Me, two weeks ago, eating nachos while seeing The Cure in concert. Not a particularly flattering picture, but it’s the only one I have of the incident.
Story goes like this: I saw The Cure on the 17th of May at the Allstate Arena in Rosemont, IL. On the way there, I was telling my friend Maureen about how this venue has been renamed a shitload of times since I was last there in 1989 to see, of all bands, The Cure. I figured that since it’s now an “Arena”, they’d have lots of beer stands where you can also get big ass trays of nachos. On and on I went until I got locked in on the Nachos and the joke turned into a craving.
Let me stop there and just say that I don’t find soggy corn chips smothered with processed cheese and canned jalapenos appetizing normally, but I was on a roll.
We walked in the door, got fondled (in a litigation-worthy manner) by security, and the first concession stand we walked past had a huge supply of nachos. I think I may have squealed like a little girl. I was so fucking happy that I didn’t care about the concert anymore and could have ordered those godforsaken things, walked out the door, and been happy with the evening right there. As it was, I bought some nachos and watched the show.
I’d say that The Cure performed on par with my nachos. In the beginning, I was really excited for them; in the end they weren’t bad, but they weren’t nearly as good as I’d remembered and hoped they’d be again.
