U2 Concert: A Beautiful Gift

Photo by Ryan Studer

Otto, the owner of the Hungarian import store in Burbank where I hang on Tuesdays before lessons, died a couple of weeks ago and his family hasn’t reopened the store yet, so I’m sitting on the stone wall of the Presbyterian Church on the corner of Clark and Buena Vista writing in my notebook about the U2 concert I went to on Sunday night at the Rose Bowl where there were close to 100,000 U2 fans.

The concert ticket was a gift from Mari Iijima, my ex sister-in-law, who is a pop star in Japan. We’ve stayed friends, and she emailed me a few weeks ago in between concerts in Japan to let me know she had an extra ticket to the U2 concert and to ask me if I wanted to go.

I took the Redline to the Goldline, got off at Memorial Park Station in Pasadena, walked three blocks east to get to the Rose Bowl Shuttle, and waited for almost two hours for the Shuttle, missing the Black Eyed Peas’ opening song, but making it to my seat next to Mari’s well in time for the start of “Boom Boom Pow.”

Bono, the leader of U2, got my attention recently when he spoke to the NAACP in October about Africa. He said that it doesn’t matter if you believe in God or not, but most agree that God has a special place for the poor, and is with them, and when we work on their behalf, then God is with us. He said it’s not a burden, but an adventure. He said where you live should not determine whether you live or die. He said loving our neighbor is not a piece of advice, but a commandment.

He was speaking about his ONE campaign to end extreme poverty in Africa, a campaign that is focusing right now on wiping out AIDS, a preventable disease that takes 5,500 Africans a day.

At the end of the concert — which was being broadcast live on YouTube all over the world — Desmond Tutu’s image flashed on the screen. The upbeat African Archbishop talked about Bono’s work, and how important it has been to the African cause.

Bono has a gift, for sure. He has the ear of Presidents and Popes. Everywhere he preaches love.

How great to be with close to 100,000 people, without one incident of violence, without one technological glitch (and the technology was incredible), all on their feet and singing about love and changing the world.

I slept with one eye open on the train home so that I wouldn’t miss my station, and enjoyed the chilly weather at 1:30 a.m. on my short walk home.

It was all a part of the night, this memorable moment, this great concert.

I am tired today, but in a good way.

What a fine sound, a human sound, 100,000 people singing together about love.

Blue Skies Smiling

Lately, I am getting along without a car and walking everywhere. Or taking the bus or the subway. It’s fun. I see another part of life. I’m reading again because of the time I have at bus stops or train stations. I’m getting a lot of exercise, and that keeps my energy high. I’ll get a car; but not right now. I’m still getting over the stress from the car breaking down all of the time, and the cost of repairing it. I’d be at the busiest intersection in the world — Wilshire Blvd. and the 405 — and the car would suddenly lose power; or the lights would go out when I was driving home through Laurel Canyon after a night of teaching on the West Side. The last time the car broke down, my mechanic Andy told me that the electrical system had gone out and it wasn’t worth it to try and fix it. He did me a big favor; at the time, though, I felt like an addict who was suddenly deprived of some drug I thought I needed, that I couldn’t possibly live without.

Fortunately, I live in a location where I can walk everywhere. Trader Joe’s, my credit union, drug stores, bookstores and coffeehouses are all within walking distance. I have students who live across the Boulevard, less than a mile away, and I can walk easily to their houses. Most of my students come to me now, except for my Tuesday students, who live in Burbank. On Tuesdays, I take the 750 Rapid Bus to the Universal City Station, which is about two miles away, ride the Metro to the Noho Station, then transfer to the famous 183 bus that goes to Burbank. It takes an hour and a half, but it’s only one day a week, and I can read. Right now I’m reading For One More Day by Mitch Albom. It’s good. It’s about a professional baseball player who is drinking too much and tries to commit suicide when his wife leaves him and he finds out that his daughter just got married and didn’t invite him to the wedding. It’s about what happens when the baseball player, who is hovering between life and death, is given the gift of living one more day.

Los Angeles isn’t the most romantic city in the world; I can’t imagine a less romantic city — or maybe I can — but, still, there’s something about being in a train station that triggers the illusion of romance. Maybe it’s all those old movies I’ve seen where the romantic male lead shows up at the train station at the last minute — or fails to show up — to get the girl he loves. Like in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (where he shows up), or in “Casablanca” (where he doesn’t; but it’s not for lack of love).

Watching the red and blue lights flash on the walls of the subway tunnel that let me know the 1:12 to Noho is coming, I realize that I like being with masses of people, the way it is in New York City; that I like watching the sheer inventiveness of people getting around — the young man, for instance, who easily lifts his bike onto the bike rack on the front of the bus, rides until he gets to where he needs to go, then gets on his bike again and pedals off.

I like being around people who do the necessary things, uncomplainingly.

It reminds me of my friend Rob, who says he learned in A. A. to say the same prayer no matter what happens, good or bad: “Thank you God! I have no complaints!”

Positive Lessons

No wonder my students are laughing at me! First, I am trying to upload a photo of a male musician friend of mine onto my website, and it ends up as my screensaver! Hey! People will talk! Then I can’t get my business registered on the google business center account until, in addition to listing the words, “piano teacher,” “piano lessons,” “wedding pianist,” and “children’s piano teacher,” I also add “dentist.”

Today a friend of mine who is in graduate school, where she is taking a philosophy class, emailed me and some other friends to ask us if we’d answer seven questions, including “what is the meaning of human history?” and “what is the nature of ultimate reality?” Finally, something easy! I thought.

Seriously, I love learning the technology, and I know it will make me a better teacher; however, it was great this morning to wake up to the quiet of the early morning and write a poem without the use of a machine, just with my human hand and my human heart, and contemplate the season’s changing — when the lessons we’re supposed to have learned this summer, at least according to an old teacher of mine, start coming at us really fast.