I Love Rock n Roll

So on Saturday night we went to see Joan Jett and The Blackhearts at one of the local casinos. She has been on my bucket list to see for years. I’ve missed several opportunities to see her, for one reason or another. But this year, The Husband Dude bought tickets as a birthday gift to me.

There’s something about Joan Jett that I’ve always loved. “Bad Reputation” is one of my favorites songs and maybe it was because as a teen, I fantasized about being a bad ass and not caring what other people thought about me. At that age, I was too much of a people pleaser. I didn’t quit “giving a damn”, as Joan sings, until I was well into adulthood.

Now I should point out that THD and I have seen a ton of shows together but this year we’ve been very conservative in our spending, so paying a ton of money for live music hasn’t been in the budget. Maybe it’s a sign of my age, but it kills me to spend $200 or more on a ticket to see a band that I saw back in the day for less than $30. I mean, the first time I saw KISS in 1985, I spent $14 for my ticket. THD only spent $10 in 1977, when they were at the height of their early days. The last time we saw them in Tulsa a couple of years ago, I spent more than $200 per ticket for the three of us to go.

That’s painful for a cheap ass like me. Even if they ARE our favorite band.

So, because of our self-imposed moratorium on overspending for live music, a night out like this is rather rare. And you can imagine that we were really looking forward to it.

The show was set to start at 8:00 p.m. so we decided to get there a little early to find parking and maybe play a few slots before the show.

Now, we could’ve used valet parking because it’s free, but THD is a little really paranoid about anyone being in our car. It doesn’t help that the last time he used valet parking, they changed his radio station and tried to turn on his non-existent air conditioning on full blast (the ac has been busted for some time and only blows hot air).

Those kinds of things don’t bother me. We are the kind of people who drive cars until the wheels fall off, so neither of our vehicles are anywhere near being new. We don’t keep anything valuable in our cars, especially since I accidentally left mine unlocked overnight in our driveway and someone made off with about five dollars in change from the console and some CDs I had already downloaded to iTunes. Fortunately, they left behind $1000 worth of Boy Scout Popcorn I was going to deliver to people at work.

Well done, crack heads.

On the other hand, I do always feel self-conscious when I valet park because I wonder if I’m being compared to the rich guy that just pulled up in a BMW convertible with some arm candy in the seat beside him.

It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, what kind of bag you’re carrying, or how much you tip the valet, it’s impossible to feel sexy when you roll up  to the Hard Rock Hotel in a Chevy Equinox littered with re-useable shopping bags and Legos.

So we arrived around 6:30, self-parked ten miles out, and got our daily cardio hoofing it to the casino.

You know, when they first legalized gaming in Oklahoma, I got really excited. My only experience with casinos were the ones in Las Vegas. When I was single, my Mom and I would go to Vegas every spring break. Vegas (at least on the strip) is geared toward tourists. It’s glitzy. It’s bright. It’s fun. Everybody looks happy because they are there to visit and the hospitality people in the hotels, restaurants, and casinos are there to cater to the tourists’ every whim. The tourists are all happy because they are there for a few days to get away from reality and party, gamble and drink before going back to their regular lives.

It’s a magical, fun place. Disneyland for adults.

And it’s totally made up.

Local casinos are not like this at all.

Sure, you have the clanging of the slot machines. You have cute girls serving watered-down drinks. The hospitality people are still there to make sure you’re taken care of.

But the glitz of Las Vegas is replaced by the stale smell of cigarette smoke with earthy tones of desperation.

Watching people spend their electric bill money on a dollar slot machine kind of takes the fun out of the whole casino experience.

THD and I are in the middle of this weird combination of ringing bells, lights, and faces mesmerized by buttons saying “Bet Max” when THD makes the most astute observation I’ve ever heard from him.

He leans over and says, “There’s everything here from five dollar Walmart shirts to two hundred dollar coochie dresses.”

I look around, nodding slowly, realizing how right he is.

And then he leans over and adds, “And that’s just the guys.”

Being the cheap asses we are, we leave the twenty dollar bills we brought in our wallets and pull out one dollar bills for the penny slots. A little while later, we walk away  with our cash-in vouchers for twenty-eight cents.

After our high-stakes gambling, we meander over to the theater to find our seats for the show.

“There sure are a lot of old people here to see Joan Jett,” I say to THD.

He gives me side eye. “They’re all our age,” he says, with more than a little irony.

“NO WAY!” I say, looking around. But then I realize it’s true. There is a ten year difference between us and it’s safe to say this group of people probably do fall somewhere in this age range. I’m starting to get depressed.

Luckily, we run into friends and get a little distracted from feeling our ages. That is, until we go to find our seats and the actual show starts.

There are at least five ushers who look at our tickets and “help” us find our seats. One of them even takes my hand and “helps” me down the stairs to the floor. Apparently the days of fending for ourselves because we are young and able-bodied are over. We now require assistance. Just as I’m about to pull out my phone and start researching a AARP membership, the lights go down and the show starts.

Let me start by saying that Joan Jett is awesome. She can still shred a guitar like nobody’s business. She looks damned good too. And she still has that sexy smile.

I’m not going to lie. When she sang, “Do you wanna touch me?” I kind of did.

But the crowd was a little lower energy than I’m accustomed to at a rock show and I was really starting to feel my age. Half the theater was sitting down. Even though it was reserved seating, they let people come up to the front of the stage. Back in the day, this would’ve resulted in pandemonium.

I can remember going to a David Lee Roth concert in 1986 that was General Admission. My friend and her sister and I got there early and staked out spots at the front. When the music started, we were nearly trampled by 10,000 unruly fans and got shoved up against the barricades until we couldn’t breathe. We had to hold hands and fight our way out of the crowd, drenched in sweat, just to get some air.

Saturday’s crowd moved forward in a very orderly fashion and politely held their cell phones out of each other’s way to take photos and videos. A few Hipsters showed up just long enough to take selfies with the band in the background. The lady next to me sat down and tapped her foot in time to the beat.

Joan Jett music used to make me want to wear black and kick shit over. Ten minutes in this crowd and the only thing I’m going to be kicking is kids off my lawn.

I guess this is to be expected in a venue located in Margaritaville. It was definitely five o’clock in that theater. I don’t want to say things were mellow but I’m not sure anybody would’ve noticed if Joan had started singing about blowing out her flip flop and stepping on a pop top.

And don’t even get me started on the old fucker that was so drunk he was doing the whole “Live Long and Prosper” gesture instead of devil horns. THD started doing it too, just to be funny. And I’m pretty sure just to annoy me.

And then the show ended promptly at 9:20.

Let me say that again. The show ended promptly at 9:20.

The house lights came up and people started leaving.

“Where’s everybody going?” THD asks, looking around, completely confused.

“It’s over,” I say.

“Over????” He pulls out his phone. “It’s 9:20!”

“Yep.”

We start walking out. Again, it’s all very orderly. Back onto the casino floor with the ringing bells.

“Damn,” says THD. “Maybe we can make it home in time to watch Lawrence Welk or the 10:00 news.”

I laugh. “Come on, high-roller. Let’s go find the nickel slots.”

I’d like to say we partied until 3 a.m. and then went and ate breakfast at some all-night diner, preparing ourselves for the inevitable hangover.

But instead, we each put ten dollars in nickel slots and when THD won fifteen, we cashed out and went to Taco Bueno for tacos (me) and a burrito (him).

And yes, I cashed out my twenty-eight cent tickets.

Money doesn’t grow on trees, Sonny!

But adding insult to injury…we came home and turned on the TV to find our favorite 1980’s MTV veejays on an infomercial selling Time Life music.

I haven’t felt this depressed since The Fonz started selling reverse mortgages.