Nicole, Dave and I were walking in Calgary, down 17th Street on what's known as "The Red Mile", which is THE 5 blocks that have any and every restaurant worth eating at (apparently). We thought it would be a fancy splurge to put us in the rockstar mindset for the evening. After all, it takes one to know one.
(I'll note that this adventure was going significantly better than our first jaunt through Calgary a few days before, during the first TEN MINUTES of which I almost got hit by cars on TWO seperate occaisions, lit Nicole's bangs on fire, and threw a loonie at an accosting meth-head so he wouldn't rob me.)
That's a different story though. This story doesn't involve meth-heads, just two ex-cokeheads and one ex-junkie. We'll get to that...
The problem with our current situation was that although we were on the precipice of rockstar mentality, and though we had two cans a-piece of RockstarVodka in our veins (clarification: via blood-alcohol, not hypodermics), we did not have the rockstar bank accounts - a point repeatedly slapping us in the face as we read the menus (and prices) in the windows of each restuarant. We'd look at each other, then step off the stoop of each restaurant like dejected paupers, saying, "let's keep looking for something a little less expensive." That was the plan until we ran out of restaurants and realized "a little less expensive" doesn't exist on the red mile.
We circled back and crossed the street, heading for a promising little tavern called "Bob the Fish". The sign on the door said "Beer and Burger - $10" so naturally, it was my kind of place. We went in, sat down, and after a long while the girl who puts the "wait" in "waitress" came ambling over. "Can I have a burger and a beer special?" I asked. "We don't do that anymore," the waitress informed me. "Oh," I said, not questioning why they wouldn't erase the chalkboard that advertised the special, given how notoriously unpermanent chalk is. Instead, I looked back at the menu. "Then can I have a burger... and a beer?" What can I say? I'm a problem solver, folks.
The burgers were good, the beers were cold, and the empty double vodka lime glasses were stacking up like nobody's business, thanks to Nicole "Frank the Tank" Slipp and myself. The tavern, which was near empty when we'd arrived, was picking up momentum as fast as we were and when an Oasis mixed CD came on, I realized that all the people in Bob the Fish were there for the exact same reason as me - it was a pit stop on the way to the oasis known as the Oasis concert.
In the ladies' washroom I even struck up a conversation with some of the girls - one of whom was a tall, peroxide-blonde (think Brigitte Nielsen) British lady who told me about the time she saw "the lads" in London in 1996 - at the height of Oasis popularity. She said that at the end of the show, they didn't come back for an encore and the crowd was so disappointed that a huge riot broke out, causing millions of dollars in damages. Pretty impressive reaction. Suck on that, Oasis critics.
But enough about that. Let's get to the show.
The three of us walked toward the Saddledome, a RockstarVodka in hand for the road. As we got closer, the cans got emptier, the crowd of pedestrians got denser and I got more and more excited. When we got into the pedway to the stadium, I heard a couple girls singing "Live Forever" 100 feet back. I turned, scream-sang the next line and the large group with the girls began to cheer. Next thing, the pedway erupted into a giant mobile singalong, corralling into the dome.
At that point, I didn't even need the concert. I didn't think my night could get any better.
That is until the three of us walked down stairs and stairs and stairs, passing thousands of people in their crappy seats to get to the floor - then my night couldn't get better.
That is until, once we were on the floor, we walked past rows and rows and rows, passing thousands of people in their awesome-but-not-as-awesome seats to get to my third row muthafuckin centre seats - then my night couldn't get any better.
That is until the moment I saw Ryan Adams shoulder as he turned the corner onto the stage, when I immediately started screaming so loud I couldn't even hear his amplified greeting to the audience over myself.
Nicole, Dave and I were the only three standing - front and centre - in a sea of seated, disinterested Oasis fans. I jumped and screamed like a maniac. Each of the Cardinals, at one point or another took notice with expressions ranging from the bemused (Jon Graboff) to the amused (Chris Feinstein) to the flattered (Ryan himself!) to a whirlwind mix of all of the above (Neal Casal).
What else can I say about Ryan except that he played all my favourite songs (which isn't hard because all Ryan Adams songs are my favourite songs) and he played them well and he was shy and he was strange and he was funny and he was beautiful and he was magical. My night couldn't get any better.
That is until the Gallagher brothers came out and did nothing in particular except BE the Gallagher brothers and BE ten feet away from me and play the songs I've been listening to since I was eight years old and let me relive all the moments and emotions I associate with all those songs. It was like my childhood was flashing before my eyes and that too was strange and funny and beautiful and magical.
And even though it was pouring rain when we left the show, so I got soaked to the core, and I lost my friends for a substantial amount of time, and I was cold, and I was tired, and I there was a part of me that was already sad that it was all over, most of me felt great because I knew my night couldn't have gotten any better.
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