Thanks to the camera's digital zoom, we got this close to Elliot Yamin in Glorietta. I had to peek at him in between the necks of people who seemed to have no problem having their personal spaces invaded . . . and vice versa. We stayed at the second floor of the mall because hazarding a spot at the ground floor activity area was suicide. Believe me I tried. If the mass of humanity pressing on me was not deterrent enough, the collective smell of people sweating in delirious anticipation proved to be my undoing.
After the show, the organizers permitted a meet and greet with the artist. I pushed and shoved like the best of them only to be told at the front that only a select few may approach the artist. My legendary charm (believe me I have gotten through a modest number of traffic-violation tickets simply by acting coy. Hey, it's not something to be proud of, but you get what I mean) failed to move the sentries. I silently fumed inside as I saw the privileged few paw and kiss Elliot and I murmured to the fetid air, "Damn you, Ayala Malls . . ."
But, thanks to a husband who is nothing short of Superman and who has a vast network of friends in the right places, I got myself a fourth-row-VIP ticket to his ATC show. Bwahahaha!
Boy was Elliot handsome . . .
and talented . . .
As I prepared to enter the meet-and-greet area with the much-coveted pass, I saw mothers, with their children, begging the guards to at least be allowed to have their CD sleeves signed. I saw teenagers in tears, throwing fits as their horrified parents looked helplessly on. I wanted to help them, I really did, but what could I do? I had one meet-and-greet pass.
Life's a bitch.
