An Early Birthday Gift

Last evening - or afternoon as it were - I referred to a happening. No, not like in the movie. I didn't even see that movie. Wasn't that M. Night Sh. Not even gonna try. Yeah, I know I could look it up, but I'm just gonna leave it at Sh.

Where was I? Oh yes, last evening. Joseph purchased for me two tickets to... Well, I'll get to that... eventually. But let's recount the evening.

Left early from work. Fed dogs. Dogs pottied. I sat and blogged. I returned to downtown. Picked up Joseph from the gym. Drove to Queen Anne.

For those of you unfamiliar with this name, Queen Anne is an area within Seattle where neither a queen nor women named Anne live. Discuss. Okay, so there may be some Annes but I don't know any.

We park. We start looking for a restaurant. We have about an hour.

Local pub, packed. Italian restaurant next door, packed. Another pub, packed. Everyone's eating out, it seems. Finally, we enter a place called The Spectator. From the outside, it looks like a run down strip club. Has the name for it too. Inside, there are umpteen televisions playing the Mets-Cubs game. A sports bar. Nice. We sit. We eat. We watch as the Mets get a friggin guy on 3rd and can't get him home. Egregious.

Time to go to the Key. As in the Arena. Home of the Superson... Oh, no. Home of the Thunderbir... not them either anymore. Home of the Seattle Storm. Thank goodness for the WNBA. And there are still a few concerts and such held there. And we were going to one...

Now, you could ruin the surprise and find out who was at the Key last night. Or, you could wait as I build the anticipation until I finally reveal who it was and you can guffaw loudly or chuckle mildly depending, of course, on your whereabouts as you read this.

We entered the Key. I watched as Joseph's face revealed his... his... well, his disbelief that he was there. We walked into the arena itself and descended to the sixth row. Great seats. Just awesome. Joseph done good.

We looked around the arena and tried to spot minorities. Yes, minorities. Joseph, being black, and I, being white, have no problem admitting that we are in fact black and white respectively. And we laugh at our respective 'peoples'. Last night was his opportunity to laugh at mine. I did, however, spot an African-American woman and her daughter; I told Joseph. Well, I'll be damned, he said, a sistah.

A hint? Okay. The first six people in our row - including us - a black 30 something gay man, a white 30 something gay man, a white tattoo covered facially pierced 20 something straight man, a white black-wearing long-haired 20 something straight woman, a white 60 something married man, and a white 60 something married woman. Does that help?

The announcer said that there would be no opening act. And no intermission. Joseph glanced at me with a pained look.

The lights didn't as much dim as they just shut off. We saw the outline of band members readying to play everything from an electric guitar to an accordian. And then the performer, with much drama, was announced. A singer, actor. Another hint. The only person ever to have been nominated for a Golden Globe and to have won a Razzie for the same part...

The person appeared as if from nowhere - or from the stairs that ran up the back of the stage - and the spotlight shone. Strumming the black guitar, the performer strode down the stage as the moving parts of the stage - described as like tectonic plates by a critic I read today - closed in behind the person. Holy cow! I was really seeing this person in concert.

The first few songs were familiar. Some songs strumming the guitar. Others songs just singing with a cordless mike. The performer built the energy slowly but surely.

Then came an emotional spot. 'I've shared the story of my life a thousand times. I'd like to share it just once more with you.' At that moment, my life filled to the brim, I had found a new favorite that I'd heard before but had never internalized.

The performer wasn't finished. There was another very personal song. And when he sang it, Joseph turned to me with excitement in his eyes. A song that he not only recognized but that he also liked. After the song, he asked excitedly, 'Are you having a good time?' 'I am,' I said smilingly.

A few songs from a new album. Good songs. And then back to a few more familiar ones. Good times, I tell ya. I couldn't remember when the times felt so good. I couldn't recall a better concert, I thought to myself.

After that crescendo, I thought the concert was over. Little did I know.

The performer seemed to disappear but the spotlight found the person sitting at a table on which there sat a single rose and a bottle of wine. The performer belted out the song, and I don't think anyone could say he didn't bring it with that performance.

The person moved into a few more new songs. A few older ones.

'I am a spiritual traveler' the person said at one point. 'I don't think I'll ever stop.' The crowd roared.

And then the final song. One of the twelve songs on a recent album. Heartfelt. Awe inspiring. A good end, but not the right one. The performer left the stage. Everyone was standing. Even I. Yes, I was standing. Part of the raucous audience cheering for the person to return. I turned to Joseph and told him amidst the din, 'That performer' - so I didn't really say that - 'has to play two of three more songs and I'll be happy.' Joseph said in my ear, 'I don't know anyone who doesn't come out for an encore.'

And out the person came. Pictures of immigrants flickered on the giants screens to the left and right of the stage. We the audience sang with the performer, sang those lyrics we knew so well.

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And then he started. It might not have been a hot September night in Seattle, but it was hot in that arena as he sang. The sermon came. The platform on which he stood rose. The lights flashed. And we were all satisfied.

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The concert ended. Joseph turned to me. 'He just sang for over two hours.' 'Really?' I said 'And with no intermission,' he added. 'Not bad for a 67 year old' I said. Joseph continued, 'I have to say I'm surprised; that concert was awesome.' Not what I expected to hear from him. 'Are you happy I got you the tickets?' he asked.

I am I said.