Connie submits this report from her cross-state Democratic Road Trip with “the daughter.”


The daughter and I returned from our SIX-HOUR concert about 1:30 a.m.
last night.  I cannot remember a concert where I drew Snoopy on
the left ankle of the young man behind me (in red ink) and then, on his
right ankle, played tic-tac-toe with my daughter.  (It was a
draw.) Plus, I sprayed BOTH of the young man’s feet with Burberry
perfume (from my purse) since they were really smelly feet, which he
insisted on parking on the arms of MY chair. At one point, he grabbed
my notebook and wrote in it, “I have no idea what you are doing here. I
can't see sh-t, but keep this. Thanks and bye.” Earlier, I heard him
and his friends discussing how I had “probably remembered every
President back to Lincoln.” The sad thing is, they are right. He kids
me about “growing up in the seventies” and wants to know if I ever
“smoked reefer.” I feel flattered that he thinks I “grew up in the
70's.”  That makes me much younger than I am, so I am enjoying
that comment. As for the reefer question: allergic, you know. Only
contact highs. I respond, “Yes, but I never inhaled,” thinking he will
get the joke. He does not.
 
In the parking lot afterwards, while waiting for the cars to move out
to the road, the car ahead of us contains a fake snake. One of the
young college men in the party puts the snake between his legs and
gyrates (like a Chippendale Dancer).The snake looks very real, so I
roll my car windows up. The daughter, who is beginning to sound a
little like Typhoid Mary, says, “Why are you rolling up the windows?” I
pretend it is for her health. It is really because I fear that the kid
with the snake might gyrate over to us and do God-knows-what.
 
Neil Young (of the old days…Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) comes
onstage at one point with the Dave Matthews Band and plays (a
“surprise” performance). My notes, at that point: “They are holding
this guitar note for so long that pain will soon ensue. They are all
watching Neil, for a 'sign.' He has, apparently, forgotten the sign. I
am beginning to think that the “sign” is that your ears begin to
bleed.  Neil looks like Howard Hughes on a bad day. He is engaged
in some sort of guitar death throe. Some blonde woman comes onstage
with him, but I don't think anyone has a clue who she is (I know I
don't). I ask, but the boys behind me have passed out, and nobody else
can hear me over the guitar punishment. Yikes!
 
The new camera (Olympus digital), which was fully charged before the
concert, only ran for 2 hours. The concert lasted 6. [Thank God for my
trusty little Canon]. The daughter got pictures of “My Morning Jacket,”
“Jurassic5,” and “Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals,” but where was
my digital camera when the Main Act came onstage? Why, dead, of course.
As I fear I will be after this six-hour marathon.

At one point, Ben Harper plays a song called “Burn One Down,” which
either has to do with forest fires or smoking marijuana. Other lyrics I
hear, but don't know: “Kick your b-tt.” “Plastic.” “F— the
pResident.” “I always have to steal my kisses from you.” “This is a
song about freedom. There's some people who smoke a lot of weed, cause
some of those [bleep] haven't gotten off the couch for two years. Then,
that [bleep] wanders out in to the street holdin' his remote and
getting his groove on. If you ain't where you want to be in your life,
put the bong down, Homey.” This brings on “Burn One Down,” which seems
to involve a haze of illegal smoke. “Your choice is who you choose to
be. We are gonna' burn one down.”

Good to see that our college students are becoming more articulate
every day. Gives one hope. I hope they don't burn anything down while I
am inside it.
 
Back to lyrics: “No lives for bu—sh–.”  “He offered life in
sacrifice, so others could go on.” Neil Young sings (if you can call it
that), “It was just a legend. War was never known. The people were
together, and they lifted many stones.” I'm thinking this might be
“Along the Watchtower,” but I really am not “into Neil Young. He looks
like the Crypt-Keeper, from television, at this point in his career.
None of the young kids there know who he is, or who the old blonde with
him is. Then there is something about dancing across the water. Neil
seems somewhat uncoordinated, so I don't think he will be doing any
dancing across water or any other surface any time soon. It is as
though Bigfoot has been taking guitar lessons and has been unleashed
upon us.
 
I know three songs all night long,  including the Dave Matthews
Band encore song “Too Much” from the “Crash” album; “Keep on Rockin' in
the USA” and a version of Buffalo Springfield's, “There's somethin'
happenin' here; Stop, Baby! What's that sound? Everybody look what's
goin' down.” This is repeated about 20 times. I remember it was used in
a documentary about the Vietnam War that I used to show my 7th grade
students.  At one point, trying to be friendly, I say, to the
black guy next to me, “I took her to her first Dave Matthews Band
concert when he had “Under the Table and Dreaming” out. She was ten.”
The guy says, “Oh. Yeah. I remember that concert. I passed out halfway
through it.” O………K.

Now, Neil plays TAPS on his guitar. Why? We don't know. Dave and the
others are sort of glassy-eyed, mesmerized, staring at Neil. This
concert has lasted a Looooong time. Someone please make Neil quit!!!
The drunk guys from St. Joseph's, Missouri, or Joplin, Missouri, have
all passed out, which is when and why I draw Snoopy on one of their
ankles.  
 
The girl ahead of me is wildly flailing her arms like a windmill. Too
much caffeine, I'm thinking. This girl is known, henceforth, as
“Hyperactive Girl,” or HG. Every time I try to take a shot, she pumps
her fist in the air just as I shoot. I have a lot of photos of her
fist(s).
 
As usual, I attempt to pick out “bobbleheads” in the arena, which are
people who are making absolute fools of themselves. My God! This must
be the Bobblehead Convention. The violin guy onstage is going nuts, and
the guy wearing the Number One jersey with the page boy bob haircut is
doing something that I can only describe as NOT likely to  impress
anyone.
 
The drunk or stoned guy behind me (“Max”, says his NAME TAG) keeps
trying to bump my arm as I take notes, and, at one point, he actually
tries to relieve me of my notebook. But I'm too quick for him.
 
Ms. Hyperactive is now resorting to rabbit-like punching in the air.
The guy she is with is very tall and looks like the one who once played
Claire's boyfriend on “Six Feet Under.” He is wearing a shirt that says
“America's Music Festival to End All Festivals” while his girlfriend
has on a “Farm Aid, September 18th” shirt. I fear for Ms. Hyperactive's
safety, as she is so out-of-control that I think she is going to fall
over the balcony railing any minute.
 
Neil (Young) is doing some kind of geriatric jig.  Someone make Neil quit. Please.