Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Summer Stage in Central Park : The Decemberists feat. Grizzly Bear
So, it was odd with the Astro Turf duct-taped on concrete and everyone sitting around pretending it was a grassy lawn. Plus I really need to get a fix on the intricate Etiquette of the Outdoor Concert.
I first realize my woeful lack of social skills after I approach the barricade ringing the good lawn in front of the stage where the special people were. Get in a little headbopping at the closer proximity. I feel a tug on my pant leg.
A cross-legged girl motions for me to lean down. She says, "I just wanted you to know that I'm saving that spot. I'm sitting right now, but when I stand up, I'm planning to stand right where you are standing now."
During the pause where I busily pry apart my lips using all the fingers on both hands, she tosses in, "Ummm, but we probably can both fit." I think my flared nostrils and booboogeebie popping eyeballs might have had a persuasive effect.
Finally, I spit out, "Good plan. Best of luck with that." And when I say, "spit out," I mean I sort of think I drooled on her. Warm beer makes me salivate.
Skip to later. Once again living large by the barricade. I look down and spy a light blue sweatshirt on the ground. Being a bleeding heart concerned with sweatshirt safety, I nudge it out of harm's way. Just then, a voice says, "She just moved my sweatshirt. Doesn't she know that spot is saved?"
I wait, desperately willing someone to come forward and accuse me of dissing their turf. I am fully at the ready. When I say "fully at the ready" I mean I had pulled together this whole fantasy confrontation. It would have gone like this:
"Did you just move my sweatshirt?"
"What, did you want me to just stand on top of it?"
"No, I put it there because that spot is saved!"
"Saved? As in "Jesus saves" or as in "You sure know how to party with the naughty elementary-school-set saved?"
Then I probably would have gotten beat up.