7:54 p.m.: The show is sold out, so we were hoping to have left for it already. However, there is a major crisis in our home right now: Boy B is certain he caught a glimpse of the Cucuy. (The Cucuy is the boogeyman for Mexicans and he is fucking terrifying.) To compound the situation, he has also convinced Boy A of this as well. There is a dark spot on one of the planks of our hardwood floor that Boy B noticed earlier today. He believes this serves as indisputable proof that, not only does the Cucuy exist, but that he patrols the darkest shadows of our home looking for small children to maul. As far our sons are concerned, fathers are good for three things: giving high-speed piggyback rides up the stairs, absorbing the brunt of Mama's scorn when she finds the three of us wrestling on the master bed and hunting the Cucuy. So we stalk around the house with the two of them at our heels, ripping open toy box lids and doors to closets looking for that hellish bastard. This continues for the next 22 minutes until their little brains are at ease, and we are entirely okay with that. 8:45 p.m.: Yowser. It's packed with women in here. And there was no picket line outside either. Is it possible that none of these people heard what happened?
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
8:49 p.m.: There are a pack of mothers and daughters near the right edge of the stage, and they are all dressed just about the same. One of those groups got that shit way backwards. 8:59 p.m.: The DJ is pumping through some crunk-ish songs. This 12-year-old (looking) girl is dancing around and it's all very cute. Then Lil Scrappy's aggro-rap anthem "Head Bussa" comes on. In case you've never had the pleasure of hearing it, the chorus says "We some head busters! We some head busters! We'll knock a hater out, we some head busters!" She begins gyrating in a very hoe-ish manner. The mom thinks it's just the best. Ack. 9:10 p.m.: This kid just wandered by looking very much like a tiny Anthony Michael Hall. We want to ask him if he ever tried to rebuild that ceramic elephant lamp again, but then realize he probably wouldn't even get the joke. 9:10:30 p.m.: Dang. We just realized that that previous entry started as a joke about a floppy-haired pre-teen, then morphed into an accidental joke about us being the creepy old guy at the concert for kids. 9:15 p.m.: Show's starting. No opening acts, straight into Chris Brown. Oh look, him and all four of his dancers are dressed in all black... just like an eye. Baduum-tssh! 9:16 p.m.: Brown smartly opts to start with his fly single, "I Can Transform Ya." Very cool. He and his dancers are all roboty right now. 9:25 p.m.: He blasts through snippets of his older stuff: "Wall To Wall," "Gimme, Gimme" and so on. Kind of disappointed that we know the words to most of these. Really disappointed that we are noticeably mouthing them. 9:27 p.m.: He takes a second to address the crowd. "If it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't be onstage right now." Actually, that probably has more to with slick lawyers and a judge with a lenient stance on domestic abuse, but whatev. Thanks, Chris. 9:35 p.m.: Whatever the name of that song is where he sings, "Here we are, all alone, something something...," that's the one he's doing now. His shirt is off. The femmes are going bonkers. Is there a way for one dude to say that another dude has a pretty nice six pack witho - you know what, nevermind. 9:41 p.m.: Okay, so it's a stretch, but it's the only reasonable explanation we could come up with: There's this village of woman that live in somewhere in the Amazons, right. They're jungle women, so they're all great big and tall. A plane was flying over their section of the rainforest three years ago to deliver some supplies to an American first aid clinic and crashed. The Amazon women dug through the remains and found a laptop computer and a wireless Internet card. Despite their primitive ways, they were able to log on. And on top of that, they were also able to figure out our password information and have been monitoring our emails ever since. This is how they're able to see each time we get assigned to cover a concert. For whatever reason, they absolutely hate us. So when the date of a show we have to cover nears, they dispatch one of the tribe members to Houston to attend. Then, at some point during the night, she muscles her way through the crowd and stands right the fuck in front of us for at least ten minutes. Seriously. Every single friggin' time we're at a show, some large woman inevitably positions herself right in front us. It's uncanny. This can't be a coincidence. How are there even this many 6'2" white women in the world, let alone Houston? 9:43 p.m.: These two muscular, mean-looking gents are standing a few feet away. They're very stoic and odd looking. They don't look like what you'd assume typical Chris Brown fans look like. Something is amiss here. 9:44 p.m.: Yo! Chris just did some bananas karate kick flip-thing. Word. We were expecting a bit more in the way of thematicism - Brown has chosen mostly to rely on his dancing and toothsome smile to win the crowd over - but that was pretty slick. 9:49 p.m.: Hahaha. One half of the muscular, mean-looking duo took out a camera and began hurriedly snapping shots. And now he's doing that body-roll thing that women always do in rap videos. Love it. 9:51 p.m.: Chris has taken to doing some contortionist act during his dance routine. Somewhere, the Chronicle's Joey Guerra is in here Twittering his balls off. 10:05 p.m.: He's performing "No Air," that duet he did with Jordin Sparks. He clipped most of the other songs, but he's doing this in its entirety. There's a line in it that says something like, "Losing you is like living in a world with no air." Remember that part in Total Recall where Arnold got sucked out into Mars's atmosphere or something and his eyes were all bugging out? Didn't that just look awful? If we wrote this song, we would've made it to say "Losing you is like living that part in Total Recall where Arnold's eyes were all bugging out." That's way more descriptive. We suppose this is why we are not songwriters. 10:10 p.m.: Okay, fair point: It's easy to cane the music that Chris Brown makes. To this point in his career, he's yet to offer up anything really introspective worth examining. Granted, that "Crawl" song that the blogs are hailing is a good look, but it's still pretty elementary as far as that type of thing goes. Sure, it's the most thought-out Chris Brown song, but that's like bragging about being the toughest kid in the marching band. (On the cool though, getting Cassie to not subtly replace Rihanna was pretty sly. Word for that.) However, we're beginning to suspect that that may be the point. You come to his show and you see a kids and adult women and muscular, mean-looking men alike singing and dancing around and smiling and just generally having a good time, and it makes you appreciate what Brown does exceptionally well: make catchy music with a very broad mass appeal.