Marie and I met at our usual hotel, just a block away from the venue. This is the perfect place to stay because you can kick off your walking shoes and step into some hot heels before heading to the show. This time, my hot heels were dowdy espadrilles, but all of the effort in the world will not help the fact that I am not one of those adorable pregnant women who look like they swallowed a basketball. All of those women were in Manhattan yesterday, just to drill that point into my head, over and over and over again. In my best Christian Bale voice, "gooooooooood for yoooooooou."
We started the day with breakfast and then we took a cab to the 9/11 memorial for our afternoon reservation. The memorial was, as expected, very somber. The names are listed on either the north tower pool, or the south tower pool, grouped by which flight they were on or the building that they were in, making it easy for family and friends to find their loved ones.
Afterwards, we went back to the hotel to check-in. This is my last weekend in New York so we had to hustle back out and do something exciting, right? Marie was either very tired herself from her early, early flight, or she was just kind to the tired, pregnant lady, because she agreed that we could take naps. Yes. I went to Manhattan and I took a nap. Then, instead of going to another fancy restaurant like we did the last time, we ordered room service while we got ready for the show. Just a couple of wild and crazy gals.
Opening for Rhett was his Texan pal Salim Nourallah. I have been enjoying his latest release for the last couple of months, so it was a treat to finally hear him perform.
Rhett's set was remarkable. Yes, I have been to an excessive number of his shows in the last couple of years, but I never tire of any of these songs. It is always so much fun to sing along to Big Brown Eyes or to shut the hell up and enjoy the beauty of No Baby I. He also played a couple of songs that will be on his soon to be released new album, The Dreamer, and I already know that I love them. As part of the Pledge campaign for the new album, I purchased lyrics handwritten by Rhett. I had narrowed my song choices to three, but knowing that the campaign is drawing to a close and I need to make a final decision soon, I listened with intent on Friday night. After hearing some old favorites live again, I am completely torn. How on earth do I choose one song out of such a vast collection of perfection? This is going to be tough, but I guess I will have to listen to the whole catalog again and take notes about the words that I want hanging on my wall.
This week marks the end of my 15-year marathon of concerts. Seeing The Head and The Heart, Rhett Miller, and Rachael Yamagata (tomorrow) is a pretty good way to go out. Rhett will be in Virginia this June, but I'm not sure how I will feel about going to a club when I am conspicuously, grotesquely pregnant. I bought a ticket and I'll see how I feel, but I was already feeling weird just this week, taking this burgeoning bump out of the house. I feel like people will either think that I should be at home knitting, or they will just be offended by my massiveness. My love affair with live music is going to be lifelong, and I'm sure there will eventually be more shows. I have some friends who are parents and they still do fun things, but I am not so naive to believe that I can continue to see the number of shows that I've been to in the last several years once this little bambino arrives to rock my world in a completely different way. It's cool though. I packed a whole lotta fun into my twenties and as I turn 34, I feel like Matt and I are in line for the Ticketmaster desk at the Hecht company, waiting to get front row tickets to the Baby Show and dude... we're totally stoked.