SYNDICATED COLUMNIST
Now that two of my daughters are away at college and the one still at home basically views me as an ATM in an unfashionable neighborhood, I’ve tried to find myself a hobby. Since I’m not interested in activities that involve getting out of bed before noon on a Saturday, that pretty much rules out most manly-type-outdoorsy stuff that would require me to sweat profusely in a tent, clean an animal carcass or have one of my friends pluck a tick from a region of my anatomy that I can’t reach.
Instead, with the money we have left after paying for college tuition, semigrown- daughter car insurance and an occasional can of bean dip, my wife and I have been attending concerts. Something about the exciting atmosphere of several thousand fans enjoying music together and anticipating their next restroom break makes me feel alive. It also allows me to temporarily forget about the pain in my lower back from sneezing too hard the day before.
