"Vince Neil of Motley Crue plays tonight at the casino. Is it more lame that I want to go or that I won't because it's on a Thursday night?"
This was a tweet that I wrote several weeks ago. My Twitter account is linked to my Facebook page, and out of all the things I've written, this has by far caused the greatest reaction. The final verdict was yes, I was more lame for not wanting to go out on a Thursday evening. At that point, I had no choice but to go - however the trickier part was finding a cohort.
Husband was never into hair metal, and when pressed said he would go "...if you really want me to." He was visibly relieved when my friend Jaqson agreed to accompany me. I could find no better chaperone and was thrilled to have her come along to the show.
In 1983, Jaqson and her mom took me and our friend Dierdre to see Aerosmith - my very first concert, down in Los Angeles. We went to junior high school together and for two years of our lives spent every Friday night at the Rollercade. She painstakingly drew band logos on the white boots of my skates: Judas Priest, AC/DC, Van Halen, Motley Crue, to name a few. What I would give to still have those skates, not only for posterity but because they totally kicked ass.
In those days, my concert attire usually consisted of a tiny concert tee, skin tight pants and included such accessories as a rhinestone cat collar worn on my wrist. When I was feeling especially classy, I'd use a bike chain and lock for a belt.
The clothes, lifestyle and music worried my mother greatly. Statements such as "Mom, they're saying 'Shout At The Devil', not 'with' the devil..." did little to comfort her.
So, even though it was one of the shortest concerts that I've been to, coming in at just over 75 minutes long, and even if it wasn't the whole band - it was worth it. Nostalgia can be sweet like that.