Another Road Trip Well done

We had a large time in Louisville.  The shopping was fine, we had some tasty food and the show was excellent.  It was outdoors, and there was a chance of thunderstorms, but the rock and roll gods were looking out for us, and it rained nary a drop.  Well, just a couple of tiny drops that made me wonder if we were indeed going to need our ponchos or worse, have another incident like the Eric Clapton tornado that Sissy and I endured a few years ago in Indianapolis.  But the storms stayed away, and we were simply left with a breeze that floated along the riverfront park where 16,000 of us gathered to hear Mumford and Sons.  Thanks goodness, because we've typically had 100 degree weather all summer.  I cannot imagine how hot and stinky things would have been with that kind of heat and all those bodies packed into one place.

The boys from the UK were in fine form, and we managed to get in the gates pretty early, giving us a spot on the grass pretty darn close to the stage.  I'm not good with guessing distance, but I'm going to say we were about forty feet from the stage.

Dear Blackberry, you need a better camera on your phones.  Sincerely annoyed, Hula.

Anyway, we threw our small blanket on the ground and managed to hold a decent piece of space for a while, but inevitably, the folks squeezed closer, and our little patch of real estate became just enough space to stand.  I warded off attempts by three different young folks to squeeze in front of us and push us back.  And can I pause here for just a moment to rant?  Why yes, I think I will. 

Don't get me wrong, I love young people.  I love being around them.  They keep ME young.  But one of my biggest pet peeves is really young girls who believe they can manipulate people into giving them what they want by being cute.  That mess doesn't fly with me.  We had one girl who literally squeezed through the crowd and planted herself in front of me where there wasn't really room enough for her to stand.  In fact, the girl next to me had to lean back to make room for Miss Cuteness and couldn't even stand up straight.  The interloper pretended  to be looking for someone but proceeded to stand there and make herself comfortable.  After it was obvious she wasn't going anywhere, I tapped her on the shoulder and told her to move on.  She batted those eyelashes at me, and I told her in no uncertain terms why she was going to leave NOW.  I may or may not have used my pointing finger.  (The finger of 180 degrees Teen Angel fondly calls it.)  She moved along quickly.  Call me an old fart, but I just didn't feel like taking that kind of crap from someone less than half my age.  I'm older and have more insurance.  Plus, I can afford bail.  Twanda!

Other than that little brush with ridiculousness, we sang, we danced and had a great time.  The band was in great form and rocked the riverfront for us.  I did have a moment while standing in the "pit" where everyone was jumping up and down when I wondered if I'm getting too old to do that kind of thing, but I finally decided I wasn't as long as I could keep up.  However, I will admit to wondering if I was going to get an embolism from standing in one spot for three hours. 

That wraps up our summer concert tour, and I told Hubby last night we were done driving around the countryside for concerts for a while.  And then? This morning I got an email telling me that Bruce Springsteen is going to be at the YUM Center in Louisville in November.  Sweet!  Tickets go on sale Friday.  I'm tempted boys and girls.  Sorely tempted.  And this one is arena seating.  I won't have to arm wrestle teenagers for a place to stand.  I might have to arm wrestle some middle aged farts like me though.  Twanda!

Rod Stewart - Sailing

Our annual summer concert tour is off, albeit a little later than usual.  Hubby and I are in Nashvegas where I am celebrating my birthday by indulging my 35 year crush on Rod Stewart. 

Photo Courtesty:  FanPop

And while I understand he's an acquired taste, he will forever reign as my first and longest running rock star crush.  Many years and many wrinkles later, the flame still burns as brightly as it did when I was in seventh grade.  And if I get hit by a bus any time soon, please make sure my peeps play the song below at my funeral.  And I'm not even kidding about that. 

By the time this posts, I should be waving my lighter in Bridgestone Arena.  Or is that a cell phone?  Do they even allow lighters in arenas anymore?  Where do I buy a lighter?  Am I showing my age?  Should I just be quiet now?

Where in the World is Hula?

On the road, behind the lens and covered up at work. It's been another whirlwind week, and I looked up today and said, "Blog? Blog who?" Time is flying at warp speed again. This week included wrapping up a special project at work, celebrating Papa T's birthday and taking a road trip to Nashville. I also did a bridal shoot at an old house in town that was fun, fun, fun, but I can't post any photos just yet because we can't let the groom see the bride until the wedding. More on that after October 2nd. Much more.

The highlight of the week for Teen Angel was a trip to Nashville for the Nickelback concert. She and a buddy went to the concert while Hubby and I walked around downtown Nashville, visited a few hot spots and listened to some great music. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again. I love Nashville. It's just a fun place to be.

The architecture downtown gives hints of the city's past.


But there's a mix of old and new woven throughout the ten blocks of Broadway that feed the heart of downtown. Like the old feed store across the street from the Hard Rock Cafe. Even the signs on the various honky tonks and stores are a mixture of old and new. Dingy and bright. As always, we spent a little time window shopping before dinner, laughing at hokey souvenirs and soaking up the atmosphere that oozes shades of the city's country music legends from the 50's, 60's and 70's. A walk on Broadway always leaves me with the urge to buy bright red cowboy boots, and one of these days I'm going to do just that.

One of the things I like best though, are the musicians and bands that fill the bars with their songs and dreams of making it big. The big glass windows and open doors on most of the places allow the tunes to spill out into the street and give you a rear view glimpse of those dreamers. Some are twangy. Some like to rock. And others are kind of bluesy.

The most interesting to me though are the ones who don't have a paying gig, other than collecting tips in the street. They dot the street at all times of the day and night, sitting inside the doorways of empty storefronts and along the curbs. Some appear to be homeless, like the dirty couple playing a guitar, spoons and a tambourine taped to a tapping shoe. I would have taken their picture, but the angry looking man with the tattoos on his face who was sitting next to them was somewhat intimidating. I could have studied them and photographed them all night long. What leads people to that kind of life, I wonder.

Our favorite band during this trip was the house band at BB King's Blue House. They were fantastic. Hubby and I sat there for a long time, eating dinner and listening to them play. We jammed and clapped and reluctantly called it an evening when Teen Angel texted us a message about her concert ending.

The drive home ended about 1am, and we were all tired the next day, but it was a good time in the middle of the week. I don't want to do it often on a school night, but it was a fun way to break up the week. And the walk downtown gave me the idea for a hook for a song chorus. Now all I need to do is write the rest of the lyrics. Nashville makes everyone want to be a star.

Just A Moment

Nashville was great. While it did brew up a little thunderstorm and gave us flashbacks to the May 1st flood (apparently we bring rain to that city), the weather dried up quickly. There was that little incident where the gusty wind took control of my lightweight skirt and introduced more of me than I wanted to the folks on Commerce Street. Hello Nashville, meet Hula’s backside! Have you seen my new underwear?

I can report that downtown Nashville is clean and almost back to normal. The Cumberland River is tucked back into her banks.

The street musicians are back under the eaves of shops, and all but a couple of stores and restaurants are open for business.

The Ryman Auditorium was fabulous as always, and it was the perfect place to see rock icon Neil Young. We loved the show. Not many performers can pull off a one man act without a band, but he did, shuffling between a variety of guitars, pianos and even an old pump organ. The typical audience members like Mr. Smells Like Spilled Beer, Ms. Dances Like A Maniac and Sir Pees A Lot made the experience all that more interesting. We were thoroughly entertained, but it was the ride home that made me smile the most.

Somewhere around Clarksville, Tennessee at about 12:30 this morning while we were driving down the interstate I had a moment. Hubby and I were drinking convenience store sodas, eating fizzy Skittles and singing Harvest Moon to each other when I realized it was one of THOSE moments. You know, when everything seems perfect, time seems to freeze and the moment seems bigger than you. There are no worries about aging parents, teenaged children or cancer stricken friends. You are completely taken away by the music and the person sitting next to you, and you have no doubts that for some unexplained reason you will always remember this moment, no matter how old you get. I smiled in the darkness and kept singing off key.

“I’m still in love with you. I wanna see you dance again, on this harvest moon.”

Those moments are like rainbows. They are incredible when they happen, they fill you with awe and then they slip away quickly, making you long for their return. And they are so rare, that you truly appreciate them when they happen. For a brief few seconds, longer if you’re lucky, you get a glimpse into your own heart, and you like what you see. Then it passes, but because of that moment, you know you’re going to be okay, no matter what life throws at you. What a night.

Yes, Nashville is fine. And so am I.

Back to NashVegas

By the time this is posted Hubby and I should be in Nashville, tapping our toes in some little downtown joint waiting for our show. We get to see Neil Young at the Ryman Auditorium tonight, and we couldn’t be more excited. For starters, the Ryman is a fabulous place to see show, with his stained glass windows and weathered woodwork. Secondly, it’s NEIL YOUNG! We have a bucket list of performers we’d like to see before we or they die. Some of our favorite acts are getting old or have lived a hard life and are looking a little rough for the wear, so we feel some urgency about seeing them. We saw BB King a couple of years ago on his 80th birthday, and we squeezed in Willie Nelson last year. Tonight it’s Neil.

We’ve been fans for a long time, Hubby even more so than me. He’s incredibly excited about tonight.

I like Neil for his uniqueness. I love a good songwriter and storyteller. Even more so, I love a performer who stays true to his passions and beliefs. Neil’s one of those folks who has been around for a long time and is probably appreciated more now than he was when he was popular for hits like Heart of Gold and his stint with Crosby, Still & Nash years ago. I didn’t fully appreciate his talents until I reached middle age. He’s developed a rich body of work during ever changing periods of popularity and obscurity. Forty years after he started recording he’s still anti-war. Still preaches about taking care of the environment and still speaks his mind regardless of who he ticks off. If you know nothing about Neil Young, you probably at least know the reference to him in Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama. You may not know he collaborated with Pearl Jam and is considered the father of the grunge movement.

He’s always been outspoken. He started Farm Aid with Willie Nelson many years ago, and he’s still fighting for the causes of the average Joe. Whether you agree with him or not, you have to appreciate his honesty. He performs because he loves music and he’s comfortable around the blue collar guy. That’s why it wouldn’t surprise me to catch him playing a tune or two with a bar band somewhere in downtown Nashville before or after his show tonight or hiding out in a corner taking in the nightly talent at one of the clubs. Hubby and I will probably slip into Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge or another club along Broadway before the show just in case. Besides, we like soaking up the local atmosphere. Even if we don’t catch an up close glimpse of him, we certainly expect to enjoy his concert. Mark one more off the bucket list, a big one.

I leave you with a link to one of my favorites of his: The Painter

Foot Notes

Teen Angel's school choir wrapped up the year with their annual spring concert. They sang lovely, by the way. And the school band was great. (Except that extended piece from Phantom of the Opera went waaaaay too long, Mr. Band Director.)

I enjoyed it immensely, but the whole time I kept looking at Teen Angel's shoes and shaking my head. There is no stinkin' way I could have stood on those risers in those heels all night long. Ah, the vanity of youth. She certainly didn't inherit her love of sky high shoes from me.

My other thought throughout the evening was what parent gives his sixteen year old child permission for a tattoo that wraps around her foot? Are you kidding me???

And The Parrot Heads Went Into The Ark Two By Two

When I joked in the last post about floating away in Nashville, I had no idea how close to the truth I was. The Hula-gen’s didn’t float away this weekend, but some folks around us did. Geez. I looked at Hubby Saturday night as we drove home from Nashville in blinding rain trying to avoid flooded roads and said, “Drama follows us everywhere. Even when we try to have a good time there is drama involved.”

By now, you have likely seen news coverage of the severe flooding in middle and western Tennessee. It is a mess down there. Some fifteen people have died, hundreds of homes are under water and major roads are closed. Nashville is scrambling to get control of its roads and infrastructure, and for those of us familiar with that city, the scenes there are startling.

Above photos from The Tennessean-anonymous contributors

Those of us who live in this part of the country frequent Nashville or Nash Vegas as we call it. It is a hop, skip and jump from my city, roughly two hours. We go there for concerts and special events. It’s touristy enough to spend the weekend there when we need a quick getaway. And because of the country music industry, it’s a fun place because you never know who you’re going to run into. It’s also a popular place for specialized medical care for folks in this region, and many of us use the Nashville Airport for air travel. In my opinion, it’s a great city. It’s big enough and slick enough to be a big city, but it still has somewhat of a small town feel to it. When I worked in television, I had a couple of job offers from stations in Nashville, and Hubby and I considered moving there. For a variety of reasons, we chose to stay put, but if I were going to move to a bigger city it would likely be Nashville. All of this is to say that the streets and sights around Nashville are very familiar to many folks in these parts, and it’s shocking to see them underwater.

For those of you who have never been to Nashville, the Opryland Hotel is probably the most recognizable sight. It’s known for its lush gardens and dramatic Christmas light displays. As of two o’clock this afternoon there was ten feet of water in the Opryland Hotel and it had been evacuated. It is closed indefinitely. WKRN has some pictures of it on their website, and the damage has to be in the millions of dollars.

Downtown, which is where we were Saturday, was evacuated earlier today when water from the Cumberland River had risen onto Second Avenue covering the corner where Hubby and I stood Saturday afternoon while trying to decide where to eat. This photo from The Tennessean was apparently taken not too long after we walked through there on our way to the car Saturday night.

This evening, I saw video where flood waters are now four feet deep in the Bridgestone Arena where we sat for the concert Saturday night. There are plenty of amazing photos on various websites. I recommend the live streaming coverage from WSMV. I have practically no photos of my own since it rained so hard the whole time we were downtown Saturday I didn’t take my camera out of the bag but once. I didn’t want to risk damaging it, and it promptly started raining about thirty seconds after I whipped it out. On a positive note, I can say the built in rain cover on my new camera bag works swell.

Apparently, Hubby and I arrived in Nashville at just the right time and left on the right roads at the right time. We arrived downtown about 2pm and the roads around town started flooding soon afterward. I have never seen it rain so hard for so long. All. Day. Long. As the non stop driving rain put a halt to any tailgating, the party moved indoors. Parrot Heads from all over the country gathered in bars on Broadway near the Bridgestone Arena and watched the nonstop news coverage of the waters closing in without a care about how they were going to get home.

As I snapped this picture with my phone, I laughed out loud about how nothing seems to get in the way of a Parrot Head gathering.

Jimmy even made some kind of comment about it when he took the stage that night. The arena was full, so people found a way to get there, and I suspect a few of them came by ark.

We left the arena in driving rain with small rivers of water pouring over the sidewalks and parts of the streets. People huddled in the doorways of Tootsie’s Lounge and The Wheel as we splashed our way to the parking garage. I was having flashbacks of the night Sissy and I stood outside in tornado weather to see Eric Clapton. (For a chuckle, you can read part 1 of that adventure here and part 2 there. ) Given that experience I had brought with us towels, plastic ponchos and a change of clothes, including shoes, when we left the house that morning. It was the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time. We changed clothes in the van and scurried out of the garage to beat the crowd. The elderly gentleman working at the gate gave us his best suggestion for getting out of town without hitting roads blocked by water. His idea proved to be an excellent one, and we slid out of town pretty well. The thought of getting a hotel room crossed our minds, but we wanted to try to get home. It seems we made a good decision as it was harder Sunday to get out of town amid the higher waters. The only issue was the pounding rain and storms we drove through all the way home. As we neared home we hit three separate counties under tornado warnings. I used my BlackBerry and the radio to keep on top of the warnings, while the lightning flashed nonstop around us and the sky churned. I usually don’t get too worked up about storms, but I have to tell you my backside was pretty tight for about sixty five miles. And I am now officially in love with my BlackBerry.

We made it home around 2am, safe and tired. My grass skirt and parrot flip-flops are drying in the garage. A good time was had by all. The concert was great, and we have an interesting story to go along with it. But seriously, I really hope it’s dry when we go back to Nashville in June to see Neil Young at the Ryman Auditorium. Dry and uneventful. Oh, and to the other Parrot Heads in Rippy’s Saturday afternoon and evening, thanks for the good time. There's no one I'd rather experience a flood with.

Just Eight Days!

Holy coconut bra, Batman! We’re just ONE week away from Buffett in Nashville! Where have the weeks gone? It seems like just yesterday I was scrambling around on Ticketmaster trying to buy tickets before the little timer in the lower righthand corner ran out. Never fear, I found my parrot flip-flops and grass skirt in the moving boxes and dusted them off. I will be ready to roll when the B-Man hits Bridgestone Arena.



However, last night I was reading online the rules for the arena and came across these:

Intoxicated Guests
Intoxicated Guests are not admitted into Bridgestone Arena at any time. If you see an intoxicated person enter Bridgestone Arena, please contact building security or Metro Police.

Frisbees and/or beach balls are not allowed

Patron Appearance
Patrons entering the Arena must be properly attired with shoes and a shirt. The items must be worn at all times in the facility.

And I said to myself, “Self, the folks at Bridgestone have no idea what’s about to hit ‘em.”








Oh, and Brother Dave? If you see me, say hello and don’t worry I won’t tell your parishioners where you were. What happens at Buffett, stays at Buffett.

Still in Margaritaville

Will be back when the music runs out.

Off to see the Lizard

We’re headed to Margaritaville tomorrow! Never mind that it’s Teen Angel’s first day of school. Are you banned from the Parents Hall of Fame if you miss your daughter’s first day of eleventh grade in order to go to a Jimmy Buffett concert? Once we drop her off for school we will head to Cincinnati where we will join 22,500 other people at Riverbend for a little tailgating and a whole lot of music and dancing. It’s the one time of year when we cut loose and really live it up. Since the tailgating starts about 24 hours before the show, by the time we get there things should be good and wound up as Daddy says.

The Cincinnati Parrot Heads are a lively group. They come from all over the country. They bring grills.And portable beaches. And RV’s with grass skirts and coconut bras. And lots and lots of portable blenders. There are slip ‘n slides, cornhole games and local bands. It’s the show before the show.

We’ve always gone to Buffett concerts in Cincinnati. We tried the show in St. Louis last year because it was closer, but the Parrot Heads there were just a little too….um…reserved. They just weren’t as fun. Although, I did meet a nice pirate. So it’s back to Cincinnati for us where the lawn should fill up by 7pm.By 8pm we’ll be swaying our grass skirts along the banks of the Ohio River, escaping the chaos and stress of our lives for just a few hours to the tunes of Jimmy and the Coral Reefers. It’s a show that never gets old for me.

The first time I saw Jimmy, we had sixth row seats.And Sissy was with us. (The vanity in me wants you to know that the grass skirt makes me look unusually hippy.) We’re not that close to the stage this time, but we’re still in the pavilion so we have seats if our knees give out. I’ve packed my parrot flip flops. And my flamingo headband and grass skirt and beads and all of the other silly stuff that makes Hubby a wee bit embarrassed to get into a cab with me. I’m looking forward to this little break. We need it..badly. Some of you who stop by here regularly have some big stresses in your lives right now, too, so tomorrow I will raise a toast to you my friends and dance a little dance for you, hoping you find a little Margaritaville in your lives soon. Click your heels together three times and repeat after me: Phins up!!

Two Chicks on the Road-Part 1-From May 2008

On this day that we laid Sissy to rest, I can't help but think about our last road trip together and how we got lost coming home from the Eric Clapton concert. These are the posts from that trip. They truly make me smile.

After this past weekend I don’t think the rest of the family will let me and Sissy travel alone again, not without a GPS, hard hats and a police escort. Our road trip to Indianapolis for an Eric Clapton concert turned into quite the adventure. We were trying to behave, and we did, but circumstances beyond our control (and some within) had the family rolling their eyes at us when we finally landed in the driveway Saturday evening. And had us recalling that movie about two chicks on a wild road trip.
Funny thing, when I looked up some quotes from Thelma & Louise, they perfectly fit some of the moments during our trip. Grab a popcorn and Diet Coke for this little tale because it could take a while. Warning: It WILL leave you questioning how we ever earned college degrees.

We left Friday morning expecting a five hour drive that would put us in Indy in time to check into our hotel, eat a nice dinner and mosey over to the amphitheater in plenty of time. Note that I’m wearing a white shirt. This will be important later. And how I wish Photoshop had a fuzzy hair, squinty eye filter.
Thelma: “You said you n’ me was gonna get out of town and for once just really let our hair down. Well darlin’ look out ‘cause my hair is comin’ down.”

The drive and hotel check-in was uneventful, (and can I just say that the North side Hilton is very nice) but when Sissy looked at the hotel clock she realized we had forgotten about the time change. We had lost an hour and didn’t have time for dinner. We rushed to the amphitheater just in time to buy T-shirts and stake out a good spot on the lawn for the warm up band. The lawn was packed.

See this guy?
When we first saw him I nudged Sissy and said, “betcha five bucks he’s one of those people who starts dancing before everyone else does and dances with a real wiggly butt.” Not five minutes later he started shakin’ his groove thing. Hee hee. Takes one to know one. As the warm up band finished we noticed the sky started getting considerably darker, and we heard a rumble or two of thunder.
We decided we didn’t care if we got wet. After all, it was Clapton. It was a road trip. It was an adventure. Bring it on, we said. Famous last words. As EC took the stage, darkness descended and lightning began to flash in the distance. This kind of lightning.
(This is a picture taken that night by Sean Gilbertson. Photo courtesy of the Indianapolis Star. Indystar.com) Hmm. It didn’t seem very safe to be standing out in the middle of a field with that kind of lightning but..well, it was Clapton, so we ignored it and hoped for the best. A couple next to us consulted a Palm Pilot and discovered there was a tornado warning for Kokomo. “Where’s Kokomo?” we asked. “Oh, it’s nowhere close to us. It’s on the border.” “Great.” We didn’t know their geography was bad. For the next hour and a half we were lost in the sweet, sweet sounds of Clapton’s guitars. That man is phenomenal. At 64 years old, he sounds even better than he did years ago. It was probably the best concert I’ve ever been to. Don’t you love how everyone raises their cell phones instead of lighters at concerts now?
As we danced and sang the lightning kept getting worse, much worse. In fact, it built to the point that it almost seemed timed to peak as the music swelled during the last thirty minutes of the show. It felt very dangerous to be in the middle of it. The drunks around us clapped and cheered every time the sky lit up, but Sissy and I kept exchanging nervous looks.
Thelma: Louise, no matter what happens, I’m glad I came with you.

We couldn’t leave though…it was Clapton, right? RIGHT? We felt a few sprinkles and knew we would definitely get wet. A light rain fell and the wind kicked up during Layla, Running on Faith and You Look Wonderful Tonight, giving the concert a kind of ethereal feeling. That feeling wore off when a downpour began three songs from the end. Ponchos and umbrellas did no good, which made us feel better since we had neither. People were dancing barefoot in the aisles and sliding down the grass. I remembered those old clips from Woodstock. The rain blew hard. It blew sideways from one direction and then another direction. The lightning was fierce, and we were standing in the middle of it soaking wet and cheering for an encore. Don’t judge. It was Clapton. When the show finally ended, we picked up our stuff and along with 20,000 other people tried to find our way out of the venue in the driving rain. It was raining so hard we had to stop every few feet and wipe the water out of our eyes so we could see to move on. A river of water washed over our feet when we walked out of the gates. Just a little closer and we’ll be in the car, we thought. The car? Oh, s***! Where’s the car? We were in such a hurry when we arrived that we didn’t pay attention to where we parked. We staggered around in the storm, searching desperately for the car and finally found it about ten minutes later. A river of water ran down my backside when I sat down. In the distance lightning hit something that flashed with a small explosion. We would not have been more wet if we had jumped into a swimming pool and failed to dry off. We tried to take a picture of our drowned rat selves, but it was too dark.

We pulled into a lane of traffic to leave but hit a logjam right away and sat there for forty five minutes. During that whole time we watched other people staggering around in the storm looking for their cars, desperately hitting their remotes. Clapton’s fans span multiple generations, so some of these folks were elderly. We felt helpless as we watched one older couple search for their car. Eventually, we started moving and made it out of the parking lot and onto the interstate. We were only eight miles from our hotel, but the relentless rain and high winds made the white knuckle drive seem longer. We started passing jackknifed semis and wrecks. We saw downed tree limbs and power outages. At our exit ramp we panicked when we hit moving water. We made it though it, but our gas light came on so we pulled over at the first gas station to fill up and make sure we were headed in the right direction. While Sissy fought the wind and rain at the gas pump, I went inside for directions and to go to the bathroom. When I entered the store three men all smiled and spoke. Friendly guys, I thought. Not really. Remember the white shirt? When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I realized that you could see right through my soaked shirt and underwear. I might as well have been naked. Nice. I had to walk right past them to leave.

The rain and 70 mile an hour winds did not let up while we ploughed through the next three miles to our hotel. A quick trip through a Wendy’s drive-thru put us next to a flooded parking lot where two ducks were swimming. It was too dark for a picture, but oh, how I wanted to capture that moment. When were arrived at our hotel, we stepped into another river of water in the parking lot but laughed all the way to the third flour, relieved we had finally made it through all that mess. It all didn’t seem so funny though when after we changed and sat down to eat, I flipped on the TV and discovered that Clapton wasn’t the only thing to roll through Indianapolis that night.

To be continued……….

Rockin' in the Midwest

A good time was had by all in St. Louis. We puttered around town, shopping before the concert. We made a stop at Union Station and ate at the Hard Rock Cafe before the show, all while the temperatures steadily dropped from the 50’s to the 30’s. It was very winter like when we wrapped up the night.

The Blue October show was great. I’ve decided I really like that band, and the venue was a good one. The Pageant is small enough that you’re really close to the act, no matter where you stand or sit. I wasn’t the only person over forty in the crowd. Ha. I counted at least three others, and we were all with our kids. Teen Angel and her BFF worked their way to the pit where they got close enough to snap these pictures. This is Justin Furstenfeld, the lead singer for Blue October, and Teen Angel LOVES Justin. She was on cloud nine during the concert. He is her rock star crush. Her Paul McCartney. Her Elvis. Her David Cassidy. I couldn’t help but think back to my teenage rock crushes, which included Shaun Cassidy, Peter Frampton and the biggest of them all, Rod Stewart. I’ve had a crush on Rod since seventh grade. Truth be told, I still do. I know, I know. He’s sixty years old and looking a little ragged around the edges, but I still think he’s sexy. I can't explain it. I think it’s the bad boy syndrome. I’ve seen him once in concert and hope to one more time before he gets too old to tour, and I lose my hearing. Just last week, I was reminded by my old friend M. about the times we spent mooning over the Bay City Rollers and playing their records (yes, I said records) over and over. That seems like such a long time ago, and I would have been over the moon if I had seen my rock n' roll crush perform live at that age. That's why I totally understand why Sunday night was such a big deal for T.A.. I'm glad we went. And I'm glad I didn't die of thrombosis from standing in one place for so long. My hearing I'm not so sure about.

On Tour

The countdown is on for Teen Angel, me and her best bud-27 days until we attend the Blue October concert in St. Louis.

Blue October

They’re very excited. I’m pretty revved up myself. I love live musical performances, especially at a venue I’ve never been to before. I had Teen Angel burn me a CD of some of their songs, and I’ve decided I really like this group. I expect to enjoy the show, and all of this concert talk is providing me some entertainment between now and then….and memories.

It has gotten me all nostalgic and forced me to pull up this picture.I think this is 1982. M., C. and I about to head out to an REO Speedwagon concert about an hour away from home. I'm in the middle. Look at us in all of our Calvin Klein jean and oxford shirt glory. You can smell the Love’s Baby Soft just looking at that picture. And the hair. Oh, the big hair. Believe it or not, we’ve all registered higher marks on the big hair meter than seen in this photo. God, I loved the 80’s.

M. sent me this picture after our reunion last year, and immediately the memories of that night flood back. The giggly drive there. The purchase of counterfeit T-shirts. The loudness of the band. Waving only one cigarette lighter in the air, because none of us smoked and that’s all we had. Sigh. Good times.

Remember what it was like to be a teenager and to be SOOOO into the music of your time? I came of age at a time when everything about live shows was big. Big sounds, big hair, big pyrotechnics. Kiss, Def Leppard, Van Halen ruled the tours, and the Rolling Stones weren’t old yet, although they were working on it. I saw the Police on their Synchronicity tour, and thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I know what Teen Angel is going to experience in a few weeks, and I’m excited for her. So, to mark the occasion dear readers, I’m asking you to tell me in three lines or less about your first or best concert experience as a teen. Come on. Break out your oxford shirt or your poodle skirt and divulge.

Surf's Up

Ya' know that little filter that's supposed to make you stop and ask, "Am I getting too old to do this?" I think mine's broken. I had a moment today where it probably should have kicked in, but it didn't, and now I'm wondering what I may have gotten myself into.

Over the years, I've taken Teen Angel to a few concerts. We've seen Matchbox Twenty and Ricky Martin together. And may I say that is one hot Puerto Rican. It was fun because we both enjoyed their music. In the last year or so, our musical tastes have started to split somewhat. Right now, Teen Angel's favorite musical group in the whole wide world is the alternative group Blue October. For months, she's been following their tour dates, hoping they would come near our corner of Kentucky. And for months she's had no luck. They tour only small venues and stick to a few big cities, mostly in California, New York and Texas. Then, out of the blue I got an email today from Ticketmaster, alerting me to the latest shows in St. Louis, and right there in the middle of the page was Blue October. Only the show was Sunday, April 5th at 8pm. A school night. And I'm not a cool enough mom to take her out of school the next day just to go to a concert. I need that kid to earn some scholarships for Pete's sake. But then it occurred to me to check their spring break schedule, and sure enough, the show is right on the front end of spring break. I said to myself, "Self, you can do some alternative music. You're not THAT old." So after much scrutiny, because the concert hall is kind of a large bar where minors are allowed only in certain sections, I excitedly bought three tickets, enough for me, Teen Angel and one of her buddies. She was over the moon when I told her about it.

Only now that my excitement has worn off a little, I'm starting to think about the reality of this event. It's standing room only-on and next to the dance floor, which is right in front of the stage. That means no sitting, which I can deal with. We've done that several times at Buffett. The thing that made me pause when I read the rules for the venue was this:

STAGE DIVING / CROWD SURFING Stage diving and/or crowd surfing will result in immediate ejection from a concert.

Okay, if you have to tell people not to stage dive, that's means there's a real possibility it could happen. I don't know what the cut-off age is for that kind of thing, but I know I'm waaay too old to be crowd surfing. I figure there are a handful of ways to know you're a mature adult. 1. You like to take naps again. 2. You eat your vegetables. 3. You wear ear protection around loud noises and hats in cold weather without being asked to and 4. You don't want strange people touching you concerts.

This should be an interesting experience. Here's hoping I don't end up on YouTube in a few weeks, passing over the heads of a bunch of alternative rockers. Teen Angel would be mortified, much more than when I danced a little rumba at the Ricky Martin concert. And I'm not sure I'm flexible enough anymore to do it without breaking something. Speaking of broken, I've got to fix that filter.

Rollin' and Tumblin'

Sorry, don't have time to chat today. Sissy and I are headed to Indianapolis to see this guy.


Mark this one off my Bucket List. I'm getting to see Eric Clapton before I die. Sweet! Stay tuned for details later.

Pirates and Parrots

Here are a few photos from last week’s concert. St. Louis was fun, but it wasn’t quite as exciting as the other Buffett concerts we’ve been to. We’ve always gone to the shows in Cincinnati, which is Parrot Head central. It’s where the madness began many years ago, and those folks have a reputation to uphold. The tailgating begins early that morning on the empty lots across from Riverbend Amphitheater, and by the time noon rolls around you can barely find a parking place. See?

These folks come prepared. A tiki bar at your tailgating corner is a minimum and many come with things like portable generators. If you look closely in the middle of this picture you’ll see these guys brought a commercial smoothie machine.

Other folks bring the beach with them.

Large fins on top of vehicles are pretty typical as is a wild assortment of tropical themed outfits. We’ve seen bands, horseshoe games, limbo contests, kiddie pools and a slippin’ slide contest, which I watched with one eye closed because I’m old enough to recognize the danger of breaking or busting something when you mix a slippin’ slide and drunken people. You can never touch a sip of alcohol and have a great time just watching people at these things. So you can see why we were a little disappointed to find that the St. Louis crowd was…well…terribly mild. It was fun nonetheless, and here’s a little taste. The parking lot was full by 5pm.

The amphitheater started to fill up by 6pm. These are known as “the lawn people”.

Jimmy gives a shout out to them often during his shows. We were lawn people last year. It can get kind of crazy on the lawn since that’s where all the really young party folks who can’t afford $130 a ticket end up. We like being in the pavilion where it’s a little calmer. I meant to take a picture of the lawn when it was really full but forgot. Sorry. I was distracted by the man with the world’s longest tongue in front of me. I forgot to take his picture, too. Use your imagination. No, wait, don’t do that.

I met a nice pirate on the lawn.

He didn’t have a peg leg, but he walked with a limp. Me thinks he likes having his picture taken with younger women. In Cincinnati, our costumes would be average. In St. Louis, they were a little over the top. My parrot flip-flops were a hit at this venue, too. People kept stopping me and asking to take my picture. Hmmm. I wonder if they blog.

Hats are an important part of your Buffett costume. A lot of folks plop a parrot or plastic drink glasses on their hat.
Others go for the fin look.

Hubby leaves all the dressing up to me. See his one lei? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

He’s shy. Good thing he’s not embarrassed by my attire. Our cab driver was though. He let us off at the front gate and refused to drive into the amphitheater. Poor fellow. He wasn’t used to this kind of craziness. Our view from our seats wasn’t too bad. This picture doesn’t really do it justice. You’ll need to squint.

But it certainly wasn’t as good as two years ago when we were on the seventh row.

The woman two rows in front of me caught his flip flops at the end of the show. I immediately hated her.

Like I said, we had a great time, but next year I think we’ll go back to Cincinnati. It’s just more fun there…and they don’t charge $9 for a cheeseburger.