Metallica in the desert

When I was mapping out my social agenda last weekend, I was pulled in opposite directions.

On one hand, my office was throwing a grand soiree to celebrate the 5th birthday of The National and on the other hand, Metallica.

It pained me to see both scheduled the same night but a ray of sunshine broke through the confusion clouds when I found out the events would coincidentally be held very close to one another on Yas Island, which is a few miles outside of Abu Dhabi, hosts a Formula One race track and is home to Ferrari World.

The office party started at 8pm and Metallica was to take the stage around 9.30pm. Of course, I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too, but this was going to take some careful planning. 

I told Miranda to dress for the concert, not the party. But for those who know Miranda, she loves a great party and can rock out to just about anything, which why she is my lovely partner in crime on these festive evenings.

We showed up a little early for the office party and the set-up was classy. Real classy. Big round tables with white clothes, a dance floor and a copious amount of kind Filipino servers ready to assist us with any need.

Meanwhile, just down the street, thousands of Arab rockers were loading up on beer courage and sweating in the desert humidity. 

While we sipped drinks with esteemed colleagues, we could hear the concert sound checks from the balcony of the reception hall. I tried to load up on a little beer courage of my own before fellow sports guy Stevie Sanchez told me they did, in fact, serve beer at the concert.

I almost fainted.

This is a Muslim country so outside of a hotel or an elusive liquor store, beer is not sold anywhere. 

I thought I was going to hit the Metallica mosh pit with a frosty Fanta in my hand. But BEER? BEER!! I was just elated that someone at the du Arena actually used their head when they designed the place and had a financial profit in mind. 

After politely excusing ourselves from the party, Mr. Sanchez, Fergie, Dubai Sarah, Miranda and I rolled into the show and made a beeline for the beer tent. Four tall 20 oz Heinekens cost 150 dirhams (which is like 40 bucks), which sounded good to me. Sanchez and I grabbed a four-pack each and then we made our way to the lawn.

See, the du Arena (du is a local cell phone service provider) is basically just an open-air general admission venue. There's a huge stage, a huge lawn in front of it and it's every man for himself.

Guns N' Roses killed it there last month, Andrea Bocelli and his 70-piece orchestra made an appearance earlier this year and I heard the Bieber is playing there in the next few weeks. It's a great venue and can hold up to 50,000 people.

When Metallica visited two years ago, the place sold out. Those guys are getting on their years but they still put on a freaking awesome show. Abu Dhabi loves them...

Yes, we crushed beers and rocked out to songs I have not heard since high school. For the first time in a few years, I was reminded how great it was to see live music at a big-time venue and go crazy at an outdoor concert. 

It felt good. It felt like home. 

Celebration champagne, anyone?

I was consumed with sports page layouts this week when a fellow Yank from the newsroom, Steve, approached me with a trivia question.

"You know what today is?" he asked.

"Tax day, yeah, haven't tackled that pickle just quite yet," I barked back without taking my eyes off the computer monitor. I've tapped my father, a former CPA in a past life, for US tax help but the U.S. Virgin Islands play by their own rules. We'll see what happens.

"No, man. Today marks four months for us," said Steve, who sat next to me during our 13-hour flight to Abu Dhabi.

Right away, I looked to him like he was going to hand me a glass of champagne. He did not. But it forced me to briefly reflect on the past 1/3 of a year in my life.

How could I have lapsed on such a monumental landmark? You know why? Because it's really not a big deal.

Don't get me wrong: I love people but why do so many of us put so much stock into meaningless anniversaries based around how long they have lived in a certain place? In the islands, you see and hear about it constantly. I'm sure it's no different in the sand box. Like when people mention how long they have lived here or there, it's as if they now deserve a cookie for the accomplishment.

"Today marks 8 months, three weeks and two days since I moved to (blah, blah, blah)..."

I can't remember my own phone number much less the mundane dates that are littered throughout my scattered past. I guess my thoughts are elsewhere these days...

Like what it felt like when I left my office in the Middle East late at night this week just before wire reports came in about a terrorism bomb attack at the Boston Marathon.

Or what was going on in my head when the plants in our apartment started to violently shake yesterday while my fiance and I prepared a late lunch. The biggest earth quake to hit these parts in over 50 years dominated my thoughts and left me with one conclusion: these are strange times, indeed. What's next?

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am much more concerned with the present and the future compared to the past. If I'm hiking a mountain, give me a set of binoculars so I can scout the peak. If I look back down to see how far I've already walked, it will just make me nauseous.

But if you hand me a glass of champagne, I will never decline. That's a promise.

Yank missing the Yankees

For as long as I can remember, I have always associated the month of March with the college basketball Madness that ensues.

Right before this year's tournament, my editor, one the few Americans in the office, told me that watching and obsessing about the NCAA Tournament is one of the first things to fall by the wayside when living in the desert.

The games are on TV in the middle of the night so viewership is way down. Actually picking the brackets is like shaving in the dark. I did not watch a single game this season. Pathetic.

Regardless, I am still within the Top 3 in our 20-person office pool. A few weeks ago when the brackets came out, I had to explain to several people the whole concept behind the tournament seeds and how Florida Gulf Coast won't win a single game.

"Which team does Michael Jordan play for?"

"Gonzaga? Is that the school's real name?"

"Aaron, you said you went to James Madison, does that mean you picked them to win the whole thing?"

See, the Brits I work with put all their allegiance toward the team that is closest to the town they grew up in. So naturally, they thought the JMU Dukes were my team and that I bleed Purple and Gold (Is that our school colors, I can't remember?)

Just the other day, I was tracking MLB Opening Day online and reading about Bryce Harper going yard twice in the Nationals home opener. When I looked up from my computer, I watched as a fellow Yank sports hack, Steve, was explaining in detail to some Brits in our office what a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar hook shot looked like.

Ugh. I miss America sports.

Don't get me wrong, I now know a lot about the professional football leagues all across Europe and am just scratching the surface of what cricket is. I have this amazing experience to thank for that.

But I do miss the feeling of drinking a tall beer, sitting in the outfield stands under the sunshine and watching CC Sabathia throw some high heat.

For the record, I picked Louisville to win it all. If they do so, then I will scoop up a cool Dh1,400 off my basketball-savvy international colleagues. So at least I got that going for me. That, and the upcoming fantasy football office league. No, Manchester United will not be involved in that one.