Last minute, my friend Cindy called with an extra ticket to see Lynard Skynard. We've been friends for something like fifteen years, and neither of us knew that the other LOVES Lynard Skynard. [We met for the first time at a Mentors show.]

We spent too much on dinner, blew too much in the slot machines, didn't do nearly enough window shopping [I wanted to wait until we won big], and had the most awesome time in the world at the show. It amazes me that these guys not only rock their asses off, but that they can do it so well after all these years.

I'd never seen them before. Even though I'm not nuts about Freebird [great song, musically, but I'm not nuts about its "It's not you, it's me, and I'm going" theme], I did hold my lighter up. It seemed as much a part of Americana [Cindy's word was perfect] as seeing Lynard Skynard themselves.

My feet ache from wearing my Docs and standing for the whole show, plus wandering around the casino for probably over an hour. My hands are still burning from clapping. [Given the fibromyalgia and the pain in my hands, anyway, clapping for two hours, almost solid, may not have been the best idea.] I wore earplugs. I may be too old for this shit.

And what a perfectly amazing way to bring in 2009.

Currently reading :
The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death: A Novel
By Charlie Huston
Release date: 2009-01-13