Tuesday, 30 July 2002 | DC, Part 2

We went to see David Bowie in concert at an outdoor pavilion, at a place that looks strikingly like the outdoor pavilion in Raleigh, so much so that it played tricks with my head and made me believe I was there again and again, rather than in D.C. Nine of us took three cars to the show, but we dispersed into two and three and four soon after walking through the gate, reconvening occasionally as we criss-crossed between the seats, concessions, bathrooms, and the DJ tent.

The show wasn't sold out, but it was crowded; sweaty people created lines and consumed overpriced greasy food and filled the dark spaces of the few shaded areas. The crowd was really inconsistent, ranging from the raver kids who twirled glow sticks in the DJ tent to the middle-aged woman who swayed awkwardly to "I'm Afraid of Americans" in the row in front of me. I suppose the consistency could be found in the common desire to be in that spot, listening to music that was important enough to them to see live.

As it turned out, I was disappointed in every act, including that of the guest of honor himself. Steve had told me that when he'd seen Bowie (years ago), Bowie had descended from a spider as a spider in an armchair, or something equally insane. But for Sunday's performance, Bowie walked on stage wearing a suit and sang in an unusually churchy voice. In fact, I had trouble recognizing several of the Bowie songs I'm quite familiar with.

So I didn't like the headliner or the supporting acts, I spent too much money, it was unpleasantly hot, and I consumed some weird crap. I had a great time, though, wandering around the giant commercial structure with Stef and Martin, talking and laughing and migrating.

While I was away, a friend of mine (whom I see often but who rarely visits my house) agreed to feed and water my cats, keep Jane in, let Leeches out—a brief note outlined the instructions and told her where their respective bowls are. What it didn't tell her is what the cats actually look like. She ended up locking the neighbor's cat in my house and leaving Leeches outside all night. My friend didn't realize what she had done until the next morning, when she read the tag of a black cat who was rubbing up against her legs. Leeches. So, if you're Leeches, who is that I locked in the house...?