Medina, Washington, December 3, 2006

In 2003, Sarah Dylan Breuer designed the first U2Charist in Baltimore, Maryland. What is a U2Charist? I’m not generally a fan of Wikipedia, but they get it right in this case:

A communion service, or Eucharist, accompanied by U2 songs in lieu of traditional hymns and sometimes as part or all of the service music. The music can be played from a CD or, in less common cases, performed by a live band.

The U2charist was initially started in the U.S. Episcopal Church but has been adapted by several other denominations. It is typically a liturgical service (including communion) that features the music of the rock band U2 and a message about God’s call to rally around the Millennium Development Goals. The U2charist is held by supporters to be a great opportunity to reach out to people in their congregations and larger communities, especially young people, with messages of global reconciliation and justice for the poor and oppressed. Bono, U2’s lead singer, has been a particularly vocal proponent of the Millennium Development Goals, and has been proclaimed as a global MDG ambassador. The U2charist seeks to raise awareness of the MDGs and call people worldwide to a deeper faith and engagement with God’s mission.

How do churches get past the copyright issues? Well, Universal Music and ASCAP, who control the U2 catalog, grant their permission for the use of U2 music in U2Charists on two conditions: that the church refer to it as a service of worship instead of a concert, and that all monies raised during the service go toward a nonprofit or non-governmental organization, which supports the Millennium Development Goals.

After hearing about these events for almost three years, my friend Teresa and I decided to attend one at St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Medina, Washington. It was a cold, December night and we headed out (neither of us Episcopal) wondering what to expect.

When we arrived, we were greeted with various signs featuring photos of U2 and their album covers. Upon entry into the sanctuary, we heard part of The Joshua Tree album in the background. I felt incredibly at home.

The mood was calm and pleasant, and most everyone had a smile on their face when we all sat down to begin the service.

The commanding female pastor ascended the podium and announced that we’d be reading from “The Gospel of Paul—Paul Hewson, that is.”

For those not in-the-know, Paul Hewson is Bono’s real name. We could tell by who laughed in the audience who was there just because it was a U2Charist, and who was there because it was their regular place of worship.

She went on to mention some of Bono’s quotes on poverty from the many speeches he has delivered on the topic and read corresponding passages from the Bible.

We all rose to sing the ‘hymns’ (U2 songs) and I felt silly looking down at my program to see the words. I haven’t needed to look at a U2 liner note for lyrics in over 20 years!

About halfway through the service, I stopped focusing on singing and began just listening to the beauty of hearing their songs in such a context. Some of the people in the room had never heard a U2 song, so it was lovely to watch them discover and react to words and phrases that have meant the world to millions of fans for years.

When the collection plate was passed, I was generous. When the service concluded, I didn’t want to leave.

Raised Greek Orthodox, I always appreciated the rituals of a traditional church, but loathed the excessive and depressing Greek music.

Here I felt like I had the comfort of familiarity mixed with a genuine gathering of goodwill.

The ideal religious experience.

San Francisco, California, September 2006

I was beyond elated when my copy director assigned me to be the creative lead of the Nordstrom Edun campaign launch in 2006.

Edun is the socially conscious, eco-friendly fashion line that was created by U2’s Bono and his wife Ali in 2005. I had already written many blogs and small features about Edun for the U2 site that I work for, and was present the week they introduced the label at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York the prior year. I even owned four or five outfits by Edun, which I wore often to silently promote the brand.

Scott knew what he was doing letting me have that beat, so to speak. I couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about scripting the copy and to top it off, I was a faithful ONE Campaign volunteer, which was perfect because the piece we were pushing was a ONE Campaign T-shirt that Edun had produced. All of the information was already in my head because I was a part of it from every angle.

I was so passionate about the brand, the words came easily. I began with the headline “Come Together As ONE” and built upon that. I wrote the catalog pages describing the clothes, the store windows that would display the shirts, the newspaper ad that would run in The New York Times and the invitations to the special events, which would officially launch the label in our stores.

And that’s where it got exciting.

Though I couldn’t make it to the two stores (in Chicago and Los Angeles) that would feature Bono himself at their events, I was permitted to travel to San Francisco where his wife, Ali, and the original designer of the label, Rogan Gregory, would be in attendance.

I quickly called my friends at the San Francisco store (events’ folks, beauty directors and sales managers I’d worked remotely with for years) and told them I’d be coming. They said they’d be sure to secure me a spot at the cosmetics counter (one of our artists would give me a complimentary makeup application to get me glitzed up for the night) and an escort would take me to the private area where I could meet Ali, then I could join everyone for the event in our Savvy section, where the party would take place.

In the weeks leading up to the events, I worked with our wonderful Seattle event director to fine tune the text. Normally, vendors require several rounds of changes before the final versions of ads are agreed upon. Not in this case—the Edun team could not have been more wonderful about giving feedback and were pleasant to work with on every conference call. Colleagues of mine joked that if I heard Ali or Bono on a call during a meeting, I’d turn into a clone of Chris Farley’s alter ego and start asking ridiculous questions. I’m pleased to say that never happened.

I was a bundle of nerves upon arrival in San Francisco. I’d carefully carried my $400 Edun dress (the most expensive clothing I owned, and what I would wear to the party) on the plane and steamed it the day of the event. My hair was not cooperating (I picked the wrong time of year to grow my bangs out) and the golden nail polish, which matched my golden shoes, erupted in my suitcase, leaving my other toiletries coated in a glitter-like mess.

To top it off, I had plans to see someone who meant the world to me that same day and he stood me up. It would be the only time I would be in San Francisco for two years, and he couldn’t take a couple hours out of his life to see me. I was devastated.

I cried hysterically as I stepped in the shower to prepare for the event.

I felt sorry for myself. I asked myself why I was always alone. I was angry at the thought that I couldn’t go to the earlier Bono appearances, though it would’ve meant more to me than any other person in the company. I was sad that I had no one to share this amazing moment with, other than my mom and my sister, who would be with me only in spirit by phone.

I dried my tears and put a cold compress on my face while my hair was in curlers. I bandaged the blisters on my heels that I’d earned climbing around Alcatraz on a tour the previous day. I slipped the dress on and tucked my small camera into a purse I’d bought just for the occasion.

I walked the few blocks over to the store and met some of my remote colleagues in person. I was greeted warmly with hugs and a glass of champagne. The friend who applied my makeup noticed by puffy eyes and put cucumber cream on them to minimize the inflammation. 15 minutes later, I was being led to the back room where the Edun PR rep and Rogan were already waiting.

I chatted with them—both incredibly nice and gracious people—and sort of went into a haze. I was a copywriter in the back room of a store with champagne and fruits being served from silver trays in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. How did I get here?

Before I had too much time to contemplate, in walked Ali, smiling and glowing the way everyone always describes her.

She really is a stunning woman, more petite than she appears in photos, with creamy, gorgeous skin and shiny, licorice black hair.

Ali made her way around the room (there were only about 6 of us in attendance) and when she got to me, she introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Ali.”

Instead of saying, “Um, yeah, I KNOW!” I introduced myself and explained that I was the lead copywriter from Seattle who had written all the pieces for the campaign. She said that I did a lovely job.

There was never any talk of my U2 fan-ness, though she clearly knew who I was. Just pleasant small talk about Edun and the wonderful efforts of The ONE Campaign.

Then, she asked if she could pour anyone a glass of water when she went to get one for herself.

Yes, the guest of honor was so down to earth, she nearly became her own wait staff.

Thankfully, one of our elves interjected and got the refreshment ready for her. Then, we were shuffled out on to the sales floor for the public part of the reception (though it wasn’t entirely public, because those attending were invited).

Ali and Rogan were charming and funny as they spoke (Ali mentioned something about usually being upstaged by her louder husband, which got big laughs), and the whole crowd flocked to buy beautiful Edun dresses and the highlighted T-shirts that I’d worked so hard to promote.

As everyone began mingling, Ali and I made our way back to each other and I asked her if she wouldn’t mind taking a picture with me when she had a moment.

“Oh, you!” She said. “Of course, love.”

As I was starting to ask my colleague to snap the picture, Ali whispered and asked me if I was okay.

I didn’t realize that the crying I’d done earlier was still written all over my face.

“Yes. I had a disappointment earlier today, but I’m just fine now. Thank you. I’m so happy to be here. So happy to meet you.”

She gave me a little hug and then we faced the camera. I tried desperately not to tear up, but if you look closely at our picture, my eyes are a bit glossier than normal.

What a wonderful woman Bono married! She has so much, yet she gives so much more.

December 5, 2005

It was a fun time—my nephew had just turned one, there was a seasonal snow on the ground and my sister and I, along with two of her friends, were headed for yet another U2 show.

Because the weather was so cold, we weren’t about to camp the night before, but we did wake early to head to the venue and get our Sharpie numbers (a very strict line-policing system that U2 fans developed to keep things fair).

After that, we went out for a leisurely breakfast in a warm café where we bumped into a major league baseball player (forgive me for not remembering his name, but my sister’s friend was very impressed), then headed back to the house to wait it out until it was time to drive back into Boston.

I played with the baby, took a ridiculous amount of time getting ready in case that was the night Bono would pull me on stage to dance (of course, it wasn’t) and soon enough, it was time to go back to the venue.

We lined up in the freezing cold, but the excitement was enough to keep us warm. Once inside, we shed two or three layers and took photos inside the coveted ellipse (a part of the stage you can get into only if your ticket scans a special way—my sister’s did, so she took all of us with her).

The show was fun, but many who were there on both nights said the night before was superior because the band performed an unprecedented 3rd encore.

I didn’t care. U2 on their worst night is better than any other form of entertainment in my book.

October 6, 2005

In October, I flew to Massachusetts so my sister and I could attend the first Madison Square Garden show of the fall tour together. On an @U2 tip, I learned that U2 would be the exclusive guests on Late Night with Conan O’Brien the day before their concert, so we altered our original plans to try for tickets.

We took a somewhat comical bus ride from Boston to New York, made our way to our hotel and then went to the movies. I even remember what we saw: A History of Violence.

We woke up super-early the following morning and took the subway to Rockefeller Plaza. We were 55 and 56 in line, which meant that 55 or 56 people with tickets had to not show up for us to get in, but we were assured by staffers at the studio that sometimes the no-shows were in the hundreds.

The line was jovial—over a hundred U2 fans (including a few who had slept on the sidewalk overnight) were gathered, sharing stories and discussing the upcoming shows.

Shortly after 8:00 a.m., we heard cheering from the front of the line, so I went to investigate. It was Conan himself, who arrived with a film crew to capture our excitement for a segment on the show. He played his guitar for us, hosted U2 trivia and chatted with fans.

He was talking with one of his producers during a break and I shouted to him from the line.

Me: “I work for a U2 website. Will you sign my business card?”

Conan: “Where are you from?”

Me: “I live in Seattle.”

Conan: “My wife’s from Seattle!”

Me: “I know. I’ve seen you around downtown.”

Conan (with his guitar still in tow): “Can you sing?”

Me: “I can—but I don’t really want to sing on the show today. It’s early.”

Conan: “I don’t blame you, but I’ll be happy to sign your business card.”

He really couldn’t have been nicer. He stayed with the line for at least a half an hour, telling jokes and thanking us for being such dedicated fans, then we were given our numbers and told to come back at 3:00 in camera-ready clothes.

My sister and I promptly went to Saks Fifth Avenue, where the new Edun line had just launched, and bought new outfits. Note: Edun is an eco-conscious clothing label that was founded by Bono and his wife Ali.

I remember needing to lay down after the morning’s excitement, so my sister went out and bought me a curling iron (something I’d neglected to pack), then in early afternoon we headed back to the studio to get in another line.

It was devastating. Every 15 minutes or so, NBC staff would come out, go to the back of the line and cut a chunk of people. We made three cuts before the Late Night grim reapers approached us and confirmed the inevitable: we wouldn’t be getting into the show that night to see U2.

I choked back tears (my sister was disappointed, but more composed) and we walked out into the brisk, cold New York air.

I wanted to head immediately back to the hotel so I could call my boyfriend and post an update on the @U2 blog, but when we arrived at the subway station we were met by cops in riot gear. It seems there was a credible terrorist threat and as a safety precaution, a few of the stations were temporarily out of service.

We ended up walking back to the hotel, then drowning our sorrows at the Irish pub down the street.

It was still an exciting day and what helped make it so was the nice talk show host.

My boyfriend taped the show for me and I was happy to see our morning-in-line segment made the cut, even though we did not.

London, England, July 2, 2005

My sister and I woke early and headed down the street for a nice breakfast of eggs and toast with some very strong coffee. I was elated because in the little diner where we ate they were playing Virgin Radio and the DJ happened to be Martin Collins, who was the voice I listened to every day at work in America. Because I was in the right country, I was actually hearing their morning show in the morning!

We set out afterward to find a commemorative magazine with U2 on the cover. I can’t even remember what the magazine was called (and regretfully, I think I gave it to an undeserving ex-boyfriend), but I know there were probably a dozen different covers and the one that featured U2 was the only one I was interested in collecting.

We eventually found it and the fun began. You can read my play-by-play account of watching U2/Macca here in my original @U2 blog entry.

After Coldplay came on and we heard the beginnings of “Bittersweet Symphony,” we began walking to find lunch. I don’t remember if we actually ate lunch or not, but we did end up at Harrod’s where we visited at least half the store (and from the size of that place, that’s saying a lot), then landed in their chocolate restaurant, where everything on the menu is, well, chocolate. I remember ordering something that came in liquid form and after we tasted each other’s choices, I felt a little sick.

Well worth it, though!

After that we browsed the streets and shopped a bit, becoming especially fond of Whittard’s Tea. We tasted three or four versions of their instant type and went home with about that many containers of it.

We deposited our bags back at the hotel and asked for the concierge to make us reservations at a nearby seafood restaurant. After perhaps the most frightening cab ride of my life, we arrived at the lovely Bentley’s.

Smiling through exhaustion and giddy from the concert, we had baked fish, potatoes, bread, wine and the best raspberry créme brulée that I’ve ever tasted. It was the perfect meal.

Afterward, we headed back to Hyde Park in time to catch Pink Floyd and Paul McCartney. My re-cap of that is here.

I was sad that we only had a few days left of our trip.

London, England, June 30 and July 1, 2005

I only had a few hours of sleep. I remember sitting in the hotel business center until the wee hours of the night (I didn’t yet own a laptop), emailing my family and friends about the delay.

When I made it up to my sketchy room, I found the linens on the bed to be so gross, I opted to stay in my clothes and only took my shoes off to sleep.

I drifted off after watching some TV, only to wake bright and early around 4:00 a.m. to return to the airport. I decided not to shower since the room was so unclean.

Once I arrived at SeaTac, I endured the typical post 9-11 hell for ‘dark-skinned’ travelers and had my bag searched. Of course, there was nothing in there that would cause alarm, but it’s never a good feeling to be targeted, especially since I had passed through the same security line with flying colors just a few hours prior.

Anyway, I get to the terminal and see that my flight is delayed 30 minutes. I wasn’t too worried because again, my connection to Heathrow was at least 2 hours apart from my arrival in Canada.

I leaned back to try to relax and someone spotted my @U2 staff shirt (the one I’d now had on for about 24 hours).

“Oh, my, God! Are you Tassoula???”

I thought to myself: Really? This is when fame finally finds me?

With apprehension I replied, “Yes.”

In the next 30 minutes I learned that one of our passionate readers was coincidentally on my flight to Canada, she was a big fan of some writers we had on staff and she really, really wanted to talk.

I was fighting a headache and trying not to be impolite, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sort of relieved when our flight was cancelled.

Turns out there was fog that wasn’t going to go away, so they just cancelled the flight and promised seats on later departures.

The trouble was: the later departures were too late to get me to my connection to Heathrow, so back to American Airlines I went.

Plan C was to get me to Atlanta and put me on the last Heathrow connection there, which had one seat left. I told them to do it. I didn’t care how I got there, I just needed to get there.

So I went to wait for my Atlanta flight, which wasn’t due to leave for a few hours.

Long story short, the Atlanta flight got delayed too, so I would’ve missed that connection. In tears, I returned for the fourth—yes, fourth—time to the American Airlines counter to try to find a solution.

The agent who helped me this time wasn’t as kind.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t get you to Heathrow for about four days. There’s a big concert happening there.”

“Um, yes, I know. I’m going to that concert. My sister is flying in from the east coast to meet me there.”

“I could get you to Paris.”

“Um, no.”

“Edinburgh?”

“Try again.”

“Gatwick?”

“DONE!”

“Well, you better start running because the connection to Gatwick is in Dallas, and the flight to Dallas is currently boarding.”

At this point, I became a bit of an Olympian and ran as fast as I could to the terminal. I barely made it.

Once in flight, I realized I had called my U2 boss to update him, but neglected to call my own mother before leaving. I hoped she wasn’t worrying too much, but then again, she at that point thought I was still in Canada.

On the Dallas flight, I sat in between the Obligatory Screaming Child™ and the Grumpy Old Man Who Wanted to Talk™. And yes, I was miserable.

We landed and I ran for a pay phone (didn’t bother with my cell because I didn’t want to pay ‘global’ charges once I got to England). I called my mom and told her I was in Texas en route to an airport that was nearly an hour from my London hotel. She was so used to my travel drama, she barely flinched.

Instead, she told me of my sister’s excitement of arriving on time to London, checking in to our hotel and realizing that she left her handbag in the airport cab.

My poor mother.

Thankfully, the cab driver returned her handbag later that day, and in a matter of minutes, I was safely on my way to Gatwick. My mother would update my sister on my drama when she checked back in a few hours later.

When I arrived, I ran for the train that takes folks straight to London and watched it pull away as I made it to the platform. This was, ladies and gentleman, the story of my life. Meanwhile, I knew that in Hyde Park, just two blocks from our hotel, U2 was having their sound check with Paul McCartney. I choked back tears.

I sat down and read all of the newspapers I could get my hands on. My eyes were blurry with exhaustion, but it did help pass the time.

What seemed like an hour later, the train arrived and I was one of the first to board. When we started moving, the drink cart came through and before the gentleman could offer the beer, I had my hand on one.

“Rough day?” He smiled.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied.

Once we arrived, I was too tired to walk the eight blocks to my hotel so I jumped in a cab. It was the best money I’ve ever spent.

My sister was smiling and sitting on a couch in the lobby when I arrived. I was so glad to see her.

After laying down for about half an hour, I showered and changed for dinner.

We ate some sort of pizza that night, then went on a spirited Haunted London walking tour.

I remember our guide being very liberal and snarking about Margaret Thatcher for most of our journey. I have no recollection of the ghost stories, though I know a few creeped me out.

My sister and I took the Underground back to our hotel, and I filed this blog post on @U2.

It’s a wonder I could even spell my name.

Seattle to London, June 29, 2005

I was so elated to be on my way to one of my favorite cities (London) to cover the Live 8 concert for @U2.

My colleagues at Nordy’s thought I was insane to be going to Europe “for the weekend” but I didn’t have much vacation time (or money), so even just a few days would make it worth it.

I had been a volunteer for the ONE campaign as long as it had existed, and my two favorite bands, The Beatles (well, Macca at least) and U2 were going to open the concert that would ignite the Make Poverty History movement on a global scale. We were all on a mission to finish what was started by Live Aid in 1985.

I changed into my @U2 staff shirt at work that morning in Seattle—I went in for half a day with my Joshua Tree backpack at my side, determined to stay focused for at least a few hours. I’m not sure I was too successful.

Everyone stopped by my desk to wish me a safe trip and share how jealous they were that I was going to have that experience. I was beaming with pride and excitement.

I took the bus to the airport that afternoon and settled in to read my magazine and nibble on pizza as I awaited my flight to JFK.

About half an hour before my flight was scheduled to board, I made my way into the terminal and learned we were delayed an hour. One of our flight attendants had called in sick and they were tracking down her replacement.

No worries – my layover for catching the Heathrow flight was about 2.5 hours, so I would still safely make it.

Or so I thought.

After two hours and a fair dose of panic from several of us passengers with connecting flights, we were told they could not locate a replacement crew member and our flight would be cancelled. Needless to say, I was very unhappy with American Airlines that night.

We were sent down to the ticketing counter for re-booking as it was certain all of the international connections would be lost. We were, in fact, the last red eye leaving the city.

After a frustrating 90 minutes in line and then at the desk, a very sweet agent (if only I had gotten her name) re-booked me for a flight via Vancouver, BC that left at 6:00 a.m. I wanted to hug her.

I took my food voucher, my hotel voucher for a shady hotel across the street from the airport and I was on my way.

I thought I’d seen the worst of it.

Vancouver, BC, Canada, April 2005

Hamish Hamilton is an acclaimed director, known for his work on several awards shows (including the Oscars).

I became a fan of his after seeing the U2: Elevation 2001 Live From Boston DVD, which I played every day for about three months after I bought it. Aside from watching the concert itself, the bonus material that shows Hamish directing it is my favorite part. He gets so incredibly excited about the show and even wears a “lucky shirt” in hopes the production will go smoothly.

The last week of April in 2005 I count among the best in my life because I used all of my vacation time to follow U2 up the west coast. Many of my fellow @U2 staffers came to town for the Seattle show, so I met online friends in person for the first time, and had a blast at every show.

The concert that happened on this night was the last I would attend in North America until that fall, so it was extra special. I was sunburned (only the third time I’ve ever burned in my life) from laying on the sunny sidewalk outside of GM Place, sleep deprived from excitement and hungry because I’d lived on Slurpees and Subway sandwiches for as many days as we’d been in Canada. My adrenaline was keeping me going and my voice was shot from all the singing and screaming. I loved every minute of it.

We weren’t fortunate enough to get into the coveted “ellipse” portion of the stage that night (a random ticket scan determined entry), so we secured a spot on the outer rim, which was really just as good for viewing.

Waiting for the show was fun as always, chatting with other fans and talking with the Vancouver security team, who had treated us all so well at each event. I was beginning to get wistful about the long gap between concerts when we all spotted a man with red hair walking past our section of the stage.

Teresa said, “Is that Hamish Hamilton?!”

I replied that there was one way to find out.

“Hamish!” I screamed. His head whipped around to search for where my voice came from.

Waving my hands wildly, I motioned for him to come over to us. He kindly obliged.

Turns out he was blocking shots for the upcoming DVD he would shoot in Chicago. I told him we were fans of his work and asked if we could have a photo with him. He said “sure,” and I handed my camera to a security guard to take the shot, since Teresa and I couldn’t pass the barricade. He leaned back against both of us, who were giggling the whole time and took the shot you see above.

Our expressions? Priceless.

Vancouver, BC, Canada, April 2005

On our way into Vancouver, the customs agent at the border asked what our business was in their country. I answered energetically: “U2 concerts!”

Teresa, who was tired from the previous two Seattle shows (and perhaps less enthused at that moment) nodded in agreement.

The next question was, “Will you be leaving anything in Canada?”

Teresa deadpans: “Only our dignity.”

The agent burst into laughter and waved us through.

And so it began.

We ate dinner that night on the second-floor Red Robin that sits atop Robson Street, and the whole way there I stopped to snap photos of the tour posters on the storefronts. I couldn’t stop smiling.

The next day, we did what we went a whole day early to do: We were extras in a U2 video!

The entire journey is detailed in our @U2 blog from that night, but one thing I neglected to mention was the fact I had a panic attack when we returned to our hotel room, certain I was breaking out in hives. “I may need to go to the hospital.”

I asked Teresa to take a look, pulling my shirt down way past a “decent” level and she rolled her eyes.

“Look at the shape of your ‘hives’,” she said, in air quotes.

I was too close to my own chest to get what she meant, so she picked a round metallic sliver off the floor and stuck it onto one of my red spots.

Turns out the confetti the band dropped (repeatedly) during the film shoot had bright red color that was no match for my sweaty body, so the color was bleeding onto me.

I quietly walked to the shower and washed them all away. Later, we both found the whole thing hilarious.

April 24, 2005

We arrived at the Key Arena around 4:00 a.m. to secure our spots in the general admission line. As usual, the line Nazis (fans who self-police the U2 concert queue) were already there, Sharpies in hand to number all of us.

At some point there were two lines and duplicate numbers and raised voices, but by sunrise we had it pretty much worked out.

The rest of the day was pure joy—it started with folks taking turns to walk to McDonald’s for breakfast and Starbucks for coffee. Our @U2 boss, Matt, had never before sipped a Starbucks drink, so Teresa and I bought him a grande organic (you had that milk choice back then) caramel macchiato to initiate him into the club. He had an almost euphoric reaction about how wonderful it was (and to this day we still make fun of him for it).

After that, we sat in lawn chairs and discussed all of the important things U2 fans discuss for 14 hours straight: lyrics; hypotheticals; the setlist; Bono’s height (or lack thereof); other concerts; charities; politics; opening acts, etc. At some point half of the group went to Tower Records (God rest its soul) and the other half went to (what was then) Larry’s Market for sandwiches while Michael and me were left alone for the first time in our friendship.

I let him read my Entertainment Weekly before I had the chance to (a privilege few ever get to have) and tried to force him to eat one of the Rice Krispie treats I made (not yet knowing of his disdain for marshmallows). I also got the tool stuck in my travel-size game of Operation, so he took a break from writing his Answer Guy column to help me untangle it. It was clear we’d become good friends.

We had a great time making fun of the local security girl, Ananda, who knew nothing of what she was doing, but had a very loud and commanding voice, which she used frequently. Though our friends offered to bring us real lunches from the market, I was too excited to eat and primarily sustained myself on Coca-Cola and Cheddar Bunnies.

Once everyone came back, there was buzz about something happening in Canada later that week.

Teresa and I had made friends with staff in the U2 camp when we were in Vancouver for their rehearsals the month prior, and decided to see if we could get additional intel. Sure enough, we did get a tip that the band would be filming a video the day before their next scheduled concert. That meant we needed to go up a day early.

We quickly called our hotel and arranged for an extra night (which wasn’t a problem because no one yet knew of the video shoot), then returned to our friends and pretended we knew nothing. We had to—we were sworn to secrecy.

We did, with their permission, tell Matt though, so we could ‘report’ from the road when the time was right.

After that, it seemed like just minutes later we were inside the Key Arena at our chosen place (at the tip of the ellipse). Michael and Scott took our photo; we took theirs. Kelley made it inside the ellipse and took Matt with her. We passed around earplugs as we suffered through the Kings of Leon opening act. We lived for this stuff!

Since the tour was still in the relatively early stages, the band was alternating their opening song. That night we got lucky when they decided to go with “Love and Peace or Else” and emerge in a pitch black arena with floodlight flashlights. The build up was amazing—the performance even better. To this day, I’m not sure that my heart has ever beaten faster.

I immediately began thrashing around, climbing up the side of the barricade and soon felt something wet on my face. At first, I assumed it water from a nearby fan, but instead it was my own blood—I’d ripped the earring (which matched drummer Larry’s) out of my ear flailing around and the cut was dripping. Numb from excitement, I was more concerned about finding the miniature silver skull that flew past the security guard. Amazingly, when the lights came up, he retrieved it.

The show was phenomenal—it was one of those nights where everything goes off the way it should and everyone agrees the energy is palpable.

Afterward, we headed to Seattle landmark Dick’s for burgers, but I couldn’t keep down more than a Sprite (TMI: I probably won’t be eating Cheddar Bunnies anytime soon).

I fell into the shower around 12:45 and didn’t lie down until after 3:00.

Nothing really compares to a U2 concert high.