You'll never guess what. Go ahead, guess.
Tonight I am going to a rock concert. I've never been to one before, unless you count Donna Summer and Cher, and I'm told neither of those count.
The band is called "New Order" and they're playing this funky old venue not far from my neighborhood called the Aragon Ballroom. C has played a bunch of their music for me, and I actually do remember hearing one of their songs on the radio. The title escapes me. Quite bouncy, good stuff, though their diction isn't what it might be.
I have no idea what to expect, really, so I did some research by watching three solid hours of MTV. I also painted a big poster that said "I Heart Bono" but I've since learned he's with some other band, so that was time wasted.
I had no idea what to wear, but C says a black t-shirt will suffice. Heaven knows I have plenty of those.
C also gave me a brief but informative orientation session which went something like this:
F: Should I bring a lighter? To wave back and forth in the air?
F: When they finish a song, do I scream "Bravi"?
F: Can I try stage diving?
F: Will there be one of those "moosh pits"?
C: If you don't knock it off, there will be.
What's even better is that in July, he's taking me to something called "Lollapalooza," which I gather is sort of like Tanglewood. I can be "down with that."
Word to your mothers, everybody!