Posts by Scott Wilson

I was looking at my bank statement from last month and realized I’ve spent more on "experiences" in the last ninety days than I did on actual groceries and rent combined. It’s a weird phenomenon, isn’t it? We live in this era where the value of a physical object—a CD, a vinyl, a poster—seems to have plummeted, while the cost of actually standing in a room with a performer has skyrocketed to levels that feel almost predatory.

I remember back in my late teens, going to shows felt like a communal ritual. You’d save up a little pocket change, maybe skip a few lunches, and suddenly you’re part of this massive, breathing organism in a dark room. It felt accessible. It felt like something that belonged to the people, not just the elite. Now, every time a major tour is announced, the conversation immediately shifts to "can I even afford the ticket, let alone the parking and the overpriced beer?" It feels like we’re moving toward a world where live culture is becoming a gated community.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the psychology behind this. Why are we willing to pay these astronomical sums? I think there’s a growing hunger for something tactile and real in an increasingly digital, AI-driven world. When everything else is a stream, a pixel, or a synthetic voice, being in the presence of actual human talent—seeing the sweat, hearing the uncompressed vocals, feeling the bass in your chest—becomes a premium commodity. It’s not just about the music anymore; it’s about the validation of having *been there*. We are essentially paying for a memory that we hope will anchor us in a world that feels increasingly ephemeral.

But there's a flip side that worries me. If the "big" events—the massive global treks that define an era—continue to price out the average person, what happens to the culture? Does music become something that is only "consumed" through a screen by the masses, while the actual physical celebration of it is reserved for the top 5%? I fear we’re heading toward a cultural stratification where the "vibe" of a generation is something you have to pay a month's rent to participate in. It creates this weird disconnect where the people most invested in the art are the ones least able to witness it in its purest form.

I also wonder about the sustainability of this "touring model." The logistics of moving massive productions across continents are insane, and the carbon footprint alone is staggering. Yet, the industry seems to be doubling down on these gargantuan, high-concept spectacles. It feels like the "intimate" show is dying, replaced by these massive, highly choreographed stadium events that feel more like a high-budget film production than a concert. Is the soul of the performance being traded for the scale of the production?

I’m curious to hear what you all think about the "experience economy." Do you feel like you're being priced out of the things you love, or do you think the increased production value of modern tours justifies the insane ticket prices? Are we witnessing the death of the grassroots concert, or is this just the natural evolution of entertainment in a high-tech world?

Sandra Martin36, please accept my deepest condolences.
My own father passed away about five months ago, and I suppose his birthday was just a few days ago.

It has been 45 days since my father passed away. I suppose the grief and this sense of emptiness just feel overwhelming, and they don't seem to be fading at all.
Honey, please be careful; someone might try to tell us we are in the wrong thread. That has happened to me once before. :-)
Sending you a kiss and please stay strong; you aren't alone in this, and I imagine what we are feeling is probably normal. I guess we just have to find enough strength to get through it. As for me, I still haven't figured out how to handle all of this, or how to truly live a life where he isn't here.

Thank you.
What makes this even harder is that I haven't really had any space to process my father's passing. Since he died, I've been the one handling everything—organizing the services and dealing with all the endless paperwork on my own. My mother... well, she’s grieving. But how?
After forty-four years of marriage, she’s suddenly alone, and I think she’s completely lost her way. She can be quite hysterical at times, shouting or having these outbursts of crying and uncontrollable anger, which she often directs toward me. In an attempt to keep her mind busy, she takes on these incredibly grueling physical tasks for her own sake... mowing the lawn, tending to the garden, pruning fruit trees, hand-washing curtains, or digging up old fruit trees just to start over from scratch. I honestly worry that she might hurt herself. I just don't feel like I have the strength left for another "battle." Perhaps the worst part is that she won't listen to me; I try talking to her calmly, and then I end up yelling because I've reached my breaking point, especially when she calls me at work just to brag about finally pruning a peach tree. I am just so exhausted by it all.

I first stumbled upon this thread about four months ago, back when I was desperately searching for answers regarding cancer—a disease that, until then, felt like a complete mystery to me. It was four months ago that my father was diagnosed with stomach cancer that had already metastasized to his liver. At first, we were just completely blindsided by the diagnosis. It was especially devastating because surgery wasn't an option, and even the doctors couldn't really give us any indication of how much time he might have left. What followed was this heavy cycle of stages: fear, uncertainty, anger, despair, learning, and grief...
While scrolling through this thread, I kept coming across posts from people who were going through the exact same things we were. Some of them read as if I had written them myself. During that time, finding this community meant so much to us, because there were moments when it truly felt like we were alone in the entire world. We were living through a literal hell. I am just so grateful to everyone who has shared their story here.

My dad passed away two weeks ago.
And I, I haven't been able to write those words or even say them out loud this whole time. Now, after such a grueling struggle, watching him slowly fade away and face death itself, I honestly don't know how to move forward.
I can't quite wrap my head around why he had to suffer so much, or why he wasn't given a fighting chance—no surgery, no chemotherapy, just the ebb and flow of better and worse days. I wonder how much more time needs to pass before I can think of him and remember the man he was before he got sick. I can still see the horror of what we went through every time a new symptom appeared, watching him in pain, or lying awake at night wondering what was crossing his mind during those long hours, feeling so incredibly alone. I could see such intense fear in his eyes, yet there was also this lingering expectation and hope... that I might tell him... that things would get better or that this would all pass. We knew they wouldn't, and I just didn't know how to help him. Now that he's gone, it doesn't make sense to me why he had to endure all of this, especially since he was always such a good man. And that terrible image of a stranger—someone who still looked like my father but was struggling so violently for his final breaths—it just won't leave my mind. It feels overwhelming to be alone with all these thoughts.

I find that Dramamine works much better for me if I take it at least half an hour before I start my trip. I also suggest being careful about what you eat, since coffee and anything overly sweet tend to trigger issues for me. Plus, the heavy, stale air inside a Greyhound bus can definitely make the nausea feel even worse.