The Backstreet Boys: September 5, 2013

"I'll be the one to hold you, and make sure that you'll be alright."

Pop stars are the saints of this century, and BSB is Jesus. I'm not trying to be funny. Those boys worked their buns off last night. They seriously danced (in miraculous sync) for two solid hours. While singing. While singing five part harmony. And while sometimes wearing those stupid fedoras from 1995 that I'm positive they tried to talk their costume designers out of.

Shellz and Meep witnessed three hours of my fan-girling.

This was an event. This was big. Larger than Life. And I've really got to hand it to them. I suppose I could say I shelled out a lot of scrilla ($70) to scream at Brian Littrel from my very mediocre seat, so I deserve to want things. These men have made their living off of me after all. But, truly, what I expected of these guys, what everyone expected, was not what they wanted to do if they truly had it their way. I want it that way. I wanted them to sing every hit, nothing from their new albums, dance just like they did in 1999, and generally be charming, and thank me for, you know, just standing there. And for the most part, that's just what they did. How could you not despise "We've Got It Goin' On" after singing it for literally 20 years? And, yet, it was their first single. They do the body rolls, the exaggerated "AhHhH!" Their cross to bear.

The PR work for this concert was phenomenal. This was not just a comeback tour. The dudes have all learned instruments--stating they're not "just a boy band" anymore. And we're like, uh. Yeah you are. They were good to us! They would do a huge laser-light shooting, ground-stomping hit and then explain a little about the success of their new album. (I mean, it got to Billboard Top Ten...their 8th consecutive record to do so. Only two other musical acts can brag that in the world.) They'd give a sentence about what the song means to them (so we can try to care) and say which guy wrote it (they wrote this whole new album themselves, and, frankly, it shows). But, the audience still would sit down, literally be checking e-mails, go to the bar. If we had it our way, they would just perform Millennium in full and never progress. Our saints aren't supposed to change. That's the point. They're saints. We change, and they ground us. And when AJ and Kevin talk about being dads? We're like, "Uh uh. No way. You're not a dad. You stick to that chair routine from 'As Long As You Love Me.'" Which, by the way, was done extremely well--the backdrop looked just like the original music video, all those metal fans and bluewhite waves.

"Jam on 'cos Backstreet's got it." 

The truth is I will always love BSB. Incidentally, I actually don't know who they are, where they're from, or what they did...but I still love them. And as long as I (collective I) do, they'll still be poppin' out from backstage in that unified "Alright!" and doing the exact same typewriter arm movements I mimicked off MTV when I was in fifth grade. I mean, it was hilarious to me that I was there...and then I'd look around and realize...there are literally thousands of people here, arms raised in worship, chanting, taking pictures, feverishly trying to document the moments. We have come to collect something we think is ours. We clap at the alter, and the saints perform the same garbage city to city year after year lest we lose our faith.

They sang it on their first album, and they couldn't have known how true it would be:
As long as there'll be music, we'll be comin' back again!

Back Alright

YEAR: 1999.
SETTING: 6th grade locker hall.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
    Fran--11, artsy middle schooler, wearing flared jeans and a Limited Too cat t-shirt
   Alice--11, jubillant best friend, wearing leggings (potentially a horrendous yellow) and a different Limited Too cat t-shirt. Perhaps one that even says "Cool Cat" on it.

SYNOPSIS:
    Act One--Fran has just told Alice that her aunt got her two tickets to see The Backstreet Boys. This launches Alice into a frenzy of excitement...until Fran says she is inviting her next-door-neighbor to take the other ticket. Internally, Alice crumbles into a pile of 90s concert confetti. Fran explains! Neighbor and she have been friends longer! (A mere technicality! thinks Alice.) Neighbor is the biggest BSB fan ever. Everyone knows that! (But you're not, Fran! You, in fact, don't even really like them. Give me your ticket. Alice attempts to Jedi-mind her friend.) Neighbor's already been told. And there's no arguing with that. While probably realizing somewhere in the back of even her dinko junior high mind there are far worse problems, Alice cannot help but gulp the tear stings away.

DRAMATURGICAL REFERENCE:
     On concert night I sat on pins and needles waiting for my mother to come home and report there had been some last minute tickets available at the box office. She's a trooper for trying, but no dice. And I was so unbearably sad. I drank a Mott's apple juice. I imagined all the girls in my class singing along to "I Want It That Way." I sound like an entitled child (and I was when we're considering, you know, India), but it is so rare that I ever truly wanted things as a kid. Like, really really wanted things. Maybe I felt hurt by my friend, maybe I was predestined for this MFA in theatre by prioritizing all other wants and needs against a live performance, maybe it was hard because I "worked" for those tickets that never came. I lived at the radio--handset ready for callers, maybe the music legitimately spoke to me. My mom told me "next time" but I knew there wouldn't be one. Boy bands are a fad. I felt it in my gut.

EPILOGUE:
     Where will you be in exactly two weeks? Oh, me? I'll be AT THE BACKSTREET BOYS CONCERT IN PHOENIX! BOUGHT THE TICKETS LAST NIGHT. IT TOOK FOURTEEN YEARS, BUT I WILL BE JAMMING ALONG WITH NICK, BRIAN, AJ, HOWIE, AND KEVIN SEPTEMBER 5TH. AM I EVERYTHING YOU NEED, YOU BETTER ROCK YOUR BODY NOW!

And Lights

Light is a miracle too. There's this power that illuminates! That light even exists at all is incredible. And then when I think that I have the power to erase the dark from an entire room with the mild force of my finger on a plastic wall tab...and I am given this power--no, I feel entitled to this power--without even having to ever understand it?

Biking home tonight the AMPM looked so beautiful. Barf if you want, but it did. The purple top being lit up by a trillion pennies of light. Little spots pouring down onto each pump. Red 98 CENT sign in the background. Next to the block letters of the Mexican place I've got a gift certificate to. Ro smokes two cigarettes on my porch and the end is a teeny torch, making our faces glow. The jets crossing over my condo, blink blink. Blink blink.

You little wonder, you. Wish you could see it too. Baby, how I see you.

Judgement Days

Having a really hard time lately be nonjudgemental. Everything is bothering me from the piece of trash someone let fly out of their car window to General Mills for marketing their sugar terrorism.

I've been leeching onto the priority of removing my own beams, but the judgement sticks itself to me like window clings of tiny cartoon coffees at Dunkin Donuts. Mmmm...donuts.

Everyone's a screw-up in some way. It's basically inevitable. So, we must eschew judgment because there will ALWAYS be opportunities to judge. If you're judgmental, the world ends up looking like a dump pile. Because NEWSFLASH, all your judging does zilch besides make it easier to keep judging.

We all know this. But, here are the real questions:
1. If the judgement is right, is it ever pushy? If you're wrong, have you forfeited your right not to be pushed? Is actually the only right we own the entitlement to push and push back?

2. Where does it COME from? What makes me feel like its a good idea to be judgmental? I think we all act from standpoints of good--sometimes we just don't recognize our motive and our actions don't match. It feels like I'm trying to accomplish something good with judgement, but I'm obviously not. Why does it feel so natural to judge others if we're not meant to do it/if it's unhealthy/if it's not WWJD? You know? I sincerely do not know.

Yatchface with a cookie when we were roommates in 2010.

I'm starting with the man in the mirror.

I'm asking him to change his ways.