Front Row Moe Ho Afterglow
There was a time when even the mere thought of attending an indoor concert was simply unimaginable for me. I am not at all fond of large crowds, and the usual press of hot sweaty bodies mixed with the stench of stale smoke and three week old armpit funk would normally have me rushing the nearest exit like an NFL linesman.
But I have made much progress since those long ago forgotten days, and little by little I have not only been able to begin attending these indoor venues, but also to enjoy myself along the outskirts of the concert-going audience without hyperventilating. Up until this point, my previous psychosis coup d’tat was in being able to attend ‘The Other Ones’ concert in Cleveland’s ‘Gund Arena’ from a seat in the seventh row, where at the time it seemed that I was so uncomfortably close to the stage that I could see my reflection in the slide of Bob Weir’s guitar. Hell, every time he passionately windmilled his axe throughout the performance it would blow my hat off my head. Surely, I had then faced my demons and earned a decided victory in the face of my Irrational Fears.
So it with even greater pride that I can now announce to the concert-going world, that after this past weeks moe concert in beautiful North Tonawanda, that I am now even a certified FRONT ROW CONCERT SURVIVOR! (Well, fourth row…but who’s counting?) There were none of the usual expected episodes like the weeping for “my mommy”, the anxiety attack, the subconscious nervous facial ticks, or finally just giving way to simply hoofing other surrounding concert-goers in the crotch while in a state of pure full-blown blind panic. I was lured into the ‘Lair of the Beast’ and I walked out on my own two weary feet. How cool am I?
What can I say? I was lured by a pretty smile and the promise of being able to cutely link pinkie-fingers with this cute concert beauty next to me. Hey, how can you pass up the company of a hot concert chick proudly wearing a t-shirt that reads “Front Row Moe Ho”? Am I not male after all? Luckily, I was able to successfully conceal the raging erection in my jeans and managed to not poke out the eyeball of any nearby dancers as I got my own groove on. That would have been a total concert buzzkill for sure!
Now, even though your dear old crazytigerrabbitman was busy getting himself some good concert lovin’s at the time, that doesn’t also mean that I wasn’t able to take some mental notes and observe the lives and activities of the local indigenous “Phatti Macrobus” dancing and sweating all around me in the front rows in a complete state of divine ecstatic fervor, like whirling dervishes in the funnel of an F4 tornado. This wouldn’t be much fun of a blog entry had I not, right?
I used to subscribe to the theory that the best way to keep other male concert goers from getting too close and crowding your own personal groove space was to simply align your genitalia with the other invading male genitalia and they will automatically be repelled like opposite poles of a magnet. When you stand directly behind another man and line up your penis in direct correlation with his own alien penis, the intruding genitalia will immediately become uncomfortable and will urge its owner to move away quick as possible.
Imagine how this scientific knowledge can be further applied in our everyday life besides dealing with tightly packed crowds at concerts! Is the line up too long at the cashier’s checkout down at the local Adult Novelty Shop? Then just sidle up close and align your genitals in alignment with the next pervert in line, and the whole entire que of males will part like the Red Sea! Think how quick you could get through the waiting crowd at a crowded bar to get drinks, or through the line up for urinals in the Men’s Room between innings? The world would be your homophobic oyster! You will never have to wait in line behind, or ever be unnecessarily crowded by other males ever again!
Sadly, this easy principle of sexual physics did not seem to apply to the crowd in the front rows of this particular moe concert. Instead, it was man-ass galore. In fact, I think it was mandatory for every other male within 15 feet to at some point drag their ass across some part of your body like tomcats marking their territory. I know that during the second set alone, I probably had more than a dozen male asses being rubbing, wiped, and brushed over me so that I was beginning to feel like the fluffer on the set of some gay porn shoot. I had definitely over-satisfied my quota of man ass for one night!
Another curious observation I made was the numerous cell phones that I witnessed being utilized throughout the concert by all the front row concertgoers. It seemed that every time a new song began, there was an instant glow of cell phone consols being displayed as everybody either began to quickly text-message the name of the new song to all their absent friends, or in order to provide a temporary portal into the show for their friends to listen to over the open telephone lines. At points in the concert it felt like I was in the landing zone of the nearby Buffalo Airport with all the flashing cell phones lights. Doesn’t anybody keep set lists on the back of ripped up cigarette packages with golf pencils anymore?
But I have made much progress since those long ago forgotten days, and little by little I have not only been able to begin attending these indoor venues, but also to enjoy myself along the outskirts of the concert-going audience without hyperventilating. Up until this point, my previous psychosis coup d’tat was in being able to attend ‘The Other Ones’ concert in Cleveland’s ‘Gund Arena’ from a seat in the seventh row, where at the time it seemed that I was so uncomfortably close to the stage that I could see my reflection in the slide of Bob Weir’s guitar. Hell, every time he passionately windmilled his axe throughout the performance it would blow my hat off my head. Surely, I had then faced my demons and earned a decided victory in the face of my Irrational Fears.
So it with even greater pride that I can now announce to the concert-going world, that after this past weeks moe concert in beautiful North Tonawanda, that I am now even a certified FRONT ROW CONCERT SURVIVOR! (Well, fourth row…but who’s counting?) There were none of the usual expected episodes like the weeping for “my mommy”, the anxiety attack, the subconscious nervous facial ticks, or finally just giving way to simply hoofing other surrounding concert-goers in the crotch while in a state of pure full-blown blind panic. I was lured into the ‘Lair of the Beast’ and I walked out on my own two weary feet. How cool am I?
What can I say? I was lured by a pretty smile and the promise of being able to cutely link pinkie-fingers with this cute concert beauty next to me. Hey, how can you pass up the company of a hot concert chick proudly wearing a t-shirt that reads “Front Row Moe Ho”? Am I not male after all? Luckily, I was able to successfully conceal the raging erection in my jeans and managed to not poke out the eyeball of any nearby dancers as I got my own groove on. That would have been a total concert buzzkill for sure!
Now, even though your dear old crazytigerrabbitman was busy getting himself some good concert lovin’s at the time, that doesn’t also mean that I wasn’t able to take some mental notes and observe the lives and activities of the local indigenous “Phatti Macrobus” dancing and sweating all around me in the front rows in a complete state of divine ecstatic fervor, like whirling dervishes in the funnel of an F4 tornado. This wouldn’t be much fun of a blog entry had I not, right?
I used to subscribe to the theory that the best way to keep other male concert goers from getting too close and crowding your own personal groove space was to simply align your genitalia with the other invading male genitalia and they will automatically be repelled like opposite poles of a magnet. When you stand directly behind another man and line up your penis in direct correlation with his own alien penis, the intruding genitalia will immediately become uncomfortable and will urge its owner to move away quick as possible.
Imagine how this scientific knowledge can be further applied in our everyday life besides dealing with tightly packed crowds at concerts! Is the line up too long at the cashier’s checkout down at the local Adult Novelty Shop? Then just sidle up close and align your genitals in alignment with the next pervert in line, and the whole entire que of males will part like the Red Sea! Think how quick you could get through the waiting crowd at a crowded bar to get drinks, or through the line up for urinals in the Men’s Room between innings? The world would be your homophobic oyster! You will never have to wait in line behind, or ever be unnecessarily crowded by other males ever again!
Sadly, this easy principle of sexual physics did not seem to apply to the crowd in the front rows of this particular moe concert. Instead, it was man-ass galore. In fact, I think it was mandatory for every other male within 15 feet to at some point drag their ass across some part of your body like tomcats marking their territory. I know that during the second set alone, I probably had more than a dozen male asses being rubbing, wiped, and brushed over me so that I was beginning to feel like the fluffer on the set of some gay porn shoot. I had definitely over-satisfied my quota of man ass for one night!
Another curious observation I made was the numerous cell phones that I witnessed being utilized throughout the concert by all the front row concertgoers. It seemed that every time a new song began, there was an instant glow of cell phone consols being displayed as everybody either began to quickly text-message the name of the new song to all their absent friends, or in order to provide a temporary portal into the show for their friends to listen to over the open telephone lines. At points in the concert it felt like I was in the landing zone of the nearby Buffalo Airport with all the flashing cell phones lights. Doesn’t anybody keep set lists on the back of ripped up cigarette packages with golf pencils anymore?
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