Yeah. That's a variation on an old post title. Equal opportunity hackery up in this bitch, don't you forget it.
Anyway, I'm at the other side of the Craziest Week Ever. I seem to have made it out intact, for the most part. Wednesday night was the kickass Jeff Tweedy show. Thursday, we joined myriad other nuts for the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It's been several years since I read the book, so I did not suffer the indignation at the changes to the story. As a movie, it was great fun. Ralph Fiennes is an excellent Voldemort. And it's official: I am uncomfortably attracted to Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint.
Friday, by the grace of God (and coffee), I managed to stay upright at work. Then, at quittin' time, I went right down to the desolation of TriBeCa for the Ryan Adams & The Cardinals concert (the second of two free shows we saw, courtesy of my infinite patience). The wife and I got underwhelming slices at a pizza joint on Chambers St (incidentally, this pizza joint is also the fifth circle of hell). The cashier charged us twice for our drinks. She also had a patchy beard.
Then, it was off to the venue, where we waited 35 minutes in the blistering cold Hudson River wind until we were let in to claim our seats. And claim them we did. In the THIRD ROW. This is the closest I've been to the stage ever (I'm too timid to push through in the standing room shows - also I feel guilty because I'm tall and don't want to inhibit the concert enjoyment of those behind me), so it was pretty freakin' exciting.
It took the man himself a little while to get out onstage, giant tumblerful of whisky on the rocks in hand. But once he did, boy howdy... I've said it before and I'll say it again: The Cardinals are the best thing to have ever happened to him (I'm not ready to say heads and shoulders above Whiskeytown, but I'm thisclose - listen to the new album and you'll see what I mean). This became crystal clear to me when they played "To Be Young" all slow and sad and twangy. Also, Ms. Minnie Driver sashayed out of the shadows to sing backup for "Games." Which was weird. Claire heard her call him "Babe," ergo... new starlet paramour?
The sad thing, of course, was that we did not learn any new dances at our concert, as Josh did. I did learn that I do not play Tetris on Gameboy very well when I've only had four hours of sleep.
Then Saturday night we threw a party (of the much belated house warming variety). Because we're crazy people. And now I'm exhausted. So much for the recuperative powers of the weekend.
ADDENDUM: Go here for some photos of the concert, and another person's take on the show. She and I are in agreement: Mr. Adams has an arse that won't quit.
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