On Weezer

fuck the palladium

Dear Weezer,

Hey, thanks for booking your latest show at the Palladium. Really, it couldn’t have been a more learning experience.

See, I go see you guys all the damn time. All the time. This was my fourth time this year, and I already have tickets for your next show in April. Because I love you that much. And I don’t care how many times I have to sit through Surf Wax USA, I’m gonna keep doing it to hear y’all do “The Good Life,” which you never do.

So, I’m glad you did it at this past Friday’s show, otherwise the Weezer name might have been tarnished forever.

You see, maybe you don’t know this, but you booked your last show at a prison.

My friend and I walked to the Palladium, because it was close by and because we’re grownups and can walk in the street at night. We just didn’t know that we weren’t going to be allowed inside.

First of all, don’t buy tickets from eBay. They aren’t ever going to be the tickets promised. My friend spent mad cash getting these tickets because the show sold out so quickly. We were told they were VIP tickets and that they came with a free gift. Ha.

They put me in a special line for girls and felt me up. They grabbed my breasts and felt my ass and my thighs. Then they told me that I’d have to throw out my new pack of cigarettes. They made my friend toss his pack of cigarettes, his lighter, his new pack of gum and his keychain bottle opener.

That’s not the worst, though. They wouldn’t let me into the Palladium with my Welcome Back Kotter Zippo. The one my mom bought for me. The one that I love. The one that Becca jinxed last week by saying, “I can’t believe you still have that lighter.”

They wouldn’t hold it for me. They told me to go back to my car. I told them that I didn’t have a car here. I explained that the lighter meant a lot to me and that I wasn’t going to set anything on fire and I promised I wouldn’t let any minors smoke with it. They told me to find a place outside to hide it.

Outside. On Sunset Boulevard. Where it’s so damn safe.

I first tried the bushes near the Palladium, but the security guard told me that everyone else had already stashed stuff there and everything was getting stolen. I walked two blocks down the street. People kept trying to scalp tickets and there were lots of people and no hiding spaces and I was so upset.

I thought about hiding the lighter in my underwear and if the metal detector went off I’d tell them I pierced my clit. But I was worried they’d have to feel it for proof.

I found a homeless woman camped out on a side street. She had a cart. She was covered in the same blanket I had all of high school. The same blanket that became the lettuce that Eric has now. I thought that was a good sign.

She was trying to get cigarettes from some kids that walked by. They said they didn’t have any. I walked over, sat down and offered a full pack of cigarettes to watch my lighter. I told her that it meant a lot to me but I couldn’t take it inside the building.

She asked what was going on and why there was such tight security. I told her it was a concert.

“Who’s playing?” she asked.

“Weezer,” I said. “It’s just a rock band.”

There. I said it. That’s all I could think about. “It’s just a rock band.” Here I was pleading with this woman to watch one of my favorite possessions in the cold outside in the dark on Sunset Boulevard, talking about the lighter like a mother does to the cameras when her child has been abducted. I practically gave the lighter a name, I wanted her to understand how important it was. I asked for her name. I told her mine. I shook her hand. I watched my lighter sit on her knee and all I could think about was, “God. I hope I get that back. I hope I’m doing the right thing by trusting her. I hope this isn’t stupid.”

I walked back to the Palladium and tried to walk in. They didn’t understand my large orange ticket, touched my breasts, felt my pockets and told me to go to a VIP table. They told me my ticket was general admission. They made me go back through the search line. At this point all of the women are shouting, “I already searched her!” Now it looked like I just enjoyed having my breasts felt. The second lady never checked my side pocket. I could have gotten my lighter in through her. They never searched my feet. I should have stuffed the lighter into my shoes. I’m dumb.

You’d think that after that point I’d be able to see the concert. No. Then they had to take my license and swipe it through a machine because I’m from Texas and then I had to get a wristband and then I had to go to a special bar to get drinks with a credit card, but they didn’t have the drink I wanted at that bar but it was the only bar that accepted credit cards.

We weren’t allowed in the VIP section. We stood in the back and claimed “short girl territory” with four other short girls. We protected our area like mama lions.

The Palladium doesn’t allow you to buy more than one drink at a time, so if you want to buy your friend a drink on your credit card because he got the last round, you both have to go to the bar, losing your space that you earned. We ended up having to stand in the back, thirsty, not smoking, not drinking, not in the VIP with no gifts and me worrying that I wasn’t going to get my things back.

We discussed what songs you would have to play in order for us to not feel cheated out of cash and belongings. I don’t know if you had us bugged or what, but you played almost every song we wished for. And we were totally kidding, since you don’t even play half of our request list. Thanks for that.

After the show we walked over to my homeless woman, Renae. She was now underneath her blanket, moving around, pretending she couldn’t hear me call her name. At first I didn’t want to wake her. Once she started loudly snoring when I called her name, I realized she was totally faking it. My friend pointed out that she probably totally scored during this concert from people asking her to hold precious belongings. She wouldn’t wake up and I couldn’t see my lighter anywhere I around her.

I even started looking in her cart. I didn’t even see any of my cigarette butts around her. She probably doesn’t even smoke. She has no idea who Vinnie Barbarino is.

I was livid. My friend had me throw these stupid Yahoo magnets at the LA water treatment plant, mostly so I didn’t hit anyone. I jumped off walls and stomped so hard I broke the sole of my tennis shoe. I was scary. I was angry. I was used to nice Austin homeless people who understand the value of things.

I don’t live in Austin anymore.

I saw her the next day, sitting around on Hollywood Blvd. I wanted to go up to her and kick her and take her things. That’s so not like me, Weezer. I’m a very nice person. But the events in the past few days have led me to believe that I’m a pretty stupid person for being so nice to everyone. For trusting everyone.

So, to hear “The Good Life,” I had to lose one of my favorite things that my mom sent me out of love. I hope you’re happy.

Fuck the Palladium.

Weezer forever.

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