Rolling Stones

The whole crew arrives to walk down to the show: G$, her BabyDaddy, their kids Flora and Mini-G$, and assorted grandparents. Yes, that’s right, it’s Family Day at the Rolling Stones!

We arrive and find a good spot to set up base camp. This guy starts snapping pics of G$’s baby Flora. Hey, I’m no parent but I’d be completely creeped out by this guy’s obvious attention to Flora. And it doesn’t help that he’s wearing a skirt and his toenails are painted red. I’m all for Austin being weird, but this guy is…weird. He keeps kneeling down to take pictures and I can almost see under his skirt. Thankfully, I am not treated to a view of the goods.

There’s some band playing I don’t know, and then Los Lonely Boys come on. If I hear this “Heaven” song one more time…God, isn’t everyone else sick of it yet? BabyDaddy’s daddy tells me he likes good ‘ol rock and roll—this includes LLB. He can’t stand that rap, hip-hop crap. BabyDaddy’s daddy is easy to talk to because he just does most of the talking and all I have to do is nod.

I am the only drinker out of the entire group, so I decide to try the wine, owing to last month’s extreme Amstel Light dissatisfaction. After one glass, it’s time to double-fist. These should last me most of the show.

The Bloke, who has been missing for some time, returns to the group bearing gifts: wurst! It’s sausages all around, except for me, of course. G$ leaves the remaining two dogs on the blanket in front of us in their metal tray.

“Watch out for the meat!” she says.

“Don’t step on our meat!” I join in. We find our meat jokes absolutely hysterical.

Even more so when some guy runs through the middle of our group and steps directly in the middle of the tray. One of the dogs takes a roll but the meat is still intact. Whew. That was a close one.

We’re still waiting for The Stones as I’m dipping into the second glass of wine. Crap.

Oh, it’s finally time! The show begins with some fireworks shooting out of the crazy tall stage. Yikes! Aren’t there people up there? Mick is dressed in a flamboyant red sequined jacket and begins rocking out.

“Boy, he’s got some moves,” G$ says.

“I don’t get it,” I say, studying him as he flails around the screen. I am madly snapping pictures to record this event for GWH. “I mean, he has like 12 kids and he’s nailed hundreds of women, but he’s just kinda…gross.” Yeah, I know. He’s MICK JAGGER. But I find those gigantic lips repulsive. I have gigantic lips too but, hey, I’m a girl, and it’s just a different story.

G$ tells me that Keith is allowed to sing one song at each show. Sure enough, he steps up to the mike. Keith Richards…wow. He kinda looks homeless, wearing a striped scarf over a coat and a sparkly sequined headband. It’s almost as if he stole his outfit from someone else. Mick, maybe? Keith belts it out and I get lots of closeups on the big screen.

BabyDaddy is conducting tours into the belly of the beast—ie., close-up to the action in front of the stage. I decline and hang back, and then wander over to the bar for one more drink. Out of wine again, so I opt for the Heineken in the souvenir cup.

We get to hear a little “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” and then one of my faves “Sympathy to the Devil” owing to the repeated sound. I love that “whoo-whoo.” G$ and I accompany the band with our awesome lyrical stylings. Damn, we are good, and so are the Stones! They end the show with fireworks and we are awed and impressed.

In conclusion, those old guys sure can rock, but I gotta say Journey/Def Leppard and Tom Petty are both still topping my concert favorites. I know, I know, they’re the Greatest Rock and Rock Band of All-Time, but…that’s just the way I feel.

-Shakira 10.22.06