Sunday, September 19, 2010
I did not even mentally account for the fact that it could be inhospitable biking weather in Ann Arbor last weekend, but Nick and I brought our bikes, and bike we did through the grit and cold and pouring rain. We got to enjoy a Billy Bragg show that was life-changing (an expression I use judiciously, so you know I must have been spazzing out like a moth trapped between screen and glass).
It’s embarrassing to explain because I can’t remember the last time I had an analogous “experience” , but the tent revival fervor I felt on Saturday after the concert has been replaced by an eerie wash of calm. It’s been a really strange few days up in my head cavity. Like trauma, like love, like grief - I’ve been hoping no one asks about it because I don’t know what to say. (No one asks, because, well, it was just a concert.)
I’ve been accused of being only fit for college towns, pathologically charmed by cobblestone, record stores, and co-operative locavore restaurants. Ann Arbor did not disappoint. And despite its reputation, I did not find it promiscuous in the least.