Sit down, you're rockin' the boat

So, remember that whole Tinsel and Rot tumult when I found out that it would cost $250 to buy a ticket to the Country Music Association Awards? Of course, you do. How could a momentous occasion like that just slip out of your brain?

Anyway, a month or so ago, I received a phone call early in the morning from a Tinsel and Rot operative out in the field that I should check my e-mail, for Seatfillers was offering the opportunity to attend the CMAs as a, you guessed it, seatfiller. So that meant that while the great unwashed were plunking down their $250 for seats way up in the 300 level at the Garden, I'd be on the main floor, being led around by the overstressed Seatfillers coordinators during commercial breaks to fill the large hole when Big and/or Rich needed to use the potty.

Honestly, I felt a little bad for those who paid $250 (plus fees), since I was getting better seats for free. But I had to wear a suit jacket, so it was just about an even trade.

***

As I'm sure I've either explained to you at some point or you've experienced firsthand, seatfilling is a very tedious and demeaning way to see a show. Basically, it is your job to fill the vacancies left when someone far more important than you gets the urge to stretch his or her legs. And you do that because someone apparently did a study at some point that said the average TV viewer will be shocked to see an empty seat, and will instead flip over to a show where all the seats are properly filled and all is right with the world. It seems insane to me, but what do I know?

So, you are herded into an area a good three hours before the show starts, branded (this time with a blue ribbon) and separated into groups (at the CMAs, I was part of the "Saddle" group), and eventually given a speech that assumes you are a moron incapable of being in such close proximity to a famous person. This talking-to is generally highlighted by the reminder that if someone taps you on the shoulder and says, "This is my seat," you get up and go, no questions asked. Whoever it is, he or she, it is to be assumed, is clearly more worthy of a seat than you. And the other highlight is when you are told not to talk to the celebrities. Unless they talk first. Then, I guess it's OK. I'm still not entirely clear on that. Fortunately, I've never been in that situation

This speech is almost always delivered by the same person, a woman with a sharp, piercing laugh that invariably makes me feel uncomfortable and/or like she might be capable of murdering me. During her CMA talk to the Saddles, the frightening speech was frequently interrupted as she tried to defuse some other situations developing regarding the other group, the Boots. I kept waiting to see her head explode, but no such luck.

Finally, everyone was herded over from the Theater to the actual arena, where the CMAs were being held. And then we stood in a hallway for about an hour while people passed by us, alternately asking, "What are the blue ribbons for?" and whispering, "You know who they are? Those are seatfillers." It's what I imagine what living in a zoo is like, except you're not standing in your own excrement. Or at least I wasn't. I shouldn't speak for the others.

***

In what was either a great stroke of luck or a terrible misfortune, our group of Saddles didn't get into the arena until Kenny Chesney had already begun his opening number. And there seemed to be mass confusion among the Seatfillers coordinators, as they led us from one area next to the soundboard to the side of the main space, and then back to the soundboard area. Finally, they sat us down in the holding area, where, theoretically, they would be coming back to get us when seats needed to be filled. Or, you could do as I and my fellow Tinsel and Rot operatives did, which is just ignore any frantic-looking person with a headset and just enjoy the show from a partially obstructed seat in the middle of the main floor.

The women who were initially sitting next to me were not happy, however, because they desperately wanted to be on TV, a desire I bid adieu to a long time ago, just after I appeared on TV (see "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," Episode 2, the pale guy right behind the Hot Seat). So, attired in their prom dresses (some people take the seatfilling thing way serious), they bolted for greener pastures, or at least a Seatfillers coordinator, after the first commercial break. Meanwhile, I contemplated how sad it was going to be when Garth Brooks performed, thus ending what I had hoped would be a lifelong streak of never having attended a show where Garth Brooks appeared. Luckily, tragedy was averted on a technicality when it was announced that Garth would be performing live from Times Square. So, I'm still clean.

(A question was posed in the Comments field asking why Garth Brooks is the Antichrist. Five reasons follow:

1. He managed to transition country music from a time when traditional country was actually making a comeback to a time when bombast, tight Wranglers, and singing like Kermit the Frog became the new standard in Nashville.

2. He was one of the first artists to release CDs with multiple covers so as to get more sales. He likely didn't create the idea, but he certainly ran with it the farthest. Or furthest. Whatever the right word is there. And he just really seems to have an aggressive desire to get every last dime out of his fans. I know they're at fault, too, but I don't have to look at them in the Country CD racks.

3. He recently signed a deal with Wal Mart to make them the exclusive seller of Garth Brooks CDs. And he's re-releasing all of his old CDs with new bonus tracks, so the fans can feel compelled to buy the CDs again. CDs you can only buy at Wal Mart. Douchebag.

4. Chris Gaines. Already covered in "Critical, But Stable."

5. It's my blog and what I proclaim is true is true.)

***

The Country Music Association decided that since the CMAs were in New York this year, which already upset a lot of people in Nashville, they would would further insult country music fans by inviting people like Paul Simon, Bon Jovi, and Elton John to perform (to be fair, the general consensus among the seatfillers was that Jon Bon Jovi would be the only person it would be really exciting to sit next to, so perhaps some new fans were born). Paul Simon sang Willie Nelson's "Crazy" (preceded by Willie singing Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years"...get it?), which didn't really seem to move anyone. Bon Jovi sang one of their own songs, with help from Jennifer Nettles, the lead singer of Sugarland, which went slightly better. But, by far, the winner of the worst performance of the night was Elton John and Dolly Parton's complete butchery of "Imagine." It was a performance so irredeemably awful that the standing-ovation-happy audience made absolutely no move to get out of their seats after the last note (we had made the move to fill seats during the last hour, so we got to see this one up close). Call and response doesn't really work on "Imagine," particularly when the responding involves Dolly Parton wailing, "Imagine no possessions."

The rest of the performances ranged from the pretty good--Miranda Lambert's "Kerosene" and Sara Evans's "Cheatin'," emphasis on the "pretty," and Brad Paisley's "When I Get Where I'm Going"--to the distressingly bad--Alan Jackson singing "Wonderful Tonight"--to the alarmingly awful--whatever the hell Rascal Flatts sung (I've blocked it out, and I can't be bothered to do the research) and Big and Rich's "Coming to Your City" (please don't). And the slideshow running behind Gretchen Wilson as she sang "I Don't Feel Like Loving You Today" was fairly confusing (JFK and Jackie? Lucy and Desi?), though it was a welcome distraction from the fact that Gretchen Wilson should stay away from the ballads. And during Julie (not Julia) Roberts's performance, I was reminded of her complete inability to finish singing a line without smiling, a trait first picked up by another Tinsel and Rot operative in the field during a trip to the Grand Ole Opry last year.

***

I had my brief flirtation with seatfilling fame at the very end of the show, when I was called up to the front row to fill a seat in that general area. After calling me up there, they couldn't find a seat for me. All of the sudden, I heard Brooks and Dunn talking behind me. Whoops. We're back on. My vast seatfilling training prevented me from panicking, and tragedy was averted. Perhaps you saw the top of my head on TV. Hope it looked good.

The night ended with me furiously grabbing unused programs from underneath seats, for reasons I'm not entirely sure of ( I have 4 extras--make me an offer), before heading out to the hallway again, where injured Jets quarterback Chad Pennington was involved in an impromptu photo session with every dope with a camera as he waited for his girlfriend to come out of the bathroom. That was probably the closest I came to an actual celebrity that night (other people I saw from relatively close distances--Sugarland, Dominic Chianese, Jerry Douglas, John Rich, Jeff Hanna, Matraca Berg...I'm not impressing you, am I?) But, at a savings of $250, it was a pretty good night.