Omigod! The photo I took of Bruce Springsteen THISCLOSE at last night's concert is right here!
Yeah, it's not.
If I had subtitles for my blog, this post would be headed Friends in Low Places or Pit Stop or Born to Run and Hide or Shutter at the Thought. Depending on how corny I felt at the moment. For yesterday my aforementioned galpal Kelly hooked us up with the most incredible concert tickets in recent memory: Admission for two to the San Jose Compaq Center performance of Bruce and the E Street Band, location: "The Pit." I have to admit there was something rather exciting about walking up to the Band Will Call window to receive an envelope with two said tickets, two sets of wristbands (one orange, one blue) and two backstage passes for after the show. While I can't claim to be a die-hard Bruce fan, there was also something rather exciting to find ourselves ushered into the very heart of the arena -- literally front row in a small, cordoned-off square where the most freaky of Boss freaks convene. As the music began, we were right there, flush with the stage. As in, leaning against it. Touching it. Hanging out by it. Spitting on it. There were 2 moments where, if I were more ambitious, I could've touched Bruce himself. Or spit on him. But I did neither.
What I did instead was very, very naughty. Always armed with the digital (after all, I hoped we'd be backstage after, and who knows what could happen?), I proceeded to sneak it out at opportune moments and snap an image or two of the man and his band. While this all went undetected for a time, I pushed my luck -- and approximately halfway through, I felt the dreaded tap on my shoulder. What followed was an ugly procession of events, culminating in me being whisked away by a fleet of green-jacketed security guards, the refrain of "Never Surrender" echoing through my head, so criminal that not even a pair of magic wristbands could save me.
But, but, I didn't even use a flash! But, but, I take pictures at really important concerts all the time! But, but, "photographers" were not included on the list of mortal sinners outside the arena!
Alas, my irrational fear of losing my camera and/or the death sentence propelled me to rushedly delete the fabulous shots, though luckily Kelly rescued me at the last moment as to save me from complete expulsion. Quite shaken, I immediately embraced a $6 plastic bottle of MGD and skulked back to The Pit, tail firmly tucked. I'm such a baby.
Our trip to Boston was also most excellent, but that's a story for another day. Now, I must go lie on the couch and watch all of the Buffy and American Idol we missed in the mayhem and misdemeanor of last night.
Yeah, it's not.
If I had subtitles for my blog, this post would be headed Friends in Low Places or Pit Stop or Born to Run and Hide or Shutter at the Thought. Depending on how corny I felt at the moment. For yesterday my aforementioned galpal Kelly hooked us up with the most incredible concert tickets in recent memory: Admission for two to the San Jose Compaq Center performance of Bruce and the E Street Band, location: "The Pit." I have to admit there was something rather exciting about walking up to the Band Will Call window to receive an envelope with two said tickets, two sets of wristbands (one orange, one blue) and two backstage passes for after the show. While I can't claim to be a die-hard Bruce fan, there was also something rather exciting to find ourselves ushered into the very heart of the arena -- literally front row in a small, cordoned-off square where the most freaky of Boss freaks convene. As the music began, we were right there, flush with the stage. As in, leaning against it. Touching it. Hanging out by it. Spitting on it. There were 2 moments where, if I were more ambitious, I could've touched Bruce himself. Or spit on him. But I did neither.
What I did instead was very, very naughty. Always armed with the digital (after all, I hoped we'd be backstage after, and who knows what could happen?), I proceeded to sneak it out at opportune moments and snap an image or two of the man and his band. While this all went undetected for a time, I pushed my luck -- and approximately halfway through, I felt the dreaded tap on my shoulder. What followed was an ugly procession of events, culminating in me being whisked away by a fleet of green-jacketed security guards, the refrain of "Never Surrender" echoing through my head, so criminal that not even a pair of magic wristbands could save me.
But, but, I didn't even use a flash! But, but, I take pictures at really important concerts all the time! But, but, "photographers" were not included on the list of mortal sinners outside the arena!
Alas, my irrational fear of losing my camera and/or the death sentence propelled me to rushedly delete the fabulous shots, though luckily Kelly rescued me at the last moment as to save me from complete expulsion. Quite shaken, I immediately embraced a $6 plastic bottle of MGD and skulked back to The Pit, tail firmly tucked. I'm such a baby.
Our trip to Boston was also most excellent, but that's a story for another day. Now, I must go lie on the couch and watch all of the Buffy and American Idol we missed in the mayhem and misdemeanor of last night.
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