When I first signed up to watch the live concert stream of Bon Jovi’s “Because We Can” tour from San Jose’s HP Pavilion last night, I thought my biggest concern was going to be my two young boys. Little did I know.
I head upstairs at 7:57 p.m. in my most casual concert attire ever —shorts and a t-shirt—and leave my family with simple, yet strict, instructions: leave me alone. A few minutes later I sit in front of my iMac, ready to rock. After a short delay, the concert kicks off and I am soon singing along to a couple of favorites: You Give Love a Bad Name and Born to Be My Baby. Jon wears a red t-shirt, a blue distressed leather jacket with a white star center chest and red and white stripes running vertically along the bottom. His right cuff is unzipped. Cool. I’ve been to several concerts and Sharks games at the HP Pavilion, but this is my first live concert via computer. I’m getting into it. As the song ends I realize there’s someone standing behind me in the dark: it’s my mom.
Jon addresses the crowd.
“SAN JOSE CALIFORNIA….”
He goes on to say that he “ain’t gonna waste much time talkin’ tonight.”
“Ain’t?” my mom repeats.
He then tells us about the 2 1/2 hour roller coaster ride we’ll be on for the evening.
“Has he had some work done?” My mom says in what is more like a statement than a question.
“No, it’s good genes.” I counter.
“Is he heavier? Or taller?…”
Maybe she forgets she’s watching this on a 21.5 inch computer screen.
She makes her way to the door.
“His hair looks better,” she pipes in as she leaves.
A few minutes later, the door bursts open and the room smells like freshly-brushed teeth. My boys are with my mom, standing quietly at first.
“Why’s he sweating?” My 9-year-old asks as I’m enjoying Lost Highway. “He’s so old.”
“Does he have an earring in? Oh, it’s an earpiece…” My mom adds.
They leave the room and I am left alone with the band again singing a Whole Lotta Leavin’.
The door opens a final time.
My mom stands there in her striped pajamas.
“Are you gonna say prayers with your children?” she chastises.
As she pulls the door shut for emphasis, I turn back to the computer screen and the sweaty old guy. I extra-happily —and with renewed vigor— belt out “It’s my life…..” with him.
Note to self: Next time there’s a concert stream of Bon Jovi broadcast live from anywhere around the world, make sure Frannie is nowhere in sight.