First, KISS fans are very much like Sox fans, and I’m not just talking about the fishnets and make-up. Both groups blindly follow their heroes through thick and thin and peaks and valleys and are oblivious to the catcalls and jeers from those outsiders who feel, quite simply, that our guys “suck.”
Also, both groups have impeccable taste in T-shirts. My favorite of the night read: “Who Died and Made You Paul Stanley?”
Slap a little greasepaint on Johnny Damon, and I swear by godandsonnyjesus, he is in! this! band!
I will never tire of watching hot chicks in the front row flash the audience via the concert cam. But for the guys in the band, who’ve been seeing it every night give-or-take for twenty years, it may well be boring. This fascinates me.
Finally, you know our hatred of the Yankees is in overdrive when it rears its head at a KISS concert. When Paul Stanley mentioned the band’s upcoming stop in their hometown of New York, the boos were almost deafening. Also, to the guy in the A-Rod jersey: What were you thinking?
Poison was the opening act. So you know where I was during the opening act. If you guessed “far from the stage,” you’re right!
Here we come, Seattle. Rock on.