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It is hard to believe what has been happening! Even for me, reality has been far outpacing my imagination. In Seattle, I went to the concert with a woman named Neile. She writes poetry and runs a research project at the University. First, let me say that Seattle is totally wonderful. It leaves San Francisco far behind in the dust. You cannot walk more than ten feet in Seattle, without coming upon some new treat. It has high energy, 74-story buildings, Mt. Rainier looking more like Mt. Fuji, the most beautiful women I have ever, ever seen anywhere in the world (it was like a joke, just one more beautiful than the other would walk by), great bars (I'm not an alcoholic, but I indulged myself in Seattle), mellow, friendly people, a 600-foot space needle with a view of the most fantastic sunset I've ever seen, a street where green and blue-haired people with body piercings hang out, and play funky music on the sidewalk; well, I can go on and on, but I think you get the idea!

Neile took me to a Thai restaurant for dinner. We sat surrounded by tropical fish tanks and works of art. The food was marvelous. Then we took the short walk over to the Opera House, a really lovely building set in the Seattle Center Performing Arts complex. Our seats were Row A, Loge. It was as if we were seated on the edge of a precipice, with an unobstructed view of the stage, though rather far back. The concert was about an 8-1/2 on a scale of 10. Nothing unusual, except for an extremely obnoxious guy in the balcony who kept screaming out in the middle of Tori's songs about how much he loved her, and exactly where he was sitting. Overall, the audience was older, very hip, funky, and noisy--cheering and applauding in the middle of a song, stepping all over Tori's lines. After the concert, we sat for a long time critiquing it. Then we decided to walk down, took the wrong ramp-way, totally by accident, and ended up backstage. I did not feel good about this. Finally, Tori's head of security, whose name is also Joel, asked us politely to leave. This was not easy, for backstage at the Seattle Opera House is like being in the Roman Catacombs. We finally traced our way back up to the balcony and down another set of ramps.

It was mild and humid outside, like being in the tropics. We found the limo and waited. After a while, Tori's opening act, Bill Miller and his bass player Hans Mayer came out, and to my amazement stood at the curb trying to hail a taxi, while carrying their instruments! This scene said volumes about the hardships of the life of an entertainer. All the time, the limo seemed to stand mockingly in the background.

Finally, Tori's security person came around and asked if anyone had any gifts for Tori. I had never seen this happen before. I handed him a copy of Paul Auster's "Mr. Vertigo", with a picture of a red-headed kid hanging upside down in mid-air. It is about a child who can walk on water, fly, and do other unusual feats. In a note with the book I invited Tori to a "spaghetti dinner" in Cleveland. I also told Joel I would see them in Cleveland and Cincinnati. He paused. And then said, "Oh, at the Music Hall; I'll get you backstage to see Tori there." I nearly flipped out. I was just floating. Twenty minutes later, Tori walked out of the theater. The driver had moved the limo right against the loading dock. I thought at most that I would wave to her as she drove by. Instead, she walked over to the 20 or so die-hard fans who were still waiting. When she got to me I extended my hand and said "Hi, I'm Joel", and just grinned. "Yes", she said. I continued to grin. "Oh, OH, OHH, how ARE you?" she asked. I thanked her for the concert, told her I would be bringing a friend to the Cleveland show who had never met her. "Talk to Joel, you know"...she told me in coded secrets, "he'll arrange everything". I was floored that she seemed to be duplicating the invitation. I then introduced her to Neile, who had given her a book of her poems, and now we were both floating. We walked over to a Tower Records store that was nearby, did some shopping, and glowed in the dark.

When I returned to San Diego I called the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Cleveland, discreetly explained the potential dinner party request, and had them reserve a private dining-room, and alert the chef and staff to possible food cravings that Tori might have. Most of the Hotel's service people are Gaelic (I spoke with Aiofe, a lovely lady), or Brits with varying degrees of condescension in their voice. My friend in Boston thought that I was hallucinating when I called her and told her about my adventures and plans. Please pass the mushrooms, again!

I did have wonderful martinis, and Drambuies, and especially potent margueritas, and Grand Marinier, and some other drinks that I had never heard of, but mostly I was drunk on 200-proof Tori. It is a wonderful feeling.

In November/December she tours Japan, Australia, and other places in the East. Maybe she will let me wash her laundry, tell her bedtime tales, and buy fresh batteries for her CD player. If not, then I'll just keep my bags packed and call TicketMaster in Kyoto.