The Wristband

Lately, my life has been more apple trees and dirt than rock stars and concerts. While that saddens me on one hand, on the other…it’s given me something else to focus on, and right now, that’s sort of the name of the game. I will say though that as I type this, my back, calves, and upper body (okay, basically my entire body), is screaming at me that it would have rather gone to a concert this weekend instead of amending soil in the twenty-five holes we’re preparing for planting this week.

So perhaps that’s where my mind was earlier today when I clipped the picture below.

remember these???

Ah yes, the wristband. Maybe for you it was the VIP wristband, or perhaps you’ve been given one when you show your ID in order to buy alcoholic beverages at a show. Regardless, I would imagine that any and all concert fans have had the good fortune to have one fastened around your wrist from time to time, and if you were lucky, it was put on straight and didn’t grab an arm hair or two along the way! I have weird, but strangely comforting memories of getting into a car after a concert, sweaty and tired…but not too tired to remember to fish the end out from underneath the wristband and pull on it, thus breaking the seemingly “unbreakable” bond and ripping the band off of my wrist. Some people collect their wristbands like VIP laminates. Me? I can’t wait to rip the thing off and throw it away.

I’ve kept only ONE wristband such like this over the years. It is the sparkly silver one I was granted after waiting hours in a line outside of a certain Virgin Megastore in Hollywood. The mission was to buy Astronaut just after it was released at midnight, thus earning the right to come back later in the week and stand in another long line to have the album signed by the original Fab Five. That wristband, and the experience attached to it, remain in my collection.

I almost miss the way those wristbands, if applied tightly enough, would cut into my wrist over the course of an evening. It would begin to feel more like a restraining device than anything else, and there were many times I couldn’t wait to get the thing off. I’d almost welcome that feeling now, as it would indicate that life is returning to normal. You?


By Daily Duranie

Once upon a time, there were two Duran Duran fans. One named Amanda, the other named Rhonda. Over many vodka tonics, they would laugh about the idea of one day writing a book about their fan experiences. While that manuscript is still being composed...Rhonda thought they should write a blog. (What was she THINKING?!) Lo and behold: The Daily Duranie was born.

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