I turn 38 tomorrow. Yup. Inching ever closer to the big Four-Oh. That's okay, though, because Oprah assures me that 40 will be the best year of my life. So, I'll have that going for me in a couple years.
For my gift this year the husband is giving us a trip down to Glendale to see
Mr. Bongiovi and the gang. I can't wait. We saw them in San Jose a few years ago for the Have a Nice Day tour, and it was - DUDE - totally radical. I just hope
Richie can hold it together long enough to play that night. Last time we saw the band he had just broken up with Heather, and it wasn't pretty. He still worked that six-string over, though.
I've been prepping my eardrums for the big event by traumatizing the speakers in my truck with the following:
A little
Nickelback (because nobody holds a candle when it comes to Joseph Cambell-ish testosto-ballads. Gah - Chad Kroeger's voice makes me all goosebumpy. What a nice Canadian export.)
Queen (because Freddie was magic, and they walked the line of hard rockin' vs. sweet sentimentality so flippin' well)
Night Ranger (because, I'm sorry, who DIDN'T pound out this particular drum beat on their steering wheel in the 80's?) (Also, this video was partially shot at my high school's rival - Tamalpais High - which, incidentally, was where my junior year prom date went to school... and I've now officially crossed into TMI territory)
Finger Eleven (because they are essentially the love child of Franz Ferdinand and Metallica, with a disco ball hung over its crib. Also,
David Sylvian - the patron saint of the Pretentious Twits of the Late 80's Association (PTL8A - of which I was a card carrying member) - has filed a paternity suit.)
And then I've been warming down with a little
Jason Mraz, because...well, I don't know, actually. It could be that he has finally achieved universal domination by brainwashing all of us with this song. Even if that's the case, I still totally dig the chicken-and-egg theme.
