Any Way You Want It

You could chalk it up to maturing, becoming more responsible, learning to take consequences into account....but I have a feeling that's not why I haven't gotten horribly, unfortunately, embarrassingly drunk in a long time. Because if that were why, you would think I wouldn't have done just that on Friday night, mere hours before I had to wake up at 8 or 9 am, drive an hour and a half to Leesburg, VA, and watch some nine hours of polo, airshows, and (could it be the greatest band on Earth?) Journey. But that I did. For whatever reason, as I come further and further from my college days, my nights of insanity have not only become less frequent, as would be expected, but they seem to arrive unanticipated and unbidden—it was just supposed to be a barbecue with some beers.

The blood was barely dry from the scrape I received falling in the street as I stumbled to the metro, but I dragged myself out of bed (a good hour late), threw on a dress (coincidentally, the very same one I wore to the Gold Cup last Saturday), and started on my journey...pun intended...to the event. I made Ethan wait so long for me he went to the mall and bought new sunglasses. He couldn't have been surprised though, since he knew first-hand what state I'd been in the night before.

Finally, we arrived. At the gate, we were met and escorted through the grounds by two press people who insisted that we see each of the sponsors' tents. This wouldn't have been so bad—had Casa Nobles tequila not been one of the main sponsors. They handed us a press release about the "Polorita," the "official drink of America's Cup of Polo," and then had the bartender pour us both tall glasses. Keep in mind, not only are we both already barely avoiding puking on someone's seersucker suit, but it's somewhere around 11:30 in the morning. Just the time for a nice frosty glass of tequila! Mm mm.

The rest of the day was interesting, to say the least. We spent most of it in the Ritz-Carlton tent cause it seemed to have the most food, be the least crowded, and contain the most bubbly and smiley press lady. It also had a girl who looked like the new James Bond girl and was with her covered-from-head-to-toe-in-diamonds mother and her I-hate-my-family-but-love-my-Bentley father. Naturally, Ethan decided his best move would be to try to hit on her the entire day. He remained undeterred by her constant attention to her Blackberry and avoidance of him and chatted up her mom for about 3 hours, until it came out that she was a sophomore in college (no word on whether those were virgin glasses of champagne).

There were a lot of strange non-polo related events (not including Journey), ranging from parachuters flying down holding American and British flags, a Coast Guard rescue helicopter landing on the field for the audience to come up and gawk at, and, probably the strangest, a demonstration of how the Park Police K-9 unit takes down a suspect in a car chase, in which the only minority person we had seen for the entire day jumped out of a car and a dog promptly ran up and viciously attacked his arm until he fell on the ground unable to move and was "arrested." Sadly, my inability to get out of bed cost us the opportunity to see the "demonstration of hunt & hounds, carriages, and side-saddle," the "Virginia Native American Tribe dance," and the performance by the "Urban Nation H.I.P H.O.P. Choir," (I guess we missed our chance to see black people that weren't playing the part of dangerous criminal...).

The polo was pretty cool to watch, but pretty much what I expected. What I did not expect was for one of the commentators to be named "Cowboy Bob," have a Dubya-esque accent, and make comments like, when it became clear that the British team was cleaning house, "well we whooped 'em once, but that was 400 years ago." I guess knowledge of history does not necessarily come with knowledge of the game of polo.

Of course, it was all just lead up to the concert.

The reaction to Journey can only be described as mixed—and by mixed I mean totally split down the middle between shrugs and looks of confusion from under feathered hats in the VIP tents and raucous cheering, boozing, and dancing on the ground by the stage. A teeming mass of fans pumped their arms and screamed along to all their Journey favorites in the first 100 or so feet from the stage, the soft glow from their cellphones replacing swaying lighters during the ballads (I guess the anti-smoking campaigns have started to sink in even in the heart of tobacco country). But there was a pretty clear line past which the enthusiasm level hit a swift drop-off. Somewhere slightly behind this line, I saw an older woman, still in her Queen-like matronly summer dress and boxy hat, sitting in a folding chair she'd brought from the sidelines and kicking her crossed leg impatiently with a look on her face that you could generously call inquisitive...if you didn't want to go so far as to call it disdain.

I can't say if her look was meant more for the classic arena rock blasting through the speakers or for the young people falling over drunk a few yards in front of her. At one point, four Alcoholic Beverage Control special agents had to get on the case of one such individual, a pink-shirted and khakied recent frat boy who had definitely had a little too much of something. They let him off the hook though when a man—who looked suspiciously like his boss—arrived to escort him away.

Whether or not the whole crowd was willing or able to appreciate it, Journey was in fine form. The lead singer, a non-Steve Perry, looked "like he hasn't cut his hair since his heyday," his perfectly coiffed, probably permed mane looking like it hadn't changed a hair since the '70s. He also had at least three costume changes, from an almost demure blue button down shirt and jeans to a white vest (with nothing underneath) to a black top and what looked from afar to be the quintessential rocker uniform: leather pants.

They played the classics, demanding audience participation on "Any Way You Want It" and dedicating "Don't Stop Believin'" to the students of Virginia Tech. They also played some new material, including one song that they debuted that night called "Winds of Freedom." The lyrics? All about the settlers of Jamestown. It went something like this: "400 years agooo, they got on their ships to escape tyrannnnny"...you get the idea. Awesome.

Despite the fact that the event had gotten a little behind schedule—by the time Journey was starting their set the weather had become quite chilly for a sundress—the promise of fireworks seemed to entice most audience members to stay through the bitter end. And though the first few seemed more like bottle rockets and roman candles shot off by some kid backstage, they soon became pretty impressive, adding a glittering backdrop to Journey's double encore.

And by the time we were driving back to DC, it was totally time for a beer run.