So, I may or may not have snuck into a Gotye concert once because, you know… he was somebody that I used to know. Yeah, that’s right, I was like a ghost from his past, haunting the back rows in a sea of actual ticket holders. I half-expected security to call me out right then, but I just strutted past them with the confidence of a politician walking into a committee hearing they’re wildly unprepared for.
There’s something surreal about crashing a concert with lyrics that practically narrate your exact situation. Gotye’s belting out “Somebody That I Used to Know,” and I’m thinking, “Buddy, that’s me right now. We used to know each other about ten seconds ago when I breezed past your team at the door.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. But hey, if Gotye can sing about not being noticed or remembered, maybe I’m doing him a solid by being the literal manifestation of that in the audience.
It was a vibe—a once-in-a-lifetime “how did I get here?” moment. I felt like I’d just convinced an entire arena that I belonged there, like I’d channeled my inner Houdini with a sprinkle of “smile, wave, and don’t look suspicious.” Honestly, I should’ve won a Grammy just for staying cool under pressure. All the other concertgoers were blissfully unaware, and I was there like an indie spy, blending in, head-bobbing, trying not to look like I was holding my breath.
And then Gotye got to the chorus, and let me tell you, it hit harder than I expected. There I was, “Mr. Somebody He Definitely Didn’t Know,” thinking, “Yeah, Gotye, but we’re basically old friends now, right? I’m here, experiencing your art, contributing to your vibe. Who needs tickets when we’ve got connection?” Sure, it was a bit like philosophizing after getting away with jaywalking, but still.
By the end, I felt like we’d bonded—me in my covert operation, him serenading a crowd that included at least one person who probably shouldn’t have been there. As I headed out with the crowd, I had a smug grin plastered on my face, savoring the moment. It wasn’t just a concert; it was a life lesson in winging it.
Gotye, if you’re reading this, know that I showed up without a ticket, but with full commitment to the experience. I may just be somebody that you used to know, but hey, you’re also somebody I didn’t pay to see.
Fuck the patriarchy!!
So, I may or may not have snuck into a Gotye concert once because, you know… he was somebody that I used to know. Yeah, that’s right, I was like a ghost from his past, haunting the back rows in a sea of actual ticket holders. I half-expected security to call me out right then, but I just strutted past them with the confidence of a politician walking into a committee hearing they’re wildly unprepared for.
There’s something surreal about crashing a concert with lyrics that practically narrate your exact situation. Gotye’s belting out “Somebody That I Used to Know,” and I’m thinking, “Buddy, that’s me right now. We used to know each other about ten seconds ago when I breezed past your team at the door.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. But hey, if Gotye can sing about not being noticed or remembered, maybe I’m doing him a solid by being the literal manifestation of that in the audience.
It was a vibe—a once-in-a-lifetime “how did I get here?” moment. I felt like I’d just convinced an entire arena that I belonged there, like I’d channeled my inner Houdini with a sprinkle of “smile, wave, and don’t look suspicious.” Honestly, I should’ve won a Grammy just for staying cool under pressure. All the other concertgoers were blissfully unaware, and I was there like an indie spy, blending in, head-bobbing, trying not to look like I was holding my breath.
And then Gotye got to the chorus, and let me tell you, it hit harder than I expected. There I was, “Mr. Somebody He Definitely Didn’t Know,” thinking, “Yeah, Gotye, but we’re basically old friends now, right? I’m here, experiencing your art, contributing to your vibe. Who needs tickets when we’ve got connection?” Sure, it was a bit like philosophizing after getting away with jaywalking, but still.
By the end, I felt like we’d bonded—me in my covert operation, him serenading a crowd that included at least one person who probably shouldn’t have been there. As I headed out with the crowd, I had a smug grin plastered on my face, savoring the moment. It wasn’t just a concert; it was a life lesson in winging it.
Gotye, if you’re reading this, know that I showed up without a ticket, but with full commitment to the experience. I may just be somebody that you used to know, but hey, you’re also somebody I didn’t pay to see.
Ratners you make life an amazing journey