So I haven't been 'round lately, and I guess I'm sorry about that because I've been blogging regularly for nearly 4 years. But I'm approaching graduation day. Four years is just about time to give up this bloggy-blog ghost. Tomorrow is my last day at the paper and therefore a nice day to end this blog. So, here it goes, bleaders:
I was lucky enough to score a free ticket to Springsteen at Giants Stadium last night. I was up in the press box with Chris Jordan, our music writer, half-expecting a bird to perch beside us and take in the passing show. Beauty, beauty, beauty: watching 60,000 people all around you singing "Meet me tonight in Atlantic City," just purring it, serenading you. At least it felt like a serenade. I mean, an invitation like that is usually issued one-on-one. So when you hear all those people swaying in the darkness in this most public of places, saying, "Meet me tonight in Atlantic City," there's something improbable and sweet about the entire thing. It seemed so vulnerable. Yes, yes, I loved it. I'll meet you in Atlantic City, post haste! I am coaxed.
Now on to the grousing: Starbucks will never be the same now that I can't drink coffee. Ugh. Like I want to pay money for hot water flavored with herbs. In fact, this herbal tea I'm drinking tastes like Flinstones vitamins. I did take a long, strong whiff of the coffee this a.m., so that was nifty. But paying for hot water ain't my thing.
Back to reverie and revelry: Springsteen played "No Surrender," which always makes me want to run and run and run. And he played "Born to Run," start to finish. Twyla Tharp will try to choreograph something to that soon enough. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I can imagine a "Jungleland" suite.
So, OK, I'm leaving. You don't have to get the hook. Ah, look! Someone just threw roses at my feet. Thanks. I think it's time to go for drinks at the Plaza.
Make mine a double.
