6:30 p.m.: A fantastic, intimate dinner in a little café in Chelsea. (No Jude Law, Shannon, though I did look.) We dined in the garden outside and drank wine and ate lightly, talking and laughing. We sat and enjoyed our after-dinner cappuccinos, recounting the first few weeks we knew one another and reveling in how far we’ve come since moving from RI.
9:30 p.m.: Showtime loomed near so he paid the bill and we strolled out to hail a cab. (He hailed the cab. With my luck, we would have ended up on that train from Silver Spoons.)
10:00 p.m.: Taking in the opening band at the Bowery Ballroom, drinking Coronas from plastic cups, and watching a drunk punk pick a fight with an older man for rights to lean on the balcony. A tall British guy drained his beer like he was searching for a prize at the bottom.
10:35 p.m.: Opening band cashes in, the crowd begins to prepare for Gomez. Girl next to me to her friend, “I could just about, like, die. This is going to be the most crucial moment of my life.” Her friend responds, nodding, “Seriously.”
10:45 p.m.: (my whisper to Chris) “I am so excited…”
11:03 p.m.: The lights go down. Gomez files on, opens with an old school “Get Miles” and we’re off and running. Letting loose with songs from almost a decade ago – like “Bring it on” – and performing a gorgeous rendition of “Sweet Virginia” with Tom rolling solo on an acoustic guitar (see video), this show was as solid as they come. The crowd churned with recognition and belted out every big chorus. The boys of Gomez are just as fantastic live as they are in the studio – maybe even better.
1:49 a.m.: Race for the last train leaving Grand Central.
The cars weren’t crowded, but loud with people already reliving the events of their night: Two guys pretended to get stuck in the sliding door of the train car. Ten minutes later, one says to the other, “Remember when we were stuck in the door of the train?” A drunken high-five between the two.
This city doesn’t sleep.