[from letter to Barbara, 10/6/1997; and from The Fruicake Newsletter, October 1997]
The highlight of this month was definitely the Fleetwood Mac concert. It was the best concert I ever saw, and between gas money and buying a shirt, the concert itself only cost me about $35, because my Sister Saint, Gina [last name removed], bought tickets for all of us who went--Gina, Dave, Angel, and myself.
The whole day was pretty interesting, actually, starting with the arrival of Gina and Angel at Dad and Sherri's house. I got to hear a bunch of reminiscing about teenage drunken parties and how they got caught where and when and how they didn't get caught where and when--all about what my sisters did at an age when I spent all my time listening to music in my basement bedroom with my cat and my homework. Then we actually got into the car to get out of town, and I needed to get some money out of a cash machine. Dave drove into one of the empty handicapped parking spaces, and Gina very convincingly went into Convulsion of the Retard to help the oddly parked car look more authentic. I still don't know if it was the alcohol in her that made her so convincing, or if she was genuinely talented in this employment. I enjoyed it, in any case.
Much of the time before the concert was spent standing around waiting for people to go to the bathroom. I was given the rare privilege of being the token ID possessor, for a guy who didn't even ask me for one. The concert finally began, and I no longer lived in the world as I usually knew it. I was not drinking (blech), I was not doing drugs (gag), but this was Fleetwood Mac. I don't know if any of you understand this. This is a group of five geniuses who are together on tour not only for the first time in fifteen years, but for the first time sober (which certainly made a difference; I could tell). For over two years I lived in the land of Songbirds, Tusks and Gypsies. I was actually in a place in time I always believed would be just an impossible dream--and then Stevie Nicks reversed her famous question and sold me one. I was like a child waiting to see Santa Claus. My physiological state was never normal during the course of all this familiar music made so much more vivid, I was in a locked state of excitement. I actually jumped up and down. I clapped until my arms and hands actually hurt. I never wanted to sit down (and neither did Angel or Dave or Gina), and so really pissed off the people behind us. One guy actually pinched my side to get me to "sit the [censored] down!" It didn't phase me. I was living a conscious dream. A lot went on that night that in other situations could have really upset me, but Fleetwood Mac always made it all better.
I just can't explain to you how much fun I had--I hadn't felt that high since I graduated from high school. I was like a little kid seeing Santa Claus.
And I owe it all to Gina.
Admittedly I didn't do any hooting or hollering, but I did clap like an idiot, even jumped up and down I got so excited. It was so cool I was almost able to ignore the fact Gina was drunk off her ass (but not quite). That was pretty disappointing. Then Angel, my other sister, tried to talk to me about her same-sex sexual experience and actually trying to tell me she's bisexual--but regardless of how many times she told me "I'm not drunk, I'm just buzzed. I'm not Gina."--I can't help but to think that her drinking might have brought this up. I thought it had the implications of extremely serious discussion while she said she didn't take it seriously--I wanted seriousness though, and this was not the time or the place to be discussing it.
Once the concert had begun, though, I was able to just forget about everything and jump and dance. The only part I didn't like was when Angel and Dave (Gina's ex husband, also drunk) left me alone with Gina so they could get more beer. Gina had this compulsion to hang on me for much longer periods of time than I was comfortable with (this was indeed the first time ever that I had been in the company of someone that drunk), and Angel and Dave were gone for such a long time I was beginning to get pretty pissed about it. Gina wouldn't sit down and that didn't help the fact that the people behind us didn't think we sat down nearly enough to let them get enough rest and see the band at the same time (at one point a guy pinched me in the side to get me to "sit the fuck down"). Other than that, though, the concert was great.
Two more interesting things about it, though: at one point Dave was handed a marijuana pipe by the guy sitting in front of him, and Gina tried to smoke it from the wrong end. There was also a middle-aged lady sitting in front of us, and she actually had the gall to turn and ask me "Do you know what this means?"--as she raised her hand in the peace sign. Does she never watch TV, or even leave her house? Has she lived in some abandoned log cabin since 1979? Members of my generation use that sign all the time.
The band had four encores--one of which, of course, was the obligatory Songbird. The band went away, the lights went up, and as we all just sort of sat there in a daze, Angel suddenly told me she thought my eyes were pretty. I guess that shows what she knows. She told me to look on the ground for change as we went out of the Tacoma Dome, and I found none. I almost became a designated driver, but I couldn't remember what to do first--put the car in drive or turn the ignition. Dave drove, and he actually drove much better than I ever would have. He talked to someone on his cell-phone the whole way home, trying to get some guy to meet them somewhere so he and Angel could meet, and I decided I want to go home. Angel told me later the guy was fat and ugly.