Sing a song

There's nothing like singing songs with thousands of your new best friends.

Oh, and Indigo Girls.

I was *officially* (that's in my own mind) a back-up singer at last night's concert at the most beautiful concert hall I've been in (Verizon Hall).

What I like best about my girls... they seem to be for real.

No big introduction. Emily walked out before three bandmates carrying a guitar, and Amy followed. Straps set, everybody in place. And the music started.

It didn't stop for almost two hours.

I was a bit disappointed in the fans who clamored for old-time favorites, but seemed to know few of the new songs. I, of course, knew them all, and sang along.

And let me tell you.... you think white men can't jump? White Indigo Girls fans can't dance. Wow. I can't even describe some of the movements I saw. But how awesome that people just rocked out and danced and had a great time and who cares what they looked like (including me, who was told after the show by my companion that I dance "mad white").

Political overtones, as usual, but like always, subtle, subdued. A sign reading "No Nukes." A thanks to Amnesty International for being there. The crowd -- more mixed than other Girls' concerts I've been to (and by mixed, I mean there were a lot of men there compared to other times I've seen them). It was a walking ultra-conservative right-wing Republican nightmare, and I loved every second of it. :-)

And as it turns out, going to a show with a band you've liked for more than 20 years helps to bring one "Closer to Fine" as well.

I went to the doctor.
I went to the mountains.
I looked to the children.
I drank from the fountains.
There's more than one answer to these questions pointing me in a crooked line.
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
Closer I am to fine.

Thanks, Girls, for a great night and for decades of writing songs to accompany my life.