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Watching
the people is the best part." This is what my father used to say
about going to amusement parks. As a child, I thought he was crazy, man,
who didn't think the best part about any amusement park was the rides? Swirling
and dipping and zig-zagging around 'til you felt like you were about to
throw up- now THAT was what fun was all about! People? Were there other
people there? I only noticed if they held up the line too much and never
could understand my dad's fascination with people watching. Of
course I was young then. Things change a lot when you get older. People
tell you that throughout your life, and it is like, "yeah, sure,
one day I'll enjoy WATCHING the people more than I'll enjoy riding the
rides.....uh-huh." No one can tell you ANYTHING when you are
young; because you have invented life; you are the first to REALLY
experience it. I knew I
was heading in my dad's direction a few years ago, after the birth of my
third son when I discovered that even swinging on the swing set put me
into such a state of vertigo that I had to lie very still and focus on
the horizon for several minutes after just a minor swing. And rides?
Forget about it! EVERYTHING, and I do mean EVERYTHING, even the mildest
of rides somehow put me into such a state of nausea that death would
have been a relief. Whew. So I started people watching. Just like Dad. Last
night my husband and I went to a Matchbox 20 concert at our local arena.
For those of you who know Matchbox 20, you know that they are a hip and
happening bunch of cool skinny dudes with a heap of talent. For those of
you who don't, see above. I was really excited about the concert because
it was the first time in 14 years we had managed to break free of the
mom and pop routine and get out to see a concert. The
previous concert had been in 1987 when I was pregnant with my first son-
a Cindi Lauper concert. I spent that whole concert alternating between
worry that my unborn child would suffer irreparable damage due to all
the cigarette smoke floating around in the arena (we saw the concert in
Savannah, Georgia) and horror that my formerly trim stomach was bulging
so much under the very unappealing outfit I had thrown together over my
burgeoning body. This
time was different. I was pretty secure in my bod and outfit (or
resigned might be a more apt word), and though I don't enjoy second hand
smoke, the concert was at least outside which brought the hope of some
fresh air. I was, in my own words, "Looking forward to rocking out
to the dulcet tones of Rob Thomas." Five
minutes into the concert, which was supreme, I was more fascinated with
"Dancing Beer Man" as I dubbed him, than I was with the
aforementioned rock star. My hubby thought the guy in front of us, a
great burly bear of a man, probably about 6'5" and 300 pounds, with
a perpetual beer in his hand and a great love of motion, was annoying. "He
keeps blocking our view!" He complained. (In my
husband's defense, he had shelled out some dough to get us front and
center seats about 10 rows back so he really wanted to keep the band
close in sight.) I, on the other hand, was LOVING Dancing Beer Man. He
somehow managed to boogy from the area in front of his seat to far
reaching spots, gliding, dipping, shaking his head, rattling that giant
beefy rump, without ever splashing a drop of beer. The dude was
graceful! He
wasn't one of those "low dancers" either...... who just barely
move, tapping maybe a toe and one finger...... he was all over the
place. His hips were swiveling, his arms were flying (even the one with
the beer which added to my amazement) and his thick head of black hair
was swishing around to the beat. I was
bummed when Dancing Beer Man disappeared. "Where did Dancing Beer
Man go?" I screamed, over the ear-splitting music to my husband. "What?"
He asked, motioning that I move closer to his head so he could hear me.
(He had brought ear plugs from work which he had stowed in his pocket,
in case, he told me, we turned out to be too big of geezers to enjoy the
enhanced audible level- we never used them). "WHERE'S
DANCING BEER MAN?!" I yelled into his ear. "Oh,
that guy." My husband said dismissively. "I don't know, maybe
he had to go to the bathroom after drinking all that beer." I
doubted it. I had been watching the great big bear of a man all night
and it seemed to me that with the ratio of his body to the beer, he was
probably holding his own just fine. I went back to watching the concert,
when the REAL entertainment returned. Why, of course, he had to get some
more beer! He had another full glass in his hand, and was already
dancing his way down the aisle, dipping and spinning as he returned,
once again, without spilling a drop. It was a
great concert. Dancing Beer Man was amazing; shaking, shimmying,
boogying his Sasquatch-esqe body around in the limited space with
the grace of a ballerina, always, always with the perpetual beer. He was
awesome! Oh, and Matchbox 20 wasn't bad either. Dad was
right. People watching IS the best part!
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