The Boy in the Plastic Bubble

On Friday night, I dragged the hubby to see the Flaming Lips at CMAC. True to form, it was a sensory explosion of lights, lasers, giant colored balloons, streaming confetti and beautiful, but deafening, sound. The giant, multimedia, onstage screen showed everything from trippy Woodstock-like images to footage of naked chicks dancing -- including the band emerging, womb-like, from a larger-than-life woman's light-emitting genitals. (You don't see that every day.)

As expected, the lead singer and major cutie, Wayne, crowd-surfed in a man-sized, plastic bubble. I have to believe that this is probably easier, or more dignified, when not rolling up/down a hillside. He was falling on his face a bit. (All in a day's work.) Legions of people were dancing on stage in orange, prison uniforms or orange dresses except the man in the over-sized, furry bunny costume who was more tastefully dressed. I heard later that the dancers were hand-picked locals which would explain why they barely had any rhythm. The talent scouts should have consulted with me before casting. I could have rounded up some babe-a-licious friends who can shake their booties with style. Next time: call me. (Insert pinky to lips/thumb to ear.)

The crowd was a mix of hippies (read: prep school kids) and middle aged suburban folks (read: us). As a result, the air was a delicate co-mingling of pot smoke and bug spray. The hubby offered me a dollar for every black person in the audience; I would have been better off spotting the misguided youth who were being escorted (or wheeled) out by security. Hey kids, save your drugs for a concert where the psychedelics aren't part of the actual show.

Aside: If I were the older dude wearing silver goggles and the suit/hat affixed with a case of Cheetos, I would have run for my life after the show when the munchies got the best of the audience. Just sayin' -- pick your outfits wisely.

For those of us who made it through the show without passing out like the slacker in the Batman cape next to us (or, in the hubby's case, feigning sleep), I'd say it was money well spent. (My husband would disagree. He wants both his $ and his eardrums back.)

I'm thrilled that they played their hit, Do You Realize, during the encore and a just a little sad that they didn't play Fight Test. The hubby is thrilled that it's over and a little sad that Wayne kept stating, rapid-fire, "come on, come on, come on" to get people engaged or "thank you, thank you, thank you."

But I had fun. So, to the Flaming Lips, my husband who joined me and my mom who watched the kids, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.