Sing Us Some Songs, Piano Man and Your Band.
Hartford. A Friday night. March 10th, after the bitter winter cold has weaved its way northward. Section 2, directly in front of the mammoth stage. Row G, which stands for God in my book, the 7th row, with 2 seats right next to one of the two center aisles. Billy Joel, sober now , plump, bald, but with a voice and piano skills that still kill, much as he was in the late seventies to mid-eighties, when he was at his peak. One of four sold out nights in March and April that he will sing to the state.
I and a special someone will have a good time that night, whatever the weather will be. 3 hours to forget any troubles, to down a beverage or two and sit back, or stand up, and smile, and remember all those years ago when Billy, in his jeans, blue blazer and high top sneakers, would be running all around the stage, shadow boxing to the crowd and singing his heart out. And always ending his show with a sly smile on his face as he looked out over the sea of happy faces and said, "don't take any shit from anyone, Hartford." And I never did.
Happy weekend readers. And don't take any shit from anyone. At least without giving some back.