Loud

Nose spray. Check.

Antihistimine. Check.

Sudafed. Check.

Nasal irrigation. Check

Extra strength Tylenol. Check

I went through this entire procedure this morning because I woke up with a full frontal sinus headache, probably because I spent over an hour last evening in the hot wind of Dallas waiting for trains to and fro the Loud concert at American Airlines Center with Rachael.

My observations:

1) Cee Lo Green is the diva my friend Jane declared him to be. We'd bought the tickets because Rachael loves Rihanna and we both love Cee Lo. Until last night, that is, when we learned he'd cancelled his participation in what I think was a fit of pique.

2) I'd like to know more about the art of the modern D.J.; it's more than just spinning and scratching these days. Luckily Rachael's into it, as are college friends, and she says she'll show me a video on YouTube to explain the history from its roots in Chicago in the 1980s. I can't wait.

3) J. Cole, the very likable opening act, has a very interesting background (St. John's on an academic scholarship, where he graded magna cum laude).

4) Rihanna is even more of a dirty girl than I thought she was. At a couple of moments during her performance, she seemed to be giving Dallas a lap dance. And the simulated sex with a female audience member literally dropped my jaw.

5) To call her performance a "concert" is really a misnomer. It was more of a performance, with multiple costume changes and every second choreographed. The only personalized aspect was her referring to "Dallas" several times. I must say, I miss the old days when a concert, even in an arena setting, seemed more intimate and less like a Vegas show.

6) Along those lines, most of the young women in attendance dressed as though they were going clubbing. I cannot imagine wearing stilettos while climbing up and down narrow, high, arena stairs. And given we had to forgo the escalators entirely when a small fire broke out as a result of the pyrotechnics and we were forced to evaculate an hour into her performance, ouch! Back in the day we wore blue jeans, not cocktail dresses! My husband and I are going to a Boz Scaggs concert in September; I'm fairly sure there won't be much bling and many, if any, stilettos in the house.

It was an adventure, to say the least. Rihanna attracts fervent fans with her sultry voice and lipstick feminism. Does she do it for me? I say more singing, less faux fucking.

Loud