The Police
This is what I did yesterday:
At about 3:30, this guy I know and my good self got a ride to the bus station from my British/American co-worker where we bought a couple of return tickets to Montreal. At 4:00 we were on our way to see "The Police".
Cool, eh? And we're just, like, normal/average/ordinary/everyday superwits, too.
The bus ride was relaxing enough at first, although my strategy of sitting not near babies soon failed when the baby parents relocated near us. Gawd. Babies. There otta be a law that once you've had yours nobody else can have any. I mean, really - how many more babies do we need? They're just going to grow up and you never know which one will be a Hitler or a Ted Bundy or even a Stephen Harper.
Quit while you're ahead, everybody else!
Fortunately, the trip from Ottawa to Montreal is only 2 hours and I was able to drown out the baby conversation (they weren't really all babies, they were one baby and a handful of toddlers, but the baby kept saying to one of the toddlers, "You're a baby", so the toddler felt COMPELLED to say back, "No - YOU'RE a baby, I'm not a baby", until the Dad of the toddler tried to help out, "She's just calling YOU a baby because SHE'S a baby", so the baby said, "No, I'm not") with plenty of scintillating discourse on a myriad of topics ranging through me and on to myself and finally over to I.
I'm kidding, eh. I never talk about myself in real life.
Anyway, we got to Montreal, all psyched for "The Police" (a band I have no knowledge of whatsoever and one which I would never in a million years have gone to see were it not for this guy I know and his friend who crapped out on him at the last minute so that he was cornered into tapping last resort me who is always up for whatever now that I'm footloose and fancy free - NOT!) and caught a cab to the Bell Center (Centre Bell).
Once there, I started to worry a bit because the last concert I went to was "Dire Straits" at Varsity Stadium in Toronto in the early 80s. I almost went to a Madonna concert in 1990, but I was pregnant at the time and it was at SkyDome and I just couldn't risk going into premature labour (a couple of months later I wouldn't risk taking an aspirin for labour pain because in spite of several months of pre-natal classes I was afraid I might SLEEP THROUGH LABOUR!!!). So, although I hadn't given it much thought until I saw the crowd and the size of the venue, I was starting to remember why the last and only concert I'd been to had been the "Dire Straits".
So, to avoid stress, I led the guy to a Tim Horton's across the street from the Bell Center (Centre Bell) and we picked up sandwiches and tea. Then we headed over to a park to sit under a tree and have our little picnic before heading inside for the show. While we sat there, I noticed two men smoking a cigar, down the hill from where we were perched, and closer to the sidewalk action. They were wearing semi-tough tee-shirts, black with heavy metal-type stuff on them, identical khaki shorts with pleats and pockets, and the tell-tale glasses that only cops wear.
"Narcs", I said to my fellow picnicker.
"Yeah", he laughed. "The almost, but not quite, identical outfits are a dead giveaway. It's like they can't help but wear a uniform of some kind when they're on the job."
"Well, let's cross over to the other side of the park to spark up this doobie". And I pulled a tiny little tightly rolled joint out of my bi-focals case (I was wearing my contacts because I am so much unbelievably better looking in my contacts, which are single-vision, that's it's totally worth not being able to see properly to be seen WITHOUT my bi-focals wrecking all my chances with rock superstars - but I always bring my glasses along in my knapsack JUST IN CASE!!! of a sleepover or somesuch possibility).
So, feeling cooler'n bitchin' we strolled across the park, sparked up the doobie, had a few tokes (two is my limit or I get that heart thing that feels a bit like grasshoppers in your aorta valve) and, not wanting to take it indoors (where No Smoking is allowed, anyways), we left it on a monument for the taking by loitering teens in the park.
Oh my, what a great idea that was, to be just a little high headed off to see "The Police" in, well, quite frankly - skanky ol' Montreal (if you ask me, anyways - I mean, how many titty bars does one town need before you're pretty much drunken hard-on splooge town).
I panicked a bit, just a tad, at the door when I thought they were going to go through my little pink knapsack with gold embroidery on it and I'd end up strip-searched and left to die of starvation and cold in some Montreal prison by the Surete du Quebec, but then I remembered we'd dropped the joint on one of those dead French guy memorials. And they didn't look to be searching anybody's knapsack, anyways, which, although a tad insulting when I thought about it later, was a relief at the time.
Being a little high, we concentrated all our efforts on finding our seats (first balcony, front row) and once seated, being a little high, never moved until the concert ended some 3 1/2 hours later.
Sting's son opened for "The Police". The show started right on the dot at 7:30, his rich kid garage band played for 1/2 hour (they were pretty good, but once I'd mentally slapped that "rich kid garage band" label on them, it was hard to get too into their set - all I could think about was how jealous all the non-rich kid garage bands would be of their equipment, connections, and state-of-the-art production studios) and then, about fifteen minutes later "The Police" took a sprightly run onto the stage and started up.
It was all so professional and courteous, by gum, it was one of the most pleasant experiences of my life. Not awe-inspiring or life-altering, as the guy I went with noted on our walk home from the Ottawa bus station (we caught the last bus from Montreal to Ottawa - "The Midnighter", we call it) - but fun. I'd say "hip", but I don't want to date myself. And who knew I liked reggae? Not me. But I do. The mellow groove suits me to a tee and while it's a dancey beat, you can do it in your seat. I don't really like the pressure anymore of feeling like I've gotta stand up and dance, I was happier just groovin' in my seat in the front row, first balcony.
Oh, and Sting? Well, I'd say he gives hope to all kids who start out looking like Malcolm McDowell, that's for sure, because apparently, whether you start out looking like Malcolm McDowell or Gordon Summer you'll eventually end up looking like Sting. As in, very good. I just don't know if I was Andy Sumner or the drummer if I'd want to be sharing a great big screen with him at a concert.
Standing beside a superstar rock god can make you look pretty mortal. Luckily, I was wearing my contacts and a super hot see-thru number with built in boobs so when I made eye contact with him on the big screen, he flinched a bit at my awesomeness, although not enough to throw him off his game.
Every breath you take...
