Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm

Got to revisit the old me for a couple of hours last night. Rich and I went to see Wilco play at Marymoor Park, a beautiful park in Redmond, a suburb of Seattle better known as home to a certain software mega-company. I don't just love Wilco, I LOVE Wilco. There is something about Jeff Tweedy that gets me. It's not a physical crush; try as I might, I'm not physically attracted to him. But Lord Almighty, as soon as that man opens his mouth to sing I am enraptured. His voice is just so plaintive and his lyrics so funny/earnest/true. Maybe it's because Wilco nursed me through the biggest heartbreak of my life. Jeff Tweedy has clearly explored the height and depth, light and dark, sighs, moans and aches of love. So, if you've have ever experienced any of it yourself, there is a Wilco song for you. I don't want to sleep with Jeff Tweedy, but I want him to be my next door neighbor that comes over for cookouts all the time.

Driving to the concert I was still in mom-bot mode a bit. We'd left Theo asleep with some friends at our apartment but it wasn't until we were approaching the venue that suddenly I got that familiar pang of excitement, the rush of going to see one of my favorite bands live and knowing that for a couple of hours, if all goes well - and there isn't some asshole frat boy smoking pot or trying to mosh in front of me or some drunk hippie chick flailing her arms around in a dance trance - I will be able to stand there letting the vibrations of my favorite songs pulsate through my body. I will be witness to some witty banter that I can pretend isn't the same witty banter from the night before or the night after. I'm not good company at concerts - Rich can attest to that. If it's a band I really love, I treat it like a religious experience. I don't like to talk during a concert. I don't go get beer during the band's set. I mouth words but I don't sing out loud and I hate it when people around me do - I paid to hear the band, not you, asshole. If it's a song that requires quiet, I silently plead with the people around me to understand and be respectful of the words and music being shared at that moment. Some of my favorite concert moments are when there is a shared crowd mentality that we are all in the presence of greatness and the crowd goes quiet, carefully listening to what our hero/heroine has to say. There were one or two instances of that last night. And, of course, there were also the frat boys in full regalia- beer, pot, cigarettes and baseball hats (please God, please don't let them be driving home the same direction as Rich and me).

So, for a couple of hours last night I tapped into my youthful, concert-going self. I don't get to see nearly as many concerts as I used to pre-baby. It's a habit I don't want to drop and last night reminded me of that.