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A nice day for a game. Day 2 of my three game series.
I intended to run yesterday. Really, I did. But I hosted a happy hour fundraiser on Thursday, and my cycling friends who showed up conspired against me. Even the runner. They had been discussing the Lake Barcroft loop - a popular mid-week training ride, and decided on the spur of the moment to plan a ride for the next day because one (the runner) was a "Barcroft virgin." I'd never done that ride either as it's virtually impossible to get to Arlington by six o'clock on a weekday. And since it's a ride I can do literally from my door, it didn't take much convincing. We weren't meeting until noon, and I briefly entertained the notion that I could get my run in early before the ride. Then I stayed out until after midnight. So that plan got all shot to hell.
Well, Barcroft lived up to its billing, with several nice rolling hills balancing out a somewhat convoluted cue sheet. And I wasn't feeling especially guilty about skipping my run until I showed up this morning for the forty mile pie ride. I had been planning on doing this ride for the last week, since we didn't have an official training run today. But at least five people asked me "Aren't you supposed to be running?"So on this day noted for bold proclamations of freedom and liberty, I hereby declare independence from my bike until October. That's not to say I won't be riding at all. (I've already been cleared by my running coaches to ride on Sundays for the next six weeks or so.) What I mean is: yesterday was the last time that, when confronted with the choice to run or ride, I will opt to ride. I will be free from my bike. Sort of. As I write this, the Tour de France is on in the background. I still get to ride vicariously.
I am fundamentally opposed to seeing music performed in sports venues. The sound quality always sucks, the jerk-to-not-jerk ratio is unacceptable and the venues themselves are way, way too big. I've felt this way for a long time and I more or less swore off of arena/stadium shows in college.
I say more or less, because up until December 22, 2002, there was one circumstance in which I would not only go to a stadium show, but camp out to get front-row seats. But when Joe Strummer died, the possibility of a proper Clash reunion vanished, and so too did the likelihood that I'd ever again willingly see a jumbo-venue concert.
One thing I dislike almost as much as concerts in giant sports venues is live albums. Live albums provide all the downsides of live musical performance -- poor sound, mistakes, ragged vocals -- while offering none of the energy and sense of community that make concerts worth attending in the first place. This probably explains why it took me so long to pick up a copy of The Clash Live at Shea Stadium.
I finally righted this wrong on on Thursday, and I can say without exception that it is the best live album I've ever heard. The set list is spot on, they sound amazing and the album reminds me of why the Clash will likely always remain my favorite band. As always with Clash performances, the songs take on a greater urgency live. Sloppier, certainly, but also faster and more aggressive. The intensity and vigor of the show is particularly remarkable since this was a band not at its peak, but rather nearing its end.
I'm sure that my blind and incessant Clash boosterism is beyond tiresome to everyone but me, but I still highly recommend this album to anyone who likes the band and its music. It also wouldn't be a bad theraputic purchase for those tin-eared, deluded souls, who "don't understand what the big deal is" about the Clash. Though, I'm not so sure that those people are worth saving.
Cooking at Brad's got a little out of control tonight. Dough from 3 different sources; crazy toppings. Most unique: peach & feta.
It's time for another dump run.
