The Martinez's Join TaylorNation

                El Hubbo and my concert-going history is quite extensive.  I worked for an organization that paid me to help put on 20 a year for 7 years.  I’ve seen a lot of acts, in many different genres, and therefore it takes quite a bit for a show to impress me.  When we heard Taylor Swift was coming, I was intrigued not because I am a huge fan of her music, but more because I had heard that she put on quite a show. 

                We decided we would take the kids because we figured Taylor Swift should be family-friendly.  This was an expensive risk, as we had no idea if the noise of the concert would be well-received by the munchkins or not. 

                We parked the car and started the hike to the arena along with thousands of Taylor wannabes.  There was no shortage of minidresses, rhinestones, and sequins.  And that was just the mamas of the little girls.  I was feeling a little underblinged since I had opted for t-shirt and jeans.  (Hey, I’m the mom of two and wasn’t even sure they would let me stay for the whole show.)  El Hubbo remarked, “I bet there isn’t a pair of women’s boots left in a store in Lubbock.”  As a connoisseur of western wear attire (quite frankly, working as long as I did at the rodeo, I am without doubt an expert in this field of fashion), I was shocked at the overall level of tackiness I was witnessing.

                Drawing nearer to the arena, I saw Taylor had 21 semis.  Twenty-one!  No wonder it’s so expensive, I thought.  We trekked on and made it in, and I noticed that there were no long lines at the wristband stations for alcohol – of course, most of the crowd is underage.  Up the stairs and into our seats we went.  We were seated in the upperdeck, and I looked around for oxygen tanks thinking surely that was included in the price of our tickets, but no such luck.

                I look up and there were two HUGE video screens scrolling messages.  Apparently I could send a message to the screen.  And, possibly, I could win Pit Passes.  HMMMMM.  Fascinating.  Emma Lou immediately became a member of the “TaylorNation” and started sending messages like crazy. I had to save face somehow, and besides, I thought it more likely they’d show a 3 year old’s messages than a 39 year old who should have known better.  Ain’t technology grand?  It got even better when a message appeared that you could message a picture and have it shown.     El Hubbo held his handup and covered his face so I couldn’t send pics of him.  (No sense of humor, that one.)  My messages competed against those of pre-pubescent girls making declarations of love and loyalty to Taylor.   El Hubbo leaned over and asked me just what I was going to do if I actually won?  I said, “I am so sending you down there.”   Can’t you just see it?  A big towering guy (of which there were very few in the audience) standing amongst a crowd of squealing adolescent girls?  It made me smile wickedly, and I redoubled my efforts to win him those pit passes.  How many mad teenage girls do you think there would have been had we won? 

                The boards had all kinds of information:  there was a free covergirl makeover behind section 107 – oh yeah, like most of these girls/women needed more makeup.   I wondered briefly if they made them over into mini-Taylors and if this was perhaps a part of Taylor’s plan for world domination?  The makeup may be tainted with a mind-altering drug and the little girls would become little Taylor automatons.  I’m not sure there could be much else that could strike such fear into my heart!

                The lights suddenly lowered and all the little girls started screaming.  And then the opening act came out, and they immediately stopped. Obviously these were concert novices who didn’t understand the concept of an opening act.  About this time, Emma and Jake decided they needed a snack, so I got up and crossed over everyone (we were of course at the blocked end of a blocked aisle) and went in search of snacks. 

                The concession counter was a nice little frustrating experience.  Apparently no one took into account the fact that having THAT many adolescent girls and their bored mamas in one building might possibly cause issues with the wireless credit card machines.  Think about it – sold out show, every attendee with a cell phone and the added incentive of texting love notes to Taylor – lots of competition in the wireless airwaves.  However, the twenty minutes I waited for M&Ms (while being third in line), allowed me time to study something very interesting.  First, I saw her from behind.  Long, blond, highlited, teased-on-top hair.  She was highly inappropriately dressed in black hotpants, boots, and a see-through shirt. A very dark fake tan.   I thought to myself that she had to be a member of the oldest profession and was mistaken in thinking she could pick up some clients here tonight.  Then she turned around and I saw that she had to be at least in her sixties.  No lie.  With makeup caked on so heavy that you can forget about a chisel being required at night – this woman had to have a jackhammer standing by.  Her fake eyelashes were at least two inches long.  She caught me staring.  Several times.  But I couldn’t help it – it was like one of those horror museum wax characters – I wondered if I touched her face if it would melt partially. (Readers, be forewarned, if you go in public that ridiculous-looking, I have an inalienable right to make fun of you).  I considered referring her to section 107 for the Covergirl makeover, but at about that time I was finally able to get to the counter and get my M&Ms.

                I cross back over the entire row and sit down and El Hubbo leans over and says, “Emma needs to go potty.”  I roll my eyes and muttered, “Of course.”  I showed Emma the M&Ms and hoped it would buy me enough time to get to the intermission.  El Hubbo and I decided we would ALL get up (you know the people on our aisle were LOVING us) and go at the same time.  We enjoyed the second act, a group called Need to Breathe.  I found the lead singer attractive in a scruffy, needs a haircut and possibly a shower kind of way.  He was a little rough-around-the-edges, just the way I like them.  Or, in case El Hubbo reads this, the way I liked them.  Hee Hee.  (None of my old college roommates who may read this need to comment.)

                Upon our arrival back to our seats during the break, we find we have been joined by a whole row of young men behind us.  I am pretty certain, in looking around the crowd, that this was the only row of young men in the entire building.  Sure, you saw a few dads bringing their daughters, or boyfriends trying to rack up points with their girlfriends, but this was overwhelmingly a female crowd.  Except for our friends behind us.

                The lights lowered again and the screams started again.  Except they were louder given that the boys behind us could really generate some volume.  Two bars into the first song, Jake asked for his earplugs and my phone so he could play games.  Yep, he just lowered the return-on-investment for our tickets.

Emma thought the guys behind us had the right idea and she started screaming and clapping and shaking her head to the music.  To her, the concert was a definite hit.  Our friends behind us kept up a running commentary on how great Taylor looked in each of her seven, yes, seven costumes.  They sang every word to every song, but managed to change the words to make them more appropriate for  boys to sing.  They were hard-core Taylor fans and were convinced that every soulful look and pouty pucker she gave was intended for them.  We thought we might have to hold a couple of them back from diving off the upper deck when Taylor was flown around the top of the arena on a fake balcony.  El Hubbo and I were slightly embarrassed for, but greatly entertained by, them.

             I give props to Taylor – she does put on a pretty good show.  I’m not a huge fan of her voice, but her songs are catchy.  I worried briefly that the refracted light bouncing off the sequins and rhinestones might cause permanent eye damage, but good fun was had all around, especially by Emma Lou.  She is a big fan of anyplace she can scream at the top of her lungs and not get in trouble.

                The concert ended, and we bid farewell to our new friends.  We hauled our little TaylorNation fans home and put them to bed, glad that they (Emma at least) had so much fun – maybe enough fun to cover the price of the tickets.