It is completely impossible to attend a rock concert without experiencing some level of Concert Attending Assholery. I don’t know why or how I keep getting surprised by this. I have long long years of dealing with all manners of rock n’ roll rectums -- boors, clods, idiots, dipshits, you name it -- yet I keep thinking that it will stop. Of course, it never does. It does not seem to matter a whole lot who is playing, seats vs. no seats, a bar or a theatre. Assholes everywhere. And I am no shitty uptight concert-goer , either! I am very appropriately enthusiastic, but I always keep in mind there are OTHER PEOPLE THERE. OMG, being considerate at a rock show? WHUUUTTT?

Here were the latest sphincters, from last night’s wonderful Ray Davies show in Seattle:

The Giant Completely Wasted Dude: Oh, you know him. You do. He is at every show, everywhere. For all I know, he is at a chamber music show as well. Now you tell me: what would inspire someone attending a mainly acoustic concert given by a British man in his 60s to get so drunk out of his skull that he could barely stand? WOOO! WOOOO! WOOO! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! That is the call of the Giant Completely Wasted Dude. Oh, and he knows what to do, he does. He knows that he can stand right in front of everyone, even if he doesn’t have a seat, because he is huge and lumbering and moves in frightening lurching ways. Dude was so gone that he pressed his ear against the PA stack for most of the show, while he played heavy and detailed air guitar, and fisted the air and screamed during the quietest moments. Ray was speaking to the crowd about a recent serious injury when Dude decided his overwhelming love for Ray was so important to express that he tried to interrupt by lunging at the stage, then farted incomprehensibly out of his piehole, “YEAH! MAN! LOLA! EL-OH-EL-AY! HLKDHFLKHLADKSFH! WOOOO! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY! WOOOOOOOOO!”Fortunately, Ray is a total pro and helped us all out. He looked at the guy and said, “Oh, so you’re the guy who shot me?” The audience broke out in laughter and Dude slightly melted and retreated back to his eardrum-shattering PA position. Thanks, Ray.

The Smelly Hippie: Sat down cross-legged in front of me about mid-show with a book in his hand, and his filthy fingers keeping place on a page. What, was he going to stand up and start reading to Ray? It took about three seconds before his stale stench assaulted me. It was the smell of no bath, no laundry, no deodorant, and with every breath I took it felt like razors in my throat and a homeless shelter in my nose. SOAP AND WATER ARE CHEAP, SIR! USE THEM! He left after about 30 minutes. My throat still hurts.

The Old Elaine Dancer: Again, I am all for enthusiasm. Nobody loves music more than yours truly, and I understand sometimes you just have to get up and move. However, when you are in the front row, you are well into your 50s and should not be smoking so much pot anyway, please think about how the audience feels when you stand up and start jerking around like you have epilepsy, especially when no one else is standing in the entire theatre. If you were 20 and totally hot, you would get somewhat of a pass, however.

The Clueless Completely Wasted Superfan: Beware the single-seat dude who carries a full backpack into a show filled with cds and records and pens. This is a bad, bad combo. He had the seat right in front of me. Of course he did. He sat quietly, if wavering, in his seat for awhile then started obsessively fussing with the contents of the backpack. He finally settled on bringing out a cd and a Sharpie, then started getting excited. He did the fist-pump and the chicken neck thing where the neck is extended out and back as if he were a rooster strutting, and the Random Yell, similar to Dude above. All of a sudden, Superfan decides it is time to Stand. He barely makes it to his feet, clutching onto his cd. No one else is standing. He keeps standing for a REALLY LONG TIME, completely blocking me. Was he thinking Ray was going to stop in the middle of the show to sign the cd? Something had to be done. I know well from past dealings that there is no telling a very high person to do anything rational. My revenge would have to take another form. I was going to pull his chair back so that when he did sit down he would completely fall, but then I thought no, he would also fall on me. I looked over at my Teen. He is Evil, like me, and we communicated with no words. He took a mighty slug from his water bottle, and in one perfectly-aimed arc, spit it out onto Superfan’s seat, not a drop to the floor. When Superfan finally sits, we laugh together in mightily-restrained shoulder-shaking delight. A short while later, he leaves, never returns, and a teen boy takes his seat, thrilled at his good luck.

EDIT: Here we go, Giant Completely Wasted Dude included!