This is what joy looks like

This is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band Monday night in Washington, DC. The house lights are up, they're chugging through Born to Run, and tens of thousands of people -- including a couple of shirtless guys we saw jigging down on the floor -- are singing along at the tops of their lungs.

COOL.

We caught both the Sunday and Monday shows in DC -- and it was spectacular. These were my 19th and 20th shows, Rick's first and second. Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't even want to think about the things I could have done or the trips to Europe I could have taken if I hadn't spent the cash on Bruce Springsteen. But you know what? I really don't care.

Regardless of where you stand on the guy -- whether, like me, his rear end hung on the wall over your bed when you were in junior high, or you've thought the man-of-the-people thing has worn thin -- when you're there it's hard to deny that it's one hell of a show. The guy's 58 years old, and he was jumping up and down at the end of the 2-hour-and-20-minute set in a way that had me exhausted just looking at him. I've seen him from the back of football arenas and from the front row, mashed up against the stage, and it's safe to say I've never seen anyone play a room quite like him. Famously anti-war, he marked Veterans Day here in DC -- and last night he brought some wounded vets from Walter Reed to the show. Talk about altering the dynamic in a basketball arena.

The new album's not easy -- it's filled with familiar imagery of people struggling and disillusioned, trying to live decent, honorable lives in the face of bitter disappointment and not knowing which end is up. But it's also about making connections and finding meaning in each other -- nothing's ever perfect, but in the end we're all we've got. The songs are also catchy, filled with pop hooks, and taken as a whole, the thing rocks.

And live, you can't help but walk away feeling a little bit better connected to humanity. I took my parents to see Springsteen a few years back -- and bought them tickets to see him a couple of weeks ago in Chicago as a Christmas present -- and it sounds loony, but I seriously think it brought us closer. I may drive them up a wall, but now at least we can talk about Bruce Springsteen. (Incidentally, Mom, there's a rumor he's coming to Milwaukee in March -- so Happy Birthday.)

Do I sound like a sermonizing goofball? Yeah. Is the crowd at a Springsteen show whiter than any you'll see outside a standard-issue NHL game? Yes. Have I spent more time than I care to admit perusing the setlists online and trying to figure out what he's going to play in the rotating song spots (2, 7, 11, 12, 13, and the second song of the encore, by the way)? Definitely. Do I do these things furtively? Hell no. Embarrassed? Sure. Ashamed? Never.

Tramps like us...

Continued ...

Wisdom vs. mercy or, life in a college town

So it's Friday evening, and we're walking to have drinks and dinner at a place called Continental Divide (which, if you're ever in town, has no sign outside that says "Continental Divide" but does have a neon sign reading "Get in here." A little precious maybe, but the margaritas are tremendously strong and the food is right tasty. Lisa had marinated-pork tacos the size of your face, and I had a special of red mole-cooked flank steak that was fantastic.)

We're headed west on Main Street in Charlottesville, and a scruffy-looking dude passes us going the other way and says, "Excuse me." He's got longish hair and a beard and is wearing a big Bob Marley T-shirt; he looks a little like Steve Zahn, if Steve Zahn let himself go a little.



I'm ready to say either, "Sorry, man," if he asks for change or defer to Lisa if he asks where something is. But it's neither, because he says this instead (I'm paraphrasing a little here): "I'm taking a survey. If you could only have one, would you rather have wisdom or mercy?"

Then, seeing our bemused looks: "I've been asking a lot of people, and I'm trying to get my own mind around it, wisdom or mercy."

So now we're intrigued. Our guard relaxes a little, and we actually start to think about it for a second. We both say wisdom. Because -- at least this is how I see it -- wisdom would allow one to know when to be merciful. And, as Lisa pointed out later, if you're merciful without being at least a little wise, well, then you're just a pushover.

The guy didn't ask us why, though; he just thanked us and went on his way. And we went on ours, shaking our heads. "You gotta love being in a college town sometimes," Lisa said.

I imagine that, rapidly aging as I now am, there will be plenty of times in the coming nine months that I'll mutter and curse under my breath about students making my wait for lunch longer or whatever. But she's right: You gotta love it sometimes.

Continued ...