It's the last day of the year. The last day of the year. The last day to write 2007 on your business papers. The last Monday of 2007. The last day to go bananas, before people arbitrarily decide to lose some weight in 2008. Or be more great, in 2008. Or stop being late in 2008. Or whatever the hell is resolved to change.
Saturday's concert was pretty good. We weren't next to the stage. I hope Bob didn't worry when he didn't see me. I'm always up front. We had a table, though. Which means we had a place to sit. I underestimated the wonderfulness of having a place to sit.
Bob has an accompanist, named Oscar. Oscar has more fun at his job than anyone anywhere ever. He danced. He played harmonica, accordion, trumpet, tuba, Moog synthesizer, and sang along. But most importantly, he danced. He danced as though he didn't have a care in the world. He jumped around. He kicked out his legs. He danced his wool hat off his head. Repeatedly. He shook his butt. Occasionally, he'd stand behind his synthesizer, and not move at all. He'd just stand stock still. I guess he was revving up, because he'd unleash all his energy when he started moving again. It was almost more fun to watch him than it was to watch Bob. Almost.
Bob had on a white suit, with a white shirt. The stage lights would change to magenta, and the spotlight would light Bob up in gold, and I was mesmerized. He looked like an angel. A scruffy angel, who could benefit from a long shower and a rubdown with some Dial antibacterial soap.
It's not the end of everything. It's just the end of everything you know.