Eyeballs and Fangs

The two major differences between RF and myself are height, and the fact that his intoxication threshold for karaoke comes well before his threshold for dancing in public, whereas I’m quite the opposite.

Welcome back to The Fillmore. It’s been far too long. Where have all the shows gone? I used to line up religiously on Sunday mornings to check tickets off my wish list. This was my first time back in almost two years, and I’d almost forgotten how much I love this place, and its place in the City.

head.shoulder.knees.toes

Appropriately enough, my first show with RF in over two years was this weekend on the corner of Fillmore and Geary. He drank enough to dance; I was trashed enough to sing along to every song I was able (and some I shouldn’t have attempted). If we had stumbled a little farther down Post, post-show, I don’t doubt that we would have closed out Do Re Mi instead of Dimples.

Hey Scenester – Your Favorite Band Hates You

Saw Mr. Little Jeans at Rickshaw Stop last night. She was adorable, and the set was pretty fun. But the night ended up being about a lot more than Scandinavian pop music (won’t hear me saying that too often), and the clear, black skies over Hayes Valley were humming long after the monitors got unplugged.

Truthfully, I’m in too optimistic a mood to complain about anything, but I’m also nursing a brutal hangover, so channeling that irritation into a mini-rant seems appropriate.

So setting aside how fantastic my Thursday night was, let me instead talk about how shitty it is to still be dealing with scenester scalpers.

I’ve been going to shows for a long time. A long time. And, of course, I’ve had to deal with plenty of sold-out issues: found out too late; didn’t have my act together; no money at the right time, etc. And after paying way too much for a pair of tickets to see The White Stripes at The Warfield in 2003, I vowed to never again overpay for a show.

(I haven’t actually been able to keep that promise to myself. Over the last decade-plus I’ve had to give in on occasion, but I’ve never really felt good about it.)

This isn’t about the ticket brokers, the companies that buy up blocks of seats to the bigger venues and then flip them for a profit. These aren’t real humans with emotions and feelings taking advantage of fellow fans. It’d be like getting mad at McDonald’s for making people fat. I don’t eat at McDonald’s. I don’t go to a show at The Fillmore or The Fox unless I have time to walk up to the box office and get my tickets in person. Boycotts may not bring a halt to the corporate juggernaut, but they make you feel pretty healthy.