Postponed until further notice

Let me offer you a piece of advice. If I ever invite you to a concert, say no. I have this awful luck which causes half the acts I have tickets to see suddenly cancel or postpone. It makes me think I shouldn't dare to see anybody who may have health problems because my ticket purchase could immediately make their conditions worse.

For example, I won't go see Melissa Etheridge. I might make her breast cancer come back. And as God as my witness, Tony Bennett is an absolute no-no because I would hate to be the reason that old man dropped dead. He has such a lovely spirit.

It all began in seventh grade. A group of my friends and one of their mom's all piled in a minivan to go see Christina Aguilera and Destiny's Child at the Tweeter Center in Mansfield, MA. Okay, forgive me, I was twelve and rather proud to know all the words to "Bugaboo."

We got there, settled down on the lawn seats, eagerly anticipating the horrendous cacophony of pop music that was about to fill our ears. "Sorry, but I don't think so," said an announcement over the loudspeakers. Ms. Aguilera had laryngitis, or some other condition that she clearly knew about much before that moment. We packed up our things, sang that horrible Nelly song, "Ride with Me," much to the horror of my friend's mother, and headed to Wal-Mart, because that was the only thing we could think to do. Oh, suburban childhood.

Fast forward a couple of years. Freshman year, Casey and I were set to go see Elton John and Billy Joel in their outrageously popular Face to Face Tour. And boy, were we excited. I had been listening non-stop to Elton John for months, and Billy too. Yes, it was somewhat unusual taste for our particular age group, but we both adored Elton and Billy. On the Saturday of the concert, at around two o'clock in the afternoon, I was showering in preparation for the event. You know, I wanted to impress the respectively gay and creepy 60-something-year-old men. Or at least, prevent them from smelling me from the third balcony.

"I don't think so," said a radio announcer on WBOS. Billy Joel was sick with something like laryngitis or some other illness that he CLEARLY could have been reported more than 5 hours before the concert. I called Casey. She thought I was kidding. Devastation and bitter anger set in. I sat outside in the rain for several hours until my mother returned home and I whined endlessly to her. In fact, I think during my sulking in the rain, I cried. So bitter was my disappointment. The good news is we did get to see Elton and Billy, but not after yet another postponement. We were originially supposed to see them in February. Not until September 20 did they get around to gracing us with their presence in the Fleet Center.

Now, this summer, my roommate Calyn and I were set to see the one and only Kelly Clarkson in Albany. The Kelly that we love. The Kelly that sings with a deep-seeded anger and bitterness that only the best of pop stars can muster. The Kelly that we drunkenly sang and screamed along with more times than I am readily willing to admit. Well guess what? Apparently Calyn and I were the only ones that bought tickets to Kelly's summer tour. Ticket sales were abysmal, and Kelly's record company didn't like the CD. TOUR CANCELLED. Kelly Clarkson, please don't take this personally, but WHAT THE HECK? But we can't really be mad at Kelly. It isn't her fault. I think Calyn said it best. "If I ever saw Kelly, you know, I think I would slap her and then say I'm sorry and give her a big hug." I feel the same. It's us and Kelly against the world.

Now, today, I was supposed to go see Hootie and the Blowfish in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. I know what you're thinking. Who the hell goes to see Hootie and the Blowfish? Well, me and Miss Cassidy Morgan do. We make a point of going to random events and places just because it's funny or strange. We were all geared up for the event. We planned a beach day, a breakfast at Ihop; the day couldn't be more lovely.

Last night, Cassidy IMed me. "I have some bad news," she said. Oh dear God. Darius Rucker, better known as Hootie, has a staph infection. He has been dealing with it for a long time now, undergoing three recent surgeries to rid himself of the infection. YET AGAIN, something the band probably knew would be an issue much before the night of the concert. Good Lord. Do I need to define the word "forethought" for these people.

I rest my case. I have been to a few concerts. But nearly half of them have been cancelled or postponted. It is likely that I will be unable to see Hootie, because the rescheduled dates will probably fall after I return to Syracuse on August 20. And all ever I really wanted was to scream the lyrics to ''Hold my Hand" and hit on a bunch of 30-something men trying to relive their days as frat brothers in the mid-90s.

So, you know. If there is anyone you want dead or sick, let me know. I'll buy tickets for their next gig.

father/daughter bonding

Catherine: What do you want for Father's Day?
Dad: A good daughter would know.

Stumbling and Fumbling

I usually frequent the same Web sites every time I am on the internet. Particularly blogs, newspapers, some entertainment sites. I often get bored mechanically typing the same URLs and checking Web sites that have few updates since the last time I visited. Ashley downloaded StumbleUpon, and told me I should get it, but I figured it would use more of my precious time I should dedicate to studying.

Well, it's summer now, and I have installed it into my browser. Stumble Upon allows users to fill out interests and preferences, and with a click of a button, brings them to fun and interesting sites they might not find otherwise. I've come across a lot of things, both entertaining and serious, worthwhile and silly, that have been highly enjoyable or very useful.

From fun jokes like this or beautifully moving photo essays like this, I almost always enjoy everyting Stumble shows me.

It's like channel surfing for the internet when you know you're going to love whatever channel it lands on. GET IT.