Thursday, April 23, 2009
I Don't Give a Damn For Just the In Betweens
In case you didn't catch my very subtle enthusiasm, Marathon Monday was good. Really good. So good I spent a drizzly Tuesday feeling kind of "eh." All day, I was hoping Robert Cheruiyot would run by my window or I could pace the mailman from house to house. He drives a jeep, but I could overcome that minor detail to pace his truck down the street.
And then came Tuesday night.
Did you know that I enjoy the fine musical stylings of one Mr. Bruce Springsteen and his delightful E Street Band? I do. Even when he has an obvious head cold and seems to be a little grouchy, Bruce puts me in a stupefied reverie. One in which I scream my head off and dance for three hours like I'm possessed by the holy ghost power. Some people have religious idols. I have a guitar player from Jersey.
He opened with my life's current theme song--the one I came to hear--and kept me on my feet for all but The Ghost of Tom Joad. When I saw him in August, he took the quirky request Little Latin Lupe Lou and rocked the house with it. Tuesday night's kooky treat was a cover of ZZ Top's I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide. Here's his version from the show:
Bet you can't guess how many times I've watched that video. The man has laryngitis, but he still defines rock star.
And then came Wednesday. Woke up, did speed work (another 10 x 600), which always charges me full of something fierce, but this time the charge didn't last as long. I was in withdrawal from Tuesday night. Besides, I knew Bruce could do better. Assuming he took some Sudafed and had a good nap, I thought he deserved a second chance to give me my Glory Days, which wasn't on the set list on Tuesday.
Could I do this? Go back again? I'm a boring mom. I can't go back to Boston to see him again like a little groupie. I'm scared of driving in Boston. Besides, I have chicken defrosting and a Netflix to watch. Sigh.
So Wednesday night...
I've heard that addicts have a way of finding each other among the sea of normal people. Is there an aura, a vibe, a glint in the eye? I don't know. But it's definitely true. My friend emailed to say she wanted to go back, and I was in. Other people think we're silly or nuts, but we get each other. This is serious and it fills a void that the itty bitty thrill of seeing that red DVD envelope in the mailbox just can't match.
So we went back for more, this time on the Floor. What can I say? We're bad. We're nationwide. The chicken would keep.
And Bruce was on fire. He'd taken his Airborne and rocked us out. You probably don't care, but here's the set list from last night. He opened with Badlands again, like someone's trying to tell me something (as in, "Buy your ticket to Australia already, woman!"). Yes, he covered I Wanna Be Sedated, and I just about died. Later he brought out the Dropkick Murphys, one of whom proposed to his girlfriend on stage. And he closed with Glory Days and Seven Nights to Rock.
She's The One
Working On A Dream
Raise Your Hand
I Wanna Be Sedated
Spirit In The Night
Waiting On A Sunny Day
The Promised Land
Kingdom of Days
Born To Run
Land Of Hope And Dreams
So Young and In Love (with Dropkick Murphys)
American Land (with Dropkick Murphys)
Seven Nights To Rock
And then it was over. And today it's Thursday. Same old Thursday. Where will I get my rush today? No marathon, no E Street. The Netflix is still here, and the chicken. It's even a rest day on my running schedule.
I want the heart, I want the soul, I want control right now. Instead, I really must clean the bathrooms.
I wonder if tickets are available for the Hershey show in a few weeks.