Magpie, Covetousness, Me

We went to The Police concert in Oakland last night, which was rather fun, albeit a tad slow at the beginning. Maybe it was the whole tantric thing, who knows. Anyway, still fun, and of course, I then realized...I must have an electric guitar TOO.

What is wrong with me? I have no clue, but I do know that I was doing the internal magpie thing of "oohooohoohshinyshinyloudshinyloudMEMEME". Granted, I think it would be most appropriate to get one when the girls are at an age to be completely mortified by their hopelessly uncool mother attempting to be a rockstar. Don't you think?

In terms of the concert though, I seriously do not think I've seen an older or a whiter crowd at anything beyond an Osmonds show. It was mad. Also mad: trying to swim upstream with the rest of the mindless salmon to cross the bridge from the Coliseum to BART. I have what you may call a touch of claustrophobia, but it's never progressed to state of panic...last night? It was distinctly unpleasant to feel the anxiety rising in my throat and I cannot tell you how much I had to work to keep myself from clawing, literally clawing, my way out of that crush of people. I was also thankful that I had worn my punktastic combat boots, because I was also thinking I could throw in a few kicks to shins to aid my escape. Fortunately, I was not pushed to that level, but it was a learning experience to Heathers: stay home, with a pan of Nanaimo bars, and listen to the CD if you must.

But I got to see closeups of Andy Summers wailing away, and that was fun. And Stewart Copeland, I realize, is kind of what my dad would be if he were an aging and probably completely strung out rocker. Which was scary.