Happy People

Today's a happy blog. Yesterday depressed the hell out of too many people. We're just on an emotional rollercoaster this week, huh?

When did I become so stiff? I went to the Chris Brown concert at MSG, last Thursday. I was surrounded by tens of thousands screaming, dancing teenagers who had no self-control when it came to cheering for their favorite artist. Five minutes before Chris appeared, a digital clock appeared on the stage counting down the next 300 seconds. A good half the crowd actually counted. When it hit the one minute mark, I thought it was impossible for the crowd to get any louder—and then the clock hit ten seconds. That’s when I knew my ears would be ringing all the next day.

Girls stood on chairs, they danced hard at their seats, they sang along to all of the songs. They jumped up and down. And as I watched them, I wondered when did I become the woman who didn’t let go? Who observed hysteria and never participated in it? Who goes to events and spends more time checking her e-mail and texts less she look caught up in the fabulousness of it all? When did looking bored become cool?

I remember being 12 or 13 when Jodeci toured with MC Hammer as the opener. I begged my parents to let me go to the show. My Dad shelled out $50 a pop for me, my best friend, my chaperone, and her best friend to go. I gave a damn about Hammer—who was already starting to fade in popularity. I wanted to see Dalvin and DeVante. Through the whole Jodeci set, I screamed until no noise came out, sang along at the top of my lungs to all the songs and especially when the mic was held out to the crowd. I damn near passed out from pubescent hormonal overload when the four of them-bare-chested-- stated humping the stage or working their hips. (I fully understand why Elvis was only shot from the chest up.) I knew nothing about sex or men or their mechanics, but I knew they looked damn good doing whatever they were doing and it would be damn good if done to me. I feigned for those two brothers and everyone around me knew it. I let go and got lost in the moment. And I never had more fun. My night was so complete that I left after the Jodeci set and missed Hammer altogether—no regrets.

Somewhere around the 8 second mark, I got caught up in Chris Brown’s hype. Though I was sitting a row in front of C. Breezy’s publicity managers and a couple seats down from one esteemed writing colleague and next to another, I became 13 again. My girl was trying to take a picture of me—which I stopped cheering to pose for. But then Chris hit the stage. The picture turned out with me in a full-on scream, hands above my head, and a euphoric look of glee on my face. I loves me some Chris Brown!!!! (Hey you, if you’re reading, send me the pic!)

During an intermission the DJ took pity on the grown folks present and played some mid-90s pop-offs like “It’s All About the Benjamins, (Baby)” and “Jigga, My Nigga” that took me back to my college days. I sang along and danced like I was 18 again. Forgot to care that anybody might be watching. Forgot to obsessively check my e-mail or voicemail. (I did, however, text my mama that I was at the CB concert—she’s loved him since she saw This Christmas and a clip of his performance at the MTV Awards. She texted me back to ask if he was dancing on tables again. The answer? Well, sorta.)) When Diddy and 50 (separately) hit the stage, I screamed some more. I was hoarse the next morning.

I can’t promise any of this is going to have me dancing at industry parties or squealing the next time I see Jay-Z walk into the room (though if the Denzel incident taught me anything. I will shove a recorder in his face for an interview. My co-workers (and Dad) were more disappointed that I didn’t get an interview than they were excited that I met him. I’m such a newbie sometimes.) But I’ve promised myself that I will do what I feel (within reason) a lot more. I’ve never had so much fun not giving a f*ck—- well, not since Jodeci.