Continued from Part Two:
By the time I get home Saturday night, I am exhausted. David and I just crashed on the couch, I opened some wine, and we watched "Dirty Jobs" on the Discovery Channel. That show is like a car crash, it's gross but you cannot look away.
Sunday morning I get a nice long sleep in. Since I got to bed reasonably early the night before, I was able to sleep long, but still get up at a reasonable hour - this is a good thing.
My Madonna Sunday
I start this wonderful Sunday off (it was beautiful out), by going to the gym. I figure I need it after a day of debauchery in PTown and want to look my best for her highness, the Material Girl, right?
So, some morning gym and errands, gets me home just in time to find on TV, what else, the World Cup final game. Ugh. So, now after spending the day Saturday dealing with it, I decide - what the hell, let it play in the background while I do some house work. But unlike the Germany/Portugal game - this one was more interesting. I wonder what my Italian friends are doing - how are they spending this afternoon separated from home? Anyway, all my interest wanes quickly when I realize how endless overtime is in Soccer, and that in the end a bunch of penalty kicks can actually determine it all. Whatever. I did run out and get Chinese Food though, which was fun.
Oh, and before I forget, this day was the David and my 17th anniversary. I mention to the Bird (who was with David when I first met him) that it was my Bird anniversary as well. I have lived with David and Rick longer than with anyone else in my life, including members of my own family. That says alot. It still feels like yesterday that we met and went on that first date. To put it in perspective, on that day - July 9, 1989, we went to see Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson in "Batman" (yes, the original one) when it was first out in the theatres. That was our first date. God we are old.
In the 17 years we have been together, one thing has always been constant - David is always late. I learned long ago to add 30 minutes to any amount of time we need to get ready to be anywhere.
As I am watching television and the news comes on it tells me two things. First, the predominantly Italian North End of Boston is going crazy due to the World Cup. Second, the Red Sox are still battling the White Sox in the 11th inning. Great. Due to this, I decide two things. First, we will take the subway to the concert and forego the car, and second, I do not want to watch the end of the Sox game.
Naturally we are running late - getting to the subway and then to the Garden right at 8. We run for some drinks and pray we are not too late. We are not. Everyone is loitering around outside and getting drinks. In the background, I see the Sox game is on the TV and I ask a guy - who won? (figuring it was long over by now). He responds with a sneer, "what do you mean who won? They are still playing". Ass. And wow - 19 innings - suddenly I am interested, but, well, Madonna and all. So off we went to find our seats. I would have to read the sad Papelboner story another time (by the way, I hear from a friend of mine he ran into Papelbon's parents while racing home from that very game - small world).
Before this, I had never been in the Banknorth Garden. This Garden is nothing like the old Garden. The old Garden had character and spirit - the new one is generic and bland. We had top row balcony seats, which are really, really way the hell up there. I felt like I was being guided by a Sherpa to get to them - we briefly stopped at base camp for oxygen and medical assistance then continued on.
I love Madonna, but did she have to make us wait 45 minutes? I mean, we all make a reasonable effort to show up on time and all. The concert was excellent. Probably the best stage show I have ever seen (including "The Lion King", which was fantastic.) There was this guy in front of us though, who kept screaming "Yeah!! Yeah!!" at the top of his lungs and pumping his fists in the air. I really wanted to punch his face in. I wondered whether or not he was tripping and thought he was at a Celtics game instead. I mean, he wasn't even singing or anything - just yelling "Yeah!!", like he was watching an orgy. Maybe seeing Her is his equivalent. His voice eventually gave way though, thankfully.
Afterwards we walked through the city and it was a beautiful night. Lots of pseudo-Italians roaming the streets screaming "Italy" at the top of their lungs and flying the Italian flag.
All in all, I must say, quite the weekend.
No comments:
Post a Comment