Show Me on the Ticket Where He Touched You

I'm going to use a slow news Sunday evening for a bit of a personal but informative digression. As you get to know me, you'll learn of one of my greatest fetishes:

Tickets.

I don't just mean the knowledge of potentially titillating and/or disastrous operatic evenings to come. I mean the PHYSICAL tickets themselves.

Here's how this started. When I was about eleven years old, I decided I wanted to give my parents a very grown-up Anniversary present. I asked my babysitter Jamie to drive me to the BASS Ticket outlet in a now defunct chain CD/Video store in downtown Monterey, CA. I asked the friendly drop-out behind the counter (who at the time I assumed must be THE authority on all things artistic) if there was any sort of "classical music" happening in San Francisco. She flipped through her booklet and half-heartedly suggested a Jessye Norman recital at Davies Hall. She assured she was famous and "very good". Sounded fine to me and I used my allowance (my sisters chipped in as well) to buy a pair of tickets at $13 apiece in the very back row. They were a deep orange color and to my eyes, just about the most beautiful tickets I had ever set eyes on. For the next two weeks I kept these tickets hidden in the back of my closet (*insert your favorite "in the closet" joke here*). Periodically, I would check on them. Just to make sure they were safe/comfortable. I was quite literally obsessed with them and simply could not cpmprehend what I had achieved. At one point, even my little sister, who was only 7 at the time, made fun of me for referring to them as "the precious tickets".

I was almost sad to give them to my parents--I really loved having them (and whatever sort of glimpse of adulthood they represented) completely under my care.

From that moment forward, I have maintained a very particular affinity for event tickets. My tickets for the remainder of the 2005-06 Met season have urged me to examine this phenomenon.

I have them all in one very full envelope.

I like to keep them in a little pile and re-sort them now and then by date. I'll even flip through them on occasion and look up the seat locations on that terrific flash w/pdf details seating chart on the Met website. I have also, now and then, decided I should keep these little treasures on a different shelf or surface...and will pick up the envelope just so I can feel the weight of it for a moment. Ultimately, the sacred package lives on the top level of my crowded Ikea bookcase. And there it will remain. The need to check on this little bundle of joy relates directly to the excitement and independence I associated with my first thrilling purchase of those nosebleed seats to Jessye Norman.

Beyond that, I don't totally understand it. Nor do I care to, necessarily. Some eccentricities are best left alone. Besides, those little buggers may be out of date order, and god forbid I go to sleep without at least checking...just to be sure. Goodnight!