I took the boys to see The Fresh Beat Band on the Nickelodeon tour through Denver. Let's just begin by saying that anything with the words "Nickelodeon tour" is an experience unto its own.
The arena was (half to two-thirds) filled with families of small children. Children who were at their very first concert. Beachballs bounced over our heads. The children wore blinking LED necklaces that were so bright and blinky that they could induce a seizure. There was cotton candy and lollipops and stickiness. It was a veritable plethora of multisensory stimulation.
About a half hour in, while the children stood to cheer, squeal and dance in the aisles, I noticed many parents around me, all my age, quietly sneaking glances on their glowing cell phones, no doubt checking sports scores, Pinterest, and Facebook stati.
I wondered how many of them were a sweaty, screaming, hot mess at NKOTB concerts, twenty years ago.
Or more than twenty years ago, if we're all honest.
We encountered a boy throwing up in the bathroom. Hard to tell if he had caught the flu bug that is passing through Denver, or if he was the aftermath of dancing and screaming with a tummy full of cotton candy. His vomit gave us much to discuss on the way home, I assure you.
There's really no point to this blog post. I'm looking for some lovely conclusion. There isn't one. Just, you know, senseless silly.
Sort of like the Nickelodeon tour.
