Dead Can Dance - Spreckles Theatre, San Diego, California - August 10, 1996

I wish I could say I had great memories of Dead can Dance for the concert itself. Not that they are bad or were disappointing or anything. It is just that the evening started off with the press party for the San Diego Republican National Convention, and that was far more memorable than the concert.

I have two favorite stories from that night. But one of them is actually not mine, so I will stick with the one that is.

This party was probably the most decadent event I have ever been to in my entire life. It was, sorry to say, so appropriately republican. We took a bus down to the embarcadero, by the bay, where there were loads of food stalls with everything you could ever want – from Wolfgang Puck’s pizza to sushi to vodka shots, to fancy wine and sake. Everything was so disposable, and so expensive, thick plastic glasses and thick plastic plates with no reduce reuse recycle going on – people had an egg roll on their big plate then tossed it into a bin and went for another. It was also the first place I remember seeing those handy little clips to hold your drink attached to your plate, so you could have both hands free to eat. I lost the guilt of attending an event so not in my political stratosphere in about 15 minutes, after I realized that every bit of food I was consuming was costing their party money. Or the San Diego Union Tribune anyway. It was absolutely brilliant.

At the time I was quite enamored of my company – Invest Learning. We were changing the world, one student at a time, and I was enjoying climbing the job ladder at a company I really believed in. So I decided that I was going to suck it up and promote my little company that night, since all the major news networks were in town.

The first news celeb we saw was Andy Rooney. I had to look him up on the web because I can’t believe he is still alive (sorry Andy) but he is. He stumbled by us looking very worse for the wear before it was even close to dark. Then I spotted Peter Jennings.

I had a couple of drinks (vodka shots if I remember correctly) and subtly stalked Mr. Jennings for a bit. At one point he was getting some more food and some lady walked up to him and said, ‘Oh Mr. Jennings, can I please get a picture with you?’ and whipped out her disposable camera to capture the moment on film. I thought, wow, I can’t possibly look any dumber than that lady, so I stepped forward and introduced myself, proffering my business card.

I introduced myself and told him quickly a bit about my company, and while he was in town he should come and do a story on us. He looked at my card, pronounced my name correctly (something that almost never happens) and gave me a big smile. And, he had a gigantic piece of spinach in his teeth. I wanted to tell him he should use my card to get it out. But I just smiled, shook his hand and moved on.

To this day, I still call something in the teeth a PJ. Sorry Peter. Unlike Andy Rooney, you passed away a couple of years ago and I hope you are not watching me write this somewhere.

So after that, an electro, ambient gothic concert seems a bit anticlimactic, doesn’t it?