Friday, June 09, 2006

The Best Five Days Ever

Every so often the stars align and a person has a few good days. After a lot of cash, gas, and time was spent, guzzled, and used, I had the greatest five days in my life. I really don't believe that any consecutive days will ever take the mantle. From June 1st until the 5th I was the happiest boy alive. If there is a sponsor for these days, it's eBay. Thanks to that wonderful little service, I got my second pair of Pearl Jam tickets, a Radiohead ticket, and a ticket to Yankees/Red Sox at Yankee Stadium.

The first day on the list of awesome was Thursday, June 1st, where Pearl Jam played Continental Airlines Arena. It was a great show, memorable mostly for the fact that they finally played Rearviewmirror and Jeremy. There was a weird part where I drove home a kid I knew from high school. That part wasn't odd at all; Jeff's a cool kid, really enjoyed the show, and was a pleasure to stick in the backseat and not hear thanks to the megawatts of sound that obliterated my eardrums. The weird part was when he called me. My cell phone rang, showed his number, and I had no idea who it was, and therefore very tempted to not answer it.

How spoiled have we become that we refuse to use a phone like it has been used for the last 80 or so years? If I see a number pop up and there isn't a "Dave" or "ChickAtPartyWhoTouchedMyAssOnPurposeMaybe?" there is no way in hell I'm picking it up. How do I know who's on the other end of that conversation? It could very well be someone I don't want to talk to, which is why they aren't in my phone in the first place. What, am I to blindly answer when there is a myriad of possibilities, both good and bad, waiting for me? That's preposterous! In fact, someone called me today from a number I didn't know and turned off the ringer, watching the screen light up and pulsate until the calm came. I know what it was like to live in London during the Blitz every time "Private No." calls me.

The second day of ass kicking was Friday. Honestly, nothing good happened on Friday. I just couldn't not include the first PJ show and make it "one day...and then three days straight of sweetness." Just doesn't have the same ring to it. I probably played some Halo 2 on Xbox Live at my friend Blood's house where I was degraded verbally by 10 year olds and 30-year-old hicks. If only we could take an English comprehension test instead of capture the flag classic on Temple. I'd totally kick their asses. Well, as long as no one looks at my mistake-riddled blog. That would REALLY hurt my chances.

Saturday night was the second Pearl Jam show, and consequently, the greatest show I have ever seen. eBay (and almost 200 bucks) netted Russell and I two seats slightly behind the band on the side of the stage (Pearl Jam sells so many seats that they sit people behind the stage). When we got through the massive crowds trying to buy $8.00 Bud Lights and found our seats, there was a girl sitting in them. We sheepishly told her that she was sitting in our seats and regretfully informed her that she had to get the fuck out (politely, of course). She turned to us and said, "boys, listen up. I want to sit with my friends, so we can trade your seats for mine on the floor by the mixing board." There we were, now with floor seats, watching Pearl Jam rip through 31 songs in 2 hours and 45 minutes. This is the greatest trade since "we give you syphilis and you give us all of your land or we'll kill you and ruin your heritage and lives forever until you can make casinos and fuck us over out of valuable tax dollars" of 1810.

Sunday's event--Radiohead in concert--was being held in Boston. I manned the 225-mile trek alone, surviving all of the terrible Massachusetts drivers. While driving on the Mass Pike, I did a few of the dorkiest things ever. For example, when I saw "Charles River" on a little sign on the divider, I yelled out "YES!" As I went under the Newton Sheraton, I pumped my first. Finally, when I saw Agganis Arena from Storrow Drive, I said "YEAH BABY!" Believe me, I'm already searching or a small fire arm to chew on. Either way, I parked on Bay State Ave, right outside of this past year's dorm, because parking is free on Sundays until 8 AM Monday. Bunos! I saw my friends Emily and Haley who were abroad this past semester before meeting the woman with the tickets and my Beirut partner, Pam, who was also abroad. It was a 30 minute quickie reunion which took place in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond and an Engineering library. There is no point to that - I just want to point out how incredibly random my friends are at times.

The concert had two points that I would like to share with you. First were the complications with Boston's public transportation. Boston's MTA is blazing ahead with new technology (introduced about 7 years ago in New York) where a person now plays with a "Charlie Pass" instead of tokens. You get these handy cards by going to a computer kiosk, inserting your preferable method of payment, and then having the valuable piece of paper pop out at you for all of your transportation payment needs. Pam and I get off at Park Street station to transfer over to the Silver Line where you are now forced to use Charlie Passes. Here is where I saw humanity knocked down to its purest form, like the apes at the beginning of 2001.

Some of the machines simply didn't work. A few would only accept credit cards or debit cards, while others were cash only. What would have been helpful is some sort of placard displaying which machines were which, instead of you finding out independently halfway through your transaction after waiting on line for 10 minutes. Luckily, there was a helpful young man from Dorchester barking out instructions. "Da Chaaahlie Caaahd can be po-chasssed by using yo credit caaaaahd, debit caaahd, or caaaahhhsh. Just simply press the correct buttons on da displaaaayyyy." Oh, oh that's how it is? I figured I'd just shit on the li'l screen and the magic token fairy would place the card in my hand and sprinkle a li'l pixy dust in my hair to brighten my day!

After beating technology Pam and I hopped onto the Silver Line. Unlike the Red, Green, Orange, and Blue lines that are a mixture of trolleys and traditional subway cars, the Silver Line is a bus on power cords. I swear to you - these assholes use Disney rides as a means to get to and from places. What boggles the mind is that it IS a bus...but it's connected by wires that power it. What about, I don't know, gas? The Silver Line also travels in these concrete tunnels, which reminded me a lot of something like the Holland Tunnel. I am completely befuddled as to why this thing exists. Later, we took a regular bus the same route back. I have come to the conclusion that Boston is a giant black hole of transportation logic. I will just accept this and move on.

We got to the venue which was a stage, a very large tent, and thousands of rusted, steel folding chairs plastic-tied together. I shit you not. It was like taking the concept of outdoor venues by the sea and putting it in your backyard. Radiohead was amazing, falling into second place all-time for concerts. There are a few strikes against Radiohead, such as the lack of singing along with the crowd, the weird ass venue, and the fact that I only knew half the songs. There is a point at a show where you think to yourself "man, I didn't know this song or the last one...I really don't deserve to be here." I hit that a few times. Well, actually, there was another sour point.

I saw, far and away, the worst couple, ever.

They weren't just bad, or atrocious, or any other synonym for "horrible" that you want to throw out. They were so bad they negatively affected a great show. They were so bad that I could not stop watching them. It was a transifixing ball of vomit inducing love. Right off the bat, these two had no right being together. The girl looked just like my friend Allison Murphy. This is a rather common phenomena, as I have seen about 20 girls who look just like her. It's apparently not that strange to see a red haired girl with glasses and freckles in Boston. I can't imagine why. This version of Murph had a nose ring, as all versions of Irish girls are like snowflakes: each a bit unique compared to the rest. The guy looked like any "alternative" goofball with the shorthair, thin, gangly arms, and little hair under the chin. They were as compatible as apples and throat cancer.

The entire show they were far too cutesy, even Eskimo kissing at times. They also really enjoyed dancing. The problem is that they did not know how to dance. They were slow dancing, and tried to tango standing still. The guy always was touching her in some way, be it the hand in her back pocket, or awkwardly grabbing at her back to maintain contact while shaking left and right as if he was waddling in place. She attempted to do some hipster 50s beach party back-and-forth with her hips and arms, but couldn't get the rhythm right. She abandoned that idea before shaking so much I thought I might have to hold her tongue. They also did this odd hip swivel to the left and the right during a slow slong, because waving your hands is "old hat." The bottom line is I wanted to throw a fucking spear through the two of them, creating a makeshift suck kabob.

Monday started with finding a parking ticket that was given out at 8:13 AM. Thanks Boston Police. For some reason you can be punctual when I miss my meter but you come 15 minutes after a kid was shot twice in the head on Commonwealth Ave at 10:30 on a Friday. Go fuck yourselves. I drove back to Jersey on 4 hours sleep, attained by sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag. The Best Five Days Ever came at a premium on sleep, with roughly 15 hours over those days. I came back home with a bitching head cold, but it was alright, because I was going to attend my second Sox/Yankees game. The first one came in 99, I believe, before the rivalry really took off again. I was proudly in the bleachers to see Pedro strike out 19 while getting verbally humiliated by Dominicans. They took my dignity and my friend's Dad's hubcaps.

Monday was different. My friend Steve and I were in the upper deck, surrounded by white Red Sox fans. When the game started, we clearly saw we were outnumbered. And then, from out of nowhere, four drunkards stood up and started to cheer, and we knew we would win the battle. There is nothing greater than sitting behind obnoxious, bombed, asshole Yankee fans. They do not shut up, so the opposition cannot get a word in. They throw in cheers at inappropriate times ("BOSTON SUCKS" on a 2-1 pitch from Mussina...why?). And, most importantly, make complete asses of themselves. The most vocal (wasted) of the bunch turns backwards to Steve and me and goes "OOOOOOOONE.......TWOOOOOOOO.....THREEEEEEEEEE.........LEEEEET'S GOOOOO YAAAAANK-EEEEEEES!" From the time the counting (with fingers included) started and the chant was actually called out, our batter got out and the inning ended. What also helped is that we won 13-5.

Here is the summation of The Best Five Days Ever:
-Man is Hail, Hail a great song. As is Footsteps, Gone, and Army Reserve.
-Radiohead has no reason to be that great live - they're studio geniuses. Stop it. And their new stuff sounds like The Bends, which makes me a happy, happy boy.
-Guys at concerts who don't care who smokes their weed rule. When these guys are like 40, they still rule, but are a bit...creepy.
-I'm proud that Haley and I worked to be a couple that wouldn't be hated. I will continue that trend forever, because no one likes shitty couples. If you are a couple, believe me, it's very possible that you are hated with the passion of a thousand suns. Fix it, for everyone's sake.
-I'm 0-for-3 in hearing Betterman live. This does NOT please me.
-Fucking fuck parking tickets.
-No one probably cares about my Best Five Days Ever and this was a waste of a good post on Faith (coming soon).

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