Guilty Pleasure...

So, here's the thing:

Gabe Saporta is not now, nor will he ever be one of my guilty pleasures. I would never feel guilty about something or someone who has caused me half so much joy as he and his band of Cobras have. Unfortunately, in a way he is also responsible for a great deal of sorrow.

A couple months ago, Liz and I caught the Believers Never Die, Part Deux tour. Easily one of the greatest nights of my life. Patrick Stump could sing the phonebook and I would fall down in rapture - boy's got pipes. I also got stared down by the incomparable Mr. Wentz while he rocked out. Literally, he was right in my face. Brilliant stuff. But not even this was the highlight of my evening.

For some reason, Cobra Starship only got to play like, four songs. While this could never be enough, it totally gave me my Gabe Saporta fix for life, or so I thought. *An amusing sidenote: Mr. Saporta wandered onto the stage during All Time Low's set and I recognized his from his back with him wearing a hat. He'd hurt his ankle a few days previously and you could totally tell from the way he carried it, but his walk is so wicked distinctive and I would know the shape of him anywhere. I about lost it, just from seeing him stand there. Not even doing anything. Anyways.*

During FOB's set, Liz and I danced it up. How can you listen to that and not thrash around? I've nearly wrecked before to them, you can't NOT dance. Sometime during my flailing, Liz grabs me and spins me around. I look directly to my right and who do I see? Yeah. One of my favorite artists of all freaking time, calmly observing the show - hopefully watching me dance. How could he not have been? I was the only one within a hundred yards over the age of fifteen *besides PrettyLiz* and Mr. Saporta is in no way a creeper. 

Cue minor heart attack. And by minor I mean I about had a seizure. Thankfully this looks remarkably like most of my dancing, so it probably didn't look all that out of place. After a quick conversation with Liz, she's taking the rest of our combined money and running to buy liquor while I'm praying he doesn't leave. On my advice, she comes back armed with a shot of whiskey and shot of tequila (the man's name is Gabe Saporta, he's gonna take the tequila), climbs over the flimsy little tape barring off that section of the stands and is making her way in the dark to my favorite musical badass. 

As she's doing a shot with him, I'm stumbling over. The moment I'm crossing the barrier and he's agreeing to taking a picture with me - security shows up. In no uncertain terms they make me leave while I'm visually communicating with someone I've admired from afar since I was barely a teenager. He seemed terribly apologetic about being dragged off while I merely flashed him a heart and played it off like no big thing while inside I was kinda breaking just a little. And by a little I mean I was very close to tears. All the while, Fall Out Boy is blaring through the arena and when we get back to our seats, the fourteen year olds in front of us are asking if "that was anybody important."

A note - if you have to ask if someone is important, you probably don't need to know who they are. I picked him out by his silhouette from across a dark room - that's important.

Now, I'm not a raving fangirl. I know I can seem like one, but it's not true. When actually faced with the objects of my affection, I'm not going to tackle them or cry or pass out. That would be silly. It's just, if I was an artist of any kind, I'd really love to hear that I had touched someone's life in a positive manner and I'd be more than thrilled to spend twelve seconds with a girl who's supported me in whatever way she can. 

But at least I know that for even just a minute, he knew that I was alive. I realize that this sounds ridiculous and totally little girl, but it's the truth. I know that a man I've made room in my life for - in however small a way - knew that I was there and that I cared. And for some reason this is important to me. No, I didn't have any kind of meaningful conversation with him or he didn't invite me back to the bus for a drink or ask me to dance, but he at least had the grace to look regretful to just one disappointed fan with red hair when he had to leave without letting me have the one thing I went to that show for.

So if you're out there, Gabe Saporta, know that you've been a huge part of my musical life and I don't know what I'd do without your brilliance. You seem like a really amazing and down to earth guy with a wicked sense of humor and some terribly refreshing wit. Some of my greatest memories are just being in the car with any number of my friends and playing your music way too loud for my crappy speakers to handle. I just got three tickets to the small venues tour for the Cobra's Hot Mess album (how I'm going to pay for them, I don't even know yet), so maybe if I'm lucky I'll get my picture there. But if not, I'll keep trying. And even if I do get it, I'll never stop going to their shows. 

So this is my starry-eyed Cobra Starship post. Every member of that band is beyond wonderful and I'd love nothing more than to be able to tell them all in person. Maybe one of these days they'll be asking for a picture with me instead of the other way around. And when that day comes I'm taking all of them out for a drink. But until then, Fangs Up!