I once went to see an Echo and the Bunnymen concert at the Boston Orpheum Theater during high school. I went with 4 (or rather 3) other friends and we were a motley crew: sexyhot Brazilian exchange student, black surfer dude who lived in Florida (yes, African-American), wealthy white girl with Spanish last name, and forgettable nerdy white guy (he was more Liz's friend, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was only there because he had a car). We had a great standing room area on the balcony. Leather Nun opened. By the time Ian McCulloch and hair came on, Liz, the white girl, had to go home because she claimed she was getting sick from the marijuana smoke wafting from the upper levels of the balcony. But personally, I think she just couldn't handle seeing so many spikey haird people dressed in black and torn pieces of cloth and smoking lots of pot. Doug, white babyface guy, drove her home (personally, I don't think he could stand it either). The rest of us minorities lost our ride home, but we weren't missing the party for anything and there was always the T.
Poor Liz. She tried her best but she just couldn't cope with her Myopia Polo Club games-in-Hamilton-on-weekends background. I tried my best too, when I went with her to her mom's polo games-on-weekend-events in Hamilton. I'm sure the yuppies around me tried their best, and obviously couldn't get enough of a Robert Smith incarnation (if they even knew him), only more dark-skinned, feminine looking and less disheveled. I'm sure they loved that - they smiled a mile when they saw me coming towards their trunk-open-sports-cars-spilling-with-picinic-goodies like champagne in fluted glasses and caviar and brie on crackers. I tried to smile back and there was always uncomfortable silence thereafer. Surprisingly, Liz and I were really good friends for the time we knew each other. Liz in white summer dress and big derby event hat, me in over-sized black clothes, creepers, hair everywhere. A picture of contrasting civility. We all tried our best, no doubt.
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