Mutton dressed as totally rockin’ lamb

So, last night I went to see Justin Timberlake and Pink in concert. I got the ticket from my future sister-in-law, who wanted to go with someone who would “enjoy the concert without irony” (i.e., not my brother). Now, it’s true, JT is one of my guilty pleasures – hell, not even that guilty: have you seen him on SNL? But that said, I have to admit I was feeling a little foolish before we went. I mean, you know, I’m not twelve (mental age notwithstanding). And while I have his CDs and some of Pink’s singles, it’s not like I know them by heart the way I did when I went to see Culture Club (my first concert, when I *was* twelve). I just thought it would make me feel old. And tired. But you know what? IT FUCKING ROCKED. I shit you not. It was awesome. Pink kicked some serious ass, both vocally and with some serious cirque du soleil maneuvers at the end of the set. And JT was just an amazing showman. He really seemed to be having a good time, his voice sounded incredible, and damn, that boy can dance. Also, Timbaland was on tour with him, so in addition to providing the “yeahs” on Sexyback, he did this rad intermission show, DJing some crazy stuff while the projection screens showed this montage of anime, computer animation, video clips, and 1930s cartoons. It was wild. Even better: the girls sitting next to us were not sloppy drunk, and we had an open seat on either side of us, so there was plenty of room for dancing. Best yet, at the end of the show, future sis-in-law screamed out “I LOVE YOU JUSTIN” at the top of her lungs.

In short, it ruled. So old age can stick THAT in its pipe and smoke it.

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