Tonight I’m going to the R.E.M. concert at Madison Square Garden with my lovely friend “T”. I haven’t been to a concert of the rock ‘n’ roll variety since … well … I can’t even remember. I think it was Bob Dylan about ten years ago. And before that, it was either Genesis or The Moody Blues. Who knows.
And lest you think I’m really out of touch, I’ve been to other concerts, too, including Yes (“in the round”, where I fell asleep because I’m a square, man) and a big extravaganza that featured Journey, The Tubes, Bryan Adams, and John Cougar before he reMellencamped. (Shut up. It was 1983.)
Yeah, I’m really with it.
Oh, and of course there was Fleetwood Mac, my first concert, which I attended with my parents, my then best friend Debbie, and Debbie’s parents. The parents stayed in the seats to smoke pot, and sent Debbie and me down to the floor, where we, 13 years old and in our best Qiana shirts, promptly got our asses felt up (oh god, that term) by a pair of 15-year-old boys.
“Mine’s touching my ass!” I said to Debbie, trying to whisper above the music and clamor.
“So’s mine!” she said.
“I’m not moving!” I said.
“Me either!”
I guarantee that tonight my date won’t be touching my ass that way, since he likes the boys and not the girls. I will feel like I am missing out, I’m sure. If I suffered from extremely low self esteem, that might pose a problem, but it doesn’t. There is a problem, but it has nothing to do with ass-grasping.
The problem is this: What the fuck do I wear? Jeans? Is that what the kids are wearing to rock ‘n’ roll concerts these days? Jeans, black T-shirt, black boots, “vintage” German army jacket*? Or should I be making myself an off-the-shoulder rock star T-shirt, complete with lace-up sides and a carefully ragged neckline and cut-off arms?
Please help me. I’m about ready to resort to Qiana.
* No, I don’t have a problem wearing it, as a Jew; I have a German Shepherd too, that’s how subversive and well-adjusted I am.