My First Rock Concert, My First Big Spender

This past week I experienced two “firsts”—my first rock concert and the first time a date spent more than a few bucks on me. How, you ask, did I get this far in life without experiencing both of these phenomena many times over? That is a mystery.

The Who at the Long Beach Arena. This was near-mystical experience, complete with flashing lights, crazy screens of ‘70s scenes, and what can only be called an altar, though I suspect most would say it was a stage. The much-larger-than-life images of flower children, half-naked druggies, lava lamps, and Twiggy were mesmerizing, and made me swell with pride. “I was alive during that time,” I silently chanted inside my sound-assaulted brain.

What was I doing in the ‘60s and ‘70s rather than going to rock concerts and getting high? I was “doing my own thing,” you might say—taking long walks in the woods and meadows; reading, an awful lot of reading, especially Egyptology, astronomy, and the occult; writing poems and journaling; praying, at least an hour a day; fashioning altars from flowers, grass, and other natural items; pen paling with Fut Lui in Hong Kong and Shirley Fiddell in Auckland; and cultivating mystical experiences of a non-Who sort, those arrived at through long periods of silence or simply “looking out” at the world and observing the air.

And what of the second “first”? That would be Alan, spending nearly $140 on me in one sitting—my Who ticket, a bottle of water, a hot dog, parking, and a concert T-shirt. And this was only our second date. Is this the kind of treatment other women are accustomed to? I wondered. And here I have spent my entire adult life having one-time dates with men who couldn’t even buy me a cup of coffee.

I don’t know if I’ll ever go to a rock concert again, at least not on my dime. A hundred-plus bucks is a lot of cash for a mystical experience, as I’m accustomed to getting those for free. It was fantastic, and I wouldn’t say no if anyone offered, but I can do a whole bunch of things with $140.

And Alan? In many ways we’re very different, especially on some core levels. But he’s playful—a great rarity these days, at least outside Ireland. And creative—he makes his living singing telegrams while dressed as Marilyn, Borat, or a Hooters girl. That’s clever.

Firsts are fun. I’m going to make a point of experiencing more firsts—a job that pays more than 30 grand a year, a B&B weekend with a lover, and one of my short stories published in a prominent magazine. Add to that a quiet living space—no traffic noise, no car alarms, no planes landing or taking off, no screaming neighbors. And why not go for the big time—a day of perfect health, the first in a lifetime from here on out of perfect health. Ah, now that would be a mystical experience for which I’d glad lay down 140 bucks!