A long, rambling review!  Oh boy!

– So the Manfriend, tolerant little cinnamon roll that he is, agreed to come with me to this show. This doesn’t sound like a bit deal until you consider that the show is 300 miles away, on the other side of Pennsylvania. And he has to work the next day.

– 11:30 PM, the night before sees me struggling to construct a nun’s whimple out of the weirdest goddamn fabric ever. It looks amazing, like matte ‘pleather’ but it’s soft and thick and drapey and perfect. Because if you’re going to do something like wear a nun hat you’d better do it well, otherwise you will look like a giant toolbag. In any case, it’s too thick to stitch and no glue will stick it together. I make do with hot glue and prayer (hear our Satan praaaaay-yerrrrr).

– 12 PM, day of the show. We tearfully bid goodbye to our children (cats) and start off. I’m driving. I play Infestissumam/Con Clavi Con Dio as we leave the city. Manfriend’s face: 🙄

– 12pm-6pm, we drive and contemplate just how fucking empty the middle of PA is. Like, not even cows and soybean fields, but like actually NOTHING. Forests full of sad, naked trees and power lines and mountains and clouds, occasionally punctuated by tiny towns with names like Ohr and Graniteville. Yes, really.

We stop to pee in a little town which seems to consist only of houses and a Kohl’s. Being a Tattooed Weirdo with a Non-White Guy is a little worrying at moments like this. In the past, when asked by residents what in the fuck I’m doing in their town, my answer has been that I’m in a touring band. I don’t know why, but it diffuses weird situations. I suggest that we, in this case, claim to actually be IN Ghost if anybody asks. (Chatter from central PA: “One of the dudes from Ghost is a chick! My friend met them in Kohl’s.”) Manfriend: 🙄

– 6pm, I’m driving again and we have located Stroudsburg. It is WEENSIE. What is Ghost doing here? I comment that if The Guys are out walking around we will almost certainly see them, because the town seems to have one main drag and they would NOT blend in. He says they’re probably on the bus. He is not good at playing along with my dumb fantasy scenarios.

–6pm-7pm, We check into the Budget Inn where the front desk girl is very confused by what we’re doing in Stroudsburg. The hotel’s nearest cross-street is Forge Rd. I find this hilarious. Poor Manfriend is still confused. We get prettied up and start out for the venue.

–8pm, it’s taken us 45 minutes to find a goddamn parking space, because the town has been invaded by weirdos like ourselves. The line at the venue is so big it can probably be seen from space. We finally park quite a ways away. My nun hat is popular, especially with one dudebro who declares loudly, “We HAVE a nun”, in much the same way as NASA types say “We HAVE a problem” or “The Eagle HAS landed.”

–9pm, opener (The Shrine) is ok, but I’m sad they’re not Dead Soul. Not that they can help that. Sorry, The Shrine. Manfriend is usually a complete wizard at unobtrusively getting right up to the barrier, but no luck today. We’re at stage left, maybe 12 feet out. Still not so bad.

–9:15ish, when Ghost’s Eyes Wide Shut music starts the crowd does this crazy surge toward the stage that, by the time it reaches us, is totally not intentional anymore. I end up climbing the dude in front of me like a tree. In a skirt and a nun’s whimple. It’s ok, though, because he is large and teddybear-ish and soft and cozy. He comments, “It’s ok, I’ve got your back. Uh, or your front, I guess.” Thank you teddybear man. Metal audiences are seriously the best. Adorable.

The band comes out, sans Papa, launching into Spirit. Somehow Papa manages to emerge from the center of the stage rather than the wings. I can’t see well enough to decipher how he’s done this. So I’m going with magic Satan stuff. Also, I discover that the internet has ruined me because my first thought is, “A wild Papa appears!”.

We are on the Alpha side and dude is seriously impressive. Especially when you consider that he probably can’t see in that fucking mask. I don’t understand how guitarists can play without seeing their hands, because I’m primarily a violinist and we’re allowed to see our hands.

The audience is seriously SHOUTING every lyric, which is a nice display of enthusiasm but I can barely hear the band. This becomes funny when the Latin parts happen and everybody just starts mumble-screaming lines like, “Saaah con clavi, con dio, Saaah uhh mah mah EEEEH-uh scurooooo”.

Eventually the sound guy/girl compensates. Thanks to my time in the music business 900 years ago I was aware that they had their work cut out for them the minute I saw the place. Those historic old theatres are AMAZING but they were not designed for this sorta thing. Minimal sound baffling on the walls, concrete floor. Ouch. The band seems to be struggling with their in-ear monitors a little at first as well. They’re killing it, regardless.

Papa starts out in the Pope Suit and I love it. A minute later he brings out the incense censer. For a weird moment I’m transported back to fucking four hour long Good Friday masses watching bored Catholics pretend to care about the stations of the cross. I’m happy, because I’m a big girl now and nobody can strongarm me into church. I think this sensation is about 50% of why I love Ghost so much.

The band is delightfully hammy. They know how fabulous they look and how AMAZING their lighting director is, and maximize the photo ops. The four mobile members even do some fun synchronized stuff a lá Purple Rain. I love that shit.

Papa MAYBE looks at me a few times but it’s hard to say because I’m on his left, aka the raptor eyeball side. I’m going to say we made eye-contact and he thought I was a babe. Because.

Poor Air’s keys are always either lost in the wash of sound or alternately, cutting through me like a fucking knife. Again, this is understandable. I’m not picking on you, sound engineer! They’re probably tough to mix in general, what with the backing tracks and whatnot.

Papa comments that he isn’t grabbing (scratching?) his own ass, he is adjusting his pants.

He also gets rambly about American food, mostly potatoes. Because I’m a dork, I know that this is because he loves carbs and can’t have any. I love this strange man. Just eat the carbs, Papa, we’ll love you anyway.

He also blows multiple kisses to a kid in the balcony who has Papa face-paint on. This is also adorable. Curse you and your squishy maternal instincts, Papa. You’re making half the audience ovulate in unison.

He also gives kudos to the band. A LOT. I like that. When a stage tech takes his mic stand away he directs the audience to applaud him. Nobody ever applauded me when I took mic stands off the stage. Can I work for you, Ghost?

Sadly, I don’t see much of Omega, as he’s mostly stage-right. Water bops around quite a bit, though. That guy is my hero. He does the little floaty thing where he puts his arms out and sways around. I squee. I’m easily amused.

Papa gives a speech extolling the joys of the female orgasm. For like five minutes. Somewhere, Dr Ruth is crying tears of joy.

-11pm, the show lets out. I buy a stupid quantity of merch from the two very busy merch people. Everyone else is also buying merch, which is good to see. The band makes real, actual money from merch sales! Unlike album sales, for the most part.