Heaven is the whole of the heart
"Are you over 21?" burly bouncer asked.
I smiled.
"Yes, I am, but thank you for asking."
I held out my right arm for the I'm-old-enough-to-drink bracelet.
I should have known the rest of my night would have been awesome after that exchange.
We entered the House of Blues and his eyes lit up. I figured he didn't completely believe me earlier when I said a) it's not that big a place and b) not that many people would be there. My concert experience told me about 500 of my closest friends would show up. I was a bit optimistic... but close.
"I can't believe we're going to see the Psychedelic Furs," he practically squealed for the millionth time that day. His all-time favorite song would be performed, live, in mere moments.
After an opening act that only had me thinking, "Boy, my feet hurt. Standing in place is hard work," the Furs finally came on after an almost interminable 30-minute wait. Funny how during their set I forgot about the foot pain. I practically forgot I had feet.
This was the 4th time I had seen them live. I was older now than they were when I saw them last. They were just old.
But still amazing. Rocking. Weird. Punky. Fun.
I danced. He beamed. He danced. I sang. He thanked me for his ear plugs, which he didn't think he'd need (bass drum through the chest anyone? Yeah.). I removed mine from my ears during my 3 favorite songs only.
Richard worked the crowd like he does and being only three heads back (standing room only), I got to look directly into those eyes... *sigh*
Unlike the opening act, who I was shocked to find out had been performing for 20 years since they sounded like every YouTube basement sensation, drank beer on stage as they bored us with their "musicianship." The Furs, true professionals and rocking musicians that they are, drank water, Red Bull or soda, and rocked the house. The sax player made noises you can't believe that instrument can make. The drummer kept me moving the entire night. The funky keyboardist looked like Janice the Muppet and was mellow and hippie-ish. Loved her for that and for the sparkly Mary Jane's she sported. Bassist Tim was a towering presence who mouthed every word along with his lead-singer brother. And they all smiled with parental approval at the baby-faced guitarist after his awesome solo.
An hour and a half flew by. I am still singing their tunes in my head and seeing Richard's dancing and hand movements for every song.
My partner in crime is still almost squealing, only now he's saying, "I can't believe we saw the Psychedelic Furs. Thank you, thank you, thank you for finding out they were going to be here."
"Here" was Atlantic City, a dive I haven't been to since I was little. Now I know why. Dirty. Trashy. Neon-blazingly ugly. And I have never seen so many sad people as I did sitting in front of the slot machines. At 1 a.m., they were still playing. They'd be there all night. I just wanted to play roulette. I don't know why I like that game, having never played any of them before. But that's what I wanted.
$20. That's my limit. So we each pitched in $10 and I tossed it on the table. Quicker than the wind, we had 2 stacks of $10 in chips. He bet safe -- "odd." I bet on 36 (I had my reasons). The white ball blurred round and round, finally settling on 19. He doubled his $10 bet. I lost.
"Here," he said and handed me the $10 he won. Awww.
"36 again," I said and plopped my stack of chips on the last numbered square. If I was going to win, I was going to win with my number. I believed!
I stood on my tippy toes to see the wheel spin on the other end of the table. The ball slowed, bounced twice and landed, but I couldn't see where.
"36," the dealer yelled and that numbered square flashed with light. "Winner!"
"Woohoo!" I shouted, and raised my arms a la Rocky on the Art Museum steps.
She started stacking chips... and stacked... and stacked...
$350!
"All these? For me?"
"Yep," she said.
"You're done now, right?" he asked.
I wasn't. I bet $10 on odd and won then bet that on 27 and lost.
"OK, now I'm done," I said, and we took our $350 in chips to the window to cash out.
"If you like gambling," he said, "we should go to Vegas."
"Nah, I won. So I'm done," I said and smiled.
We decided to use our winnings to pay for the hotel for our upcoming vacation. So thank you, Showboat Casino and Hotel, for helping to pay for our next trip! WOO!
And thank you, Psychedelic Furs, for still sounding awesome, for still writing great songs, for not phoning it in (which so many bands who have been around for 30 years would do). And thank you for your part in an awesome night.
They'd put us on a railroad
They'd dearly make us pay
For laughing in their faces
And making it our way
There's emptiness behind their eyes
There's dust in all their hearts
They just want to steal us all
And take us all apart
But not in
Love my way, it's a new road
I follow where my mind goes
Swallow all your tears my love
And put on your new face
You can never win or lose
If you don't run the race
I smiled.
"Yes, I am, but thank you for asking."
I held out my right arm for the I'm-old-enough-to-drink bracelet.
I should have known the rest of my night would have been awesome after that exchange.
We entered the House of Blues and his eyes lit up. I figured he didn't completely believe me earlier when I said a) it's not that big a place and b) not that many people would be there. My concert experience told me about 500 of my closest friends would show up. I was a bit optimistic... but close.
"I can't believe we're going to see the Psychedelic Furs," he practically squealed for the millionth time that day. His all-time favorite song would be performed, live, in mere moments.
After an opening act that only had me thinking, "Boy, my feet hurt. Standing in place is hard work," the Furs finally came on after an almost interminable 30-minute wait. Funny how during their set I forgot about the foot pain. I practically forgot I had feet.
This was the 4th time I had seen them live. I was older now than they were when I saw them last. They were just old.
But still amazing. Rocking. Weird. Punky. Fun.
I danced. He beamed. He danced. I sang. He thanked me for his ear plugs, which he didn't think he'd need (bass drum through the chest anyone? Yeah.). I removed mine from my ears during my 3 favorite songs only.
Richard worked the crowd like he does and being only three heads back (standing room only), I got to look directly into those eyes... *sigh*
Unlike the opening act, who I was shocked to find out had been performing for 20 years since they sounded like every YouTube basement sensation, drank beer on stage as they bored us with their "musicianship." The Furs, true professionals and rocking musicians that they are, drank water, Red Bull or soda, and rocked the house. The sax player made noises you can't believe that instrument can make. The drummer kept me moving the entire night. The funky keyboardist looked like Janice the Muppet and was mellow and hippie-ish. Loved her for that and for the sparkly Mary Jane's she sported. Bassist Tim was a towering presence who mouthed every word along with his lead-singer brother. And they all smiled with parental approval at the baby-faced guitarist after his awesome solo.
An hour and a half flew by. I am still singing their tunes in my head and seeing Richard's dancing and hand movements for every song.
My partner in crime is still almost squealing, only now he's saying, "I can't believe we saw the Psychedelic Furs. Thank you, thank you, thank you for finding out they were going to be here."
"Here" was Atlantic City, a dive I haven't been to since I was little. Now I know why. Dirty. Trashy. Neon-blazingly ugly. And I have never seen so many sad people as I did sitting in front of the slot machines. At 1 a.m., they were still playing. They'd be there all night. I just wanted to play roulette. I don't know why I like that game, having never played any of them before. But that's what I wanted.
$20. That's my limit. So we each pitched in $10 and I tossed it on the table. Quicker than the wind, we had 2 stacks of $10 in chips. He bet safe -- "odd." I bet on 36 (I had my reasons). The white ball blurred round and round, finally settling on 19. He doubled his $10 bet. I lost.
"Here," he said and handed me the $10 he won. Awww.
"36 again," I said and plopped my stack of chips on the last numbered square. If I was going to win, I was going to win with my number. I believed!
I stood on my tippy toes to see the wheel spin on the other end of the table. The ball slowed, bounced twice and landed, but I couldn't see where.
"36," the dealer yelled and that numbered square flashed with light. "Winner!"
"Woohoo!" I shouted, and raised my arms a la Rocky on the Art Museum steps.
She started stacking chips... and stacked... and stacked...
$350!
"All these? For me?"
"Yep," she said.
"You're done now, right?" he asked.
I wasn't. I bet $10 on odd and won then bet that on 27 and lost.
"OK, now I'm done," I said, and we took our $350 in chips to the window to cash out.
"If you like gambling," he said, "we should go to Vegas."
"Nah, I won. So I'm done," I said and smiled.
We decided to use our winnings to pay for the hotel for our upcoming vacation. So thank you, Showboat Casino and Hotel, for helping to pay for our next trip! WOO!
And thank you, Psychedelic Furs, for still sounding awesome, for still writing great songs, for not phoning it in (which so many bands who have been around for 30 years would do). And thank you for your part in an awesome night.
They'd put us on a railroad
They'd dearly make us pay
For laughing in their faces
And making it our way
There's emptiness behind their eyes
There's dust in all their hearts
They just want to steal us all
And take us all apart
But not in
Love my way, it's a new road
I follow where my mind goes
Swallow all your tears my love
And put on your new face
You can never win or lose
If you don't run the race
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