London Skies

August 5, 2010

With carefully tousled locks, impossibly skinny jeans, and black high tops, he bounded about the stage, dipping the microphone stand, weaving through the band, and at one point even climbing atop the grand piano and emphatically leaping off. His charisma was palpable. His piano playing formidable. His British accent entirely endearing.

My parents generously sponsored a birthday trip to see Jamie Cullum perform live at Humphrey’s By the Bay a few weeks ago. The outdoor venue, where those with boats can moor up and enjoy a free (but view obstructed) show, was pleasant in the cool night air. The flimsy white fold-up chairs and the overly chatty couple seated behind us may have been the only drawbacks to an otherwise enchanting locale.

The performance on the whole was enthralling and after years of waiting rather impatiently for Jamie to bring his tour stateside, I daresay I was more than satisfied to drink it all in from my row six seat. Apparently that wasn’t good enough though. Despite the slew of security personnel warning individuals back from crowding anywhere near the front rows, Jamie proposed an invitation for his fans to disregard the guards. He would be playing a romantic ditty and would any lovebirds please make their way to the front.

In a blurry span of thirty seconds, B glanced at me, grabbed my hand, and near dragged me down the aisle. Before I could blink again, there we were slowing dancing under the stars, so close to the crooning Jamie Cullum that I could clearly see beads of sweat forming on his brow and rolling right down his face. By the time the rest of the audience caught on, B and I were nestled smack dab center stage, enjoying the remainder of the set and ensuing double encore from less than a stone’s throw away.

Jamie chatted about spending the day laying by the pool and sipping on cocktails, San Diego instilling in him an eternal love for its laid back charm and unmistakable weather. London skies are unfamiliar with Southern Californian strains of sunshine. I am glad this little city could treat him to some warm memories for all that his concert poured deliciously into ours that night. Cheerio, chum. Do come again.


I know, I know. I am totally turning into one of those people who has five million blogs and counting. But to be realistic, my last one has since become obsolete (if it ever even took off) and I really felt like I needed to break away from an outlet where depressing posts were outnumbering the gems.

I spent months wracking my brain for a creative, punny blog title. Every time I thought I had finally concocted THE winner, Blogger would only deadpan back in red font that someone else had actually already beaten me to it. I shake my fist at you, world of population 6.7 billion. I finally resigned headline duties to B’s magical wit, and for a while, I was ready to throw in the towel and resort to his zinger “The Life of a Cholo” out of sheer desperation.

But lo and be told, here I am again back in the blogosphere, this time dabbling in a little WordPress, pretending I will write more frequently and secretly-but-not-so-secretly knowing deep down that may be a long shot. Regardless, besitos to a[nother] new beginning and salud to where this may take us. Chau.