I realized a few days ago that in the whirlwind that has been the last six months or so, I never wrote about my trip to Las Vegas back in February. And since I really did want to write about it, here goes nothing:


Longtime readers will know two things -- that in November 2006 I became obsessed with a piano bar called the Ivory Cat and that this led to my learning how to play the piano over the last two years. I used to go to "the IC" all the time with a great group of friends. Over that time, we started to compare Billy Joel, whose piano-based songs were simultaneously joyous and nostalgic, to a strange ebony and ivory deity. I discussed this quite often with "C-voss," my Colorado-born friend who had grown up playing the piano and was often my partner in crime at the IC. Whenever we were in a bind, we'd reference "Well, Billy Joel will guide us," or "I'm sure Billy Joel has a plan for you." And sometimes when I start playing the first few notes of "And So It Goes," my favorite song of his that I struggled to learn for nearly a year, I think he does.

By the end of last year, Cvoss had since moved back to Denver -- which came in handy when the DNC rolled around, as it would not have been possible for me to go had she not let me stay with her and carted me around for four days. She would have done it anyway, but I was glad to repay her when I snuck her a coveted Invesco pass for the big speech.

In December of last year, Cvoss called me and announced that no matter what happened in 2009, I would have a date for Valentine's Day. I think it went something like this:

Me: Alright, where are we going on our date?
Cvoss: Las Vegas.
Me: Haha! Okay!
Cvoss: To see Billy Joel --
Me: WHAT?!
Cvoss: --Who is playing, one night only, at the MGM Grand!
Me: Let's get tickets!
Cvoss: I just clicked "buy!"

The funny thing about this conversation is that we'd had it, in reverse, only six months earlier, when I found out on a Thursday that Billy Joel would be playing at the New Orleans Jazz Fest that Saturday. That trip resulted in Cvoss and I getting a ride from a guy named Michael Jackson, not the dead one, and us getting drenched in Katrina Part II.

Some people might have been deterred by this type of NOLA experience. But we found it to be incredible and were happy for more. And we figured that no matter what, this time we'd be indoors.

So flash forward to Friday, February 13th of this year. I booked a connecting flight in Denver, where I met up with Cvoss at the airport and we got delayed for two hours. There might have been drinking involved.


Upon arrival in Vegas, we made our way, sleepily, to the MGM Grand where we'd decided to stay in hopes of running into Billy Joel. Saturday, Valentine's Day, was the day of the concert. We reserved our energy for the evening: saw a little bit of Vegas, had a nice early dinner, and then went about getting dressed up. Yes, we knew our seats were probably in the very back of the auditorium, but we didn't care. We put on our finest silk dresses and heels. Trotting excitedly to the "Garden Arena," we barely noticed the casino fracas around us.

We were on a mission.

After we excitedly got through the entry gates, Cvoss and I perused some merch and then started walking to our seats. Then we had second thoughts and decided to go back and buy the t-shirts we both wanted. They are t-shirts with a big heart that is made to look like a piano and say "Billy Joel" on the edge. We both bought one. Then, carrying our bags of merch and walking around in our jewels, we stopped at the concession stand to get some water.

As the concession vendor handed me a bottle of Dasanai, he took the cap off and said "You're not allowed to have a cap for it."

"Huh?" I asked, indignant.
"Yeah, they don't allow caps on bottles here. It's the artist's request."
"The artist's request?" I scoffed. "Well," and I looked at Cvoss, "I'll just have to talk to the artist about that."

Cvoss and I took my capless water bottle, our two bags with t-shirts in them, and our dignity and started trying to find our seats in earnest. As we climbed up the stairs, higher and higher, we eagerly looked for where our numbered seats would be. Then, suddenly, from the darkness behind us:

"You're not sitting here."

I almost didn't hear him. Cvoss turned around, always ready for a fight. "What?"

"You're not sitting here." It was an unassuming guy wearing a windbreaker golf shirt and jean shorts. He didn't look like any of the ushers at the MGM that we had been walking past.

"What do you mean?"

He suddenly was handing Cvoss two tickets and I was hearing him say "You're sitting down there. Go to that usher and he'll tell you where to go."

Before we could ask questions, he turned to walk back down a set of stairs. "What? What?" Cvoss and I were both after him. "What is this?!"

He turned around once more and said: "Courtesy of the artist."

Then he was gone.

The artist. We made our way down to the usher at the next tier of seats. He looked at our tickets and looked at us and said "Keep going." We walked down some more. That usher looked at the tickets and said "Oh yes, let me show you."

He (or she?) walked us all the way down to the next level and walked along a railing with us. They pointed at the next person at the bottom of the stairs, standing at the floor level in the back. "Go down there."

My ankles were weak, I remember that, and I kept saying "Cvoss. Cvoss. Cvoss." I was trying not to spill water all over myself with my capless bottle, and not fall down in my four inch heels, as we clamored down the bleacher-like stairs. We got to the next usher and he said "Alright - see that guy way up there standing by the stage? Go up to him and show him these."

"Cvoss. Cvoss. Cvoss."
"Mean Rachel." Cvoss calls me Mean Rachel. Old habits die hard.

We hot-footed it up to the front and showed the usher. He smiled really big and said "Someone must love you. Let me show you where your seats are."

He walked us out to the second row of folding chairs in front of the stage, dead center -#9 and #10. "There you go. Enjoy the show."

Cvoss and I stared at our seats like we'd just been led over a rainbow to a pot of gold. "Are you guys okay?"

I think at that point we burst into tears and hugged each other. This photo was soon taken.

We sat there for what seemed like forever and never, calling everyone we knew and texting everyone we didn't know well enough to call.
And then - there he was.

For the record, he opened with "Angry Young Man."
Then, almost unbelieveably, he turned to the audience. The video below is him talking about "those of you who think you got these great seats." You will hear me in the background saying "We'll die happy!"

After the seventh or so song, we were magically allowed to go up to the stage. Much closer now, Billy was rocking the mic and singing Innocent Man. He came by and shook the audience's hands, including both of mine. This is the picture that resulted.
It was by far the most unbelievable time. To top it all off, I managed to swindle the set list from the piano that was on stage. I now have it framed above my own piano, in a shadowbox with my original ticket and the ticket we were given for free. We reflected later that we never expected retribution for our New Orleans fiasco, because we'd had such a great time there, too. But I guess sometimes you can't really tell how good you've got it until you see where you once were.

Thank you Billy Joel!