There's more to the story, of course. Around 3 pm, Thursday, a friend of mine, Lauren Hank, asked me to go up to New York to wait in line. Her appeal was the promise of never-ending love and adoration, but she was being silly. I expect those things anyway.
I enjoy Lady Gaga, but not to extent of waiting almost 12 hours with the "hope" of seeing her perform. So I went for my friend and for the experience. Turns out, it was kind of worth it.
We drove to Jersey City and took the Path up to the city. I could have sworn Ryan Howard was on the same car as us. Too bad that wouldn't make sense. He looked JUST LIKE HIM. Really.
The Path dumped us into the city around 8:30 and we were in immediate pursuit of the sound of screaming fans and the many clicking of flashbulbs. Off to Rockefeller Plaza! We heard the roar first, the unified noise of a happy crowd.
Our quarry greeted us like a many headed beast of Dorothy. That is, thousands of gay men and screaming girls, Lady Gaga's main fan base. We walked past each row, staring at the waiting fans. They stared back through the bars of the barricades, lost little monsters in the Big Apple Carnival. They had their gear strewn about, all necessary equipment for a marathon queuing session. Blankets, cards, empty pizza boxes, water bottles, headphones, spilled out of bags torn open in careless haste. The buzz and air was like that of a giant camping party. Friends were made in an instance over card games and a shared pizza, group shots were taken, and the night was just starting. Some of these people had already been in line for hours before we arrived. Oh God, the headache was just beginning.
We plunked down near the end of the block and examined our chances of getting to see Lady Gaga in the morning. Here's what we saw-
Now multiply that by a few hundred and you're almost there. Also, add a third row between poofy afro kid and the caution tape behind him. For a whole block. I had no idea what would happen, but I was feeling adventurous.
From 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., the night felt like one big slumber party. Lauren and I played cards with our line neighbors, gulped down energy drinks and told our life stories, painted our nails... oh no, that was the guys near us. The fumes made me high and I got confused. The NYC traffic flowed past, slowed down in the wee hours, but never actually stopped. It really is the city that never sleeps, and we were a part of it.
A few times I walked around the corner to watch the line grow behind us to a ludicrous length. It stretched 5 feet wide for more from 48th street to 52nd. The worst part is? None of those people got in. Ouch. Here's Times Square at 3 a.m. Just from the corner to McDonald's, I was offered coke twice. Oh New York, you naughty city.
The energy of the line went from screaming cheerleaders to aerobics at the assisted living home. The guy a row over kept trying to sing Gaga songs, getting a line through and then leaning his head back against the barricade. Give it up, man. I was getting pretty haggard as the night dragged on, but I never fell asleep. I thank Lauren for her enthusiasm.
When the sun started coming up, so did the line. Weary heads started popping up, the make up was smeared from sweat and makeshift pillows, the hair was a mess, but everyone was smiling. Just a couple hours! I just wanted a change of scenery.
Man! Look at that ginger's jaw! Could cut a hand off. He was looking for a wristband, and I'm not sure if he found one, but he managed to sneak in.
Once security started letting people in, tempers started flaring up. Never have I heard such vitriolic gay sass. It was like "Will & Grace" went to the prison in "Oz". A couple guys were actually barred from the performance for mouthing off to a security organizer. Oh, they were just SO mad, like oh ehm gee.
As it turns out, I was the last person let in, along with a girl. We were feeling pretty "meh" about Lady Gaga at that point. But hell, I was there, and this was some bloggable stuff. I was pretty far back in the crowd, and could hardly see Lady Gaga. Thankfully, I was taller than most of the people and could see a short blond prancing around on stage, warming up and throwing around rehearsal directions. She sang an excellent version of Someone to Watch Over Me and I was happy with that. Also, this adorable Asian woman shirked her duties for an awesome view of the stage.
It was also easy to tell when Lady Gaga would start to do something on stage, because this is all I saw:
Everybody, quick! Compulsively capture every single moment on camera and shaky Handycam videos! Jesus, buy a new memory or something. These antics, combined with my backpack and headache were making it harder and harder to wait for the actual performance. I did get one shot of her, though:
Sweet moment, but seriously... COOL ARM, HANSEL. Christ! I finally cracked and left Lauren to find a bathroom to change clothing in. I came to the Starbucks on Madison with the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen. Clean, dry, and enormous. I took my sweet time, savoring the dry and fresh smelling clothing. I bought an iced coffee and went to the steps of St. Patrick's cathedral, from where I could still hear the performance. As an added bonus, I avoided the freak torrential downpour.
I think the rest of the day was spent at the Met and eating at Chipotle, but honestly, my body was just too tired to soak in memories. But I can say that Lady Gaga is better live.
I think in order to rescue my tattered masculinity I'm going to hunt buffalo using my tickets to see the Black Keys as knives. And then use the bones as weapons to hunt some dinosaurs.
Also, by the time I went to bed, I had been awake for nearly 36 hours. Never, never again.
Damn. I really should have waited until I was coherent to write mine. This puts it to shame.
ReplyDeleteOh, and just so you know, I'm crazy thankful for you actually doing this.