I’m going to see Tom Waits
I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits. I’m going to see Tom Waits.
Granted, it’s in a bloody tent in the bloody Phoenix Park and I’m in bloody Row ZZ, Block 99 or something. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to see Tom Waits. Am I allowed an “all fucking righty”?
Granted also, there are some insanely draconian restrictions on the tickets in an attempt to stop touting:
Only two per person and the purchaser has to bring a passport or driving licence to the gig so they can match your name to that on the tickets. Jesus! All are completely non-transferable so I’d better not get sick or something. There may be fingerprinting and DNA sampling. It’s like Gattaca or something.
Still, I’m going to see Tom Waits.
Can’t you push in more towards the front? Or sneak in nearer to the stage by crawling under the tent’s tarpaulin under the dead of night before the gig?
It’ll be worth it.
Comment by Istvanski — Wednesday May 28, 2008 @ 11:44
Ister: It might be worth it. There is a worry that, if I were caught, I’d be shanghaied and forced to join the band. I’d be shaved and tattooed all over with images of anchors and roses; kept pliant on a diet consisting entirely of sausages and gin; forced to play the triangle and odd, exotic wind instruments while wearing a fez by night and, by day, to live with the bearded lady and the goat-faced boy… in a small compartment in the floor of their caravan… with the spiders… and the spider monkeys.
Still though…
Comment by Trousers — Wednesday May 28, 2008 @ 12:00