Def Leppard and Journey

GWH and I settle ourselves on the lawn at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater in anticipation of an awesome concert. That, combined with an awesome people-watching opportunity.

“San Antonio is like a huge Fran’s Hamburgers,” GWH says, looking around.

There is indeed much to observe: the girl with a tanktop reading: Hot. Sticky. Sweet. (frankly, I’m disappointed I didn’t think of this first), the guy with the red white and blue bandanna on his head (wait, there are about 1,000 of these), and various awesome old concert t-shirts, like this one: Van Halen Kicks Ass.

Journey takes the stage first, and we are surprised. Isn’t Def Leppard supposed to open up for Journey, not the other way around? We discover from a fellow Journey-lover behind us that they are just on tour together, each playing equal sets, trading off who opens each night. Journey’s famed lead singer Steve Perry died or something, so they have been touring with a backup. That guy ended up with a throat illness so now there’s this new lead singer GWH likes to call Steve Terry. No, I don’t know why. But he’s good. He’s really good.

He and the band are clearly having the best time of their lives up there. There’s a guitarist who looks to be approximately 60 years old and whales so hard we’re worried about his heart. He’s wearing the most awesome concert gear ever: a red sleeveless button up shirt.

“You know, I think that’s a woman’s shirt,” I tell GWH over the strains of “Open Arms.”

“If it is, I think it’s okay. Just this one time.”

It’s time to refill on beers and I bravely volunteer. Once at the beer stand, I order two more and the guy looks at my nearly-empty cup.

“You’re going to have to finish that first before I can give you two more.”

I tip the cup back and gulp the rest in two swallows. Aw, yeah. Now, who’s rocking?

Back on stage, I return to find Steve Terry has changed from his previous chest-baring polyester number to a San Antonio Spurs jersey. With Ginobli’s name on the back. The Spurs fans are going wild.

“I’m having the best summer of my life,” Steve Terry says. “How about you?” Well, Steve, since you asked, I’m having a really good time here, but I’m no rock star with groupies!

Def Leppard takes the stage next and GWH and I are pleasantly surprised that we know so many of their songs. I’m holding out for my favorites though—I gotta hear some “Love Bites” and of course, “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Would it be possible for Def Leppard to play a concert without the Sugar? No way, I tell myself drunkenly. No way.

GWH is taking videos of the songs; so many, in fact, he has filled up the memory card on his camera.

Time for another trip to the beer stand. The guy looks over at me and raises his eyebrows. “You’re back!”

I’m not sure how long it’s been, actually. Twenty minutes? I am aware I look like a total alkie. “Big boyfriend drinking these beers,” I say, grabbing two new pints full of Dos Equis. “Huge. Thirsty.”

GWH has run out of memory, so he puts the camera down to enjoy the last genius rock ballads. The opening notes of “Love Bites” come from the speakers, and I start jumping up and down, grabbing GWH’s arm.

“It’s my SONG!” I scream, and belt out the words. My favorite lines:

When you make love
Do you look in the mirror?
Who do you think of?
Does he look like me?

Purely because it’s such a weird ass thing to sing about. I mean, this guy has issues, don’t you think?

But that doesn’t matter, because “Love Bites” gives way to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” GWH and I make out through the ending of the song. Aww yeah. Now that’s some rock ‘n’ roll.

-Shakira 08.04.06