I'M A LITTLE BIT O' COUNTRY . . .

Highlights from the Dixie Chicks, MSG, Sat. 8pm:

. . . finding our seats -- in section 403 -- way up high -- at the top of the Garden = dizzying . . .

. . . JW and I settling down with beers (and drinking it from straws) and watching JJ sip at a Coke in a cup the size of her torso = dorky . . .

. . . wondering how to control JW and JK's drooling over Michelle Branch = embarrassing . . .

. . . having to pee really badly at 8:30pm, but deciding to hold it because I knew the Chicks would be on soon = tense . . .

. . . still having to pee really badly at 8:45pm, but deciding to hold it because I knew the Chicks would be on soon = painful . . .

. . . developing a UTI at 8:55pm, but deciding to deal with it because I knew the Chicks would be on soon = numb . . .

. . . deciding to run for the bathroom at 9:00pm, getting on the line stretching down the corridor (naturally), then changing my mind and running back to my seat just in time for the Chicks to come on = typically me . . .

. . . "Goodbye, Earl," then going to pee. Finally. = refreshing . . .

. . . overhearing JK, a non-fan, occasionally state "Oh, I think I've heard this song before," then watching him bop his head most enthusiastically = hilarious . . .

Good show. Nay, GREAT show!! Those Chicks know what they're doing and they're so cool about how they do it! Makes me want to learn to fiddle, sing and walk at the same time . . .

***

Highlights from post-concert karaoke, Jappas 55, Sat. 11pm:

. . . 3 very strong Black Russians with Grey Goose, one fried dumpling and two pieces of teriyaki chicken = dinner . . .

. . . JJ's friend giving his all on MJ's "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough" = impressive and very high-pitched . . .

. . . asking C's friend if he is gay, and being solicited in return to prove that he's not = YIKES . . .

. . . "You Gotta Fight For Your Right (to Party)" becoming the theme of the night = loud and testosterone-y . . .

. . . getting home at 4am = not in my conscious memory . . .

***

Highlights from a sleepy Sunday evening, NYMC, 5-10pm:

. . . five hours of the first season of "Dawson's Creek" = self-explanatorily weird . . .

***

And so another week begins . . .