I Had a Mid-life Crisis and Brought the Kids!

[DirtyMartini]

[quote="luddite lady"]My confidence vanished when the guy at the desk wouldn’t believe that Laurie’s last name was real.[/quote]

Heh. Aw, man.

Glad to see the latest installment, llady.

[IndyGirl]

Great story, LL!

[nancyrose]

Oh, YAY! I LOVE the way this woman tells a tale!!

Can't wait to read more, LL!!

[luddite lady]

Part 17

We got off to a very slow start the next morning. My kids just did not want to wake up. I guess their rock n roll lifestyle was catching up to them. It was a beautiful sunny day and the plan was to spend it at Jones Beach, a lovely State Park featuring a great sandy chunk of the Long Island Atlantic coastline and, of course, the outdoor concert venue where The Police would be playing that night. I was chomping at the bit to get out there and enjoy, but my kids weren’t budging from their beds. I reminded myself of a kid on Christmas morning trying to wake her parents at the crack of dawn to go check out the presents. However, it was 10:30 a.m. rather than dawn. We eventually got our acts together and arrived at the beach by early afternoon.
What a great day it was! Living so far inland, my family is fascinated by the ocean and it’s always a huge treat to splash around in one. I scored special dork points on this trip because I took up a ton of space in my suitcase with a honking giant beach towel while leaving my bathing suit on my bed at home. Instead of swimming, I just got my feet wet and lounged on the beach watching my kids carouse like mer-folk. I kept my eye opened for wandering Nutters too. Dive and several others had mentioned on-line that they planned to spend this day at the beach. The beach is huge though and even Nutters don’t wear tube socks and Krypton green bikinis in the sea. So, I didn’t spot anyone.
The concert venue is situated just off the beach, right by the edge of the sand. We were just a little bit up the beach from it. At one point as I lay with my eyes closed sunning myself, I heard snippets of “King of Pain” come floating down the beach on the breeze. “Cool,” I thought, “Somebody’s listening to The Police on a portable stereo.” Then it occurred to my sun drenched brain that it was about the time of day when the boys did their sound check. I peered up the beach and saw a small crowd of people on the board walk looking in at a fenced in part of the venue. Like a shot, I ran down to the water and started flailing my arms around attempting to get my kids’ attention.
“We’ve got to move down the beach! Down the beach!” I yelled.
Only The Boy came running to me, but he thought I had said something about a shark. After a bit the girls came inshore too. We had brought a lot of stuff with us. A good deal of time passed as we packed it up and trekked 300 metres or so down the beach.
Dancerina and Sporterella moved with great reluctance as they questioned my motives,
“Are you planning to hang out by the fence there expecting somebody to invite you in?”
“Would you just desert us on the beach to watch a sound check?”
My inability to answer their questions with immediate and resounding negatives did nothing to speed the girls up.

[shyvixen]

[quote="luddite lady"]“Would you just desert us on the beach to watch a sound check?”
My inability to answer their questions with immediate and resounding negatives did nothing to speed the girls up.[/quote]

I totally understand LL.

[luddite lady]

Part 18
As we walked down the beach I caught odd strands of music, but I had trouble identifying them as Police tunes. I started to think that the sounds were indeed coming from somebody’s stereo. Given what I now know about the songs played at the final few sound checks, I may well have been hearing the boys going through a few cover tunes. When we finally settled at our new spot and my kids’ grumbling quieted down, I listened very carefully. I couldn’t hear any music now. The crowd on the board walk also began to dwindle. I decided that the sound check was over. My children decided they had just indulged their mother’s overactive imagination by hiking down the beach in the hot sun. I let them swim a bit more while I pouted a tad about my missed opportunity. Then it was time to head back to the hotel so I could return to the beach and really hear The Police without the aid of my imagination. (Hey, if anyone out there was at the sound check for JB1, could you tell me whether or not they played King of Pain. From other sound check reports I’ve heard, I don’t think it’s a song they usually played then.)
I still had not met up with Laurie back at the hotel. I did leave a message on the phone in her room though. I was sure to thank her for recommending the place. It was in a great location in a safe neighbourhood close to the train station for Manhattan and a short drive from Jones Beach. I don’t think the boys had such nice digs during their first couple of tours of the U.S. I had taken a little walk around the immediate neighbourhood that morning while my kids were still sleeping. I was so impressed that I felt confident about letting my young ones go on their own to the supermarket next door.
I handed my three some good old U.S. dollars and sent them grocery shopping while I got freshened up for the concert. No shopping list! Of course, they came back with a load of junk food but also a fair number of frozen microwaveable entrees. God bless hotel microwaves, mini fridges and their mini-mini freezers! You see, my home is likely the only one in the developed world to not yet possess a microwave. So, for my kids, buying, preparing and eating microwaveable food…well, it’s like they fell asleep and woke up in the twenty-first century! Their free shopping spree at the Stop ‘n’ Shop rendered them as much joy as if it had been on Fifth Avenue. And it bought me enough brownie points with my children that I felt almost guilt free about leaving them alone while I went to rock out at a concert. Thus, after three pecks on the cheek and a stern warning about not burning down the place, I was off to see The Police at Jones Beach, and meet a whole load of Nutters to boot.

[luddite lady]

Part 19

The weather and traffic were perfect as I sailed down the Parkway to the beach. The summer sun beamed down on a sleepy early evening slant that warmed but did not burn. The light breeze was set exactly to my likely as if I had access to some divine control knob. I was off to meet a slew of American and international Nutters at that familiar yet foreign phenomena known as a tailgate. There are a few subtle but important differences between Canadians and Americans. Canadians are steadfast users of the British -our but have happily accepted the Americanized -ize ending in place of the original -ise. There are differences in inflection when we speak, and Canadians don’t do tailgate parties. Or if we do, we manage it with the same artificiality as Thai food in Texas. So this was to be my first tailgate ever.
My good fortune continued once I pulled into the parking lot. There were five different lots but I had picked the right one and had parked only a short distance from the Nutter tailgate. I still needed to call Dive on her cell though and have her guide me to the correct tailgate. Sheesh! If Stewart or The Police ever go on tour again maybe somebody should make a flag or something to help identify the Nutters more clearly. Or maybe we could pick a colour we all could wear. Despite this evident lack of organization (insert sarcastic chuckle here), Dive led me well and I was suddenly surrounded by a bunch of strangers I knew by name.
First I was reunited with Madgrad and JenX and most of the Buffalo bevy, namely DM, smudge, Nancy, Mimi and Pat. Then I was thrilled to meet a whole load of folks for the first time. Forgive me if I miss a few names. I met Gina and PapaCat (and immediately understood and shared Schmaffy’s little crush), Charlie Arnold and wife, Dive, Conroy, musingrai, Copelandgirl_5, Jennym, Perryl, Drummer DaveF, AnaliaFer and stingingintherain. I was particularly thrilled to meet stinging, or Anna as I came to know her. If it weren’t for her, I may never have found myself in that parking lot right then. Months prior in a wintry Toronto, I was trying to decide whether to join what I saw as the mass hysteria and buy a ticket to Jones Beach, which at the time was dubiously the last show of the tour. Then I saw stinging’s short, poignant post on sc.net in a Jones Beach thread: “I’m going!” That was my tipping point. If she could make it all the way from Argentina, I could make it from the relative stone’s throw distance of Toronto. If she could take time off work for such a massive trip, I could easily incorporate a U.S. visit into my two month long summer holiday.
While I was meeting so many old friends for the first time, Nancy and her friend Pat came up to me and asked me where my seat was.
“Um, I can’t remember,” I said. “It’s just a bunch of numbers and letters to me.”
I pulled out my ticket and showed them it.
With a casual air, they handed me another ticket, “Here take this. It’s a little better.”
Actually, it was a lot better. It was in the orchestra, which had to be closer than a seat designated by numbers and letters in a section with a considerably lower price range. Wide eyed, I sputtered out an inadequate thanks while the two ladies smiled at me and maybe even giggled a little. They were starting to get used to this. Nancy and Pat were the same wonderful people who bumped me up to third row centre in Buffalo right next to the incomparable smudge. In the loveliest twist of fate, they had given their other spare ticket to stinging just moments before. The person who unknowingly brought me to be there was now my seatmate for the evening.

[Lilrock]

Hi Ludy Lady! Love the way you're telling your tale! More! More!

[English-lion]

Ooo OOO OO its getting exciting

[luddite lady]

Part 20

Stinging and I took our seats a little while before Elvis began his set, giving us time to do a bit of Nutter spotting. There was quite a crowd of them populating the first few rows. Jennym was seated close to us, just two rows ahead and slightly to the right. We waved, talked and signalled at each other a fair bit, much to the annoyance of the two grump heads a couple of seats over from me. When Jenny got up to dance to Elvis, these guys told her to sit down because she was blocking their view. They had no idea who they were up against. Although I had just met her, I knew telling Jenny not to dance at a concert was like asking Stewart to talk without moving his hands. It just aint going to happen. These guys even thought they could intimidate our tiny Texan dynamo by tossing swear words at her. (Clearly, they had never read these boards.)
“Sit down. We paid for our fucking seats and we have a right to see!”
Jenny was marvellous. “I paid for my seat too and I have the right not to sit in it.”
She barely sat down for the rest of Elvis’ excellent set. Later she admitted to me that normally she would have sat out a few more tunes to save her energy for The Police, but she wasn’t about to give those guys any satisfaction.
While Elvis was hot that night, The Police were freaking fantastic. They were tight, driven and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. It looked like even they were thinking, “Shit, we’re good!”
Once more I was astounded by Stewart’s energy and mastery. However, all three were caught up in the electricity, the chemistry or whatever you want to call that force that occurs when the three play a concert together. And of course, they were drawing on a huge emotional charge from the audience as well. The whole Police in concert thing really is something beyond the control of the individual band members. I’m not talking now about all the corporate nonsense that commodified them and sold them like neatly plastic wrapped process cheese slices. All that sucked. I’m talking about the creative stuff, the artistic stuff, the emotional human connectivity stuff with no real name that drives us to make and do beautiful things. All artists worthy of the label know they aren’t in the driver’s seat when it comes to that stuff. They just have to give themselves over to it and thrill to its rush. That’s what I saw happening on stage that night.
All these thoughts are based on things that I wrote down early in the morning after Jones Beach 1. In the intervening months my view hasn’t changed much. This is despite having read the many interviews and quotes that make it seem like Andy, Stewart and Sting are all now deathly allergic to anything Police related. I, for one, would completely understand if they did play together from time to time. I don’t see them ever doing another all consuming, potentially family threatening world tour. But I definitely can envision them playing a few select gigs just to submit themselves once more to that indefinable force. I would not consider any future shows as crass money grabs. I’d see them as the boys being artists. The tough part though would be keeping the corporate wolves at bay. To do that, the boys would need to be more than artists; they’d need to be bloody wizards.

[smudge]

Yikes, I'm two parts behind (makes a change from being three sheets to the wind I guess.)

LL - I'm adoring every sentence of your tale. Those pesky enablers are quite something aren't they?

(OT: LL and I shared a slight 'rabbit in headlights' experience having found ourselves in third row at Buffalo - I'd had a few hours to get used to the idea in theory, LL had about 10 minutes. Dealing with the practical experience was a little trickier for both of us, I think. )

I know it is very bad form for a reader to try and influence the writer (hey - I've seen Misery) but if you could incorporate the story of your daughter's magnificent JB t-shirt into the narrative at some point, that would be simply wonderful.

[luddite lady]

Part 21

After the concert and warm with a post-show glow, I milled around for a while in the parking lot with the other Nutters and some tp.com folks. Circulating among us was a verbal invitation to a post-gig meet up at a nearby diner. One of our legion of hyper-organized people even had copies of a map and directions to aid the tourist types like me.
Directions in hand, I walked over to my car and came across a small encampment of strangers tail-gating in the empty parking spot directly in front of my vehicle. They were a jovial little band made up of what appeared to be three married couples all in their forties.
“Well, there you are! We were just talking about you,” one of the men exclaimed to me.
His wife, or equivalent partner-explaining female, hastily pointed at my car’s Ontario licence plate, “We noticed that you came from out of state for the show.”
“Yes,” said a second man, raising a beer (evidently not his first) to toast me. “We were hoping to meet this mystery person who would travel so far to see Sting.”
In my mind I said, “Well, keep hoping because you haven’t met her yet.” However, being outed as a Canadian, I suddenly had a reputation of politeness to maintain with these people.
I smiled weakly, “I came to see the whole band, not just Sting.”
“Of course,” gushed one of the women, “But Sting is the big draw.”
“Actually, I’m more of a Stewart Copeland fan.” My smile was growing weaker.
“Who?”
“Oh!” said the first woman, “The guy that…” and she completed her thought by flailing her arms around in a very sad display of air drumming.
“Yes. The guy that drums,” I pronounced slowly, “The drummer.”
I was starting to wonder if they had actually attended the concert (or any musical performance ever involving a percussion instrument) when one of the men piped up, “Oh yeah! He was terrific tonight.”
“He certainly had a lot of energy,” another one offered.
My urge to perform a *headcarhood* (the parking lot variation of a *headdesk*) faded somewhat as I genuinely enthused, “Stewart was rocking all right. The boys were all amazing, weren’t they?”
“For sure!” The toaster raised his beer can toward me again, “But here’s to you and your dedication for coming all the way from Ontario!” At this point, I believe the guy would have toasted my bunions if it meant he got to open another beer.
The general consensus was that I was a pretty exotic creature, a thought I found amusing. Ontario and New York State are bordering jurisdictions. I see New York licence plates in Toronto all the time. Add to this the fact that I had been sitting at the concert with a woman who had flown from Argentina to take in the show. I considered sharing that tidbit of information with my merry group, but I feared it would be more than they could handle. I had the impression that they didn’t get off the Island much. I bade my new chums goodbye and headed off to the diner where I was sure to find the kind of company that could better understand this wandering citizen of Copelandia.

[Maud138]

Yay, she's back!

[luddite lady]

Part 22

The whole gang was already at The Sunrise Diner by the time I arrived. Apart from smudge and me, I believe everyone in the group was an American resident. But as I had anticipated, that didn’t matter much since we all hailed from The International House of Nutters. Grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk shakes seemed to be the order of the day. That’s what I call reliving your youth right down to the taste buds.
I can’t recall exactly what we discussed. Surely, we rehashed the concert in all its glorious details, both what happened onstage and among ourselves in the audience. Jennym retold her “Sit down, lady!” story. We also heard travel tales and hotel dramas well beyond the imagination of the Long Island tailgaters that I had left behind. Basically, it was soul satisfying to be finally face to face with so many people from different walks of life, converging from all over a sprawling continent and then some and to somehow share an instant and tacit understanding. I think we would have liked to stay at The Sunrise Diner talking together until we greeted the restaurant’s namesake. However, we all had to get some rest before a very busy day. The next morning would bring with it preparations for Jones Beach 2, a sequel sure to be at least as pleasing as its predecessor. Many of us, including me, had to go downtown and pick up our MSG ticket. Some had to meet components of the next wave of the incoming Stewnami at airports and bus and train stations. And I had to get back to the hotel to spend some quality family time with my children who had been checking up on me via cell phone with annoying and costly frequency since the end of the concert. Before I left the diner, Dive delivered to me the fabulous giant eyed Stewart t-shirt that she had created in honour of Jones Beach. It was marvellous to have something unique like that to mark the occasion, especially since the customized t-shirt I had made for the MSG show hadn’t arrived in the mail on time to take it on the trip with me.
When I returned to my hotel room, I was met by three pairs of crossed arms beneath three crossed looking faces. “What took you so long?” my children moaned in unison.
“Erm…I was enjoying myself.”
“Well, does it really have to take that long to do that?” The Boy wanted to know.
I began to try to explain myself, but my explanation was peppered with expressions like Super Cat, SQUEEE, CG5, Dive Mistress and Flag. I realized that I wasn’t helping my case once my kids started nodding their heads with the patient indulgence of visitors to the Alzheimers wing of a nursing home.
I switched tactics, “Look it. I told you guys not to wait up for me. Back in the day, I’d tell my mom that and she actually would listen to me. Why can’t you all be more like my mom?”
Then I suggested we all go to bed. This idea caught on when I reminded the kids that we were going into Manhattan in the morning.
“At last!” remarked Dancerina. We had been in the New York City area for a little over twenty-four hours and had yet to set foot in Manhattan. In my daughter’s eyes, this was a travesty.

[English-lion]

>soul satisfying <