The Police and Bloggers**

For a couple of hours Sunday night, I was 17 once again and listening to the reggae-infused, new wave stylings of The Police - Message In a Bottle, Walking on the Moon, Invisible Sun, So Lonely, Roxanne, et. al. - and all was right with the world. Familiar scents drifted through the air adding to the wave of nostalgia that had washed over me. Sting, Andy and Stewart there, on stage, performing the soundtrack of my youth. My wife standing next to me and the $30 Heineken draft in my hand my only tethers to the present day.

What a weekend. I mentioned the mini-confab scheduled for Saturday where the Buffalo roam. I went solo as Mrs. Big Dubya went to a christening with her mother and the little ones. Well, I met CroutonBoy's much better half, Oodgie, as well as Spicy Elf and her husband. Tony had me and Mr. Cape Buffalo in tears (literally) as he described playing Guitar Hero II. There is no way I can repeat the line, but there was a reference to the awesomeness that is Warrant and Cherry Pie. There was some discussion about Rush and the rabid devotion of Rush fans; The Empire Strikes Back (natch); some talk about Rob Lowe, Aaron Sorkin and the acting chops of Kevin Costner; and, of course, blogging and other bloggers - Tony swears MetroDad exists although I've never seen him and mr. nice guy is not, in real life, a chain-smoking, obese hausfrau surrounded by cats. The night finished with a party round of Scene It in which Oodgie outshined her husband and put the rest of us to shame. Apparently, my Rain Man-like knowledge of Better Off Dead is too high-brow for this game.

Mrs. Big Dubya arrived Sunday morning -- she was a tad frazzled after spending a night at her aunt's, a night at home and then 2.5 hours on the road back to Boston. Note to parents and parents-to-be: This may come as a "no shit Sherlock," but taking a 2-year-old out of his routine, especially out of his home, will result in one sleep-deprived, screaming China Syndrome - months of work can be undone just like that. Anyway, our ride arrived at 4:30. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lax decided that it would be much safer and more convenient to just go to the concert in comfort. And, go figure, it was. We met up, once again, with Kara, Tony and the rest for a little pre-game festivity. Beers, pizza and beers, oh my. The limo dropped us off at Fenway right at the gate we needed to enter - very, very cool. Our seats were great for a concert (sucky for a game) and were to the right of Pesky's Pole and several rows up. Fiction Plane were wrapping their set. I have this to say: Joe Sumner. You may sound like your dad. You may even look like him. But, you sure don't write like him.

The show was fantastic. I only wished they had played Bring on the Night and Murder By Numbers, but was perfectly content with the rest of the set list, which hit most of their better-known material. And, because we found it necessary, we stopped for drinks on the way home. Note to self: after beers and Morgan's and Cokes, it might not be a good idea to have two Glenlivets as your nightcap. Just sayin'.

**I hope Junior forgives me.