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Friday, November 04, 2005

Dance Goddess or Pathetic Groupie?

It's already been announced that my super fabulous solid dance friend is relocating to Atlanta--she actually left today. And last Friday was our final chance to go out and shake our groove thangs to our favorite 80s cover band Notorious. At the last minute Attorney Friend couldn't make it. But I decided to go on my own in her honor. But sadly there were so many thing wrong with the scene:
  • Blending with the Older Crowd
I ended up going with Mathematician Mom from my son's other playgroup. She cheerfully pointed out that there it was an older crowd, in a good way--just a bunch of older people which is much better than a bunch of 23-year-olds, like I usually see in The City. As soon as those words left her mouth, it was like I was up on the wall looking down on the scene. There I was, blending in with that older crowd, with my companion thinking that this is a good thing. Did I really blend in? All of those people in their 30s, 40s, 50s. Okay, so I'm in my early 30s, but I don't actually think of myself as older. I'm a super hip chic, who happens to be a mom, who happens to be in my 30s. Does this qualify me as older. I think I'm going to have to start falling back on that every-so-popular mantra: You're as old as you feel. And I do not feel 30-something. Even though I rarely ever get carded when I go out. Although I did at this event. Did that simply mean I seemed to be on the young end of this older-crowd spectrum? Or did everyone get carded?
  • Can't determine: Is this Good or Bad?
Because Notorious wasn't playing in SF--rather playing in the SF burbs--there weren't many familiar groupies there to encourage with shout-outs and acknowledgements. That left me--in my official Notorious T-shirt--looking like a total loser. At least that's how I felt when they hollered out "Suzanne" at least three different times. Instead of feeling fabulous because I'm on a first-name basis with the band, it actually made me contemplate my coolness. I wasn't sure if I had crossed the line from dancing goddess to pathetic groupie. After one of my front-row, solo dance-a-thons, an older guy boogied his way to my side. And when the song ended, Notorious called out that they really loved my T-shirt. And this guy then asked me which band member I was married to. Did it seem that I was that connected to the band that I was actually related to them? Yikes. This was very interesting because when I saw Notorious in Berkeley a couple of weeks ago, Jay (one of the singers) made a point to mention something about his wife while we were chatting between sets (yes, I like to chat with the band... how else do you think they know my name? Besides the fact that I post comments on their Web site's message board?).
  • The Grand Exit
Any other night, Attorney Friend and I are still dancing when the lights go up and the band is already on their bus heading home. But I just couldn't do that this time. To not seem like a total loser, I had to drag myself away from the scene before the last song ended. I just couldn't stand to be there when it officially came to an end and the lights came on. It would be like putting an exclamation point on the fact that 1) I am indeed a groupie, 2) The band really does know me by name, 3) I really was there by myself--Math Mom left during intermission and I couldn't drag myself away that early into the show. So, as much as I desperately wanted the band to autograph the playlist for a keepsake/going-away gift for Attorney Friend, I had to leave to prove to myself that I'm not really that pathetic.


  1. Anonymous3:08 PM

    Um, have you not read my sad dedications and groupie-like behavior related to rick springfield? i'm okay, your're okay :)

  2. Anonymous3:09 PM

    that was from me, not anonymous!!!

  3. awwww, poor you. you wanted to have a really fun night and it sounds like it just didn't hit the spot. now, you just gotta quit your thinking too much about it!!! :-)

    ehehe. Rick Springfield rocks, crazedparent!! i've always wanted to be jessie's girl.

  4. I got to touch Rick Springfield a few years ago. On his sweating arm. Hubba Hubba!