AMY BROWN CAR SEAT COVERS

On Sunday, January 18, yours truly and hollacheeks witnessed ourselves a little Justin Timberlake. Gentle reader, a few questions should immediately spring to your mind: Justin Timberlake, in Charlottesville? You and hollacheeks? You're how old? Why? And how much did you spend on this when you could have been buying cute shoes and skirts for spring? Or contributing towards the fight against poverty and inequality?

Let me start by saying that I've seen two "arena" shows: U2 in 1992 and REM sometime in the mid 1990s. I don't think all those sun-drenched outdoor festivals count as arena shows. My very first show was Crystal Gayle and Alabama at the Columbus Auditorium in 1983 - not really arena, but closer to one than my most frequented establishments in Athens, Atlanta, or Austin. I went to private school in the late 1980s, so I didn't experience pop music in the prime of my girl-ish screaming youth (never understood New Kids or my best friend's undying love for Poison's Brett Michaels).

College radio, some few years in Austin and Athens, blah blah blah and now I'm jaded and sleepy. Charlottesville is not a Friday night sort of town -- no one worth my money and sleep swings through on a weeknight. I'm a working girl who can't hold more than 4 week night beers without leaving early to sleep in the backseat of the car while my younger man sticks it out in an effort to prolong his youth and upstage my resilience.

So Justin Timberlake and I were seemingly made for each other. Direct references to Michael Jackson's Billie Jean? Check. Timbaland present? Check. Show started at 8:30 and was over at 11:00? Check. Seats? Check. Lots of beer with hollacheeks beforehand? Check. We skipped Pink like it was 2001 and she was Of Montreal.

I didn't plan for the 20,00 squealing / screaming preteen girls who filled the arena with their mothers. I don't know what I expected, but at one point hollacheeks and I simultaneously looked at the 12 year old screaming girl standing next to me -- just to squeeze in a split second observation of her masterful performance. She looked back, suddenly stopped dancing, and froze her face in this horrible omg-they're-judging-me way and shrank to her seat. I had completely forgotten what it was like to be 12 years old and the most insecure, pitiful thing in the world. It was really sad.

Back to Justin, some basic thoughts: the show was really egalitarian -- Timberlake wasn't set up to be any more exciting than his back-up dancers. In addition to never being a girl in a booty rap video and never playing Wimbledon, I will never be a Justin Timberlake backup dancer (it looked like fun!). We needed more Timbaland, but that's just what the world needs now. Overall, it was the company that couldn't be beat. I clung to hollacheeks a mere two weeks ago when I was certain that the Southwest Airlines pilot was going to crash us into the BWI runway; on Sunday night we shared some special moments, ranging from lots of beer to frightening preteen girls to seeing in the flesh the Timberlakemagic. Good times.

My little enclave on board the fantastic Singapore Airlines Airbus A380-800, seat 2F in the Suite Class. It may be "Class Z" travel in the industry but absolutely everything about it is first class, from the moment you step on the plane and are greeted by the famous Singapore Airlines girls, shown to your cabin, and presented with your own bottle of Dom Perignon 2000 champagne to (thoroughly) enjoy through-out the flight. Definitely the *easiest* flight I have ever been on, I just wish it was more than 4 hours between Hong Kong and Singapore! The whole trip was a complete whirlwind, from being escorted on to the plane, to being escorted off of the plane, met at the jetway and whisked away on a buggy to a "VIP Customs" (which is, by the way, completely different from any other customs procedures) lounge where your bags are retrieved for you, and put in a waiting car, to get you to your final destination.