Beginning Thursday, I have a series of obligations in New York in relatively rapid succession (after having not been in New York for ages). Thursday, we’re heading in for the Springsteen concert; then a week from today I have a meeting with the board of Affirming Anglican Catholicism; then in a couple of weeks, we’re going to a party there (Margaret’s opportunity to meet Joi).

I’ll comment on Anglican stuff another time.

As far as my going to a Manhattan party for cool people, I expect we’ll have a good time, but the decision concerning what I should wear will combine considerable anticipatory stress with inevitable futility. A pouchy, homely, middle-aged guy with no fashion sense will look dowdy no matter what.

That leaves the Springsteen concert, about which I’m feeling more excited than I expected to. I’ve been following closely the reports on the setlists page, thrilled that “Thundercrack” has been a predictable element of the encore, studying the unfamiliar material so I’ll be primed to enjoy it when the time comes. Evidently he’s drawing heavily on Born to Run this tour, which makes my job easier; he’s been playing “Night,” “She’s the One,” “Born to Run,” “Incident on 57th St,” and even “Jungleland” at some stops (not “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,” which Pippa always calls “Devil In The Freezer,” her favorite mondegreen). But wait! Last night in Ontario, Bruce invited members of the Arcade Fire onstage to play his “State Trooper” (a song Pippa likes) and their “Keep the Car Running,” both in place of “Thundercrack.” Now, I admire the Arcade Fire and I appreciate local-color spontaneity in a concert set, but I’d be pained to miss the song I’ve waited ages to hear live.

So if you can’t get hold of me in Princeton these days, try New York City.

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