Thursday, January 22, 2009

What Not To Do At A Concert

I, like many of you readers, probably, checked out Drive-By Truckers last night at Toad's Place. Now, the concert was simply great. The band sounded fresh, vibrant and engaged. I've seen DBT a handful of times, and this was easily one of the best performances from them I've caught.

But something overshadowed the show. A big something.

Let me make something abundantly clear: I don't care where you are, if you're in public, don't make out like eighth graders who have no idea what they're doing.

That's right, just in front of me at Toad's, two wild-eyed people who were, at least, in their early 20s, were engaged in the most violent makeout session I've ever seen. As is probably the case with most of you, I've done my fair share of making out, but never like this. I went to bed fearing that the poor girl is going to wake up with whiplash from the amount of tugging on her neck.

Heck, at one point, the dude grabbed her face with both hands, opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and started licking her all over. This was not a mistake; he didn't just miss her mouth with his drunken tongue or something. He was trying to lick her entire face. And she, apparently, enjoyed this. I would hope that if I ever try to lick a woman's face all over, she would punch me. Or at least kick me in the junk. Please.

Yet it didn't stop there. As DBT continued its fiery set, this set of young and drunk or high lovers decided that the physical sport of making out they were playing wasn't enough. They needed to step up their games, go to the next level or something. The next level made me want to vomit.

Again, for those of you who don't know or are unsure, it is not OK to physically manhandle your girlfriend/friend/wife's chest over and under her shirt in public. It's just not right. I mean, I know some of you out there might be thinking, "But, Pat, I love to pretend my lady friend's breasts are a pair of stress balls in public," or, "Pat, I enjoy it when my dude gets his cardio workout in on my boobs when we're in public." Well, to you people, I say, hide behind a big plant or something. Honestly, the way this guy was playing with her chest, I almost thought a call to the police to file an abuse report was warranted.

It didn't end there, though. Soon, they decided to take a seat. Of course, there was no doubt only one seat was needed. That's when the grinding began. Not subtle grinding, but rather some real simulated sex. She was actually making sex noises that could be heard over the very loud band playing through a very substantial sound system.

It was all the most ridiculous display of PDA I've ever seen. It would probably be considered over-the-top at one of those sex clubs that are always on "CSI." Of course, it was supremely entertaining, too. After they possibly finished (in every way), the festivities stopped and I was able to enjoy the rest of the show. Thankfully.

Now, I know you have some obvious followup questions.

1. Why didn't I move since Toad's doesn't have seats? We just had perfect sight lines. Perfect.

2. Didn't you tell someone? When a couple of my friends who work at Toad's walked by, I just pointed it out to them, hoping they would get a laugh and then boot them.

3. How come you just didn't tell them to stop? Well, we sort of did. One of my friends asked them how long they had been dating. Nine months. I honestly assumed they met 10 minutes beforehand in some seedy Yale basement where Ecstasy is available for free and everyone's reading "Doors of Perception" or something. These folks were remarkably able to tune out everything around them. If the guy had any athletic ability (it certainly didn't look it), I have no doubt he would have been one those pros that always "comes through in the clutch." Instead, he's forced to come through in the crotch while people like me have to watch.

4. What is OK for PDA? Nothing, really. Some hand holding, something subtle, maybe. You know, stuff that doesn't involve multiple forms of bodily fluids. The above photo works, except the guy looks to have on way too fancy a pair of jeans. That's not cool. Call me old-fashioned or something.

Oh, and this dude was funny looking and wearing leather pants. Leather pants! Did he think we were at a Quiet Riot concert? Didn't he realize his premature ejaculation could ruin the leather? He shouldn't exist on this earth for just that reason alone. Leather pants, people.


Anonymous said...

Granted it would have been wasting a fine bottle of beer, but you should have dropped a drink on him.

Nothing's funnier than wet leather pants.

Pat Ferrucci said...

Since you mentioned it, I should say that when one of my friends went to the bathroom, she left her beer on a seat in front of us - we were near the tables at Toad's. The guy was clearly about to sit down on the chair, and I could have said something, but instead I let him sit on the chair. And he freaked out. It was hysterical. I had no problem buying her a beer to replace the one I let get ruined. Oh, he was also wearing a leather jacket. Yep. This is true.

sj said...

i just laughed for 10 minutes. i may have snorted a little.

thanks for that.

Anonymous said... made milk come out of my nose!

Anonymous said...

This whole discussion reminded me of another kind of PDA that I loathe...when an amorous couple comes into a restaurant, and both sit on the same side of the table or booth, all the better to be near each other during each and every bit of their Bloomin' Onion or chicken wings...

Get a room, folks.

Anonymous said...

Here's one that's not so much physical, but...

The cell phone foreplay calls.

You know - the ones that are just short of phone porn..if you're one of the conversing parties. To the rest of us denizens of Earth, those calls are just - irritating beyond all reason.

You know - where you listen to the girl burbling, "What?...what?!....what?!..." then giggling perversely. Or the one where the guy shows his caveman irresistability by muttering to his wo-man, "No, YOU come over to my place. No YOU..." Chivalry, apparently, isn't dead. It's just wearing baggy jeans, a sideways ball cap, and a printed hoodie.

And then there are those of us whom the cosmos has doomed to stand behind these idiots and cretins at the checkout in Target, or McDonalds, or in the line for the bathroom at BAR. I'm guessing it's some sort of astral punishment for committing war crimes in a former life...

If only there was a genie to make our dreams come true at those moments, we'd be blessed with a very large hammer allowing us to smash their I-Phones into itty bitty pieces, and they would be struck by a sudden and severe case of laryngitis, forcing only themselves to listen to their inner creepy voices.

In conclusion, I'd just like to point out - there are plenty of seedy shops that sell lots of toys to enhance foreplay, people...but Cingular and Verizon ain't two of them!