Now, enter Kevin Barnes and his band, Of Montreal. This slinky, transgendered hussy harangued last night's concertgoers with funky beats, lascivious lyrics and a light show that, had I ever eaten mushrooms before, would have conjured up a flashback or two.
Could someone please tell me when my "Mother of the Year" award will be arriving in the mail?! Honestly, I don't know what else a woman can do to win over her kids, beyond composing cheesy research papers for them. Or maybe only cooking foods that are yellow and brown.
But I'm not really being honest here. After all, I own two CDs by this band. I offered to take Eric and his friend, secretly knowing that I'd enjoy the show, as well. And I lured my friend Allison to join us, paying for her ticket, which pretty much translated itself into "at least someone will keep me away while I drive back to Lincoln after midnight."
Yeah, I pretty much did everything but write the lyrics and play the drums on stage.
Because I'm teetering on 50, though, I fretted about the road trip, Google mapping directions, although I'd been to the Slowdown before, and choosing a nice font (see previous blog) to apply to the map I printed out. I also fretted about staying up so late, which is why I jammed two pills into the little front pocket of my jeans. Two Excedrin Migraines, to be exact, because they contain caffeine, an active ingredient that would keep me equally active, especially considering that my normal bedtime is an hour before the first band even opened.
Plus, it's kind of cool to say I took some pills at a concert. . . .
Before we even left Lincoln, though, brother Steve, an Omahan, called to say that we were heading into the entertainment epicenter of Omaha last night, home to a Jeff Foxworthy performance, a Tony Bennett benefit and another concert at the Holland Center, all of which were taking place about 3 1/2 feet from the Slowdown. Parking, it seemed, would be something else for me to fret about.
Ah, but then, I saw the glorious white lights of that Jeep, backing out of the parking lot that abuts The Slowdown. And I knew it was going to be a most excellent night.
Even if I forgot to pack some earplugs. No worries, though. The Slowdown is a classy joint, complete with seemingly endless rolls of toilet paper, little wads of which can take the sting out of any live show.
Allison and I ordered some Diet Cokes (with LIME, baby! It's a concert, after all!) and waters (that's right,...we two-fisted it!), found ourselves some cushy seats not too close to the stage and enjoyed the night. And the crowd. The endless tattoos, the blue mowhawk, the piercings, the headbands, the young and the old coming together to watch a bizarre and entertaining show, complete with wrestlers and boobs (don't ask), strange masks and six-foot pigs.
It just might have topped last summer's Bieber experience. And, at $25 a pop, it certainly was nicer on the checkbook.
Plus, I got to spend the night with my 18-year-old son, who actually left the dance floor a time or two to stop by and acknowledge me, half hugging me at one point.
That's when I pulled out my lighter and hollered for an encore, even though there was still an hour left in the show.
My brother and sister in law take their kids to heavy metal concerts. I think they might have you beat in the "concerts I attend for my child" area. However, you are quite the trooper! I think you are a shoe in for the award.
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