No use for the truth

I got an email last night from my friend in Paris in which he mentioned casually that Tom Waits was there and that he (my friend) was thinking that maybe, possibly, he might go see the show. Now, if you are me (which, frankly, I hope you are not because things are quite confusing enough already, thanks) you do not find out that Tom Waits is playing in your town and then wander around pondering whether or not you might go see him. No. If you are me, you thank God and fairies and karma and whatever else has blessed you. Then you go empty out your bank account and pay whatever they're asking. And then you go. See Tom Waits. Live. Because he is Tom Waits.

If you are me, you also have a whole lot of romantic nostalgia about Paris, so finding out that Tom Waits is playing Paris while you are thousands of miles from Paris makes for a rough evening.

But then, a little self-pitying internet searching of the why-is-he-not-playing-MY-town variety unexpectedly reveals this shiny bright side. So, no. It's not Paris. It's Atlanta, kind of. But really it's your living room. And it turns out that that is a really, really good second best. Merci NPR.