An ode to U2

I’ve been listening to a lot of U2 lately. My infatuation with all things Bono began in seventh grade when my boyfriend at the time bought me the Rattle and Hum tape for my birthday. The second I popped it into my red Casio tape player, I was hooked.

And though I used to need a U2 fix at least once a week, lately, I’ve forgotten about Bono. The CDs are dusty in cases and emo has seemingly overtaken my music selection. I’m ashamed.

Four weeks ago, I had to get some dental work done at this fancy dentist where you can actually get a paraffin hand dip and watch a DVD while breathing laughing gas and reclining on a chair so comfortable it could lull you into sleep. The chair also features one of those thin black back massagers that doesn’t really do much other than vibrate. So, while jiggling around all loopy on laughing gas with my hands covered in paraffin, snug in oven mitts, I chose to watch a U2 concert while the dental assistants poked and prodded and made my jaw hurt - bad. It may have been the laughing gas or the overwhelming feeling that I was drunk and happy and everything the dentist said to me was crazy funny, but U2 seemed better than ever.

Maybe it’s like brussel sprouts. I had to acquire an even better taste for U2. Maybe it’s that playing Love Is Blindness really loud with my sunroof open and windows down and sunglasses on makes me feel really, really cool (and old). Or maybe it’s just because U2 might be the best band ever, but this week, I’m putting away The Used and pulling out a little Achtung Baby.