Friends don't let friends ...

Well, there once was this grand plan for some fabulous reportage this week.

So many times, when I've reviewed concerts and shows for MSM outlets, I've scurried to get my act together and make sure I know what my options are. What charts might be played, what the encore will probably be, whether there'll be more than one encore -- all that stuff, you carry with you into the hall so that you're capable of walking out of the hall and writing a review in 60 minutes or less to make your deadline.

It's a pain in the ass, to a certain degree, but playing Beat The Clock is a game I've gotten fairly good at, so it feels as though I'm making a contribution to something somewhere.

Maybe.

So as concert season really heats up in our part of the country -- and yours too, no doubt -- I'm thinking I want to do things differently here. 

I knew Bruce Cockburn's gig Monday night would be radically different from last week's Donna The Buffalo show, where I was inspired to toss aside my sandals with abandon, leaving them and a perfectly good blanket behind, and to dance barefoot in the grass down by the stage for what felt like two glorious hours. (Fie on the alleged boyfriend who didn't bother to share that with me for seven years, and god bless the one who has set me on the right path.)

No doffing of the shoes with Bruce, I figured, but surely it'd be a radical, noteworthy gig.

So I'm thinking, he deserves better than a review like I'd write if I HAD to write it. I'm gonna write a review off the top of my head, just this once. No prep, no background, just here's-how-it-was-and-here's-why-you-guys-shoulda-been-there-instead-of-down-the-street-at-Andre-Rieu.

Let me say this: You should have seen Bruce Cockburn here this week. 

But I can't tell you why I loved his show. Masterful guitar work, yes. The 12-string stuff was beautiful. I can't tell you why some of it made me cry. I enjoyed the show so much that I stayed through the whole thing, even though I promised friends I'd leave early.

Nope, I can't really tell you squat about the show because I wound up getting drunk off my ass.

 

And friends don't let friends blog drunk.

We all deserve better. I won't pull that crap again.

Somniloquence

Are we all beautiful when we sleep?

I suspect that's one of the great equalizers on the planet. Babies, lovers, adulterers, murderers.

Some more than others, I can't help hoping.

If I were as beautiful as you are when you're sleeping, I'd never get any rest.

Shoot me now #1

One editor to another, in the newsroom before tonight's big-ass RPO gala performance:

"Yo-Yo Ma ... should I know who that is?"

"Yeah, he was on Sesame Street, remember?"

You can't make this stuff up.

Less talk, fewer plans

Wouldn't it be nice if people who talked too much would somehow know they were talking too much ... and thereby shut up before you wished they would shut up?

I think I've been talking too much lately. Not sure to what that can be attributed. Just ... I'm giving out too much information for no apparent reason. And in an inexplicable way, it's getting me into a tacit sort of trouble.  If I'd just keep my mouth shut, maybe I'd have less to worry about.

And lordy, am I a planner. Let's go here, let's go there, let's do this, let's do that. I'm inherently an orchestrator. It's what I do. What's the best way to herd these cats to get from Point A to Point B by deadline? I've got you covered.

I quit planning extra things at work a couple of years ago, though, after I was taken to task for ... only at Gannett ... bringing in snacks for a seminar I was setting up. I was reprimanded for spending my own money to bring in, let's see, Pepperidge Farm Goldfish and some other faux healthy snack and bottled water and not using the in-house catering service for these things. I was appalled that my bosses didn't have the cojones to stand up for me and tell HR to buzz off. Ever since then, I've resisted the urge to plan anything other than daily must-do things.

After 3/4 of a weekend of doing next to nothing -- napping, drinking wine, reading, listening to music I haven't listened to in forever, napping some more, drinking some more wine -- wow, the absence of plans is a sweet phenomenon. 

So, for the month of May, I'm going to endeavor to say less and listen more, plan less and do more. What will that  be like? It's scary -- where's my calendar-based safety net? As long as I have plans, I'm OK, but without plans, what do I have?

No plans, no agenda, no stress.

Let me know what you think. I'll be listening.