Bruce Springsteen is one of those things, like Shake Shack and and flip-flops and "Battlestar Galactica," that I can't compromise on; either you like him or you don't, and if you don't, I'm not sure if we are really friends. I mean, I fundamentally can't understand who you are as a person, and likewise, I'm sure. Perhaps you're tragically allergic to classic American rock anthems about recapturing your gritty street roots with old Chevys and girls named Mary or Janie? Maybe you don't know how to sing along or tap your foot to a loud and obvious beat? Or are you like my father and don't know what a beat is? Maybe you are deaf! Whatever, you had better find a cure. Otherwise I guess it's possible we can still be friends, somehow, although there will always be a distance between us. Technically I'm for "live and let live" and all that mumbo-jumbo, but a girl's gotta draw a line somewhere.
Anyway, I love him. He played "American Land" last night at the Meadowlands, towards the end, and it was a pretty good party closer.