Old Friends

I have been lucky to have had a group of friends that I have kept in touch with for over 25 years. At some point in the mid-1990s, the group was named ‘The Hearts Club’ because a rotating group of us would meet at my house in Midlothian to play Hearts. That group always included Patrick, Kurt, Tony and myself. Sometimes Jenne and Becca would join in. I remember one all night Hearts contest where, instead of the usual ‘penny/nickel pot’,  we bet ‘care packages’ instead (since Kurt, Jenne, Becca and Tony were in their freshman year of college; I think I still owe Becca about a dozen or so care packages from that evening!). 
When Patrick announced in the spring that he was getting married, I was thrilled – happy for him and his bride Cecelia, but equally happy at the prospect of seeing friends I had not seen for far too long. It seemed the last few times members of ‘The Hearts Club’ had gathered, it was for a funeral, so I could not wait to be able to gather, drink and laugh.

 

The bride was beautiful. The groom was handsome. The preacher quoted Jackie Wilson (!) and compared the groom to an ‘erotic leaping gazelle.’ The transportation was free. The bar was open (!), the food outstanding…but most of all, being able to catch up with the people that I count as my dearest friends, who have come to my rescue on more than one occasion, and with whom I have spent many an hour lost in conversation over thousands of cups of diner coffee, that was what made this weekend one that will be remembered for a very long time.

 

Here are some pictures. To Tony, Jesi, Josh and Justin, who were not able to attend: You were missed and thought of throughout the evening.

The Happy Couple: Cecelia & Patrick

 

Mother of the groom, Pauline, and Patrick

Kurt and Patrick

The author

Matty K. and John P. A seating snafu combined them into one ‘person’: Matt Powers

Having a free night with little to do, Obama showed up, pictured here with Kurt and Valeria

Ethan, 44, Kerry, Sean and myself

All smiles: Matty, Becca and me

The Gang: Front (L to R): Valeria, Becca, Jenne, Kerry; Back (L to R): Sean, Me, Kurt, Patrick, John, Matty, Ethan

 

All of those pictures were taken at the reception, which took place at the very cool and funky antique store Material Culture. As the clock struck 11pm, the entire group, all at varying levels of inebriation, boarded a trolley back to the hotel and then within thirty minutes, the After Party began in Becca and Matty’s hotel room. The pictures below were taken there. Please note all were (at least somewhat) Intoxicated. Including the photographer.  

Kerry, in, as Ethan described, ‘full sleepover mode.’

Patrick and Jenne, holding a blurry bag of chips

I think at this point, Patrick had no idea where he was or what he was saying.

On three, everyone LEAN!!!

It was a wonderful, memorable weekend. Here’s hoping it’s not too long before we all gather again, to smile, drink and laugh. 
Love always,  Barry

Charlottesville 


Today feels like Day One, A.C. Or, After Charlottesville.

I sat down at this same computer on Saturday evening with every intention of writing something about what happened. I stared at my blank digital page for a good five minutes, not even typing one letter, let alone a complete sentence, then I gave up. 

Well, now today I am at least past that.

I already know that anything I say here will mean almost nothing and any words I muster won’t change the fact that a woman died on Saturday, in my home state, while protesting Nazis.

Protesting fucking NAZIS!

I avoided the news after the true horror of the events came to light, and I escaped reality by watching movies from my couch. I am usually a very ‘plugged in’ person, always following political news and current events, but Saturday I was in shock. By chance I did turn the news on around 6pm so a friend who was visiting could hear the latest, and I did hear our governor speak and rebuke hate explicitly. But Saturday I just could not fathom how a protest rally under the guise of the removal of a statue – a fucking statue!! – ended with the deaths of three citizens and dozens injured.

Saturday I was shocked and saddened. Today that has given way to anger. But, I really don’t know what to do with that anger or how to channel it into something positive. That’s why I am attempting to write something. Just to get it out.

Quote bluntly, how the fuck did we get here?!

 

I don’t have the answer to that question, and the only comparisons I can draw between history and what happened Saturday [the Civil Rights Movement; The Summer of ‘68] seem to not quite fit.

Here is the internal dialogue that I kept having over and over late Friday night (when I first saw the ‘Tiki Torches’ photo online) into Saturday as events began to spiral toward an unfathomable Hell on Earth: If the Nazis/Alt Right held a protest in [your city here] and no one showed up to counter protest, to engage them in a fight, no one bothered to pay them any attention, wouldn’t our silence toward them and the fact that we paid them no heed speak volumes?

I am truly conflicted about this because, on the one hand, I understand the want, the necessity to make your voice heard in the face of hate, so I understand the urge to meet the enemy where they stand, and stand your ground.

There’s a part of me though that believes this ‘Alt-Right/Nazi’ minority isn’t worth my time or the energy to mount a protest. No one is going to have their mind changed by someone shouting in the street, no matter how many signs we carry or how many slogans we chant. If anyone is committed enough to wear Nazi swastikas in public, nothing I say or write is going to make them see the light of day, or the error in their ways.

That’s the internal dialogue merry-go-round I have been on since very early Saturday morning, and, as I write this on Monday night, I don’t know which stance is the correct one, or if they’re both right, or both wrong. That’s why I haven’t posted much about this on social media, apart from links to news stories.

I have read today that this same group is planning to have a rally in Richmond. That doesn’t surprise me, even though Richmond City Council has made no decision on what to do with the statues of Lee, Davis and Jackson. If they do decide to come to Richmond, I sincerely hope the horrors of Charlottesville are not repeated, but I know it would be wishful thinking on my part to hope the rally is completely ignored by the public and the press, so that the shouting of hate gets drowned out not by protests, but by its own echo chamber.

With a very heavy heart, tonight I am thinking of Heather Heyer, Lieutenant H. Jay Cullen and Trooper Berke M. M. Bates, their families and friends.

 

If tomorrow has to be better, then hurry up tomorrow. We need you now.

 

Thank you for reading,

Barry

Your History Is Waiting To Smack You In The Face

In 2003, at a time when I was changing Primary Care Physicians, I sat down to type out a medical event history, basically a dot point listing of every surgery, major procedure and extended hospital stay from 1977 until 2003. I also sent a copy of the document to my internist, who had known me since 1992. I make updates to my copy, but haven’t sent it to any providers since I started seeing my latest PCP which was in 2014.

Thursday this week, as I lay prone on a hospital bed awaiting an IV nurse to prep the anesthesia for an outpatient procedure, the Admitting Nurse who asks all the relevant questions (When was the last time you ate? When did you last take your meds?) started to ask about my medical history and then before I could answer, she began to tick off a slew of events from the late-70’s. I was a little out of it since I had not eaten for the last 27 hours, so it didn’t immediately register that she was reading off of my old list, which meant that my typed medical history had successfully made the move to the Electronic Medical Records ‘vault.’

At the same moment I thought, ‘Cool, they still have my sheet so I don’t need to tell them about all of this ancient history,’ I listened as she continued to read off the list. I confirmed that yes, all of those things happened to me and added two more events that happened from 2015-2017.

After she left, I stared up at the celling, head on a very flat pillow, and thought ‘Goddamn, I’ve been through a lot of shit!’

I know I have faced a lot of challenges in my 40+ years, but to hear them all read off in succession, it took me aback. I really do live one day to the next, looking forward to upcoming events like concerts, and do my best not to dwell on things that hold me back. Those of you who know me well know that every single day I deal with chronic pain that’s not severe enough to debilitate, but not minor enough to ignore. Some days it’s just something to deal with, and some days it’s a feat to get out of bed and function. More often than not, though, I manage to get moving. My attitude though is that everyone is dealing with their own challenges, so what I deal with is nothing really unique or special.

I’m facing another medical adventure/challenge in the very near future, and I will write about it at length once I know more info, but I wanted to scribble this here because I knew it was far too long for a Facebook post. (That’s why I have a blog, right?)

In the meantime, thank you for reading and have a great weekend!

–Barry 

The Great (Annual) Escape

“July, July, July! Never seemed so strange”–“July, July!” The Decemberists

 

More than any other month, July has been, throughout my life, full of milestones; there’ve been memorable events, wonderful evenings I will never forget and days I wish never happened.

 

July 17 is one of the few days I wish could be deleted from the calendar, or at least my memory. Sometimes it really sucks to have such a good memory where dates are concerned, because every year, July 17 shows up and, no matter what else is going on, for that day, or at least a large portion of it, I am an emotional wreck.

 

On Tuesday July 17, 2001 my father was killed in a single vehicle car accident in his neighborhood as he drove home from work. He had a diabetic attack behind the wheel and became disoriented, passing by his own home and driving the car to a dead end, where he lost consciousness with his foot still on the gas pedal. No one knows how long it took for the engine to overheat, catch fire and engulf the car, but I would guess the fire burned for an hour or more before the fire department was contacted. When I got a phone call that night from his second wife Kathy, I immediately thought she was calling to tell me that my grandfather had passed, as he had been in ill health. When she told me she had to tell me something about my dad, I knew it wasn’t good news; we barely spoke unless forced to in social situations, so I knew it had to be something cataclysmic for her to reach out to me.

And, cataclysmic it was.

It’s funny how I don’t remember the rest of that conversation beyond her telling me my dad was dead, agreeing to meet her in the morning to start ‘making arrangements’ and then getting off the phone. I don’t remember if I called my brother or if Kathy told me she was going to do that. What I do remember about that night as my mom made phone calls to her friends and family is that Greg Maddux pitched a complete game shutout for Atlanta against Tampa Bay. Even though I loathed interleague play (and I still do), I was thankful for baseball like never before because, in that moment, I could truly escape. I always loved baseball from a very young age, but that night, I understood how important and necessary it was as a means of escaping ‘real life.’

Every July 17 since, on that day, for those 24 hours, I am a man looking for an escape.

My relationship with my father was complicated, but it’s not an exaggeration to say every day something makes me think to myself, ‘I wonder what dad would’ve thought of that?’ That trigger is usually music or sports related, and it usually makes me smile. There is still a lot about that relationship that will forever remain unresolved, and that’s okay. He had his demons and his faults, and he handled things the best he knew how to at the time. It took me a long time to come to that realization and be at peace with it. 

I have written here before about how I didn’t speak to my father from April 12, 1996 until sometime in June of 1999. I was working in radio and he heard me on air and called me one night literally just as I was walking into my apartment, and I picked up without checking Caller ID.

That ‘chilly’ conversation broke the ice, and we eventually met for dinner a few times a year up until his death. I chose to forgive but not forget the reasons for our estrangement, so we were able to mend things as best we could. I spoke to him for the last time the Friday before his death and we agreed to meet for dinner the following Friday (July 20). Instead, that day was his wake, which meant my brother and I, along with his first wife Tara met dozens of people who knew my dad. Some I knew, some I only knew the names from conversation, but they all knew me. If you have ever been in that situation, I don’t have to tell you that it is exhausting.

That summer of 2001 was also the summer I became very well acquainted with vodka. Working in radio, coupled with emotional trauma I couldn’t really process meant I was drinking on a nightly basis for the first time in my life. It was something I knew I shouldn’t be doing, but I really didn’t care. Remember, this is before 9/11. Once that happened, it’s no wonder I quit my job in radio and when New Year’s Eve 2001 arrived, I quite unapologetically drank myself into oblivion.

I leaned on old friends and new friends to ‘get me through’ that time. Some of those friends I still talk to often, some I haven’t seen in years, but they all played a part in helping me, and I thank them for all they did.

Many years later on a July 17th afternoon, while I was in my annual emotional funk, I received news that a dear friend had passed away. That was when I began to wish that the calendar would just skip July 17th every year. As I mark the day, remembering my father and that dear friend, I know that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never heal, they simply scab over.

Whatever your own ‘July 17’ is, I hope you have an army of friends to help you through it, I hope you have an escape hatch nearby that you can use, however briefly, and I hope you know that the next day will be better.

Thank you for reading,

Barry 

Old School / New School

As readers of this blog know, I have been a Spotify Premium member since July when my iPod Classic stopped working. Spotify was new to me, as the only streaming service I had used previously was Pandora, but since Spotify allowed Offline listening and the ability to download songs to a Listener Library with just the touch of a button, I joined up, using Spotify as a replacement for my iPod. I eventually got the iPod to work, so now Spotify is mainly used at work since it is convenient to stop/start tracks on my phone while working. 

Very late Saturday night, I found an old album on Spotify, Crystal Gayle’s “Miss the Mississippi” from 1979. 


My dad owned this record on vinyl and it was one he would listen to often, so the songs were ingrained in me, and are inexorably tied to memories of my father and my youth. I remember trying to find the record on CD in the late 90s, and I eventually found the album on CD in 2009 and added it to my iPod.

 

But Saturday night, I wanted to hear this record and my iPod wasn’t close by, so I found it on Spotify and started listening to songs I have known for almost my entire life.

 

And then, I noticed something strange: After the first song finished, I heard that distinct sound of snaps, pops and hiss that is only heard when listening to vinyl. It seems that the only version that Spotify had to make available for streaming was a very well-worn LP, with lots of pops and hiss (but thankfully, no skips).

 

I am all for nostalgia, but I was very surprised that the only version of this record Spotify had to offer for streaming was a digital transfer of an LP, especially since the album has been available on CD for many years. I wrote an email to Spotify support just simply to ask what were the reasons/restrictions that made that LP version the only version available to stream on Spotify.

I’m genuinely curious to learn what rules and/or restrictions led to a vinyl transfer being available to stream. If anyone has any details on the inner workings of Spotify, post a comment below. 

Tonight in response to my email, Spotify Support said they “see what I mean” about the audio quality being less than desired. They say they’re working on it, so…stay tuned. 

–Barry

Shameless Self-Promotion (but it’s for a good cause)

Here is a blog post about two things I don’t normally do:

First, a bit of shameless self-promotion, but it’s for a good cause. On Saturday afternoon, (March 25), The Firehouse Theatre is sponsoring ‘Hamiltunes’, a fund-raiser for The Richmond Theatre Artists Fund Taking place at The Virginia Historical Building, ‘Hamiltunes’ is a unique interactive experience that allows those in the audience to sing their favorite songs from ‘Hamilton’. As of this writing, tickets are still available, starting at $10.00.

 

Which leads to the second thing I don’t usually do: Sing in public! It’s been decades since I last made the karaoke rounds with friends, but I will be singing two songs from ‘Hamilton’ on Saturday, so if you need incentive to buy a ticket, there ya go!

The fun starts at 2pm. I recommend arriving early, because it is going to be packed! Full details here

Thanks for reading. I hope to see you there if you’re in RVA; it promises to be a fun afternoon.

The Night Adele Left Me Stunned

Part One: How I Got Here



My brother loaned me a copy of Adele’s ‘19’ CD in the spring of 2009, and I immediately loved her unique voice, even if the act of writing about breakups and relationships had been done millions of times. Adele was different. Like everyone, I bought ‘21’ when it was released in 2011, and played it to the point of being burned out on it, having to put it away for a while after listening to it nonstop for months. Then, she wrote and sang the theme for the Bond film ‘Skyfall’ (and her song was the only redeemable thing from a very disappointing film).

 

When ‘25’ was released, NBC was smart enough to cash in by broadcasting portions of a live performance by Adele from Radio City Music Hall Thanksgiving Weekend 2015. I recorded the special and, as I watched, I just remember thinking one thought for the duration of the special: I have to see her in concert!

 

Tickets went on sale in mid-December for a Fall 2016 US Tour. Since I would be attending the show solo, I decided Atlanta was the best city of her planned stops, and she even scheduled two nights, Friday October 28 and Saturday October 29. Amid complaints from fans saying that the shows sold out before they could get a single seat, I managed to snag a floor seat to the Saturday show moments before it became a sellout. All that remained was arranging the travel and accommodations.

 Part Two: I Hate Traveling On Show Day

After much deliberation, I decided to fly out to Atlanta on the day of the show, crossing fingers that I wouldn’t run into any delays that might throw a wrench in my plans. So Saturday around 11am, I arrived at Richmond International Airport for a 1:15pm flight.

Airport security check points are always a crapshoot for me. Sometimes, the TSA Agent is very nice and very understanding and doesn’t cause a big fuss when I explain that I ‘really don’t want to remove my shoes and braces and I know I am going to set off the alarm so you’ll need to wand me.’ This time the agent at RIC Airport was nice, but somewhat shocked that I was traveling alone, even asking ‘Are you sure you’re by yourself?’ All I could answer without laughing was ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ He didn’t have a reply and the testing of my canes was completed without further comment.

 

The flight was uneventful and landed actually ahead of schedule. I was in the airport in Atlanta just before 3pm, and after walking what seemed like the entire length of the building, met the shuttle to my hotel. By 4pm, I was standing at the front desk of my hotel as the clerk told me my room was not already paid for. I knew this to be untrue and said as much as diplomatically as possible, even offering to show her a confirmation email I had from Hotels.com. She didn’t want to look at that, so, pressed for time, I told her I would talk to the morning agent when I checked out. I quickly dropped off my bag in my room, changed my shirt and headed out to meet a friend for dinner.

 

Donna is someone I met while I worked at Kaiser Permanente in 2012 while I lived in Atlanta. She was literally the glue that held the office together, and we commuted together on the same shuttle bus every morning and evening during my brief tenure there. I had not seen her since February 2013. When I was last visiting Atlanta this past June, she was out of town, so, even though my time in the city was very short, I knew the one thing I had to do besides the concert that brought me here was catch up with her. We agreed to meet up at The Vortex, a bar/burger joint that is 21+ only and serves fantastic hamburger concoctions.

 

It was great catching up with Donna. She’s recently retired and loving it. I am convinced that the offices at Kaiser Permanente have now fallen apart in her absence, but she disputes that.

 

After dinner, it was about 6:30 (an hour before the stated show time on my ticket) when I stepped into the Midtown Marta Station. Donna was taking the train north back to her car, and I was taking the train south then west to the arena. Standing on the platform, the air was humid, hot and stagnant. That was one aspect of Atlanta I had not really missed.

 

I boarded a train and found a seat. Two guys were looking over the transit map to figure out which stop they had to get off the train, and they were unsure.

 

“Going to Phillips Arena?” I volunteered.

“Yeah,” one of the two said.

“Three more stops, then change to the westbound train for one stop.”

“Thanks.”

“And, at this point, I am hoping she starts later than 7:30,” I said.

“Well, a friend I know who works at the arena said last night she started at 8:10, so we should be fine.”

Hearing this was a great relief. I suddenly went from having 30 minutes to negotiate the MARTA trains, the lines at the arena, and getting to my seat on the floor to now having at least an hour. I got off the south train and headed up the escalator to the westbound train and an agent was yelling ‘Anyone going to Phillips Arena, your train is to the left. There it is…RUN!’ Then she saw me. ‘Don’t run sweetheart, they’ll hold it for you.’

I stepped on the train, which was very overcrowded, and then we all departed one stop later in front of Phillips Arena.

 

Part Three: Showtime!

This was my very first concert that used ‘Credit Card Entry’ instead of an actual paper or electronic ticket. Now, since I had bought the ticket in December, I was issued a new debit card with the same card number, just a different CCV code. When I asked Ticketmaster about this, they instructed me to bring the card, my photo ID and my confirmation email. I had all of that, but the crush of people was such that as I approached the guy asking for tickets, I simply handed him my card and said ‘Let’s see if that works.’

It did, and I was given my seat assignment. Chalk one up for Credit Card Entry, it was flawless!

 

My ‘ticket’ said I had to enter Portal 2, so that was on the other side of the arena. I made my way around to my entrance and found that I was on the level above the floor. After showing my ticket to an attendant, she directed me to a staircase and, I slowly made my way down to the floor. Thanks to a very nice fan who assisted me with the portion of stairs that did not have a railing. I made my way to the floor and handed my ticket slip to another agent.

‘You wanna go all the way to the left, follow that wall and then an agent will lead you to your seat.’

So I did just that, found another agent beside the wall and he said ‘You wanna keep moving toward the stage. You’re pretty close to the front, so the next agent will show you to your seat.’

Walking toward the stage about another 15 rows down, I found another agent who led me to my seat: About fourteen rows from the stage, on the left side of the floor. I mean, I knew I had a floor seat, but as I sat down, I had no idea I was going to be this close. 


Immediately to my left was Karen, a self-professed Adele super fan sporting an Adele jersey (‘Hello’ on the front and ‘25’ on the back). Like me, she snagged her single ticket at face value. A couple on my row paid $1200 apiece for their two seats on the secondary market. Score one for the single people!

As the clock neared 8:15, I said it was getting close to showtime. The preshow music being played was a strange mix: ‘September’ by Earth Wind & Fire; ‘Rainy Night in Georgia’ by Brook Benton and, just before the houselights went down, ‘Sorrow’ by Bowie.

“Holy shit, that’s a deep cut.’ I said out loud to no one.

Moments before the houselights went down, I saw three security personnel wheeling a road case down the aisle toward the ‘B’ stage in the center of the arena. I watched them move toward me, flashlights ablaze even though the arena was still brightly lit. As I watched them pass me, I thought “Oh man, is she in that case? Wow!’ I leaned over to Karen and said ‘Turn around; I think the show starts on the ‘B’ stage’ (which was a few rows behind us). Sure enough as the arena darkened, the eyes on the huge screen opened and a pre-recorded voice said/sang ‘Hello’ a few times. Then Adele appeared in the center of the arena, facing those sitting in the back of the building. I did not see that coming! It was the first of a night full of many surprises.

 

Now, allow this audiophile to geek out for a moment. While Adele was standing in the center of the arena, she belted out the first half of ‘Hello’ but, the monitors for her sound were not at the front of the house, they were behind me, where she was standing on the ‘B’ stage. After singing half the song, she walked down the aisle to the far right of me (flanked by security). When she arrived on the main stage in the front of the arena, someone quite literally flipped a switch and, as she sang the chorus one more time, the sound from the front speakers and monitors hit me like a wall. The difference in volume and mix from my seat was vast.

I had not looked at any setlsts for this tour, knowing only that she opened with ‘Hello’ and closed with her biggest hit, ‘Rolling in the Deep’, so the set was a surprise as it unfolded throughout the show. Her second song was one I didn’t expect, ‘Hometown Glory’ from ‘19’, complete with video footage of Atlanta. Knowing that the ‘21’ and ‘25’ albums would be the showcase pieces, I was happy to hear any song from her debut.

“Are you ready to have a good time Atlanta?” she asked after the second song. The crowd of course roared in approval. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place I’m afraid. This is two hours and seventeen songs of heartbreak, so if you’re looking for a good time, I suggest you leave now.”

 

Before I go any further, here’s the setlist:

Hello

Hometown Glory

One and Only

Rumour Has It

Water Under the Bridge

I Miss You

Skyfall

Million Years Ago

Don’t You Remember

Make You Feel My Love

Send My Love (to Your New Lover)

Sweetest Devotion

Chasing Pavements

Someone Like You

Set Fire to the Rain

Encore:

When We Were Young

Rolling in the Deep

Adele ‘talks a lot’ in between songs, so much so that she apologized ahead of time for her ramblings. While many performers have everything scripted to the millisecond, Adele could take a full five minutes to introduce a song, or, as she did on this night, she could invite a fan who’s 17th birthday was on the evening of the show and have the crowd sing ‘Happy Birthday’ while posing for selfies with the fan and her mom. The lights and visual cues for her songs are scripted, but everything else in between is totally off the cuff. It made for a very sincere expression of appreciation from a performer to her fans.

 

Now, I am an Adele fan, but usually I know going in if a show is going to be ‘life changing’ or ‘mind blowing.’ Seeing Stevie Wonder sing the entire ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ album last year was a Bucket List show. Leonard Cohen in 2009 was a Bucket List show. It was around the middle of the third song of the night when I realized that the evening was going to be unforgettable and mesmerizing, and an unexpected Bucket List show. I literally stood there watching her sing, no gimmicks, no dancers, no props save for a screen, and I was stunned.

 

Mid-set, she did a two song acoustic set, the first of which was my favorite track from ‘25’, ‘Million Years Ago’. I heard that song in November last year when my life was in upheaval, and while I wasn’t quite as melancholy as the lyric suggests, I related to the sentiment. The week the album was released, I literally played that song on repeat for hours at a time. Hearing that song live was unexpected and I was truly taking in the moment and savoring it.

 

As her ‘two hours of heartbreak’ came to an end with 20,000 people singing the chorus to ‘Rolling in the Deep’, a confetti storm began to rain down. As I watched the white confetti rain down, I thought ‘KISS did this already.’ But then, as I caught one and looked at it, I saw a handwritten lyric.

 

Again, I was stunned. Every single piece of confetti had a stamped message in Adele’s handwriting. I gathered four pieces and tucked them in my pocket as I was being escorted to the arena elevator (stairs were not really an option after standing for two hours). The confetti was the last surprise and one that left me speechless.

 

About an hour or so later, I was on MARTA en route back to my hotel. The train wasn’t as crowded as the trip in, and I sat there, not really able to put into thought or words how powerful and emotional the night was. It wasn’t necessarily sad, but it was a wonder to know I was in the presence of someone who is the best at what she does, but who also doesn’t take herself so seriously that she can’t have fun. My advice to you is, if you ever have the opportunity to see her perform, GO! It will be an unforgettable experience.
I have seen many shows this year alone, but, without question the best show I will see in 2016 is Adele. No one else is even remotely close. It may even be the best show I have seen in the last four or five years. The travel, the waking, the stairs, it was all worth it to experience that event, and it is something I will always remember. I am not even sure if it’s possible for me to convey my feelings accurately even days later, but hopefully you get the idea.

 

Part Four: Epilogue 

The next morning, I awoke far too early afer too little sleep to get my flight back home. The morning clerk at the hotel told me that my bill was indeed already paid, I made it through the security check point without having to remove my shoes and I walked my very sore feet to the other end of the airport to get on the plane. My flight included thirty eighth graders, and I sat beside a three year old little girl who was returning from Disneyworld. Sleep was what I wanted, but it wasn’t going to be an option.

 

Still, all worth it.

 

Thank you for reading.

Barry