Seriously, I am absolutely, positively no fun. First of all, I’m all of 5’2. I like to say I’m 5’3, but I’ve realized that’s just wishful thinking. I’m 5’2. But if you ask me, I’ll deny this post ever existed and tell you adamantly that I’m 5’3.
So because I’m the size of the average Jr. High girl, I enjoy the concert…until everyone stands up. Then I enjoy the back of someone’s head. At this particular concert, that someone wore sunglasses hung from the back of his t-shirt. Classy.I spend most of the concert on my tip-toes or trying to perfectly position my head so I can see in between that tiny hole right there between those two people, except oh wait – one of them shifted and I can no longer see.
Reason #2 why you shouldn’t take me to a concert is that I don’t often like to sing along. I could hear myself sing along to my favorite songs any day, all day. It’s not that impressive, and if I wanted to hear myself sing I would not have paid $30 to do so. No, I bought a ticket because even if I can’t see the artist, at the very least I want to be able to hear them.
Reason #3 is that I’m a sit backer and take in all in-er. I’m most likely to stand with my arms crossed. If I’m really getting into it, I might do a head bobby thing. If I’m feeling all wild and crazy, my shoulders might move too. I don’t usually scream at the top of my lungs (because then you can’t hear anything that’s going on!), and I wouldn’t join a mosh pit if my life depended on it. I’d rather watch, observe, and take it all in. There’s so much to see at a concert, and I want to soak in all of it. My soaking it in posture is one of arms-crossage and head-bobbage. Talk about lettin’ loose, huh?
And finally, reason #4 not to take me to a concert is that I don’t like being told what to do. Listen here, artist. Just because you can sing like a canary doesn’t mean you’re better than me and get to tell me when to clap my hands. I’ll clap my hands when I dang well feel like it, and it’ll probably depend on how good of a job you’re doing. Don’t try and get me to make you feel better about your performance by giving you pity clapping. Psh.
[Okay, so I’m not really that awful of a person. I don’t actually think those things. But I also don’t usually clap…seriously, I don’t like being told what to do.]
And yet, even knowing all these reasons why I am no fun at a concert, Shawn still bought us tickets for a David Crowder show at the House of Blues in Dallas. Not just David Crowder. John Mark McMillan and Gungor were opening for him. If you’ll allow me a moment of transparency, I’ll confess that we were really there for the opening acts. In fact, we left after Crowder had done about four songs and had dinner at The Spaghetti Factory. It was totally worth it, John Mark McMillan and Gungor were seriously amazing. You might have noticed that I got a photo of David Crowder, and I got a photo of John Mark McMillan and his band. Why no photos of Gungor, you ask? My face was too busy being rocked off.
And in case you have no idea who these artists are, allow me to share: