Slacking Off.

Oh. My. God.

It has been ages since I've been to a show; I realize that. It's also rare that I go to a band that I love as much as I love the Slackers. But tonight... Well, let's just say it's also been a long time since I've had inspiration for a blog entry at two in the morning. But the Slackers did it tonight.

Ah, I'm glad to live in Vancouver.

But tonight was... special. Despite the fact that I arrived at quarter to nine at the nightclub, only to find out that the Slackers weren't actually coming on until 11:30... three intro bands, anyone? And of course, you know with three openers, the first one is gonna be absolutely crap.

Sure enough, it was a woman alone onstage with a guitar. Promising, you say? Except that it was out of the groove for the crowd, and she seemed far more concerned with expressing her own genius than with actually putting the true feeling into the music. It didn't help that--from what I could tell--she was singing about potatoes in one song and bestiality in another song. Her closing song, in fact. Now, is that really how you want people to remember you? Making love to a monkey?

Band number two was ska and excellent, but I was conserving my energy for the big one. After all, I worked 8 hours today... I was just hoping to stay awake until they got onstage, and at least dance a little. I dodged the awkwardness of being there alone by writing in my journal, which is a pastime that I also don't get to enjoy as often as I once did.

Guy number three was another dude on stage alone with his guitar, but he had soul. Still, it was a little too slow for the venue and my frame of mind.

And then... I made my way to a good place in the crowd, in the dance pit but not too close, in time to see the bass player in a white suit, complete with hat, fixing stuff up onstage. The rest of the band took long enough to come out that people were getting antsy, but then on they came and they wasted no time getting the groove on.

Let me tell you, there is no feeling like the horns vibrating at the base of your spine, your consciousness. The trumpet and the saxophone blew straight through me. That's the feeling that makes it so that you have no choice but to groove and dance.

Of course, everyone reacted in their own way. There are classic groups of reaction here: the die-hards at the very front, leaning against the barrier with their ears exploding, in front of the moshers ever. You might be surprised that there were moshers at a chill band like the Slackers, but there's always moshers. And especially like at a chill show like this, it was only a loose pit, with the violent ones that want any excuse to work out that anger. I've spent enough time theorising on the mentality of a mosh pit that I don't need to get into it now, but I definitely was not in a moshing groove. Hell, 'moshing groove' is an oxymoron... It's not a groove, it's a need. But not for me, not this time, and possibly not anymore, and especially not without steel toed boots. I was on the very edge of the pit, enough that I wasn't getting dragged in and tossed around, but close enough that once someone stepped full on my (sandalled) big toe with about twice my weight. Ow.

My annoyance spiked at this point. I looked around to see how other people were reacting to the band (after all, I came to love them on my own and had no idea how they were received by others), and to my surprise and delight there was a guy nearby, apparently alone, who was not only grooving on the exact same vibe I was, but was also singing every single word along with them--audibly--and WELL. Solidly built, attractive, with small plugs in his ears and a funky hat on.

-faints- Could this be love?

No, Kellin isn't out of the picture... but he wasn't there tonight due to lack of interest and brokeness... and let's face it... he can't dance... won't dance, most of the time... Just because he doesn't get into that same mental place that I do.

Soooo... I shamelessly seduced the guy.

Well, not quite like that. But I made sure to keep him near me out of the corner of my eye, so I could keep us grooving together. It was an interesting use of my power... Fun! I figured he was probably gay, and didn't have the guts to catch him eye to eye and comment on the overall amazingness of it all, or congratulate him on his own awesomeness. The guys he appeared to be with kind of bobbed slightly and occasionally and rythymlessly, drifting freely away from him and only showing their (apparent) connection by leaning over every once in a while and going 'amazing' or something similar in a total white-loser kind of way. Not that they necessarily were--after all, they were there and enjoying it, so booyah!--but I had eyes only for the rare specimen of Boy With Rhythym. Especially when I read his emotions and he seemed really nice... not that I'll ever know for sure, I guess.

But anyways.

After another near-miss with the semi-active pit (it would collapse for a while as everyone forgot about hurting each other and just danced), I managed to manoeuvre myself in front of him. Now I could keep him in my sights, with the added bonus of his large male form being between me and pain.

And then I just danced... and that was enough. Over the next two hours, we just continued to vibe together without even a word or look exchanged. I knew he had noticed me just as I had noticed him. Our bodies would brush: natural in such close quarters. I just ensured they brushed more... A shoulder, a hip... innocuous stuff.After all, dancing should involve touching wherever possible, right? And I was feeling lonely, but not confident enough to make myself obvious. By the end though, we'd worked up to me standing directly in front of him, and we were dancing with each other without actually dancing WITH each other. Well, maybe he was planning a bit. I just trusted the vibe. And we danced. And was that something I felt brushing my butt? Could it be true? He wasn't gay as I'd feared, if so.

By the encores, he was occasionally brushing my hip with his hand and I wasn't sure whether it was on purpose or by accident. It felt like he was nervous but interested. But hell. He'd have to be dead not to be interested, with all the subtle brushing, hinting, and power-focusing I was sending his way. When his hands finally found themselves on my hips during a slower song, I informed him that it was okay for them to be there by putting mine over his.

And it was nice, dancing. He wasn't gross or sending off creepy vibes. Every time they started up another song, I thanked God it wasn't over... partially because they were SO PHENOMENAL. But also because the moment was just so perfect. And I kept thinking about what we'd do when the lights came up, what I'd say. I wanted him to know that I don't do this all the time, that I picked HIM, not because I was horny or drunk but because he was different. I don't know. It was a weird feeling. Is. When the Slackers finally left for good, I still didn't know what to do, although I wasn't really nervous. I made a split second decision after the music had been over for a minute and he hadn't made a move and caught his eye--just barely for a moment--and then walked out and straight to the bus stop without looking back.

*sigh* Now I'm regretting that. I have no idea whether he got the whole thing the way I did. I wish I'd at least got his name, something, if only to know someone else with my taste in music, to have another friend. It was so weird, the way I just walked out... chickened out, I guess, but there was no fear in my mind; it was almost automatic. I guess I wished for a boy that could dance that night and I got him, but it was Cinderella-style: sorry-only-til-the-music's-over-honey. The attachment I formed, the like, the desire to know whether all the emotions and personality guesses that I formed were right... Kinda crazy considering, like I said, we never really said anything to each other. But there was an awareness--

And now I'll never know. Sigh. I guess maybe our paths might cross again... Who knows? But I might not recognize him, my visual memory being the crap that it is, and I suspect if I made no signs of recognition he wouldn't either, despite the fact that I know I'm memorable.

On another note, although I can't devote the time and care to another long entry about the Slackers themselves (it'll come eventually, but maybe not for another year when they come back, haha), I've noticed that there's two types of Skafreak, band members and fans alike. There's the kind of broody-looking one that often has facial hair, often dark. And then there's the barefaced happy guy who has the kind of cheeks that either come from or just are perfect for blowing an insane amount of air through a trumpet or other horn instrument.

That crooning Bronx accent that I like so much is the brooder-looking guy, Vic. And he's cute! I always thought it was an unwritten rule that good Ska bands need to be full of old guys with young voices, but apparently he's the exception!

Thought I'd mention those things. Oh, and I should also mention that I probably partially enjoyed this show so much because I wasn't STINKING WASTED. Note to self.

Lah.