Murphy's Law Effectively Demonstrated
I tried to be spontaneous Friday. I bought last minute tickets to the Steve Miller Band concert thinking a night on the lawn under the stars would be a great way to end the week.
There are times I am certain I am mistakenly carrying someone else's Karma. Someone like Osama Bin Laden.
We decided to eat somewhere near the amphitheater before the show in Alpharetta. Admittedly, I do not know this area very well, but seeing as it is the model for non-descript, over-developed, sunshine and friggin' butterflies suburbia, certainly we could find a restaurant.
Certainly not. Not a single strip mall with food. Which means we must have been (circling) on the only road they forgot to develop. Not even a family bar/restaurant a la Applebee's.
We settled on a Mexican restaurant after 45 minutes of tooling around in a place I will never live, and I thought...we should have planned.
Mexican is good even when it's bad. Unless you happen to stop at El Porton, which takes bad to the depths of inedible. A place where the speciality margarita is the"jumbo", the chips are cardboard soaked in water, and the salsa a lively combination of tomato sauce & jalapenos (this makes it "Mexican"). And it was packed. Upper-middle class suburbanites actually made plans to dine in this place.
After my chicken El Paso came out as beef, and I realized the only difference between the enchilada and burrito was the size of the tortilla, I needed more tequila. This I knew, was the one thing that would be good--you simply cannot hurt something that comes straight out of a bottle. Bottoms up, two shots of Patron.
So what's this?
That would be my $31.95 margarita. $25 shots of Patron. GREAT idea. We forgot the word "silver" and thus, $100 for shitty mexican. I assure you we were the largest two-person ticket that place has ever seen.
Off to the concert, dinner behind me, it's all good...I'm staying positive.
The Verizon Wireless Amphitheater is a lovely venue. If you're geriatric.
When I go to a concert, I sing and I dance. And when I can't, I'm not happy. As was evident at a Billy Joel concert sometime in early 2000 when I slapped the balding middle-age buzz kill that kept kicking my friend's chair. Because she was dancing, at a concert. For the record, he got thrown out.
This was the Steve Miller Band, a.k.a. the midnight toker? I don't care if he's 70-ish, there should have been hoards of former hippies sparking up in the lawn all smiles. While I spotted a few wandering aimlessly, the majority of attendees were card-carrying members of the middle-age variety. The problem?
No lawn. Fo' shizzle. My motivating factor in buying these tickets! There would be no bare feet, soft grass and drunken swaying for me tonight.
What to do but once again, drink. I love big old $10 concert beers, and what a way to stay positive. Something just fun about them. Unless of course some fool decides it's a good idea to punch a hole in the bottom of the cup and cover it with a magnet. Apparently a new way of dispensing beer, with terrible results for the consumer. Just ask my dress.
And the 200 other concert go-ers now covered in beer, having wasted 3/4 of it. I didn't even get to keep the magnet.
At this point, I am positively over it.
So we decide to go find our seats. On our way, we thought we'd take in the view from the upper concourse before heading down, but we were told we "couldn't stand there" by the concourse Nazi. I could have taken him, but if I'm gonna get arrested, it's going to be worth it. I suppose the price you pay for a clean amphitheater in the 'burbs is an antiseptic experience with lots of rules. Too many rules that completely kill the experience.
I can't sit on the lawn, I can't stand on the concourse, but I can sit in my seat and quietly bob my head to the music. Not a chance. We abandoned our seats and sat in the concession area where we could move freely, drink beer, and bum cigarettes from guys in wheelchairs (yep, sure did).
And then there's Steve. Playing all his greatest hits at just a little faster tempo than I remember them. Yes, Steve, I couldn't wait to get out of there either.
Concert FAIL. I'll be sticking with my beloved Chastain (sponsored by AT&T), where even Lee Ann Rimes was a good show.
There are times I am certain I am mistakenly carrying someone else's Karma. Someone like Osama Bin Laden.
We decided to eat somewhere near the amphitheater before the show in Alpharetta. Admittedly, I do not know this area very well, but seeing as it is the model for non-descript, over-developed, sunshine and friggin' butterflies suburbia, certainly we could find a restaurant.
Certainly not. Not a single strip mall with food. Which means we must have been (circling) on the only road they forgot to develop. Not even a family bar/restaurant a la Applebee's.
We settled on a Mexican restaurant after 45 minutes of tooling around in a place I will never live, and I thought...we should have planned.
Mexican is good even when it's bad. Unless you happen to stop at El Porton, which takes bad to the depths of inedible. A place where the speciality margarita is the"jumbo", the chips are cardboard soaked in water, and the salsa a lively combination of tomato sauce & jalapenos (this makes it "Mexican"). And it was packed. Upper-middle class suburbanites actually made plans to dine in this place.
After my chicken El Paso came out as beef, and I realized the only difference between the enchilada and burrito was the size of the tortilla, I needed more tequila. This I knew, was the one thing that would be good--you simply cannot hurt something that comes straight out of a bottle. Bottoms up, two shots of Patron.
So what's this?
That would be my $31.95 margarita. $25 shots of Patron. GREAT idea. We forgot the word "silver" and thus, $100 for shitty mexican. I assure you we were the largest two-person ticket that place has ever seen.
Off to the concert, dinner behind me, it's all good...I'm staying positive.
The Verizon Wireless Amphitheater is a lovely venue. If you're geriatric.
When I go to a concert, I sing and I dance. And when I can't, I'm not happy. As was evident at a Billy Joel concert sometime in early 2000 when I slapped the balding middle-age buzz kill that kept kicking my friend's chair. Because she was dancing, at a concert. For the record, he got thrown out.
This was the Steve Miller Band, a.k.a. the midnight toker? I don't care if he's 70-ish, there should have been hoards of former hippies sparking up in the lawn all smiles. While I spotted a few wandering aimlessly, the majority of attendees were card-carrying members of the middle-age variety. The problem?
No lawn. Fo' shizzle. My motivating factor in buying these tickets! There would be no bare feet, soft grass and drunken swaying for me tonight.
What to do but once again, drink. I love big old $10 concert beers, and what a way to stay positive. Something just fun about them. Unless of course some fool decides it's a good idea to punch a hole in the bottom of the cup and cover it with a magnet. Apparently a new way of dispensing beer, with terrible results for the consumer. Just ask my dress.
And the 200 other concert go-ers now covered in beer, having wasted 3/4 of it. I didn't even get to keep the magnet.At this point, I am positively over it.
So we decide to go find our seats. On our way, we thought we'd take in the view from the upper concourse before heading down, but we were told we "couldn't stand there" by the concourse Nazi. I could have taken him, but if I'm gonna get arrested, it's going to be worth it. I suppose the price you pay for a clean amphitheater in the 'burbs is an antiseptic experience with lots of rules. Too many rules that completely kill the experience.
I can't sit on the lawn, I can't stand on the concourse, but I can sit in my seat and quietly bob my head to the music. Not a chance. We abandoned our seats and sat in the concession area where we could move freely, drink beer, and bum cigarettes from guys in wheelchairs (yep, sure did).
And then there's Steve. Playing all his greatest hits at just a little faster tempo than I remember them. Yes, Steve, I couldn't wait to get out of there either.
Concert FAIL. I'll be sticking with my beloved Chastain (sponsored by AT&T), where even Lee Ann Rimes was a good show.
You should be writing a sit-com "The Courtney Chronicles".
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