Blue clouds of clove and patchouli drifted upward as paint-splattered Chuck Taylors darted past us in all directions.
A teen-ish emo couple fondled each other on the ground 10 feet away, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds filing into the lawn space around them.
“I feel old,” I told Tee. An understatement given that 90 percent of the crowd was younger than me. Probably more fleet of foot.
“I feel preppy,” she said. Without tie-dye or dreadlocks we were the clear minority.
“I’m straight up trounced, Bro!” Our neighbor’s eyes rolled back and his head flopped forward.
No doubt about it, the four of us were strangers in another world at last night’s Radiohead concert. Two friends, Tiffany and I had gone to Tampa for the show. We were joined by every Bay-area adolescent who skirted curfew or begged off the Blockbuster night shift.
We were a bit uneasy when a hippie’s misshapen tit plopped out of the satchel she was wearing as a makeshift top. Later we were downright shaken when she cheered and a full-on afro erupted from her pits.
At 7 p.m. the opening act, the Liars, ignited in a sort of experimental percussion bomb. The sun setting on their electronic-crap collage was the unofficial wink for smugglers to spark a doob. The smell reminded me of college and my 56-year-old uncle’s room at Grandma’s house. (He still lives at home, get it?!)
Our friend Stacey, preggers for the past four months, ducked under the plume while her reformed husband Brian leaned back for a deeper whiff. This whole adventure was my idea, so if their unborn baby ever fails the third grade, I’ll be indirectly responsible.
I started feeling terrible about the youth around us. I was jealous. It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of those smelly kids, I thought. At age 30 I love my life and my future wife, I just miss the days of guilt-free summers and sneaking around the authorities without a care in the world.
But then, just as I was about to wave a white flag in surrender to my age, Tee pointed to a shining ray of hope, a symbol that would help me get through this night and maybe even bridge the final gap into being an adult!
Nearby a stoner with shoulder-length hair bobbed to the rhythm as the bald spot on the back of his head screamed to me, “Mellow the fuuuuuuuck out, Dude!”
“That’s really sexy,” Tee joked. She’d much rather I have a peppery “do” than a chrome dome. Plus, a hookah-sized patch like this one made the guy look like a real douche bag.
Crazy as it sounds, that quiet bald spot was enough to scream a cheer of solace at me for the night. IT was right – you’re only as old as you feel and I was at a Radiohead concert, the band’s second stop on a huge world tour!
I gulped my pride, dipped back for a deep breath of second-hand smoke and soaked in the music.
The next two hours were blissful, even if my recreational drug — cold beer at $10 a pop — probably cost about the same without delivering half the punch as the illegal substances around us.
We made it home by after midnight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed up that late on a work night. I kissed Tee good-night and nestled my head into a fluffy pillow. Before nodding away I thanked God for great friends, great family, great music and great genes that spared me from male pattern baldness.
The humor of this story ends here. If you care to know about the music of Radiohead, read on below.
As for the concert it was kinda like my take on the band itself: pretty cool, not great. Before the show two huge flat screens broke some bad news to the faraway crowd: “Due to artist request television screens will not be turned on. Thank you for understanding.” That was another way of stating “All you poor schleps who wouldn’t spring for seats are going to have to just sit back and listen.”
Our seats were in the lawn, approximately 7 miles from the stage. The performing band may as well have been surviving members of Color Me Badd.
Radiohead sounded great; they were tight, fluid. Played a good mix of old and new for about two hours. But you go to a concert to watch the band, y’know? This would have been one kick ass show had we actually seen it.
************************************************************************************************
Radiohead setlist, Ford Amphitheatre
All I Need
There There
Lucky
Bangers + Mash
15 Step
Nude
Pyramid Song
Optimistic
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
National Anthem
Idioteque
You And Whose Army?
Reckoner
Everything In Its Right Place
Airbag
Bodysnatchers
Videotape
First Encore
The Gloaming
The Tourist
Just
Faust Arp
Exit Music (For A Film)
Second Encore
The Bends
House Of Cards
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Seeing Springsteen
Gaylord Entertainment Center, April 12, 2000
The Ties That Bind
The Promised Land
Two Hearts
Darkness on the Edge of Town
Darlington County
Mansion on the Hill (dedicated to Hank Williams)
The River
Youngstown
Murder Inc.
Badlands
Out in the Street
Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
Working on the Highway
The Ghost of Tom Joad
Born in the U.S.A.
Backstreets
First Encore
Light of Day
Bobby Jean
Born to Run
Second Encore
Thunder Road
If I Should Fall Behind
Land of Hope and Dreams
Ramrod
St. Pete Times Forum, April 22, 2008
Backstreets
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
No Surrender
Gypsy Biker
4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
Growin' Up
Atlantic City
Because the Night
Darkness on the Edge of Town
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
Waitin' on a Sunny Day
Brilliant Disguise
Racing in the Street
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
Out in the Street
Encore
I'll Fly Away
Rosalita
Born to Run
Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
American Land
September 12, 2009, Ford Amphiteatre
Badlands
Out In The Street
My Lucky Day
Spirit In The Night
Outlaw Pete
She's The One
Working On A Dream
Seeds
Johnny 99
Point Blank
Raise Your Hand
All Or Nothin' At All (first since 1992!)
Growin' Up
Jole Blon (Cajun standard)
Waiting On A Sunny Day
The Promised Land
Racing In The Streets
Lonesome Day
The Rising
Born To Run
Encore
Hard Times
Rosalita
American Land
Bobby Jean
Dancing In The Dark
Hungry Heart
Thunder Road
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Now entering the blogosphere: a short bio
Hello, everyone! If you're reading this, I'll assume you're either friend, family or foe looking to plot my demise. Let's hope you're a member of the former two groups. And if you're foe, well then, I just HATE you... and I hate your ... ass... FACE!
I'm a southern boy born and raised in Clarksville, Tenn. (Now hiring!) When I was 9 my folks and I moved to the 'burbs -- Bucolic Sango where no mailbox is safe from marauding teens and tobacky barns outnumber blacks 500 to 0. My parents raised me to be a real good writer. And they also had two other guys, who I'm proud to call my brothers. Sadly, Jonathan and Luke didn't come along until I was 10 and 13, respectively. A lonely child, I grew up with pretend friends, Tooteo and Tatteo. They were nice, but never returned calls.
I'm two months from turning 30. I'm a proud alum of my beloved University of Tennessee. I attended that grand facility from 1996-2000, during which time I did significant damage to my internal organs attending Volunteer football games. I consider myself incredibly blessed to have been enrolled there when Super Bowl MVP Peyton Manning was a classmate and when the Vols became the very first National Champion under the current, if flawed, BCS system.
We went 13-0 in 1998 and celebrated that January with a glorious party experience when we floated as many kegs in two nights as we had victories in four months. Along the way I helped storm the field when we beat the villainous Florida Gators [Suck it, Spurrier.].
I was a journalism major who somehow found work in my field after college. In one of the more questionable moves of my life, I relocated from Knoxville back home to the Queen (Latefah?) City. I was hired by the Fort Campbell Courier, a small weekly publication that allowed me to pretty much write whatever I wanted, within reason. There I met some good friends and good writers most of whom would eventually serve in Iraq.
After two and a half years I needed a change. The drunken, humdrum nightlife wasn't quite filling the void. And the dreary winters had taken their toll. I sent my unspectacular resume across the Sunshine State in search of greener pastures.
And boy, did I find them.
In Oct. 2003, I received a call from what would become the best boss I ever had, Kim Folstad who was editor of the Marco Island Eagle. After my first conversation with her, I knew I was coming to Florida. I just knew it. I interviewed in November, and was taken out to lunch with a wonderful trio of future co-workers, one of whom would become the love of my life, Tiffany. More on her later.
By the first week of December, my father and I had driven all my things down to Naples, Fla., and I was working as a general assignment reporter at The Eagle. My first New Year's was spent on Miami Beach with a friend. It was sunny and a perfect 73 degrees on Jan. 1, 2004. I knew then that I'd made the right decision.
Tiffany and I flirted around a bit in the early summer of that year and by July 4 we were creating fireworks of our own on the coast of Marco Island. We've been going strong ever since. (Tee is a gorgeous Louisiana girl and LSU grad who takes delight anytime her Tigers beat the Vols thanks to ill-timed interceptions thrown by Eric Ainge.)
After a couple years' resume building, we incredibly both got jobs at the Bradenton Herald. Tiffany became one of Bradentucky's premiere features writers. I was a GA, once again, but made may way up through the ranks to become the primary pain in the ass of Manatee County government. Yes, the meetings are long and boring, but it's fulfilling work since much of the community's biggest news stories come from the county seat.
We live happily with our two cats, Rube and Tiny whose name has become an ironic misnomer. Our cozy condo is seven minutes from the beach, 15 minutes from Sarasota, 25 minutes from St. Pete and about seven hours from our home towns.
I'm going to wrap up this chapter of the blog and start on another now. If you've read this far, thanks for tuning in. I look forward to posting plenty of stuff on this handy new blog, including opinions, thoughts and lists of my favorite things. I'll try to keep it fun and light-hearted as possible. Your feedback is welcome, but negative comments will be cut into little pieces.
I'm a southern boy born and raised in Clarksville, Tenn. (Now hiring!) When I was 9 my folks and I moved to the 'burbs -- Bucolic Sango where no mailbox is safe from marauding teens and tobacky barns outnumber blacks 500 to 0. My parents raised me to be a real good writer. And they also had two other guys, who I'm proud to call my brothers. Sadly, Jonathan and Luke didn't come along until I was 10 and 13, respectively. A lonely child, I grew up with pretend friends, Tooteo and Tatteo. They were nice, but never returned calls.
I'm two months from turning 30. I'm a proud alum of my beloved University of Tennessee. I attended that grand facility from 1996-2000, during which time I did significant damage to my internal organs attending Volunteer football games. I consider myself incredibly blessed to have been enrolled there when Super Bowl MVP Peyton Manning was a classmate and when the Vols became the very first National Champion under the current, if flawed, BCS system.
We went 13-0 in 1998 and celebrated that January with a glorious party experience when we floated as many kegs in two nights as we had victories in four months. Along the way I helped storm the field when we beat the villainous Florida Gators [Suck it, Spurrier.].
I was a journalism major who somehow found work in my field after college. In one of the more questionable moves of my life, I relocated from Knoxville back home to the Queen (Latefah?) City. I was hired by the Fort Campbell Courier, a small weekly publication that allowed me to pretty much write whatever I wanted, within reason. There I met some good friends and good writers most of whom would eventually serve in Iraq.
After two and a half years I needed a change. The drunken, humdrum nightlife wasn't quite filling the void. And the dreary winters had taken their toll. I sent my unspectacular resume across the Sunshine State in search of greener pastures.
And boy, did I find them.
In Oct. 2003, I received a call from what would become the best boss I ever had, Kim Folstad who was editor of the Marco Island Eagle. After my first conversation with her, I knew I was coming to Florida. I just knew it. I interviewed in November, and was taken out to lunch with a wonderful trio of future co-workers, one of whom would become the love of my life, Tiffany. More on her later.
By the first week of December, my father and I had driven all my things down to Naples, Fla., and I was working as a general assignment reporter at The Eagle. My first New Year's was spent on Miami Beach with a friend. It was sunny and a perfect 73 degrees on Jan. 1, 2004. I knew then that I'd made the right decision.
Tiffany and I flirted around a bit in the early summer of that year and by July 4 we were creating fireworks of our own on the coast of Marco Island. We've been going strong ever since. (Tee is a gorgeous Louisiana girl and LSU grad who takes delight anytime her Tigers beat the Vols thanks to ill-timed interceptions thrown by Eric Ainge.)
After a couple years' resume building, we incredibly both got jobs at the Bradenton Herald. Tiffany became one of Bradentucky's premiere features writers. I was a GA, once again, but made may way up through the ranks to become the primary pain in the ass of Manatee County government. Yes, the meetings are long and boring, but it's fulfilling work since much of the community's biggest news stories come from the county seat.
We live happily with our two cats, Rube and Tiny whose name has become an ironic misnomer. Our cozy condo is seven minutes from the beach, 15 minutes from Sarasota, 25 minutes from St. Pete and about seven hours from our home towns.
I'm going to wrap up this chapter of the blog and start on another now. If you've read this far, thanks for tuning in. I look forward to posting plenty of stuff on this handy new blog, including opinions, thoughts and lists of my favorite things. I'll try to keep it fun and light-hearted as possible. Your feedback is welcome, but negative comments will be cut into little pieces.
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