I just got home from the Foo Fighters concert in Cincinnati. The concert itself was fun.
Other stuff around it was stressful.
I purchased parking in advance using StubHub. It was $28 for a location .7 mile from the venue ($8 was service fee) . Given that parking usually costs $20 for concerts, I accepted this.
I get to where I am supposed to park. A sign says $5. And there is no attendant. 🙄 Fuck.
I leave on foot and get lost, my GPS not working in the midst of the city. I apparently had deleted Uber and Lyft from my phone at one point. I sat on the steps outside of a bank trying desperately to download either. I get a Lyft to the venue for $5.
The concert was amazing. I was very impressed by the stage and its lighting. At one point, Dave gave a shout out to Youngstown (saying his family was from there; he was born in Warren). I extended my arms in the air and screamed. Another impressive part was that the stage was lit by audience members’ cell phone lights. He said they didn’t need to spend so much on lasers and shit if that was the case. He also commented, saying the crowd was so loud we were making his teeth itch.
I think my favorite part was in “The Best of You” when the audience just sang the ahs while Dave toffee on his guitar — no prompting.
I tried to just stand there and let the music flow through my body.
At the end of the concert, I walked to my car to discover that I had been issued a parking citation. I had the print out of my parking pass in my window, but apparently I was in the wrong set of lines. Had I been 180 degrees from where I parked, I would have been fine. I’m appealing it, but it still pissed me off.
The drive out there and back, I did my best to stay out of my head and distract myself. It’s hard when you are driving 4+ hours, or at least it is when you’re me.
You see, I had asked him at one point if he would join me on my trip to Cincinnati. He wouldn’t have had a ticket, but I figured he could occupy himself while I was at the concert. We could stay at a hotel, then go to Kings Island the next day, as his Cedar Point season pass allows him to get in.
I would have picked him up – maybe he could have gotten out of school early. I would drive. Get to the hotel. Relax a bit. He might have stayed at the hotel, or maybe gone with me downtown and hang at a bar while I was at the show. We’d rendezvous at the hotel. I’d recount the concert experience. He’d listen and pretend to be interested, all the while just looking forward to me getting into bed. The next day, we’d wake up early. He’d drive to Kings Island. We’d spend the day at the park. We’d split the driving back to Cleveland. Then I’d drive home.
Wouldn’t that have been fantastic? Wouldn’t that be more enjoyable that fucking drinking alone or at a bar?
But that’s not what happened.
I drove there alone. I enjoyed the concert. I got fucked over by parking. I drove home alone right after. I am in my bed alone.
it’s times like these you learn to live again
it’s times like these you give and give again
it’s times like these you learn to love again
it’s times like these time and time again