Dodging the high-heeled shoe

Last Friday night, I was presented with an interesting phenomenon. I'd never seen anything like it before, though I knew it existed through hearing about it from others. It is the epitome of the American teenage spirit, the representation of rock and roll in its purest form, and the ultimate example of unity among the people. What I'm talking about, my fine reader friends, is the traditional rock and roll concert.

Truth be told, I've never been to a real "rock" concert before I saw the Goo Goo Dolls and Lisa Loeb last Friday night. I'd certainly been to concerts, but I seriously doubt anyone would let me get away with calling the Backstreet Boys concert I attended a few years ago a "rock" concert. Basically, this was my party ship's premiere voyage, and I was ready to experience it to the fullest.

I had waited in line for tickets at an ungodly hour, had patiently suffered through unfulfilling daydreams of Johnny Rzeznik for several weeks, and awaited the day with bated breath until it finally arrived last Friday night. I was dressed to kill and my adrenaline was sky high. I was ready.

As I walked into Dillon gym that magical night, and thought, "Wow, it's really not that crowded at all." Then I realized that what I believe was the entire University, plus everyone's mother, father, sister and family pet, was crammed in the first 50 yards from the stage. I figured that this was part and parcel of a rock concert, and once my eyes met Johnny's, being sandwiched cheek to cheek with five people I didn't know would be worth it.

While Lisa Loeb was performing, it was still pretty tame, without a whole lot of motion in the audience, though many people were grooving tentatively to the acoustic tones of this charismatic crooner. Once she was finished, and after another half hour to wait before Johnny, the Goo Goo Dolls finally erupted onto the stage and with all the passion that the rock band should have. Johnny was looking lovely, and the music was loud, hard and amazing. It began with a few people banging their heads to the rhythm and slowly spread until even I, a newbie, felt the need to whip my hair around, much to the dismay of those around me.

And of course, it wouldn't be rock and roll without the inevitable crowd surfing. That is something that I was aware of, but had never thought I would experience. The first time I saw a surfer, I thought "Wow, look at that! That's awesome!" It was like I was witness to the true spirit of rock and roll.

My enthusiasm for it subsided a wee bit as the magnitude of surfers increased. Suddenly I was dodging all sorts of limbs from all angles. Then you have these flailing girls that crowd surf with monstrous heels that make my life flash before my eyes. One of those fell on me, and I'll just say, that they look so much lighter as they are floating along the top of the crowd. Thankfully a friend of mine pulled me out of that chaotic pig pile, and to him I owe my life, or at least my face.

After that, I became paranoid, and anytime a crowd surfer came my way I sank to my knees and screamed like a child. Overdramatic? Perhaps, but when one is as small as I, one must take the necessary precautions. The rest of the evening, anytime someone went to tap my shoulder, or if ever I saw anything in my peripheral vision, I would drop to the ground and roll into the nearest underbrush. I'll have to research how long the "shell-shocked" condition will last.

And thus ended my first rock and roll experience. The band was incredible, and I emerged from the crowd slightly bruised, but nonetheless feeling good. Alas, I missed getting Johnny's autograph after the show, but I suppose the gods of rock and roll cannot permit me to be exposed to everything my very first time. All the more reason to continue on this path to the ultimate rock and roll experience. Oh well. Till next time, Johnny. Noelle Muro is from East Haven, Conn. She can be reached at nmuro@princeton.edu.