I sat and watched a pre-recorded "Fashion Rocks" concert on television the other night. During the show, Carlos Santana and Chad Kroeger jammed to Santana's "Into the Night." I cranked the music, LOUD.

As if possessed by the devil, my entire body rocked and swayed to the riffs and rhythms. I leaped out of my chair and danced crazy in front of the television, singing along with Kroeger, "Ay oh ay oh ay … " Did I mention I was alone in the room?

The camera panned to the audience groovin' in their seats. It reminded me of an overactive bladder commercial.

If Santana can't get you up from your seat to dance, you'd better check your pulse. That's when it hit me. Someone must have instructed the audience to remain seated. When J. Lo came out on stage and shimmied her assets, the audience danced by the seat of their pants. This was not the case when my husband and I went to a Bob Dylan concert.

All ages of people streamed into the outdoor theater. The youngest was a 3-month-old baby girl. She wore headphones — the kind airport employees use on airstrips. Her parents took turns bouncing her in their arms and walking back and forth in front of our section.

To our left, two women wearing miniskirts, cowboy boots and cowboy hats danced with each other. They hooted and hollered at the back-up band to get their attention. I think they did, because the band members swooned in their direction.

My husband swooned also. I gave him a sharp elbow to the side.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Do you want to go sit with them?" I asked.

"Oh, baby, you know I love you. You're the prettiest girl here."

"Uh huh."

Right before Dylan walked out on stage, a mother and daughter sat down in the seats directly in front of us.

The audience stood when Dylan walked out on stage. After he sang a few songs and slowed the music down, the audience sat back down. Except for the mother and daughter duo sitting in front of my husband and me.

Apparently, neither of them saw the "Fashion Rocks" concert.

A man behind us yelled, "Sit down!"

This made the women more determined to stand.

Other people complained, and an usher politely asked them to sit down for at least a couple of songs. "Let them stand," the mother barked.

With no overhead monitors to watch and a curtain of black cotton/poly blend directly in front of us, my husband and I sat, watched, and listened to everything but the events happening on stage.

The Cowgirls to the left of us were forced to leave their seats when the real ticketholders showed.

A man sitting alone allowed a seat-hopping couple to sit in the two empty seats next to him. To show their gratitude the couple offered the man a cigarette. The scent of oregano reached a man wearing a T-shirt that read "SECURITY." He immediately escorted the couple out of the amphitheater.

Dylan's youngest fan fell asleep in her daddy's arms. Dylan has that effect on some people.

It turned out that the show that night wasn't on stage, but all around us. I can't really say that I saw Dylan in concert. But I would like to try to see Dylan again — maybe he'll perform at next year's "Fashion Rocks" concert.

To find out more about Mimi Kopulos and read her past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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