Now on stage….

Although I’m amenable to most activities, concerts have not been my favorite thing as of late. I realize this contradicts previous goals I’ve set for myself, but I’ve given up on several  of my goals – especially when reaching them results in my leg going numb.

So, knowing I wanted to feel my leg at the end of the night, and hoping for some concert redemption, That’s Not Chinese and I went to Pink Martini. “You’ll really like this venue,” That’s Not Chinese assured me as we were making our way. “I hope so. Especially considering the fact that the lead singer won’t be there,” I replied.

We arrived to find an extremely long line winding around the outdoor venue. “I don’t take Xanax, but I would like to right now,” I told her and continued, “I am too old to stand in line. And I’m not saying that because I’m not healthy, able or old. I just think, at this age and time in my life, I shouldn’t have to stand in line for anything.” She agreed and we sat curb (aka, weed) side until the we saw the end of the line.

Once inside, we found some friends near the stage and joined them for what turned out to be complete concert redemption. Although China Forbes wasn’t singing, and her replacement Storm Large also ended up sick, Lucy Woodward took the stage and sang their song’s like nobody’s business. “She is really good,” That’s Not Chinese told me. “No kidding. I think I’m going to start learning all of their songs. I want to be the next understudy of the understudy.”

During intermission, our friends decided to tool around the venue and the people sitting in front of us decided to ‘take a skip around the garden.’ While they were gone, That’s Not Chinese and I Goldilocksed the area. Some of the chairs were too soft, others too firm and a few were just right. Also just right, was the lovely Cabernet Sauvignon left behind by those who were skipping around the garden. “I can’t believe we are doing this,” That’s Not Chinese commented as I filled our glasses with their wine. “I can’t believe they were foolish enough to leave it unattended,” I replied.

It was at about this time that the band started up again and invited any Turks in the audience to join them on stage. “Go up there. They won’t know if you’re Turk or not,” suggested my friends. “No way. Last time I fell for peer pressure at a concert it didn’t end well.” “Wait, you made me drink their wine,” That’s Not Chinese piped up. “Yes, sorry about that. It wasn’t a very good wine. Next time we will sit by people with better taste in wine,” I replied.

Eventually, they invited others on stage and, like Lucy Woodward, we were surprised to find us center stage, singing and dancing to songs in Turkish and Croatian. “That’s definitely not Chinese,” That’s Not Chinese commented while observing the lyrics in between shaking her money maker on stage. “Definitely not Chinese,” I replied. “This is seriously the best concert ever,” she exclaimed. “Certainly is,” I agreed.

After that, we let the band autograph our arms and, like Goldilocks, ran away into the forest. Unlike Goldilocks, we hope to return to the stage of the three lead singers again.