Lifestyle of the lost and infamous

Skipping school to chill with Good Charlotte seems like a good exchange, don’t you think? By miraculous means, I managed to obtain two meet-and-greet passes a few days before. The meet and greet was scheduled early afternoon on the day of the concert, and by 1 p.m., I was ready to go.

However, even the best-laid plans can go awry. My driver was off running errands, so a substitute driver was assigned to me. I had little or no sleep the night before, and I was fast asleep only a few moments after stumbling into the car. A while later, I got off at what I thought was the Folk Arts Theater. It turned out to be this trying-hard-to-be-Egyptian place loaded with papier-mâché statues and the like.

By the time I realized I was definitely in the wrong place, my substitute driver had already been long gone and I was forced to take a taxi to the genuine FAT. I met up with my sparring partner and best buddy Elle upon arrival.

First, we needed to pick up our passes from my Uncle Vernon, editor in chief of Pulp magazine, at the green gate. After walking around the Folk Arts Theater a couple of times due to Elle’s lack of direction sense, I had the presence of mind to look at a map of the FAT which was posted on an easily noticeable sign. Once inside, we started to get nervous.

After an eternity of five minutes, it turned out that we were going to be allowed to sit in the press conference. In came Good Charlotte clad in black shirts, tattoos, and a whole lot of holes in their faces filled with metal studs. It was pretty intimidating, despite the fact that they weren’t all that taller than us.

At first, it seemed that nobody was brave enough to ask the first few questions. I was glad I was just sitting in. Soon enough, as the other journalists gained confidence, the questions started flowing in. One of the more interesting topics was when the woman next to us asked what they thought of public transportation here in the Philippines. Joel Madden said something to the effect of "Oh so that’s what those brightly colored jeeps are," Billy said "cool," Paul said "cool," and Benji said that if he rode one of those things, he’d have to bring a change of underwear.

Everyone laughed at that comment except for a "bouncer in heels." She was like an oriental Stepford wife, with a British accent to boot. I dubbed her a bouncer because at the end of the press con, she herded everyone out of the room, saying "Madahmes and sahs, plaise koindly laive the rewm," repeatedly while she made a pushing gesture with her arms as if we didn’t know English.

We hung around for a bit, and watched the other meet-and-greeters trickle in. I vaguely recall two foreigners and a dude who looked like he’d drunk a bottle of Growee every day of his life, but I forget the others. It doesn’t matter.

The bouncer in heels then announced that the 12 of us would be meeting the band in groups of four, so the band wouldn’t get overwhelmed. I had my Good Charlotte CD ready to be signed, while Elle was adjusting her poster in her bag so it could be brought out quickly.

We were only allowed inside the GC room for five minutes, so we had to make do with how-do-you-dos, and in Elle’s case, a big hug from each of the band members. A few words were exchanged, with Joel Madden promising to deliver an inspiring performance. Our items were signed ("One oitem foah each pehson ownly, plaise," said the bouncer in heels), and we departed the scene.

To kill time, we hung out at Figaro’s until the rest of our friends came. What surprised me was the number of people who came to the concert. Appearances can be deceiving. There was this horde of people at the main entrance, and I assumed them to be the regular Joe line. They turned out to be VIP ticket holders. I had never realized that Good Charlotte was that popular in the Philippines.

Once the gates were opened, to our dismay we discovered that the spots in the front were already taken, so we had to settle for the space immediately behind a group of girls who seemed determined not to let us take their places without putting up a fight. Hell, even though Elle pulled this extremely embarrassing fake claustrophobic act, which involved her doing an imitation of Dakota Fanning in War of the Worlds and "fainting" they wouldn’t let her get to the front for a breath of fresh air.

Quite a few people panicked, and I think the only ones who knew she was faking it were me, Elle, and the stubborn girls in front of us. I hate the waiting in concerts like this. After an hour or so of the opening performances Kamikazee ("P*t @ng ina, asaan na ang tsinelas ko?"), Typecast (they totally sucked, I wasn’t even listening to their "songs"), Mayonaise ("Jopay, kamusta ka na..."), and Chicosci (I also wasn’t listening much), the crowd was getting restless. Good Charlotte seemed to be taking their sweet time. Yawn, relax, and listen to the audience jump and roar for the band they paid to watch.

All of a sudden, they appeared on the stage and immediately launched into a rendition of their hit The Anthem, which happens to be my favorite song of theirs. The Maddens seemed to be experts at sweet-talking the crowd. In between songs, they’d say how nice it was to play here, how sorry they were that they never came here before, how the crowd was one of the best-looking ones they’d ever seen, how Benji Madden wanted to move to Manila and start a family here, and so on.

You should have heard the audience scream with delight every time they so much as opened their mouths. Joel even wrapped the Philippine flag around his mic stand, which seemed to revitalize the crowd and amplify their voices by two.

At the end of it all, after the band said their farewells, I realized I lost my voice. Which is funny, since I don’t usually sing in public. Alone, while taking a shower, perhaps, but never in public. I also discovered my Air Zoom Huarache 2k5’s to be partially stained with some unknown, orange substance. Note to all: Never bring good shoes to a good concert, lest they be crushed, mangled, and ruthlessly exploited by the millions of other shoes jumping up and down in unison.

I guess that’s why they call ‘em Good Charlotte.

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Read more about the concert on page H-2 of YS.