Post-Modern Drunk: You May Ask Yourself, "Well, How Did I Get Here?"
David Byrne opened the Celebrate Brooklyn Festival with a concert tonight at Prospect Park. The line was insane for the show. I'd guess over 10,000 people showed up for a venue that only "seats" 6,500, and there was overflow on the lawn. The line weaved its way through Prospect Park like that Snake game that came with every cellphone ten years ago, or like the bikes in Tron. Wheels within wheels, man, all trying to avoid getting crossed.
While standing in the line, I ran into the roommate of a good friend of mine. I'd met her a couple of days ago at said friend's birthday party. She was as good a demonstration as any that I have no game these days. We talked for awhile at the party, and even as we talked, I realized that I was letting every opportunity pass me by. Neil Young, Madrid, Italy, travel in general, Italo Calvino--I let every opportunity for scintillating conversation just skp by, barely touching on things I can speak charmingly about, when given the opportunity. Hell, I was given the opportunity; I just couldn't handle it.
Instead, I talked about my ex. Boy, did I talk about my ex. Somehow, I looked right into this girl's beautiful brown eyes and told her things about exGiff that hardly any of my closest friends know about. I got confessional, to an extent that surprises even me.
I'm not saying that I was interested in this girl, but I did ebsolutely everything in my power to sabotage it, inadvertantly. When faced with a beautiful friendly single girl, I talked about the least sexy thing out there. It was an awe-inspiring flameout.
So a couple of days later brings us to tonight. I ran into her in the line for David Byrne. She used me to jump up in line. ANd we spend an hour and a half in line, failing in the end to get into the show but settling down on my blanket outside where a screen has been set up for the overflow crowd. During the first couple of songs we chat a little bit, which is not bad since we both like David Byrne a lot, and have complimentary favorite songs ("Once In A Lifetime" for me, of course, and "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) for her). Then she starts texting her friends inside the venue who she was trying to get in to see. I don't intend to, but I have trouble not paying attention to shiny screens, and I can see over her shoulder as she types the following:
"I'm on the lawn. I'm with a guy I'd rather" [delete]
"I'm on the lawn. Can't get in. I'm with Girlfriend Guy." [delete]
"I'm on the lawn. Can't get in." [send]
So that's what it's like to be kicked while you're down.
