Our son’s school benefit was last night. The school caters to kids who learn differently from the “average child”. I have never met this “average child” and I don’t believe one exists and if such a child exists, well, then, he or she would be just so — how do I say — incredibly average. I just believe that schools are so overloaded that they can only handle children who fall within the least challenging bandwidth of childhood behaviors and needs. But I digress.
My son’s kind of school requires a huge amount of money to keep it going — over and above the king’s ransom we pay each year for tuition. Usually, it is a cocktail party with slightly fancy hors d’oeuvres and a silent auction. This year, however, two children attend the school whose parents have mega-star status. So, they invited their pals to help out with the fundraising. As a result, we attended a gala with Jon Stewart doing a stand up routine and Bruce Springsteen giving a musical performance. Then followed by a dinner in a museum catered by NoBu. (The one thing you know about the dinner is that everything was tasty but you leave the table hungry and wondering when dinner is really being served.)
I have never been to a concert. Ever. I know, people look at me in disbelief. I don’t like crowds and I don’t like loud music. So, it seemed ok that my first experience would be Bruce Springsteen having reached the age of Medicare and Social Security benefits. At one point, he yelled at us, “loosen up, you stiffs!!” Ok, that was embarrassing that a man nearly 20 years my senior is jamming and strutting all over the stage and we weren’t moving or standing, but we were all sucked into our fancy clothes that literally leave no wiggle room and so no loosening up could have happened without a seamstress on stand-by.
I guess it was kind of cool to have these performers in a small venue. I love Bruce Springsteen. I also love volume control.
POB (partner of blogger) and I are usually in bed by 10pm on the weekends. We rolled in at 1am (and we left while others were still partying). Our son woke up at the usual time, and G-d bless POB, she got up. (I, however, did not.)
I was so hungry when our son ran into our room to wake me at 9am and then I realized why: we had a NoBu InSiDi (NoBu Insect-Sized-Dinner). Had I thought of it, I would have eaten the garnish on the tables last night. And I would have gone from table to table munching on the centerpiece flower arrangements. No wonder I was dreaming about mutton chops (ok, I really have never eaten that) and getting in touch with my more animalistic traits deep in my genetic code. In the end, I settled for cereal with fiber and some essential nutrients. Nothing like beating your chest and immediately devolving into a whimper.