Two Feet From The Edge 

What do you do when The Edge is playing the guitar all up in your grill?

You stand and admire his wicked guitar stylings, thatís what you do. (BTW, nice chucks, Mr. The Edge.)

Yes, oh yes, I went to see U2 in concert.

I'm unapologetic about being accustomed to having the sweet ticket hook-up. Usually, I am lucky enough to score industry seats or the like and therefore have seen many a performer up-close and personal. Yes, oh yes, this show was no different. I was right by the catwalk in the front, so, yes, oh yes, Bono only needed to extend his hands and we would have touched. (And I might have stolen his sunglasses.)

But that didnít happen. I did, however, find myself battling one large person who thought they might get away with invading my space, thus starting a silent war of elbows. Apparently, this was all part of his-her master plan to flash a ďMarry Me Bono!Ē sign at the right moment. The guy behind him-her promptly ripped said sign down, and, anyway, isnít Bono already married?

I didnít see the sign fiasco, though, because I hardly danced or moved or breathed... Truly, I was watching and taking in each moment for I knew it might be the only time I would I see that band play live. The concert was simple. Professional. Charming in its reality. No gloss. The music drove the show.

There will be a ringing silence in my ears for days to follow.

I saw U2.

It was worth it.

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