My Underwear Will Have to Wait Another Chance

Last night Bob, Kariya, Richard, Jim and I went to Ravinia to see "Abba: The Music" an Abba tribute band. This morning when I told a co-worker I'd gone to see it, she asked "On purpose?"

Oh yes, on purpose. I paid money, got on a train to Ravinia, chose not to watch fireworks, all to see an Abba tribute band on purpose. We could have paid $15 for lawn seats (which would have been fine with me) but instead my brother went for the full $40 pavilion seats monty. (When he told me that he'd done this I said, "Isn't it embarrassing enough that we're going to see them, let alone paying extra money so that we can see them close up?")

But I couldn't burst his bubble - he said he was able to score 3rd row center tickets. I secretly got excited because I thought: Now's finally my chance to throw my underwear on stage to the Agnetha and/or Frida lookalikes (OK, OK, Yes it has been a fantasy of mine for years).

As it turns out, Bob was mistaken in that our seats were nowhere near 3rd row center. Try about third row from the last aisle in the pavilion. (But he got the center part right.) My dreams of throwing my boxers on stage were dashed.

Long story short: the concert was fine; the tribute band looked and sounded like Abba; costumes just like the ones Abba wore over the years; my underwear stayed on the whole time. There was an older saxophone player -- an original studio musician for many of Abba's records -- that they kept parading around the stage. I know that we were supposed to be impressed by this, but Jim summed it up best when he said, "Get that old guy off the stage."

I am tempted to write more about all the freaks that went to the show, but then again, I would have to include myself as one of those freaks, wouldn't I? A bit pot-kettle-black I'd say.