Hold me closer, Tony Danza

Hi internet! Thought you were rid of me, didntcha.

Can YOU feel the love tonight?

Well, I'm back for at least one measly post. Actually, considering the subject matter, maybe I should call it Sir Measly Post. The measly post where I gloat over free tickets to see Elton John in concert in some rinky-dink little German college town with about 2,000 very polite and non-excitable Germans standing...er...sitting quitely...in between me and a living legend. The Piano Man himself.

Due to my prolific networking skills (read: blatant eavesdropping) I was able to charm my way into 4 free tickets to the show (read: I just asked). Husband and I went with friends and despite a minor navigational error that could not have possibly been prevented even if we all had a working knowledge of the German language (by the way, Germany, it's so NOT COOL that the address printed on the tickets was not the address of the event) we managed to illegally park just steps outside the venue and meandered in a scant 20 minutes late. We only missed two songs.

Me and Elton, hanging out. With some unimpressed Germans.

And then we saw Elton John preform live, outdoors, perfect weather, at a tiny venue for free. Free! We were so close I could practically count the number of pink sequence on his bedazzled tailcoat. We didn't even bother to find our seats- we just loitered in the back by the beer carts and whooped and hollared like the decent concert-going Americans we are. 

And at this point we noticed a slight cultural difference.

The Germans were totally devoid of any sort of normal emotional response to the legendary musical stylings of Sir Elton. During the songs they sat quietly in their assigned seats and politely listened to the music being preformed. At the end of each song they rose to their feet to offer applause and then quickly reseated themselves for the next tune. Even Rocktman failed to illicit even the faintest of mid-song cheer. It quickly became apparent who the Americans were in the crowd, as there was a whole obnoxious group of us in the back on our 10th beer, offering our enthusiastic vocal support and cracking up every time someone uttered, "Hold me closer, Tony Danza." And by "someone" I mean me.

I even bought a shirt. I call it my "beer goggles" shirt.

So the concert was awesome, we all sang along to every word and barely noticed the looks of mild dissaproval from the rest of the audience. I know what they were thinking...