Hubs and I are back from the Springsteen concert, but the fangirl in me has yet to stop squealing long enough to let me compose a coherent thought. Lowlights and highlights it is.

Lowlights:

• Hubs and I have the uncanny ability to attract loud people who talk about nothing. In line, we were behind the loud people bantering over the weather. In our seats, we were in front of the loud person who described every single section of the arena that he had sat in. And finally, just before the show started, we were in front of the couple discussing when their next sex night would be. Lovely.
• I-35 between Dallas and Waxahatchie. WTH, people? Can you not pave a road?

Highlights:

• Staying at the Hyatt Summerfield Suites for the win. Walked three blocks to the American Airlines center.
• The band. The only other time I’ve seen Springsteen was for the acoustic Devils & Dust tour, which, while amazing, had a very somber feel. This concert was more of a party. The energy was high and it was great to see Bruce and the band having so much fun.
• Hearing “Jungleland,” “Born to Run,” and “Dancing in the Dark” live.
• The man in full cowboy regalia that rocked out to every. single. song. He was having a great time and didn’t care who knew it.
• Jon Bon Jovi joining Springsteen on stage for Glory Days. There are no words. None. Just gleeful fangirlish screaming.

More when the squealing in my head subsides.

“We cut Greetings in three weeks. But Clive [Davis] handed it back and said there was nothing that could be played on the radio. I’m glad he did; I went home and wrote “Blinded by the Light” and “Spirit in the Night.” With the previously missing Clarence Clemons on the saxophone, these songs were recorded, and the record was finished.

“I never wrote in that style again. Once the record was released, I heard all the “new Dylan” comparisons, so I steered away from it. But the lyrics and spirit of Greetings came from a very unselfconscious place. Your early songs come out of a moment when you’re writing with no sure prospect of ever being heard. Up until then, it’s just you and your music. That only happens once.”

~~from Songs by Bruce Springsteen

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Originally uploaded by Absinthe Green

Ivan first traveled to Asbury Park in 1982, soon after the release of Nebraska, three years after supposedly meeting Bruce Springsteen on a service road in San Mateo, California. He had gone to the Jersey shore with his brother, driven cross-country from San Francisco, hoping to get a glimpse of the world beyond the West Coast, and, more important, the world of Bruce. At the time, I was fourteen years old and a big fan of Madonna, and the crowd I ran with though of Bruce as some overly patriotic guy with a redneck heart and a sweaty bandana. Bruce was a Jersey thing; being from the Gulf Coast, we didn’t get it.

~~ from “Down the Shore Everything’s Alright” by Michelle Richmond.

I try to keep my fangirlish tendencies to the minimum on the blog, but today when I typed “our drive to the Springsteen show” in my head, I was actually squealing, OMG! The Bruce Springsteen concert is only 6 days away. OMG OMG OMG. You see why I’d want to suppress this side of me.

I’ve been a fan of the Boss since I was eight and yes, it was that damn Courtney Cox video that did it. In the years since, I’ve become a more sophisticated Springsteen fan. I would not have gotten through high school without my Born to Run cassette and in the months surrounding the first anniversary of 9/11, The Rising was pretty much the only CD in my car stereo.

True to the fangirl within, over the years I’ve hunted down pretty much anything I can read related Springsteen. In honor of this weekend’s trip, I’ll be sharing some of my favorite takes from the literary side of Springsteen. Enjoy!

There was a time when courtesy and winning ways went out of style, when it was good to be bad, when you cultivated decadence like a taste. We were all dangerous characters then. We wore torn-up leather jackets, slouched around with toothpicks in our mouths, sniffed glue and ether and what somebody claimed was cocaine. When we wheeled our parent’ whining station wagons out onto the street we left a patch of rubber half a block long. We drank gin and grape juice. Tango, Thunderbird, and Bali Hai. We were nineteen. We were bad. We read Andre Gide and stuck elaborate poses to show that we didn’t give a shit about anything. At night, we went up to Greasy Lake.

~from “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle.

Let’s start with the end of the story first: Mr.B is diabetes free. At least, that’s what the tests show anyway. We had a vet appointment early this morning and after four days being off the insulin, his blood sugar was perfectly normal.

The vet was also quick to point out that is a rare case. I’m not saying this to brag on Mr.B (though he is the best cat ever), but to warn anyone who might google for feline diabetes info and think that feline diabetes is something that can come and go in a month. Seeing the blood sugar levels return to normal this soon after diagnosis is pretty rare and we are very lucky. In the meantime, we’re keeping both cats on the diabetes diet management plan to make sure Mr.B is stable and because it seems to be helping his IBD. We’ll go back in four weeks for more tests to see just how stable Mr.B is.

Now, this story actually begins with a less happy trip to the vet. Last Thursday Hubs woke up at two in the morning because Mr.B was pacing in circles on his leg. Now, Mr.B is a weird cat, but this kind of behavior is unheard of. So we woke up, watched him for about two minutes and then I sent Hubs to get the Karo syrup. We gave him a little and then a little more, but he kept pacing and then fell off the bed. At that point, Hubs doled out another half teaspoon of Karo and I called the emergency animal hospital.

By the time we got him in, his blood glucose numbers were back to normal and we were sent off with instructions to watch him for the night. I stayed up until 5 and most of my “observation” consisted of watching Mr.B sleep.

I’m glad this turned out for the best. As I told Hubs last night, I’d like one week, just one week, where Mr.B would stay healthy and I didn’t have to call my vet. From the looks of things. I might get four of them.

Another of my favorite writers, Richard Russo, wrote an editorial for The Washington Post about the Eliot Spitzer issue. It’s a great read for writers and non-writers. In a time when the news media gets away with drawing caricatures of their subjects, Russo reminds us that it’s the fiction writer’s job to get beyond the surface and examine the complexities of character. It doesn’t escape me that the fiction writer may be closer to portraying the truth than the CNN reporter. Just something to think about.

(via The Millions)

Over the last ten years I’ve been in a lot of workshops and writing groups and can say with certainty that these are foolproof ways to annoy your writers’ group. I’ve had at least one of these things happen in every group I’ve been in (with the exception of my current, fabulous group).

While you’re there, check out the rest of John Hewitt’s terrific Writer’s Resource Center. True to its name, it has a wealth of information that ranges from fiction and poetry to technical and business writing.

Enjoy!

I imagine that going to Las Vegas is a lot like pregnancy and childbirth. It’s grueling and painful and in the end, you feel awful. And six months to a year later, you’ve forgotten how terrible it was and want to do it again.

At least that’s my theory. The last time Hubs and I went to Las Vegas, I told him that I thought I’d had quite enough Vegas for one lifetime. That was in October of 2006. And yet, a few months ago, over dinner with our friends J and F, the subject came up and somehow I found myself saying that we were long overdue for a Vegas trip. Note to self: the next time you start to say something like that, shut the f— up.

It’s nothing against Las Vegas, it’s just that every time I leave there, I feel a little worse for the wear. And it’s not just the gambling and the inevitable monetary loss, but the walking (my feet hate me), the smoke (God bless my beloved town that passed a smoking ordinance), the noise, the time adjusment, and the crowds.

But despite all that, I thought I’d make a list of the best Vegas experiences from this trip.

Best trip back through time: The Boneyard. The boneyard is were all the classic Vegas signs go to rust. The museum is trying to raise enough money to restore and preserve the signs and one way they do that is by offering group tours of the Boneyard. It’s money well spent.

Best food: Bouchon. If I do cave and go back to Vegas, it will be for the sourdough waffles at Bouchon. That was the most amazing brunch ever and, by Vegas standards, it was reasonably priced.

Best sleeping spot: The Bellagio. Okay, so maybe I’d go back again if I could stay at the Bellagio. The room was wonderfully swank, had a shower and a ginormous bath, but even better: automated curtains. You have not lived until you have opened your drapes simply by rolling over and pushing a button.

Best trainwreck experience: The Rio. All I can say about The Rio is OMG. From the skanky waitress costumes to the horribly choreographed “Show in the Sky,” the Rio is the best place to see Vegas kitch, and I don’t mean that in the good way.

Best casino to remind you how old you are: The Hard Rock Casino. The people who can now legally go to Las Vegas are eleven years younger than me and they all congregate at the Hard Rock Casino. On the plus side, I realize that I don’t miss my twenties at all.

Best reason not to go back to Vegas: Readjusting to real life. In Vegas, we were never in bed before two or three in the morning and most of the time I didn’t even notice. Now that that has caught up with me, I am regretting it. Twelve hours of sleep did nothing for me yesterday. I can only hope I’ll fall asleep soon, but unfortunately, it’s only midnight on Vegas time.

Sigh…