"Brunette on Blonde" by Veronica Zolotoochin

Are You Ever too Old to go to a Rock Concert? No
by Veronica Zolotoochin

You’d think that would be the end of the article—question, answer, let’s move on. But you’d be wrong. This entry was composed by Veronica nee Zolotoochin, who recently went from Z to A in marrying her long time honey whose last name is Atkins. That she chose to write about a rock concert when she had a wedding impending goes to show that she has her priorities straight. She was a beautiful bride and I’m sure will be a gorgeous wife. –ed.

Are you ever too old to go to rock concerts? No. Especially if the rock group you go to see is older than you are! And when that group is a legend in it’s won right, well, ‘nuf said! I thought I was done going to concerts when Sharon and I went to the U2 concert a couple of years ago in Salt Lake. It was at the University of Utah’s Rice Stadium, and it was great! I thought “there’s no one else that I want to see.” Never say never.

[Okay, I want to insert a story here about the U2 concert. Not about U2, though Veronica was right—they were terrific—but about the invitation. You see, V. called me at work as the person she really wanted to see the U2 with canceled at the last moment. I had just a couple of hours to scramble for a replacement and my first thought was to call my friend and world traveler Sue “Zana” Zierle. After a few rings, she picked up the phone and said that normally she’d be happy to work for me but something just came up. That was fine, and I did get that crazy old woman Ruth to work my shift, but the following Monday I thought I’d ask Sue what was so important Saturday night. Turns out she had just cut her finger to the bone on a big knife hidden in dishwater and was on her way to the Emergency Room when I called. She showed me her bandaged finger. Now there’s an excuse, but you’d never guess by the tone of her voice that she was bleeding profusely. Maybe it’s an East Coast thing, to be nonchalant about pain, to casually mention you have separated ribs would you like to feel the gap? as Mr. Flintstone (from Maryland, jeez a lot of people are from Maryland these days) does. –ed.]

It was just a few months ago and my friends Arge (pronounced R-G) and Megan went to DB Coopers to see a local jazz band play. They were playing a lot of their own material. Like any good jazz band, they were tight! [Sister Melanie Calkins is thinking of an obscene joke right now. –ed.] Their ability to ad-lib and improvise was seamless and infectious. So infectious in fact we decided right then and there that the tree of us needed to go out again. Blondie came up.

“Yeah!”
“We should go!”
“I LOVE Blondie!”

Veronica Zolotoochin

We said this after two bottles of wine and a couple of cocktails [following a bout of “I LOVE you, man,” “No, I love YOU, man” –ed.]. Who remembers the promises made under intoxication? [Once she promised to give me a hundred million trillion dollars from her bank but she never did. –ed.]

A week later, Megan e-mails me that she has bought the tickets for the three of us and Arge wants to take us out to dinner. “What can I do?” I ask. Nothing it seems. These two crazy broads were treating me to a very early birthday present. My birthday isn’t until the end of October. [I’m thinking this is some sort of a hint. –ed.] I arranged to take the next day off work as I intended to stay up all night partying [not what you think, Mr Enigma. –ed.] with the ultimate golden-haired girl.

The Ultimate Golden-Haired Girl

The day of the concert came, and we met at Arge’s house. From there we went across town to the E-Center. We stopped at chili’s for some drinks and a bite to eat. Arge and I couldn’t really eat, so we munched on tortillas and such. Then came time to groove to the enchanting sounds of Blondie!

We walked across the street, noting the parking lot was not all that full. No worries, we thought, it was still the opening band, Big Fish. [They sing songs about lesbians, you’d like them. –ed.] We purchased our beers and proceeded to find our seats. They were in the font row of the bleacher area, dead center of the stage. WOW! They [the Nazi security types Utah favors –ed.] allowed us to move to the floor, back to our seats, back to the floor and so on. [This is amazing. The Forth Reich has been super uptight about the audience leaving their seats, even to dance next to them, since the AC/DC trampling incident a few years back. –ed.]

Big Fish ended its gig and the arena was not even full! The seats on the lower level were only about a third full, while the upper bowl was completely empty. The folks around here just didn’t know what they were missing, which was one hell of a show. Ms Harry was a little older (aren’t we all?), but nonetheless, the best dancer this side of Josephine Baker. She shook it, moved it, whirled it. Her sound was clean and powerful. The band either couldn’t see that there weren’t that may people in attendance, or they didn’t care, ‘cause they played as if they were playing the Coliseum. The new material was, well, new. It was definitely Blondie, updated. And the old stuff, well, rocked. The only complaint I have is that we didn’t get to hang with them after the show. [She had the same complaint after the U2 show. –ed.]

This should be my last concert. Unless I can get backstage passes to a Sting concert or something. (From vol. 11) Back to Cobra Guests Back to Cobra Music