I'm getting too old for this

My friend Hedge (along with her just-friends friend DR) flew in on the redeye from L.A. last Monday. Their primary reason for the trip was to see the Prince concert happening at the Fleet center (having been unable to get tickets for one of his sold-out shows on the west coast), but obviously, it was also a chance for us to hang out on my home turf for a change, as well as an opportunity for her to visit Boston for the first time.

It was a good visit, but draining. Up early Monday-Tuesday; first, to be up when their flight got in so we could take them to the diner for breakfast before I went to work, then, so I could get into work at a reasonable hour (or unreasonable, depending on your perspective) so I'd feel less guilty sneaking out early in order to get into the city in time for the concert. Overall, the whole having to go to work thing kinda got in the way of proper hang time (these days, it seems to get in the way of everything), but we're all grownups and can make do with what we've got; nobody needs to be babysat, and Hedge and DR had their own list of things they wanted to do while they were here anyway. DR actually spent quite a bit of time in the basement where he set up basecamp -- conducting business on the phone (cell or internet) while catching Olympic soccer on Telemundo. And the SOOTTAD was able to take Hedge into town on a culinary excursion or two.

Tuesday night was the actual concert. We were running a bit late, me from the office, Hedge and the SOOTTAD from a trip downtown to the farmer's market at Copley and "lunch" at Durgin Park. Traffic on Storrow didn't help. But we got to the Fleet Center generally without incident: parking at the Common, meeting up with friends at Government Center and walking over the rest of the way. We were concerned that we might miss part of the opening set but it turned out we had nothing to worry about. The tickets may have said 7:30pm, but the lights didn't go down until close to 9.

I should state for the record that I generally dislike crowds and am no fan of stadium shows, and while I do retain fond memories of groovin' like it was 1999 and savouring the funk of Erotic City through high school, I'm hardly a Prince fanatic. But having said that, I was blown away by this show. The set list was amazing, as genre defying as the artist himself: flowing easily from a medley of 80's and 90's pop hits to an R&B ballad to funk/jazz fusion to a solo-acoustic singer-songwriter performance and back to the funk. Oh, and a 'Zep cover. The band, the New Power Generation, was awesome. Amazing solos, including a cover by the sax player of "What a Wonderful World." The best stadium show I've ever seen. (And maybe this is the old guy talking, but even though the show was rockin' and groovin' and pounding and flowing with energy, I was pleased to find that my ears weren't ringing the next morning.) And the gravy? Everybody (everybody) got a copy of his new CD, Musicology.

We were still juiced up when the house lights came up so we decided to look for a place to have a drink and maybe grab a late night snack. "No Beantown Pub" was the sole edict from the SOOTTAD. So we end up at the Last Harrah, the bar at the Parker House, and really what I'd consider an old school high-end bar full of dark wood and polished brass. Sadly, the kitchen was already closed when we got there, but I was probably the only one who was hungry, and I figured it'd be cool just to hang out, so we settle into a table towards the back of the room. We're something of a motley crew, half of us in jeans, the other half semi-funked-out for his Royal Badness, but hey, safety in numbers, and, as I'm coming to realize, Boston really isn't nearly as stuffy or formal as I would have expected. I still think we're causing trouble, as Hedge and others nitpick the brand of vodka that's gonna go into their lemon drops and the SOOTTAD ends up sending her first gimlet back because it's on the rocks instead of straight up. Nevertheless, we have two rounds of drinks, including one of the best Basin Hayden perfect manhattans ever (although sadly, the second wasn't nearly as good), before heading out again. It's a good time. They seem to play good tunes there, too -- I think we bal'd to some Ella Fitzgerald, but at this point, it's a little fuzzy. We probably would have stayed longer but they were cashing out for the night. Damn this city closes up early. (hmm, what time is it anyway?)

So out and about again. Now we're all hungry, and since we're already in the city, we hoof it over to Chinatown and end up at the Grand Chau Chow for some "cold tea" and decent eats. The chow foon (cao fen?) was good (make sure to order it dry fried) as were the pea pod stems. The oysters with black bean sauce were b'giant, but otherwise not particularly tasty. The SOOTTAD gave a definitive thumbs down on the General Gau's Chicken. I deny any responsibility -- I was still reeling from the manhattans at the time. If I had had my bearings, I would have ordered their house special fish dish. Regardless, it was a fine finish to an excellent evening.

Except for the part about getting to bed around 4am and having to get up for work the next morning.

Ugh.

Like I said, it always gets back to that having to go to work thing.