Dear Jason Mraz, you are better than sliced bread.

Sister and I got ourselves a good dose of Jason Mraz on Friday night, and it was as magical as ever. Have I ever mentioned how much he doesn't suck? Because he doesn't. And his live performance is better than any CD he's ever made. I'll forgive him for not performing "Plane," my favorite song ever, because he gave several nods to my other boy, Barack Obama, throughout the concert. He knows the way to my heart, clearly. Lyrics like "jump into my mouth," and flashes of Obama on the back drop. 


I have to say again (although I don't actually think I said it aloud on my blog last time) that I hate The Rave in Milwaukee. Seriously. It's a clusterfuck. The crowd's ridiculous and smoking should be banned. Security should probably notify concertgoers prior to the actual start of the concert that the balcony is "VIP" only, rather than making us whip out our tickets during the opening act and then informing us that we need to go downstairs. 

And drink prices? Outrageous. Charging for a glass of water should be illegal. Also, hire someone to direct the damn traffic after the concert. 

Thanks. In advance. 

I've also learned that I've grown up when it's become acceptable to stand, literally, at the back of the venue, against the wall, to enjoy one of my favorite music artists. The crowd is tolerable back there, and the wall gives me something to lean on. You'd think I was 47. 

Speaking of 47, some middle-aged man in Dockers, and a woman who may as well have been wearing a Scrunchie, stood directly in front of us the entire time, tempting me to cold-clock them in the heads with my fist. Fortunately (for them) I had my fist tightly wound around my tour t-shirt. Phew.

All of that bullcrap aside, I still love me some Jason.


Double sigh. 

The man does not disappoint. So kudos to the sister for taking me. 'Twas the most fantastic (early) Christmas present of all time.