Mental!

I had a rude awakening on Saturday night: I am no longer twenty-one and it is far more difficult to stand around listening to bands.  But I really did enjoy myself at the Mental as Anything concert.  Stood right at the front, I did, with two friends and danced to ''Romeo and Juliet", and "Come Around", and "Mr Natural", and, oh lots and lots, really.  When I dance, I am respectful.  Unlike the drunken slattern who lurched and elbowed and staggered her way next to me, and if you're reading this, you dipshit, waving your arms and reeling about like a sailor fresh from the boat on shore leave does not constitute dancing, okay?  I had a flashback to the time when I was twenty-three at a Hoodoo Gurus concert, and was standing in front of three brain-dead retards who thought they'd partake in the dance craze of the time, slam-dancing.   For those of you old enough, and  unfortunate enough to remember, you will no doubt be gnashing your teeth as you remember.  For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, this ludicrous practice entailed launching yourself at an angle and 'slamming' into the next person.  Some nuggety fuckhead behind me almost knocked me clean out of my shoes.  I turned, and shoved him really hard.  I'm not a bulky person, and at twenty-three was quite slim, but anger and adrenaline are powerful accelerants.  I shoved that guy even further than he had knocked me.  And he was oblivious!  I think he thought I was joining in the act.  My cousin, with whom I had been trying to watch the show, complained of feeling faint, so I took her outside.  On the way, I spoke to a bouncer and pointed to the fuckhead, and complained and demanded the bouncer do his job and remove the carbuncle of humanity, but he didn't. 

But back to attending the Mentals as a forty-eight year old.  Yes.  I had this complete she-fool swaying, and doing some kind of interpretive dance (interpreting the pattern of the spastic emu and acting like she was fighting an anaconda), and getting in my personal space.  Memo to all lunatic dancers: your right to extend your fist ends where someone else's nose begins.  Understand that concept?  She was sitting on the speaker boxes, and almost knocked my drink over.  Now, I don't drink much, but given the price of alcohol at this venue, I would have been exceedingly angry had she wasted my vodka/lime/soda.  Whilst having her fat arse parked on the boxes, she leaned over stage-wards with her camera/phone, shrieking and squawking like a scalded parrot, screaming at Martin Plaza.  I'm pretty sure Martin had a 'Piss off, you imbecile' expression on his face.  As she leaned precariously towards the band, I did toy with the idea of hooking my boot under her ankles, and giving a quick manoeuvre that would have seen her topple over and onto the stage in an even more ungraceful heap.  But why disrupt the show, and give the idiotic skank even more attention?

But lots of fun was had, and after the lights came up my friends and I were lucky enough to meet Greedy Smith in the bar.  My friend has met him on several occasions, and introduced me, 'This is my friend, Simone', and the Greed-ster shook hands with me.  I told him something many fans probably do not tell him.  Most people say, 'I bought your first album', or 'I danced and had my first pash at the school dance to youse guys', but not I.  I said, 'I went to Nepal just after you did.'  I then explained my friend and I had done the same trek he had, and the Nepalese guide was very interested in contemporary Australian music, having just taken Greedy on a trek.  Greedy was quite stoked with this anecdote, I believe.  My friend took a photo of us, and it's a good one, too (notwithstanding the gurning imbecile photo-bombing behind us).

Well, it's off to bed for this blogger.  In two days, I am to give a lecture in a nearby town.  I'm pretty much prepared, and only have to speak for an hour.  I'll get though it fine, I daresay.