I Wanna Rock and Roll... Not All Night, Though. And, Quietly.

     I was not even a year old when Kiss produced their first album, but I remember walking through the Towers Department Store (fuck, that's a long time ago) and seeing the four painted faces of the band on a poster and wondering why I couldn't always have my face painted like a cat.

     Fast forward 40 years and I'm buying tickets to see Kiss for the first time at the Canadian Tire Centre in Ottawa. I'm not a member of "The Kiss Army", I never bought any of their albums, none of their songs are on my playlist. I just really wanted something to do on a Wednesday night and I had heard good things about their shows.

     I have since been enlisted in the Kiss Army.

This is Rock and Roll

     Yesterday, however, I was really dreading my decision to buy a ticket. Introverts will get this: I like the IDEA of going out, but I hate ACTUALLY leaving the house. First of all, it would be very people-y at a concert. People everywhere, getting in my way and talking to me and expecting me to interact with them. Secondly, there would be loud music, which I normally love. I just don't love it when I don't love it, ya know? I don't really know how to explain my anxiety, I can only say it is there and my brain makes up all kinds of reasons for why it should occur.

     It was very windy and I had just spent $70 on clean hair with fresh layers. That is reason enough to make me want to cancel my evening and stay at home reading, crocheting and learning Mandarin.

     My son drove me to the concert. I didn't want to deal with the nightmare of parking, or rather, exiting the parking lot after the show. It's always a clusterfuck. And, anyway, I wanted to have a couple of four beers. I had to wait outside for a few minutes in 37 km/hour winds in 7 degree weather that feels like minus 4. That was when I started to wish I had driven myself and I could just leave. 

     Can I just say here, though, what a truly Canadian experience it is to attend a concert in Ottawa? Here we were, being herded into a small hallway to pass through security, having stood outside in sub-zero temperatures, and everyone was leaving lots of personal space. There was no pushing. No one cared if you butt-in to the line. There was friendly banter (en francais) about French going first (just like Quebec signage). 

     As I patiently waited to go through the metal detector, there was a young man with his face painted like Ace Frehley being passed over with the wand. For those who've never gone through security, you have to empty all your pockets so you don't set off the the alarm. Well, no one told this guy, I guess. He took out his keys and about 3 pounds worth of change, but he still set off the alarm. The guard told him to remove everything from his pockets, so he started digging out a vape pen and some other shit from his right pocket. He still got a red light. Continued to dig in his right pocket, brought out another pipe of some description. Could have been a dildo for all I know. Big orange, twisty looking thing! I have no idea why he didn't take it out in the first place. Still got a red light. Started digging out his left pocket this time and removed another pipe and more shit! Red light went off again. The security guard finally took matters into his own hands and started digging through this guy's pockets himself and pulled out a couple of glass vials (which required him to wipe his hands on his pants) and even more drug paraphernalia. Finally, Ace is free to go. I told him he needs to bring a motherfucking fanny pack next time. 

     I dropped my phone and keys into the margarine container and went through. No red light. I don't know whether I felt like a loser or a gawdamn saint.

     I climbed to the very top section of the Palladium. Someone was offering a very poor selection of beer and I would rather drink the slush bucket at work than a Canadian or Coors Banquet, so I got a premium Creemore for $14. Guess I won't be having more than two of these golden sonsobitches.

Just can't put this down.

     Climbed another twenty steps to level L where I found a small boy sitting in my seat. His name was Marshall and he was wearing baffles on his ears. I wanted a pair. I found myself being thankful that I was in the section with the kindergarteners and old men wearing reading glasses and enjoying a quick chapter before the show.

     The opening act was a guy painting a picture of Gord Downie. Marshall's dad, who was pretty darn goodlooking, told his son the curtains around the stage were like wrapping paper. He said a concert is like a Christmas gift that we get to unwrap.... 

     Unwrap this, you sexy bitch. That's the cutest thing I've ever heard! Ugh, my ovaries still work!

     The curtains dropped and there they were, larger than life, like Christmas morning. Then, there was so much fire erupting from the stage, I felt the peach fuzz singe off my cheeks! Then, boom boom BOOM! Fireworks so hard and so sudden, the young man behind me spilled his beer onto my $70 fucking haircut. I wasn't mad. This is rock and roll. Which is what the twenty somethings in the row behind me were saying about half way through the show. And this made me very happy that I went. 

     I still left a good half hour early. Had a guy ask me to drive him to Deseronto for $20. Probably a good thing I didn't drive because I probably would have. Crossed the street to wait for my son at the Esso station and came so close to being hit by a car turning left that I got to touch the hood of the car. Good times!