Actually, it’s technically in New Jersey, which has as a result made figuring out the quickest and easiest commute a nightmare.  When you live in Brooklyn and plan to go to work the next day, getting back to your apartment at 3 am on account of unprepared public transportation system is simply not an option.

Nevertheless, last night I had a vision of the imminent future of Giant Stadium’s attendees, and it looked like this:

u2 360 freakout

See, that police officer clearly HATES that girl having that melt-down because she’s being so incredibly loud that he’ll probably have irreversible hearing damage for the rest of his life.  I will soon be that girl, and that cop will soon be anyone in the vicinity of me at the U2 show tonight.  This is what we call a visual metaphor.

Anyways, the problem with me and going to a U2 show is that I lack any concept of self-control.  If I know the lyrics, I will sing that song at the top of my lungs.  I will dance.  I will jump about.  When nothing else is happening, I’ll be cheering ’til my vocal chords bleed/I’m mistaken for an escaped howler monkey by animal control .  I might even vomit on account of excess enthusiasm.  I know these are just signs of my unwavering commitment to U2 Motion, but I pretty much become that guy at the concert, and so I preemptively apologize to whoever sits around me at tonight’s show.  I can’t help it.  I’ve been brimming with U2thusiasm for months and months, and it’s time to let it all out like a dusted damn.

That, and I’ll probably operating on one hell of a sugar rush after I eat one of these bad boys for dinner:


What?  Penn Station has a Cinnabon.  Who am I to refuse?

One Response

  1. There’s always at least one person at every concert hopped up on Cinnabon. Hope tha concert was everything you dreamed it would be.


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