This week’s idea comes from a new contributor, Senor Weaselo.  Or “Weasel” as his friends and apparently Autocorrect call him.

Anyway, Senor suggested “concerts you’d go back in time to attend.”  UConn is playing Northwestern right now, so let’s not waste a lot of time here.  Was there a concert in the past?  Did you not go to it but wish you did?  Then it’s a draftable concert!  See how easy that is?  it can be a band, a symphony, an orchestra, (is there a difference?  Ask Weaselo; I am very much out of my depth there), solo act.  Acoustic, a cappella, electronic.  The world of people singing for money is your oyster!

Senor has yet to get me his first pick, which isn’t surprising since he’s had like four minutes notice as I wrote this.  Anyway, I somehow doubt that his pick would be mine, since he’s undoubtedly going with something high-brow, like Mozart’s debut with the New York Philharmonic, or something.

Look, I don’t know:  if it weren’t for Autocorrect you’d all be wondering what sport the New York Harmonica played.

Anyway, with the first pick I’ll repeat a story I’ve probably told here before.

Look, I’ve locked the doors from the outside, so just get back in your seats and listen.  It’ll be over soon, (that’s what she said), and you can tell your own stories.

August 12, 1989.  I am 20 years old, and I live in Cheshire, CT and have a (pretty shitty) fake ID.  I head out for the evening, to what I have long since forgotten.  My father is an editor at the Hartford Courant, which back then was an actual newspaper rather than the waste of newsprint it is today.  Fuck you very much, Sam Zell.

Anyway, Dad gets wind that the Rolling Stones are going to play a show at Toad’s Place, a New Haven nightclub 20-30 minutes from our house.  Inside information, no one is supposed to know, (legend has it people started getting the idea when Toad’s manager is seen buying multiple bottles of Keith Richards’s favorite whiskey.  No idea if that’s true, but I like the story), and if I can get down there and they don’t look to closely at my ID, (which my father had seen and handed back to me with a shrug and the statement “well, you’re both white anyway”), I will be in the presence of legends at a concert that will be spoken of forever.

At least in south-central Connecticut.

The problem is that I had left the house 15 minutes before he called, and there were no cell phones then.  At least I didn’t get laid either.

Anyway, I’m going back to 8/12/89 and taking an extra 20 minutes to get ready.

The rest of you are on the clock.