Bang your head

I guess I should start by asking, how the heck are ye? I know I've been absent. I've been concentrating on getting my life under control, and that doesn't always include blogging. Look for updates, perhaps even a side-shoot blog here and there in the future. How exciting!


Anyhoo...


Last night we attended a free concert at Cheesman Park. The concert was a lovely offering from The Colorado Symphony. Those of you in the know may recall that I was a band geek of some magnitude back in the day. Clarinet, to be precise. Every once in awhile, I get the desire to toot my horn again. Sometimes.


Cheesman Park is an odd but beautiful bodkin. It is one of many parks in Denver, but it has a historic claim that may cause a few heebie jeebies. Cheesman Park was once a cemetery. If you read the link provided, you'll see that transferring the burial plots was not completely finished. This link provides a more detailed, gruesome description of the conversion from cemetery to park.


Creepier still, although there are an estimated 2,000 graves remaining in Cheesman Park, there is now a swath of homes over a former section of the cemetery between Cheesman Park and Congress Park. This page talks about more of the gruesome cemetery dealings and confused, wandering spirits around those homes.


Yikes.


*shudder*


Rest assured, we did not get assaulted by any ghosts. The only untoward advances we may have experienced would likely have come from Cheesman's more frequent visitors, who just happen to be gay. That's right. Cheesman Park is and has been one of Denver's cruisin' alleys for lonely fellas.


Ah, Denver. How you amuse me.


I told Phil that if I were single, the area around Cheesman and Capitol Hill would be a great place to live (lots of multi-residential homes with old timey charm). He agreed. I mentioned that he might have a few times where he needed to mention his heterosexual status, however, if he lived there. We were walking back from the concert when this conversation took place, so Phil added,


"I am perfectly secure in my heterosexual manhood while I carry this picnic basket."


Hehehehehehe.



Anyhoo...


The concert was lovely. It was a change of pace from our usual rowdy jazz fests at City Park. Talking was a bit of a no-no at the symphony concert. Amos became a spectacle, as usual, for the people around us. How can anyone resist this face?

Certainly not you.



A family in front of us had a few kids meandering about. A child with an unusually large head approached us as Amos was too much for him to resist. The boy repeated over and over that he is two (while holding up random numbers of fingers), asked me for juice, and then told me he wanted to go bye-bye. It was the most entertaining conversation I've had in years.


Because the mood of the concert was a bit stoic, sounds out of the ordinary from cellos or timpani were very noticeable. At some point, we became aware of a "whooping" sound. I scanned the crowd and found myself staring at the stage. In front of the stage was a young man holding onto the edge while "whooping" and banging his head. A few seconds of this made it apparent that this young man was very enthusiastic and most likely mentally challenged. There was not much else to gawk at, so we watched events unfold as a lady came out from the crowd to calm the fellow down. She didn't ask him to leave the stage. She stayed there with him for a moment and lovingly hugged him while slightly rocking out with him to the sounds of Beethoven. It was a beautiful moment, I thought.


Then, she went back to her picnic. Rocker Boy stayed up there, enjoying the concert and occasionally pumping his fists in the air. How often do you see such an enthusiastic response to a classical concert? Odd as it may have been, I enjoyed his enthusiasm and the casual air it added to the audience of mostly older citizens. As the percussion hit a great solo, Amos began to groove, and so did Rocker Boy. His enthusiasm reached new decibels of whooping. His lady friend began to walk over again, just as someone working with the symphony (a symphony roadie?) approached him as well.


The showdown began.


The lady calmed Rocker Boy down, as she so gently had done before. The roadie seemed pretty miffed that anyone had the audacity to show any appreciation other than clapping. Verbal jousting occurred between them, while Rocker Boy just wanted to get back to his place next to the stage. Roadie must have said something rude, since the lady grabbed Rocker Boy by the hand and purposefully marched away to their picnic spot. Then, Roadie had an animated, hand-flailing discussion with Roadie Number Two.


I wasn't sure how to feel about what we had just witnessed. I was really wanting Rocker Boy to stay in his place at the stage, pumping his fists and punctuating the air with occasional whoops. As a former band geek, I remember plenty of times when people would yell and scream while we were playing during a halftime show. Sure, it's not a symphony, but I learned to deal with interruptions. Is a city or statewide symphony really above having an appreciative fan, even if his method of showing it is a bit more animated?


I dunno.


I do know that Phil is still secure in his ability to carry a picnic basket, no matter what neighborhood we cross.