You know how in life where you have to make a decision and then you make it and then you kind of regret it but don’t want to admit it so you make up these excuses why it was the right decision even though you know it was the totally wrong decision? Yeah, well, that was me. In Atlantic City. In the reserved seats. At the back of the Event Center.

My adventure started after a fairly short drive from Philadelphia, when I arrived at the venue at around 5:00 pm and I had the good fortune to meet up with two awesome and lovely DWOP ladies. See, while I had enjoyed an afternoon of sightseeing in Philly, Jasmine and JuneBelle had spent their afternoon plotting and strategizing with the other crazy General Admission line standers to be at the front of the line and the first through the doors. And, as it turns out they were pretty darn successful! Kudos, ladies. I bow down to your tenacity and endurance and admit that I was a total wimp. We enjoyed an all too brief visit before circumstances got me, as a reserved ticket holder, banned from the General Admission line. So, I spent the remaining pre-door opening hour relaxing at a slot machine, sipping a drink and casually biding my time, while they continued to stand patiently outside the doors.

The venue finally opened the doors at 7:00 and, without wait, I was led to my reserved seat in the risers. I sat there contentedly gazing upon the crazy GA standers whom, after having been permitted to stand on line for several hours outside had now been graciously allowed to enter the venue where they were permitted to stand for the next hour until the opening act would finally get underway.

My reserved seat was in Row N and although I’m used to being much closer (yes, I am spoiled), hey, it was only 14 rows back from the front. And, looking at the poor people sitting down front I realized that they were actually sitting behind the standing General Admission crowd. Now, there’s a (literally) crappy ass view for ya. I mean, if I’m going to spend the evening looking at a$$, well, y’all know who’s sweet one that needs to be. So, yeah, Row N, clearly better than Rows A, B or C. And, Row N, that’s like the 14th letter of the alphabet, hardly more than half way through. So, my Row N seat was only just a little over half way to the back. Not ALL the way at the back. Heck, I could have been one of the losers who were seated WAY behind me, like in rows M through Z. Now, those rows were definitely more than half way to the back. So, all in all, row N? Not so bad. As seats on the risers at the Event Center go.

Because, what you need to know about the Event Center seating is that there’s this HUGE basketball court size expanse of General Admission floor stretching out in front of where the reserved seating begins. This is not your regular theatre where if you’re lucky enough to be in Row A (aka FRONT row), then you’re right smack in front of the stage where you get the pleasure of feeling Dave flick off his sweat. Oh, no, this is the Event Center where Row A is waaaaay back over yonder and you have to squint and pretend you can maybe see the stage. The only way you’re gonna get wet sitting back there is if The Hawtness sets off the sprinklers. Just sayin.

But, I’m up there in Row N and I’m enjoying my nice roomy, comfy seat sniggering at the poor slobs down on the floor that are still standing. Fortunately, some actually have the decency to entertain me. Oh yes, there were plenty of crazies down on the floor (maybe 2,000?) to keep me entertained. First, there was the chic that was pinching the corner of a Kleenex in each hand and flittering around her group like she was a hummingbird. I have no idea. Then there were the two girls with the leis. Nope, still have no idea. But, they were playing a rousing game of lei toss using each other’s heads. Then, there were the two kids (okay, yeah, they may have had an excuse) who were competing in a dance off. I gave a 10 to the kid who did The Swim. There was a general party atmosphere down on the floor but I’m pretty sure they were all just smiling and laughing to distract themselves from their already aching feet. So, most entertaining for me was the fact that MY dogs were happily zzzzzz’ing away and my own ample a$$ was nicely pillowed and content to be reservedly seated. Why, yes, I am sticking to that story.

Finally, the opening act came on. It was Tonic. At least that’s what I was led to believe because I couldn’t actually SEE enough detail to be sure it was them. I loved the music though. And the lead singer was really jamming a lot with that guitar player. And they really harmonized nicely together. Yeah, I liked that song. And, I liked that one. Oh wait, “hmm…hmmm…hmmm…if you could only see the way she loves me…hmmm…hmmm.” Yes! I KNOW that song. It IS Tonic. “Hmm…hmmm…if you could only see….” And how prophetic. Why didn’t I listen to this band BEFORE I bought a reserved seat in the next county? Dammit.

Now, it’s “intermission” where they need to switch out the equipment and those crazy GA standers have to stand some more and the genpop down there is expanding exponentially so that the crowd is getting tighter and they’re getting jammed together and it’s looking more and more like a sardine can. And, I have it on good authority that it was hot down there being all smushed together, with possibly some fainting going on. But, here in the reserved seating I can feel the cool air gently wafting from the air conditioner and the chairs are filling up to capacity yet there’s room under my seat to stow my paraphernalia and there are arm rests for my weary elbows. What? Hey, I need to rest them up for all that hands above head clapping that Dave is inevitably going to demand! And, I’m trying to convince myself that it’s too late to cave and go down and do the GA thing now that the floor is nearly filled to the corners.

So, finally, the piped in music starts playing an Ozzy Osbourne musical introduction (hey, has Dave been watching Dancing with the Stars?) and in the darkness you can just barely make out the movement of the band creeping on stage and the crowd starts stirring anxiously because we know this is IT. And bam, suddenly Heroes is blasting out and there’s Dave clutching the mic, arms stretched out, swaying and ready to sing. Hey, what a perfect photo op! Except even with my 10x zoom lens, I still can’t read the patches on his shirt. How will I live?

So, here we go…four loud, rocking songs in a row from Heroes to Mr. Sensitive to IDIFY (can you believe how that song now rocks? I tells ya, it’s crazy, man) to WOHWWS and my all time favorite note, “lipstick reeEEEeeeEEEeed”. Whew. Yep, they all three nailed it.

Now, of course, I’m loving the music, how could I not? But, the view? Yeah, not so much. There’s this distracting sea of floating heads down there on the floor that I have to look past in order to get to the stage. And then there are these five, tiny and some what indistinct figures up there on the stage. There’s that guy in the middle exuding The Voice. No doubting who that is. Then, there’s a guy with a guitar wearing all black over there on my left. Yeah, it must be Andy because that dark hair of his is about to take flight. And then I definitely see a guy bouncing. He looks like he might even twirl. Yep, we’ll call him Monty. And over there, on my right? A huge, blindingly white, mother f&cking neckerchief! Hey, I think that might be Neal under there! So, by the theory of cognitive recognition (don’t bother with Google, I just made it up) its gotta be Kyle way in the back on the drum kit. Circumstantial evidence leads me to believe that I am indeed at a David Cook and The Anthemic concert.

Let me discuss this Event Center as a theatre once again. In my humble opinion, any other self respecting room of this size foisting itself off as an “event center” would have had the decency to display at least one Jumbotron so that those of us in the hinterlands might get a ginormous, if some what grainy view of the dental shot. Or the mic smooching shot. Or the shruggy shouldered embarrassed smiling imp shot. (Yeah, you all know exactly what I’m talking about.) But, oh no, not this “event center”. The closest we got to seeing Dave and/or the band in bigger than life proportions was this sorry excuse. Yes, there were giant shadows of Dave and Andy that occasionally appeared high up on the walls on either side of the stage. I was dearly hoping that Dave might notice and give us a shadow puppet show, but not unexpectedly, he was otherwise engaged.

So, they went strong for four fast songs and now it was time to slow it down for Lie. Have I mentioned lately that I love Lie? Love the slow, plucky guitar intro. Love the agonized, pleading of the voice. So sad and so beautiful. The audience did a fairly respectable job of quieting down during the a Cappella part with a little bit of shushing and hand gestures from Dave. But, what was outstanding about it is that amazingly (even from Row N) you could hear Dave’s raw voice projecting from where he’d stepped back away from the mic and yet you could also hear his voice being amplified through the mic. It was a seriously cool effect. It was also lovely and I think it was one of the best a Cappella versions I’ve heard since Thackerville. But, of course, it is a rock show and the boys do love to rock so they immediately picked the pace back up with BBS which was dedicated to David’s newest friend, Ben. Yes, he can make us teary eyed over some lying, leaving girl in a silly made up love song and then he can really make us cry over the realities of life. From then on, the fast song pace only got one chance to take a breather and that was in the form of a moan. And what a moan it was. Not only did we get that looong, draaaawn out, sweat inducing, juices flowing KOTN moan, we got an amped up reverb that put it into the heart thumping, hot flashing, holy sh$ittin’ atmosphere of thank you jesus moans. I don’t know who tipped the sound guy, but thanks for that.

So, every time I watch the opening act before Dave, I am reminded again of how engaging he is with the audience. The opening act usually just sings and doesn’t interact with the audience very much. Although, they do all seem to catch on quickly to the neat trick of yelling, “How about that David Cook?” (or some version thereof) in order to get a rousing reaction from the crowd. Dave, as we know by now, loves the banter and he was certainly full of sass and stories and smart a$$ remarks. I particularly loved the whole backfired plan of, “Hey, sound guy, we’re teaching you a lesson and stealing your socks, yuck, yuck…” Ooops, sorry, Dave, can’t hear ya with the mic turned off. Hey, Dave? I’m BEGGING you; don’t ever mess with the sound guy again. He’s the one that ensures you give good moan. And, of course, there was the refusal to kiss the 16 year old girl while requesting a two year rain check. That Dave, always keeping his options open. Then, there was Dave’s response to the overly effusive guy in the audience that from Row N sounded like, “Wow, that guy really loves my band.” But, if you were one of those crazy GA standers went more like, “Wow, that guy really loves my banter.” Now, while I personally enjoyed both the band and the banter, there was a guy two rows down from me who was apparently not feeling the humorous interplay if his lasciviously growled, “Shut up and sing” was anything to go by. He was an older gentleman, clearly inebriated and possibly infatuated with our hawt, sexay, rocker BF and he made me realize that not all cougars are necessarily of the female persuasion. This embarrassing outburst by the older (than most of us) generation was counteracted by the lady of a similar age sitting right in front of me who repeatedly raised the woo fist of rocker solidarity and happily used her cushy seat to get nice height on her enthusiastic, bum bouncing. She was adorable and excited and enthusiastically participating in the show. There were also plenty of younger studs in the audience who counteracted the effect of old, grouchy, horny dude (not that there’s anything WRONG with that!) who were also clearly enjoying both the banter and the band.

My seat mate, by the way, was a hard core videographer who claims to have a stockpile of Dave related goodness in her 4Shared account including every sound bite, song and known recording of BF, I’m pretty sure, since birth. She was hoping for good quality audio to make MP3s to add to the aforesaid massive collection. Sadly, we did not have this conversation prior to the show in which case I might have STFU or at least sung underneath my breath. I therefore am reserving the right to withhold her tubz name until I have the opportunity to audit the final product.

Both Dave and the crowd loved CBTM. However much we angst about that song as a single, it’s obvious that it has reached plenty of radio ears because a lot of people in that audience knew the words. And, they proved it by singing pretty much half of the song. Now, I know that Dave takes dear pleasure in hearing the audience sing his songs back to him and so I really hate to remind him why we’ve all gathered together. But, Dave? It’s you I’m actually wanting to hear sing. Again, just sayin’.

Best of all about the show for me is that I got to whoa whoa whoa whoa out to A Daily Anthem which is still my favorite song on DCTR and my favorite song at a DCATA concert. And, sitting up there on the risers in my Row N seat, I had a fantastic overview of all the arms waving in unison along with Dave and the little girl singing her heart out on stage. And no matter how far away you’re sitting you just can’t help but feel full of joy with the band jamming and Dave smiling (no, I couldn’t actually see him but I KNOW that he was) and the audience loving every minute of that song. Best ending encore song, ever.

And, even after the boys had left the stage and moved on to their official MIXX zoo duties, the concert experience hadn’t quite ended for me because I got to meet Sybil and LM and spend time recapping and rehashing and squeeing into the early hours with Jasmine and JuneBelle. Moral of story: If you get the chance to hook up with other DWOPers/DCOers do it. Even if, like me, you hate/fear/are skeeved out by the thought of approaching total strangers you haven’t actually met on an internet board, just do it. The pleasure far exceeds the pain.

So, after my little adventure in Blurryville, I’ve decided to institute a new policy. If there is a choice between General Admission and Reserved, suck it up and be one of the crazy GA line standers. Buy some Dr. Scholls’. Invest in orthopedic inserts. Shoot, get me some z-coils. But, whatever I do, buy the damn GA ticket so I can get drenched with second hand sweat, snap photos of the nose hairs and worry about soaking my aching feet later.

Gueseppe's impressions of the concert at The Borgata Event Center, Atlantic City, NJ, 9-26-09.