Out tonight with JT and G3, to the brauhaus with a aging German band playing Elvis covers, of course it was hard not to think of G1 when I first met her and a Montero with a bumper sticker that cried out “recognize me.” This city has swallowed me up this weekend, like telling me of what I have been missing in a city all of my life. It has not been too hot, or cold, or anything. It is just a city, and of the best variety.
There were times of sport and times of longing and times of beauty involving a Journey song played loudly amongst Sox fans on the Southside. It was beautiful and made me realize how alike we all are. How if G had been here for that party, she would have been the most comfortable she has ever been in this city. JT and I both agreed on that. “Don’t Stop Believing” has been the mantra for Sox fans this year, and when I come to think of it, it could be my mantra lately as well. I have been adopted into a family very few times like I was last night. Except Durham and Spartanburg, there hasn’t been such love in my life in recent years. Like they had known me forever, and apparently I am a tap-dance god. Who knew?
I have realized some things over the weekend though. First, how precious our good friendships are. How they can bring us up from the doldrums and make us whole again. The second is that country music and blues can make you feel less alone, and less like you are the only one going through what you are going through. These are great things in and of themselves. If you want true redemption, though, it will take rock-and-roll to cure what ails you. And it will. It is what your parents warned you about, and just what you need during times like this, and it is the only thing that can lift your spirits to the stars… to make you realize that hope springs eternal, and the collection of hundreds of bobbing heads, like at Friday’s The Ponys show, can still change the world, even if in just a small way. There is the possibility of being saved by rock-and-roll. I know this now.
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