Last Thursday I ate my dinner at the Cracker Barrel in Trevose, PA. After I finished I headed up to NYC to meet Ali and Amanda and Emma Tess at Carnegie Hall. The show began at 7:30 and I just made it to my seat as Robert Thurman walked on the stage and spoke about Tibet House, it was a benefit concert for the foundation.
Tibet House US is dedicated to preserving Tibet’s unique culture at a time when it is confronted with extinction on its own soil. By presenting Tibetan civilization and its profound wisdom, beauty, and special art of freedom to the people of the world, we hope to inspire others to join the effort to protect and save it.
Tibet House US is part of a worldwide network of Tibetan institutions committed to ensuring that the light of the Tibetan spirit never disappears from the face of this earth.
Our seats were up at the top balcony, but the acoustics in the auditorium are perfect. The ornate ceiling, stucco walls with gold trims were pristine. After a blessing for a prosperous new year by a group of monks, the performers hit the stage. The reason we attended was to see Michael Stipe, but before he sung, Patty Smith recited a haunting Rimbaud poem as her daughter played piano and her friend on the xylophone. All of the performers were incredible, from Jesse McCartney, Taj Mahal, Angelique Kidjo, The Roots, Flaming Lips, who were the most excited to be on the stage. I loved the fact Philip Glass plays and MC's the show. We're blessed to have all of these gifted artists on the same stage.
It was a good night. After the show,I had an opportunity to give Michael a copy of Killer Commute. Before I saw him, I signed the book and scribbled in frozen black ink my email address. A minute later he bolts out the stage door and headed back to the waiting car as fast as possible. Shit, he ain’t talking to a little crowd waiting. Signs a few things, CDS…some guy walks next to him and holds up a camera to get them in the shot, flash. He signed the copy of Killer Commute as he kept walking - quickly. I explained, it was his copy, and he looked up, “oh, I thought you wanted me to sign it. Thank you.” He was gone, I didn’t get the full attention, I felt like I was in a rush…my heart was racing. Hey Michael, this is my novel. I used lyrics from Mr. Richards…scribbles his name…I held it as he walked on and caught myself…no, I need to give him the book instead of holding it! Mission accomplished. Thank you.
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