In an effort to regain some of our college exuberance that is seemingly dead or dying in a gutter somewhere between school and home, my friend Carla and I decided we should embrace spontaneity and travel into Boston for the night. Our plan? Go to Jillian’s. Aaaand that’s about it.
After making it into the bar, we both enjoyed a rum and coke. Then we were immediately bored. So I gave my friend, Liz, a call to see what she was up to. Liz had gone to Syracuse with me, but transferred in the middle of our junior year. Since then, we always try to meet up whenever I’m in town.
She told us she was down in Faneuil Hall, and that we should come on down. We hopped the T and made our way down there. Once we got off, we realized we had no clue where Liz was. And her phone was dead.
Normally, this would be cause for distress. Having traveled 4 or 5 stops on the green line, we were stuck without something to do.
But then, lo and behold, we remembered. Bars. Here a bar. There a bar. Everywhere a barbar.
We wondered into Paddy O’s, where they asked for a ridiculous cover charge of $10. After politely declining, we began to turn around when the cashier called after us, saying Well how about $5 each? We said sure, and walked into the bar.
That’s when we saw the unbelievable. We heard the impossible. We experienced the inconceivable.
U2. Live. On stage. At Paddy O’s.
We made our way closer to the stage, pushing our way through drunk townie after drunk townie, yearning for a closer look of The Edge. Or a glance from Bono. Anything that we could take home with us and forever keep as a piece of memorabilia of the $5 U2 concert.
When we got to the stage, we were meet with crushing disappointment and a small puddle of beer mixed with what looked like snow peas…on the way up.
It wasn’t U2. It was 2U. They may have sounded like U2, and from a distance, they may have looked like U2. But once we got a better glimpse, we were faced with the sad realization that nay, they were but a tribute band.
The bandanna around fake Bono’s head should have tipped us off immediately. notu2.com
Right as we were about to make fun of the situation, Carla and I realized that we were the only sober people in the bar who had the judgment enough to realize that this wasn’t U2. The rest of the bar looked like a televangelist had just healed them of their demons and let loose the Holy Spirit into the room. It. Was. Chaos.
People were jumping up and down. Screaming. Waving. Dancing. Even recording the songs on their cell phones. The Holy Spirit had indeed entered these people, and was apparently having a seizure of monumental proportions, because the moves they were performing were definitely those of the illegal variety featured in Footloose.
After their performance, a line formed, comprised of Boston’s finest, most drunk Irish men and women, just to bask in the glory that is Fake Bono.
I imagine Flickr and Webshots are filled to the brim with photos tagged Bono and ME!!!
A final note. I’m now a strong believer in the fact that I have a serious problem with my addictive personality. As 2U sang their final song [amidst a blaring alarm and firemen armed with axes], I turned to Carla and said, with a tear forming in my eye, I’m sad I didn’t bring a camera. I’ll have no pictures to post to my blog…