Anyway, as I said before, October 24th. 1998. I convince my friend to come with me (I buy her ticket, and tell her she's coming. Simple Dimple.) I go like, 8 hours early. But I go on a University tour first, so you know, all was not lost. To make a long story short, my friend and I hung around by loading entrances, saw their (supposed) tour bus driving outside the arena, and got kicked out of the inside of the loading area (..but got to see all the wonderous speakers and other equipment first..) before my non-fan friend started to get boerd and pissy. So to please her, we mall wandered for awhile, and when we went back we decided to take another venture into forbiddon loading zone land. And saw their (supposed) tour van, the handle of which was lovingly stroked by me, parked. And then we peaked into the (empty apart from roadies) backstage, read the Aerosmith label on stuff before some roadie guy started to run up to us. And so we lied that we thought this was a shortcut to the front before he could yell at us. Instead, he tried some stupid come on line. So we left anyway, and my friend joked that I should have gone with him, my ticket backstage. Not likely, thank you. It was a good thing we left becuase who did I see as I walked out of the loading zone? None other than Brad Whitford. Or at least I thought it was Brad Whitford. So I ran up and out of the driveway/basement/loading zone and to him (no easy task in three inch heels. Not spike, thank you)

But he was walking down the street by this time. So I ran after him. And he turned down this entrance to the mall/other place with stairs going up. Then he turned around and STARED at me. Of course, my brain by this time told me that he'd have to have a mobbing wish to be walking around outside an arena he was playing in a couple of hours, in broad daylight so I returned his stare, mentally thought how much he RESEMBLED Brad, and pondered what this guy could do about his poorly bleached hair (I'm sorry but it *WAS*..) and then he walked away.

I walked back to the loading entrance thing and this guy comes up and starts talking to me, and I ask and discover that YES, that just was Brad Whitford. Yes, I am *still* kicking myself.

Finally, we are let into the arena and evil people take my camera. (well, make me check it. I didn't bother to hide it as I didn't realize how CLOSE I was going to be) and I *was* close. It ruled. Wait for digression on this subject at the end. And my friend stood the entire concert holding my bag with earplugs in, and only commented on how fantastic the lighting was. I should aquire new friends.

But God, that lighting was SO good. And the rotating drum set thing, and the fireworks and EVERYTHING. I mean, even if I wansn't staring at Steven the whole time. *swoon* He was hot. Way hot. Major Hot. Boiling Hot. I feel like a bad tv show from 1980

Waited outside the now more gaurded loading entrance for the band, got told they weren't coming out by this usher guy who was in love with me or something. I swear, it was scary. He drives up in front of me, leans out of his window, asks me at least 5 times if I liked the concert, and informs me the guys have left through some bloody secret passage or something, to the hotel. Then others swarmed his car, Hah to you, bearer of bad news! Then I went home and left happiness wash over me, before sadness set in.

Now, for the digression I promised. This is like, and editorial. You don't gotta read if you don't wanna, so don't send hate mail. I was 18th row, floor. So I'm pretty close. And I do NOT care that there are people from many rows behind me going up the aisle. Why should I care? They do not block my view. I'm standing up anyway. If they are going to be drunk, or sit on their boyfriend's shoulders, or hold signs in front of my face then I care. But standing in an aisle beside me simply inspires me to take advantage of my expensive and hard-work-for-me-to-get tickets by following suit. And I don't mean shoving in front of people. I mean walking down an aisle until people make it difficult to get closer. And so I do. And 90% of the people don't care, or don't seem to anyway. And then there are the people, half of which I saw coming up the aisle and passing MY seats, who claw at my arms and yell at me. I'm sorry, I don't get this. At the concert I met/saw/talked briefly with pleanty of really sweet or at least helpful fans, so don't think I'm bashing anyone... but why do people feel the need to be really rude about staking out their space? Feel free to email me. And I don't mean the security gaurds keeping order, which I understand perfectly.
Maybe I just feel like bitching, I don't knowYell at me or whatever, just have a vocabulary beyond swear words. Thank you for listening.