailing the bus. One had West Virginia plates, one was from Georgia, one was
Tamika, and one had a license tag that read BSB BROK. We had a nice little
caravan going.
Do you want to know how many times you can listen to Black
and Blue on repeat? The answer is LOTS. We lost track. I eventually shoved in
another CD, but it took awhile, and I think it was a Backstreet Mix anyway.
We got into Atlanta somewhere around three or three thirty
in the morning. The driver of the bus tried to lose us a few times, and became
clear to us pretty quick that Brian was not going to the hotel the other guys
were going to be at, but home. It was a mutual decision that there was no way
in hell we would follow him there.
It was four o’clock by the time we crashed in our hotel
room. Sleep is my friend, and lately we hadn’t spent nearly enough time
together. We actually got about eight hours of sleep, which was a good thing,
because we had a long day ahead of us in Atlanta.