We plowed through an ocean of 16-year-old dewy-cheeks and flat-ironed tresses to drink $8 budweiser out of plastic cups and listen to pop idol John Mayer confound his young fans with whiny blues guitar riffs instead of the schmaltzy (and still whiny) ballads that they're accustomed to. I'd just spent the day watching the tsunami death toll continue its upward climb, digesting sad stories of loss and despair and trying to anticipate the next series of brutal twists in this 'news event'. That's really all it is to me, in any practical sense, after all. I don't know anyone who died or was there, though I suppose the odds are good that I might eventually realize a connection, six-degrees and all. I dragged out the photos of my own Thai vacation from almost seven years ago and couldn't help but look really hard at the flimsy cottages we stayed in and the grinning face of my local dive guide Yosope and just wonder...
| There's a huge psychic chasm between those images on the other side of the the planet and the sleek, pampered crowd at Webster Hall last night. John Mayer even tried to talk about it a little bit, but it just seemed too far away and the audience too uncomprehending. All these people preoccupied with their digital cameras and empty beer cups, wanting to hear top-40 pop songs instead of Jimmy Hendrix covers.... |  |
