Aug. 13th, 2010

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So, Omaha and I went to the Rush concert at the White River Ampitheater near Seattle. We were there for the Time Machine Tour, which is one amazing show, and Omaha scored amazingly good seats too-- far back, but still covered, and absolutely center stage. The ampitheater is partially covered, and it was a rainy day.

The crowd was mostly people Omaha's and my age, with a few youngers and a larger contingent of olders. They were all pumped, though, and enthusiastic as Rush ran through this set:
  • The Spirit of Radio / Closer To The Heart
  • Tom Sawyer
  • Presto
  • Stick It Out
  • Workin' Them Angels
  • Faithless
  • Leave That Thing Alone
  • Brought Up To Believe
  • Subdivisions
  • Red Barchetta
  • YYZ
  • Limelight
  • The Camera Eye
  • Witch Hunt
  • A very extended drum solo from Neal
  • Caravan
  • Love For Sale
  • Far Cry
It was all astounding.

Geddy Lee's voice was strong and held up well. I wanna look that good and be that strong 13 years from now, when I'm Geddy's age. Alex Lifeson played his guitar as powerfully as ever, and Neal Peart at 58 years of age is still the goddamist hardest working man behind a drumset. (Although the cynical, aging bastard in me snarked, "Damn, Neal's put on weight!") Neal's drum work was astounding, but then it always is.

Part of me can't believe that the last time I saw them I was 19 years old for the Grace Under Pressure tour. That was 25 years ago!

The two pieces they played from their upcoming album, Clockwork Angels, are interesting. Rush seems to be making a recommitment to their atheism, for one thing: "Brought Up To Believe" is a powerful and enthusiastically played stick in the eye of (even compatibilist) religion with it's refrain, "How can the loving watchmaker love us all to death?" The other song, "Caravan," was muddier, but Rush is definitely struggling out of its synthesizer years to come back as a hard rock, guitars-and-drum band. There's a crystalline professionalism to Rush; in the later half of their 50's, the members of Rush are still vibrant, intellectually and creatively active, and that's an excellent place for them to be.

The guy standing behind me and Omaha was smoking some seriously skunky weed. It was in our hair and our clothes, and this morning you can still smell it in my car.
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Ah, what a world we live in...
When little Aiden toddled up our daughter Johanna and asked to play with her Elmo ball, he was, admittedly, very sweet and polite. I think his exact words were, "Have a ball, peas [sic]?" And I'm sure you were very proud of him for using his manners.

To be sure, I was equally proud when Johanna yelled, "No! Looter!" right in his looter face, and then only marginally less proud when she sort of shoved him.

The thing is, in this family we take the philosophies of Ayn Rand seriously. We conspicuously reward ourselves for our own hard work, we never give to charity, and we only pay our taxes very, very begrudgingly.

Since the day Johanna was born, we've worked to indoctrinate her into the truth of Objectivism. Every night we read to her from the illustrated, unabridged edition of Atlas Shrugged— glossing over all the hardcore sex parts, mind you, but dwelling pretty thoroughly on the stuff about being proud of what you've earned and not letting James Taggart-types bring you down. For a long time we were convinced that our efforts to free her mind were for naught, but recently, as we've started socializing her a little bit, we've been delighted to find that she is completely antipathetic to the concept of sharing. As parents, we couldn't have asked for a better daughter.


P.S. )

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Elf Sternberg

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