Just another roll of the dice

If there's one thing I have a lot of experience at it's waiting for Springsteen tickets. I've been doing it a long time. I can even remember back to the days before the interwebs, when my friend Kim and I would line up at the now extinct Music Plus store in Westwood or the Marina, and wait in line fifteen hours with throngs of the faithful, swapping war stories and seating victories, and promising we'd all see each other at the show.

The difference between then and now is at Music Plus, you knew you were going to walk away with tickets.

This morning at 10 a.m. tickets went on sale for the March 19 show at the Los Angeles Sports Arena. I, like so many other of my Bruce tramp friends, was online the minute they did, credit card in hand. And from the very first click, Ticketmaster threw up a sign saying "No tickets available for this event." Poof, they're gone.

After hitting refresh a few times, I managed to get four tickets which the family and I will enjoy. They're not front-of-the-plane seats we've become accustomed to, but we're in the building, it's Bruce and that's all that matters.

I'm not going to give you the predictable whine about Ticketmaster. From the price gouging fees to selling directly to brokers, their evil ways have been documented time and again. My personal feeling is it doesn't matter. There's always a huge market and not much incentive for them to change.

I'm optimistic about some things, realistic about others.

The truth of the matter is I endure the wait, the frustration and the anxiety of it all every time and I'll keep doing it. Bruce tickets have always been like a box of chocolates. Fortunately, I've been in a position for many years to either afford alternative channels (brokers), or have friends with contacts wrangle some mighty fine seats for me.

But as I said, when it's Bruce, just being in the building is enough.

For thirty years, my aforementioned friend Kim has been with me at every Bruce on sale drama, and almost every show I've been to - including the very two Madison Square Garden reunion shows where his DVD Live In New York was recorded.

Over the last nineteen years, my friend Alan has traipsed up and down the California coast with me more than a couple times, and to Arizona, enduring some very sketchy hotels to follow Bruce.

And thirteen years ago, I met my red-headed woman Jessie at an agency we worked at together. Her office was plastered with Bruce posters and pictures, including one of her with him. When I was telling another person who worked there how much I like Bruce, she said, "I've got someone you have to meet." Jessie has been at all the shows with us. In fact, Jessie twisted my arm and had me get GA seats at a show in Pac Bell Park in San Francisco. We were on the rail, five feet away from Bruce - best seats ever.

I'm not exactly sure how many years I've known Chris, but he is a spectacular Bruce friend who always manages to find out everything we need to know long before anyone else does. He also manages to find the music before anyone else has heard it. Enough said.

I don't know if it's a religion or a cult, a compulsion or a necessity. Maybe it's all of them. I do know every single time, what I've gotten out of it has been more than worth everything I've had to go through to get there. And I've been there so many times I've lost count.

I'm grateful I have my Bruce tramp pals who're ready to go through it all with me unwaveringly each and every time.

Sure I wish it were easier to get good seats for the shows. But over the years all of us have been lucky enough to learn the same lesson over and over.

When it comes to the ticket train, faith will be rewarded.

Star Wars wars

If you haven't seen Star Wars Vll yet there are some SPOILERS here. Warned you have been.

Here's the thing: I've been to Comic Con the last eight years. I've slept out on the cold, wet grass with 6500 of my closest friends waiting in line for Hall H while looking across the street at my empty $300 a night hotel room. I've fought the crowds, seen the panels and been thrilled by exclusive footage that's available online seconds after it's shown. My pop culture/geek/nerd credentials are firmly intact, and I have the badges to prove it.

Having said that, I don't feel I'm under any obligation to fall lockstep in line with everyone who's gushing over the new Star Wars. For the record, I liked it. Didn't love it, but liked it.

I know this will be a hard landing for hardcore fans, and I'm sorry you have to find out this way, but it's not a perfect film.

People who don't have the energy to come out of their basements somehow seem to muster enough to relentlessly tell me why I'm wrong in my opinion. Even though it's my opinion. And even though I'm right in my facts and critique.

Anyway, the fact I'm not worshipping at the Star Wars altar shouldn't take anything away from your enjoyment of the film. Or maybe I have some unseen power, some ancient, mystical ability if you will where I can use my mind to exert my will over you that lets me crush your pleasure at seeing the movie. But I doubt it.

Have at it. Enjoy all fifteen times you're going to see it. I want you to. I'll still ask why Kylo Ren assigns only one Stormtrooper to guard Rey, the most valuable prisoner ever. Or why Finn, having never held a light saber, is suddenly able to hold his own against the dark side of the force in a light saber battle with Kylo Ren. Or why Kylo Ren didn't just "force" him into oblivion without working up a sweat. Or if Kylo Ren is leader of the Knights of Ren, why there are no other Knights of Ren in the movie? Or about 37 other questions you're free to ignore.

I love J.J. Abrams, and I liked Star Wars Vll. It's a fun, nostalgic, visually great popcorn movie with great new characters, one breakout new star and a fairly perfect ending. I'm sure I'll see it again. And if it makes you happy, I'll wait in line with you for Star Wars Vlll, but not for the whole three weeks.

But for the love of Lucas, stop arguing with me about it. I'm not trying to change your mind, I'm just letting you know what I think. No matter how many times you come back at me, I'm not going to see it your way.

And, despite whatever new hope you have, you can't force me.

Over and out

Another year, another four and a half days of insanity come to an end. Comic Con 2015 is over.

It's hard to know which I enjoy more: the studio panels in gigantic Hall H where they bring out tremendous movie star power and show exclusive footage just for the Comic Con crowd, or watching socially and emotionally arrested nerds come out of their basements once a year and try to interact with actual people.

That's the film they should show in Hall H.

This year had special meaning for me. It was the last Comic Con with my son before he heads off to college in Texas. And even though he'll be back every summer, and we'll be at Comic Con every year he's back, I cherished the time with him much more than in past Cons.

I also made a promise to myself I wasn't going to harsh his buzz by complaining about everything from the massive lines, incredibly unorganized wristband handouts, pizza in Hall H that's actually just cardboard with ketchup (although cardboard and ketchup would be a step up), horrendous traffic getting there and back, and the fact the girl in the skimpy Spartan outfit kept pretending she didn't notice me.

I'm happy to report I kept my promise. As much for myself as for him.

Comic Con really is like seeing The Rolling Stones or going to Paris. It's something everyone should do once. It's a wonder to watch a hundred and thirty thousand people congregate in the same place, with the freedom and joy to dress up, geek out and be who they are without being judged harshly for it.

I imagine for a lot of them, it's not a feeling they get to enjoy often in their real lives.

I'm still trying to catch up on sleep I lost camping out for the more popular panels at the Con. It's good to go, but it's good to be home - relaxing without having to worry when to get in the next line for Hall H.

At least until July 21, 2016.