So I hear U president Michael Young will be interviewed this Sunday morning on KTVX Channel 4 by Chris Vanocur on his show “On the Record.” I have to admit, I’m kind of blown away by that.  I always thought of university presidents as the types who stay snug in their corner office, steering the ship behind a bulletproof windshield and only crack the door open a wee bit when someone bangs on it. With past (and most likely future) budget cuts to deal with, justifying administrator salaries and packing heat on campus, there is a lot for Vanocur to poke at. And we’re talking about a guy who isn’t known for pulling punches.

The fact that President Young is willing to get out there and sell the U is kind of admirable actually. I do know that the U as a whole is a pretty unique place – a research university that does more than teach and hand out diplomas, but creates and commercializes medical, scientific and engineering technology that brings money into the institution (and state) and simultaneously gives students a unique hands-on approach to learning that traditional schools can’t provide. Plus I’ve noticed the U is taking that approach across the globe in a lot of pretty impressive ways. So I really hope the conversation is a good one and that the president will talk about the value of such an institution for Utah. If nothing more, maybe it will clear my misconceptions on what a university president actually does. I’ll tune in and find out…

I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been up to see a concert at Red Butte Garden since they built the bigger stage and made it all shiny and cool. Glad they finally got around to it. I’ve been a concert series regular for years, and while I love the intimate atmosphere including the traditional kill or be killed dash for the first spot of green you can find, the digs did smack of a glorified RV camp with a platform stage slapped on the side. But it being the summer solstice and all (and the fact that a very good friend dropped a reserved VIP ticket to David Byrne in my lap), I decided it was time to put an end to my hiatus.

Photo courtesy of Harry Scott

There is an elite if somewhat varied group of performers I want to see before I die (a kind of musical bucket list) and David Byrne has always been near the top. I got into The Talking Heads early in life and even followed the man with a raised eyebrow through the many musical reinventions that followed. To this day I like to think that the reason I wore oversized suits as a kid was in homage to David, and not because I couldn’t hold on any weight for a kid my height.

We got to the venue just a few minutes before the show was to start (the luxury of having reserved seats) and quickly learned that the concert had been pushed back an hour and a half because “David didn’t want to play with the sun in his face.” I looked quizzically at the black and purple storm clouds rushing by (and thankfully they did rush by without incident) and wondered if he was also demanding that the green M&Ms be removed from the bowl in his trailer. The delay did give my friend and me a chance to sit at one of the many tables set up at the back of the seating area (another welcome add-on from the renovation) and eat our picnic dinner as we people watched. Celebrity sightings: some news guy from Channel 2; various Sundance Institute riffraff; a renowned U vice president (for whom my respect has risen exponentially by his choice of entertainment value).

When David finally hit the stage, all was forgiven. The music was great, the band tight, the crowd engaged (my friend mentioned he hadn’t seen a Red Butte audience so animated and boisterous). David and company quickly slipped into that infectious nerdy funk that made him such a delightful oddity and flailed about. Two hours and three encores later, we left satisfied and happy. One critique – didn’t care for the mod stage dancers; I look at onstage non-musician choreography much like I do a magician’s assistant, usually employed to divert the audience’s attention from the actual showman and the rabbit up his sleeve. Still, David wearing a white tutu giving an awkward curtsy to the crowd at concert’s end somehow made sense of the whole thing. That after his constant admonitions over the years to STOP making sense.

Photo courtesy of Josh Clark

So back to the venue. Thumbs up. Great use of space, more seating, even a few kind souls running around taking orders for refreshments. One such person would specifically target the overly inebriated and kindly offer water.

Well done.

I have to say I’m impressed with those Club U kids I see out on Presidents Circle every morning. You know the ones – the chubby faced kids who look way too happy decked in their colorful t-shirts and backpacks, sitting in neatly formed circles or walking in lines. I’m impressed because the past few days have been, well, wet. I see teachers, staff, even students scurrying short-stepped as fast as they can like rats off a sinking ship.

But not these kids (and their post-pubescent leaders, who I respectfully dub kids with bigger bodies). They are out there living large, whooping it up, having fun. And I’m not talking about the kind of knee-jerk joy we sometimes (but not nearly often enough) get when the weather gives us a playful kick in the pants. No, they’re not screaming just because they can. That would be my son. It’s ‘cuz they’re on VACATION.

The more I watch them, the more I envy those kids for nothing more than I’m not one of them. And because they dig driving rainstorms and big puddles and cars that drive by with a splashy swoosh. Seriously. There was one incredibly carefree boy who would purposefully stand on the curb at just the right spot just to get soaked by passersby. That’s vacation.

My camp experience was in upstate Michigan, a place made of lakes and trees (as opposed to Detroit, which is made of concrete and guns). Lakes and trees mean carnivorous insects and equally vicious plants, of which I fell victim more times than I can remember. Did any of you do summer camp in the 70s? It wasn’t pretty. It would start on a yellow bus that smelled of wet feet and rotting teeth and ended at a dilapidated hooverville called Camp Wherethehellarewe, where the feasting of our flesh and wills to live would begin. The movie Meatballs with Bill Murray comes close to telling the story, but makes it funny simply because you aren’t there. 

I never felt like I was on vacation in those days, not like these kids I see in the circle, and they really haven’t even gone anywhere, as most are likely a stone’s throw from their homes. Goes to show that vacation is a “what” more than a “where.”  If it rains next week, I’m going to live it up, jump around, get crazy wet. If it stops raining, I’m going to build a fire in the circle and roast weenies. And probably get arrested in the process.

Reply if you are willing to join me and/or bail me out.