Recommended wine for today’s entry: A Feudi di San Gregorio Taurasi 2004. I did a little research (theboot.com/2010/04/09/kenny-chesney-italy/) and found out that Kenny Chesney enjoyed the bread, wine and cheese on a recent trip to southern Italy. More research: “Taurasi is a full-bodied red wine that requires aging, like her northern cousins, Barolo, Barbaresco, and Brunello. Good vintages of this powerful, tannic, complex wine are at their best when aged 15 to 20 years. Taurasi is made of mostly Aglianico grapes with the majority of better Taurasis containing 100% Aglianico. By law, Taurasis must age at least three years before bottling with one of those years in wood.” (http://www.lifeinitaly.com/wines/southern-italy-wine.asp)
Because being in a small sedan with my sweet little children for 16 hours recently wasn’t quite enough quality time, my husband and I decided to take them to see Sara Evans/Jason Aldean/Kenny Chesney yesterday.
It was 98 degrees with a heat index of, I think they said, 176. And we were in a mass of humanity that made the State Fair crowd seem like they were attending a State Dinner. The good news is that I sweated out all the wine I drank last week at my mother’s lake house, which worked beautifully because it meant that I had dry spots in my body that I could fill with an icy cold Miller Lite. I know that sounds like a lot of brain cells have bitten the dust this week, but honestly, if you go to an outdoor, all-day country music festival and you DON’T drink a beer, then YOU are the one with a problem.
Because if you aren’t keeping up with these people, they can be a bit tough to handle.
I don’t mean that in a judgmental way — I am certainly in no position to insinuate that anyone is a redneck. Trust me. It’s just that I get so much better in touch with my inner redneck when I drink beer. And I think the crowd, who was sitting in unbelievably close proximity to me, appreciated it when I loosened up a bit.
Tell me you wouldn’t have bellied up to the bar if you were surrounded by this:
1) The man in front of me (and I might point out here that he had no impairments, physical or mental, that were not caused by his repeated summoning of the beer vendor) leaned forward while his wife pulled his T-shirt off his, oh, about 280-pound body, then looped his arms through a clean(er), sleeveless replacement and allowed the wife to arrange it over his gut. Then, just when we thought it was safe, he stood to hoist his britches up … which was good because in the 30 seconds before he found his belt loops to tug, the giant stage bearing Sara Evans was totally eclipsed by his grey Fruit of the Looms.
2) Then a rowdy group of women arrived to sit about 10 rows in front of us. They were all decked out for the concert in their cute cowboy hats and boots. Oh, and zebra-print bikini tops that were spilling a combined total of about 100 pounds of fat that had been aged for about 25 years too long.
3) About this time, one of my daughters got a text with a hot tip that Dave Matthews was going to make a surprise appearance.
4) Our folding chairs were all attached, I assume so that we stayed in a straight line and didn’t get too frisky. Well, I was tethered to the meanest teenager ever. Even my daughters, who can be pretty dang mean, refused to sit next to her. She sat slumped in her chair with her arms crossed and never cracked a smile. I could see her in my peripheral vision and she would stare at me for like five minutes and then frantically text someone and then stare some more. I am sure that her texts said something like this:
Holy shit. There’s this like, I don’t know, maybe 100 year old lady tied to my chair and she can’t clap to music and she tries to sing along but you know how old people are, they only know the refrain and they even screw that up? And when she can’t even make up something that sounds like the words she just takes a swig of her beer. Shoot me.
Seriously? The old lady next to me just sang, “Two bare feet on the dashboard, ride around in an old Ford, cheap sheets and a tattoo…”
5) So while the mean teen was unnerving me, I did enjoy watching the man in front of me (Mr. Fruit of the Loom) thoroughly chew and swallow an entire plastic straw.
6) Kenny Chesney played Space Cowboy, which was kinda a surprise … but then someone came out on stage and joined him and they showed the two of them on the four jumbotrons surrounding the stage. Of course, because we’d been tipped off, our family had that smug look — duh, you morons — it’s Dave Matthews. I will say that my husband remembered that the song was the Steve Miller Band’s hit.
7) NOW mean teen finally deigns to speak to me. “Who is that guy?” she bellows at me over the music, leaving the “HEY, YOU’RE SUPER FREAKING OLD AND THAT SONG IS SUPER FREAKING OLD SO MAYBE YOU HAVE A SHOT AT THIS” part unspoken but understood. So I smugly pass along my inside knowledge about Dave Matthews. BUT, to further impress her, I add “but this song was recorded by the Steve Miller Band.” And now she was really warming up to me and she goes, “WELL OF COURSE IT’S THE STEVE MILLER BAND. HUMPH.” And then I saw her roll her eyes at me.
I should’ve gotten in her face and said, “Listen, sister … I get enough of the eye rolls from the reigning queens of sweetness sitting to my right … go home and abuse your own mother.” But I didn’t.
8) At the end of the song, the family in front of us (including Fruit of the Loom) turned to us and informed us that the guest performer was NOT Dave Matthews and NOT Steve Miller but … Jason Aldean, the man whom we had watched perform a 1.5 hour set a scant two hours previously. And yes, the four giant screens had showed him quite clearly the entire time.
I just want to point out that yes, I am old, and yes, I have little or no knowledge of pop culture and yes, sometimes I make up lyrics that sound similar to the real song.
But you know what? Little miss mean teen didn’t know either. It took the freakin’ straw-eating, bombed-off-his-giant-fanny redneck to tell us who the guy was.