u2 and then some

Well I have lived to witness U2 in concert. That was my little goal for this week. My grandfather had this habit of making goals for himself. It kept him alive for years. “I’d like to make it to my 90th birthday,” he’d say. "I’d like to live to see my great-grandson,” and so on. It worked so well for him I thought I should give it a try. You see, I’ve felt simply awful for about three weeks now and I needed a little something extra to help me make it through the dark hours. I suppose my little cocktail of antibiotics, decongestants, and muscle relaxers may have helped a bit too.

My ticket to U2 was actually a birthday present from my beloved sister who, among other things, takes great pleasure in finding expensive forms of entertainment, for which I am grateful. I love her completely but as it turns out we are almost polar opposites. She is fun and social and a bit of a fashionista with a wardrobe consisting primarily of bright and/or shiny clothing, sexy boots and a large collection of what I lovingly refer to as “hooker shoes.” I am not all that fun or social, wear sensible loafers and do not possess an ounce of the fashion confidence required to wear clothes that shimmer. If we didn’t sound exactly alike on the telephone I would swear we were not related at all.

Back to the concert - we got there early and parked about a mile away from the venue. We spotted a fence and potential shortcut so we did what anyone from Lake City would do - pulled real hard and squeezed through the opening in the gate. We were at the stadium in five minutes. The next bit is pretty uninteresting. We found our seats, listened a bit to Muse. I got thirsty, went to find something to drink, watched the sunset while standing in line for 20 minutes to get two bottles of water, got beer spilled on my shoe, then returned to my seat to watch Muse’s last song and wait for U2. And they were good. Very, very, very good. I liked the songs from the new album way better than I thought I would. Bono did this nice little take on "Amazing Grace" to lead into "Where the Streets Have No Name" which was supremely beautiful. He also wore a jacket with red lights on it for the last few songs. I found this strangely interesting. At one point, Larry took a little walk while playing what I’m guessing was a djembe. The Edge, dressed in plaid, was as fantastic as ever. And then there was Adam, pounding away faithfully on the bass; I only wish I could have heard him. He’s as cool as the come, but then, bass players are always cool, aren’t they? Overall, awesome stage, great performance, and a very nice birthday present.

So now I am thinking about fame and how interesting it must be to have millions of people you don’t know exist speak about you in familiar, admiring ways. I’m afraid I will never know what this is like. It may surprise you but there is not a lot of fame and fortune associated with speech therapy. And if I were to become some superstar speech therapist there is a very good chance I would crack under the pressure and be forced to create some stage name and alter-ego personality so that I could deal with all it all.

Alas, the show ended around 11. The band went back to wherever and we shuffled out of our seats. It was hot and humid and everyone was all squished together like sardines moving en mass toward the exit. I began to realize why people die in stampedes and I plotted my escape route just in case. We eventually made it out alive, squeezed back through the gate, and drove across town to our room. I was in bed by midnight. And here’s the best part – I slept until 9:30.

a tidbit

So I just finished Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year by Anne Lamott and I'm so glad I read it. I am especially glad to have read it after having my own son. I will share my most favorite section for you, in case you are interested. From page 206 -

"My plans for molding him into the leader of the rebel forces do not seem to be going very well. I think of all those pacifists in the sixties and seventies whose children chewed their toast into the shape of guns. Sam will be one of those children. I can see it all now. He will probably be a Young Republican by the age of eight and want to spend his summers at camp with other little conservative boys and girls, singing patriotic songs in shorts and knee-high socks, holding his briefcase in his lap. He'll pound the table jovially and cry out. "we're table one and we want the salt!" and then help plot the forced internment of the left wing in America. Then he'll come home from camp, and everywhere I go in our house, his eyes will seem to follow me, and when I notice this, he will give me thin smiles."

I laughed very hard. It was a good read.