Last night we saw The Phantom of the Opera. In Diane’s words,”Who knew we’d see something so good?” If I were a theater reviewer my column would have one word – “Go.”

Matt brought his friend, Debbie, and we arrived early so we could have dinner before the play. Matt, the skeptic, kept asking me, “So, Dad (my capital), where are we eating?” He knew I had no idea, but he asked the same question every fifteen minutes or so.

We parked in a lot across from The Opera House, and after looking up and the down the street, but seeing no restaurants, I immediately asked the lot attendant for a recommendation. He pointed down the street, past the playhouse, and said,”There are plenty in that direction.” After walking a few blocks and seeing nothing but a Wendy’s and a pizzeria, Matt asked again, “So Dad, where are we going to eat.” I stopped at a sidewalk cart, the vendor selling t-shirts, and popped the question. He said, apologetically, “I only work here.”

We walked another two blocks when Diane spied Kennedy’s Irish Pub and Steak House a block away, up a side street. It was – even Matt had to admit – perfect. I had salmon, Diane crab cakes (not enough crab for Linda), Matt a huge hamburger with barbecue sauce and Debbie a gloppy, cheesy pasta plate. I didn’t say the food was perfect.

On the way home I played Springsteen’s new CD , Devils and Dust. I love it, but I knew Diane would hate it – the repetitive beat, Bruce’s unintelligible mumbling ( far worse than Nebraska), the dirge-like quality (not quite as funereal as Tom Joad) so I kept it low until Matt said, “If you insist on playing horrible music, at least turn it up so we can hear it.”