DMB

I really wanted to sleep in this morning--seriously sleep in--till like one o'clock. Unfortunately, I woke up to cramps around 9:26am. That's not too bad for a Saturday, but since I wasn't in bed until 2:45 or so, it was a little less sleep than I would have liked. :) The reason I was up so late is because Tyler and I went to see Dave Matthews at the Gorge last night. Such a great show. That band reeks with musical talent, and they are just as incredible in person--if not more so--than on their studio albums. Wow. Why aren't more musicians that good?

It was the first time I've been to a secular concert, and it was a new experience to be there solely for the music and nothing more. I'm used to concerts turning into worship sessions, and for that to be omitted from the scene was something of an adjustment, but it was pretty neat regardless. :) I think we were some of the few who were sober. Yeah, drunk white people so do not know how to dance, but it makes for a lot of amusement for the rest of us. :)

Anyhow, we're going to a second concert Sunday night, so that'll be good. The only "bad" thing about it was that there was some horrendous traffic going over--so the stress and heat gave me a headache that kept festering through the concert and seriously attacked me at the end. It was so bad that when we stopped at a gas station on the way back, I thought I was going to puke in the restroom. Fortunately, gas stations sell painkillers and that, combined with some shut-eye on the drive home, and Tyler praying for me, helped prevent that from occurring. (Thank you, Jesus!)

Conveniently, I am taking a writing class this semester and our first assignment is a descriptive paper. I decided to write up a desciption of the DMB concert, and here it is.

In the deeply amethyst feather-dusk, I can actually see the stars overhead. Familiar constellations are only visible when one is removed from the metropolitan, yet it seems that humanity has been poured into this remote bowl in the desert. Although lighting is inconsistent, I know I am surrounded by tightly positioned pockets of people; they are black silhouettes against the near blinding stage lights. Personal clouds of cigarette smoke ascend to mingle with alcohol vapors to hang diaphanously on the air—an olfactory veil that attempts to camouflage the natural smell of dry dirt. Under my bare feet, I feel fresh grass—cold to the touch—whose blades are like strands of a rubber shag carpet. If there was silence around me instead of music, I know I could hear it squeak beneath my toes.