Last weekend, I accidentally ended up at the Rolling Stones concert — the last place I wanted to be on a snowy Saturday night, but when a friend dropped a floor ticket in my lap, I agreed to go. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting much from the senior citizen rock and rollers of times past, but I went with my “brain open.”
I’ve been engaged in an ongoing battle with a friend who swears that the Stones remain “the best band of all time.” He never misses a performance if it’s within a day’s travelling distance. It’s odd to me, considering that he was barely a toddler when they were at the peak of their careers. Anyway, we made a bet that I would enjoy myself and he won.
The fist highlight of the night was finding myself planted beside Keith Richards, (and I mean about a ruler length away), and he didn’t look good. Still, it was Kieth and he is a legend and he can play guitar, so I smiled at him and we stood there for about ten minutes and watched the crowd. I suppose I should have said something, but it’s not like we are friends.
The second highlight was the floor. We had great seats, but we didn’t sit down — I’m a dancer at heart, but knowing we had such great seats for a mere $50 was a good feeling. And the Stones were great. I’m happy I saw them, and I know (after being so close to Keith), that I won’t be seeing them again.
When the concert ended we spent almost two hours searching for a cab, and my other friends didn’t find a ride for three hours. I almost resorted to calling Sam Sullivan and asking him for a ride, since he’s the guy in charge of cab licences.
Sometimes, it’s the events we don’t plan for, don’t look forward to that morph into the really good times. I guess I needed a reminder of that.