I’m an 80’s pop music kid from way back. I really couldn’t help myself; I found no interest in heavy metal music. The thought of banging my head around only made me want to cry and reach for the nearest Aspirin bottle. On any given day, in my neighborhood, the kids would have multiple boom boxes broadcasting the loudest heavy metal music. It was like living in the game Guitar Hero. I hated it. Every kid impersonating a DJ competed with each other to make their favorite bands the loudest. It was obnoxious and I didn’t care if it was Ratt screeching, Twisted Sister shrieking, or AC/DC shouting their incomprehensible vocals, I’d normally turn up my nose in disgust and get home as fast as my legs would carry me.
The 80’s have long been gone and although I have grown and my music tastes have grown (they really haven’t) I can’t help but to have an 80’s pop section on my iPod and listen to these songs like they just came out on the radio. I still listen to Express Yourself like it’s 1989 and Madonna just released the video. I remember the days of MTV when I would come home from school, throw my book bag down, and turn on MTV and dance to my favorite new videos. It was an important time in the music revolution and it saddens me when I turn on MTV and kids today spend hours in front of Jersey Shore, The Real World and the rest of the shit that MTV chooses to show instead of music videos.
This past week I “turned back time,” and went to a Taylor Dayne concert in Orlando. This is the second time I’ve seen Taylor Dayne in concert but this was more than just a journey down memory lane - it was an event. A couple of weeks ago my friend Craig told me that Taylor would be at the Hard Rock Hotel in Orlando and I think I answered, “YES,” before he even asked me to go. That should have been his first warning.
The Hard Rock Hotel in Orlando hosts a monthly venue for recording artists (mostly from the 80’s and 90’s) called Velvet Sessions. The entire lobby is set up like a theatre with a large stage, disco lights, and even a disco ball shining diamond shaped flickers of light over the patrons. I think the disco ball was put up in my honor. The price of admission was $29 (+ tax) and this included the concerts and all the alcohol you can consume between 6p.m. and 8p.m.
Yes – I basically said “free” alcohol for 2 hours before the concert.
After standing in line for a short period of time we were ushered into the event and pushed right into a line for alcohol. There were several alcohol stations set up around the lobby. We stood in line for our first drink of the evening and the DJ was playing different hits from the 80’s. I instantly became hyper and excited and was wondering that if my parents were here would they slip me some Ritalin and stuff me into the corner until I calmed down.
When it was my turn to order a drink I realized that this event was no joke. The Hard Rock Hotel was using name brand liquor and I was quickly relieved that I wouldn’t have to take an entire bottle of Advil before I went to bed. I hate waking up with a horrible headache. You know the kind of headache caused by cheap liquor and wine that make you pray to the toilet gods that you will never, under any circumstances, drink cheap alcohol again. I usually drink beer but tonight I was feeling frisky and outrageous so I decided to drink hard liquor and enjoy myself.
The bubbly hostess didn’t give me much of a choice when it came to my drink choice. The marketing department for this event was pure genius and named all the specialty drinks after the entertainer’s songs. Brilliant.
It was intoxicating to be waiting for Taylor Dayne to take the stage, laughing with my friends, and all the while sipping (actually gulping) my very fruity, “Tell It To My Heart.“ It didn’t take me long to finish that song and after a few, “Don’t Rush Me” martinis I wrapped up my free drink extravaganza with a, “Prove Your Love” margarita.
I was having a blast and it was exciting to travel back to the days of big hard, bright red lipstick, and cocaine, all of which was going on around the dance floor, well except for the cocaine which I will get to later.
Our group was formed in a circle commenting on the clientele at the event who were basically still stuck in the 80’s. Sure I love 80’s music but I don’t believe I look like I just stepped out of a 80’s movie. I didn’t notice many, yes I said many, mullets but I did notice a few ladies who got a little crazy with the Aquanet and jewelry before they left the house.
When Amy Grant started transmitting through the air and into my ears I knew I was in trouble. Of course I was singing along, like the king of karaoke, but I couldn’t help but scan the room for the camera crew. With the concentration of 80’s fans standing shoulder to shoulder, singing, and drinking their Taylor Dayne drinks I couldn’t help but sense that I was being filmed for the latest VH1 special, “Old Fucks Who Want to be Young.” This was worse than my 20th high school reunion and I felt honored that even though I am almost 39 years old my face hasn’t started melting off like some of the ladies in the room. All the Maybelline and visits to Sephora couldn’t help these bitches out. I wanted to tell some of these ladies to put down their credit cards, go to a construction site, grab some spackle, and work it in to the cavities on their face. If there’s one thing that I can’t stand is a women whose face has more craters than the moon and all they do is cover it up with an excessive amount of the wrong shade of foundation. These girls need to pull their heads out of their neon turtlenecks and watch an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race.
While the night progressed, and the drinks were consumed, I became more and more silly. I’ll clarify that statement in saying that I call it silly but most of the world refers to it as obnoxious. We were drinking our moneys worth and because I was so impressed with the liquor choices I deduced that the breakdown of the ticket price was going to be $25 for the alcohol and $5 for the Taylor Dayne portion. Taylor Dayne? Who the fuck is that? I’m here for all the alcohol I can pour down my throat in 2 hours.
My stomach was growling from the moment I walked into the hotel. Actually, it was growling from the moment I left the house and started driving to the hotel. I was running late and I had no time to stop for food. I literally threw my clothes on and drove like a maniac to the hotel. After we were there awhile I was pleasantly surprised to see servers walking around with platters of finger foods. It took me a moment to realize that food was being served because all I could do was smell the food and I couldn’t visually see anything. For all I knew, the long haired lady next to me conditioned her hair with chicken stock; which would have explain why the midget standing next to her was smelling her hair and commenting on how nice it smelled. I was so hungry I wanted to go in for a whiff but I decided I didn’t want to spend the night beating off a midget. Awkward. I was getting angry because these little snacks were being picked up quicker than young Thailand boys.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only guest who was starving and as I watched these servers walk out from the kitchen area and into the crowd I felt sorry for them. They were being physically attacked and at one point I thought one of the young girls lost a finger. I was relieved to realize it was just a pig in a blanket but I was positive one of them lost a banana clip. The food was coming out in swarms and these hungry people were attacking them like birds.
Holy Shit.
I wanted to yell at the midget, “It’s fucking chicken on a stick not a 7oz marinated filet mignon.” These people were going wild and as guilty as I felt for these poor servers, I had to get in on the action. I was starving and I was either going to banquet on chicken on a stick or take a bite out of this fucking midget. I dove into the server like a linebacker and after I removed the chicken from the stick with my teeth, savored the taste, I contemplating taking the stick and beating the fuck out of that greedy little midget. Don’t fuck with me and my finger food.
The servers tried to fake out the crowd by changing their locations but I was stalking them bitches like a velociraptor. My eyes were darting from side to side and it didn’t matter if I was in the middle of a conversation, if I saw people chewing I was working the room like a hungry homeless person.
After I was done drinking, and eating, we moved over to get closer to the stage. We were standing about 6 deep from the stage before the show started at 8p.m. I immediately started screaming and Taylor had barely walked on stage. It’s only Taylor Dayne. I was pumping my fists like the Jersey Shore kids and the louder she sang the louder I sang. I was afraid people were going to ask me to refund for their tickets because they didn’t pay to hear me sing the entire playlist. I attempted to dance but it was hard to because everyone was cramped up as close to the stage as they could get. While Taylor belted out, “I’ll Always Love You,” it was hard for me to focus on the stage because of the dinosaurs in front of me making out. It took me a moment to realize what was going on and I was confused because I thought dinosaurs had gone extinct millions of years ago. These weren’t the “scale-type” dinosaurs but the old bastards who should be “at home sleeping” dinosaurs. These two looked like they had escaped the nursing home and I was afraid they were horny because they missed their evening medications. I wanted to poke the old man on his shoulder and remind him that this was a concert and not his junior prom. His hand was so far down the back of her pants that when he pulled his hand out to rub her back he left skid marks along her bra line. It was wrong on so many levels.
Taylor did an amazing job. She was on fire. I will be the first to say that she sounded sensational. I ignored the fact that she was wearing a skintight yellow dress and resembled a banana with nipples. I closed my eyes and imagined myself back when I was 15, laying on my bed, and listening to her first record. How can someone go under the knife this many times and still sound the same? She’s had no damage to her throat but she had a striking resemblance to the Joker from the original Batman movie. Her look scared me a bit but not as bad as the two geriatric residents tongue battling in front of me.
The show finished in an hour but I noticed that before the show ended Taylor kept running off stage and disappearing. The band continued to play while they looked at each other like, “Where the fuck did the bitch go?” The crowd kept clapping while the star was missing but as fast as she ran off stage – she was back on singing her next song. After that song was done she was back to the side of the stage and then back on to wrap her show up. I expected her to have a costume change but no change. No nothing.
I envisioned her backstage doing lines of cocaine as fast as she could while singing to herself, “Don’t Rush Me, I’ve made that mistake before,” and remembering a time when she stuffed a rolled dollar bill too far up her nose.
Fortunately, when we moved into our house about eight months ago my wife remembered one of the neighbors mentioning that he likes to fix stuff around the house. So we gave him a call on Saturday afternoon and he cheerfully came right on over.
This guy was great. He took apart the disposal. He took apart the plumbing under the sink. He had lots of tools. None of it worked. No matter what we did (okay, no matter what he did) we couldn't unclog that sink. He had a couple hours of grime on him to show for it, too.
Just when we were about to throw in the towel and shell out some bucks for a plumber he got one last idea. He took out a wrench that was bigger than my two year old son, went into the basement and found a really big pipe that the kitchen sink goes to. He started using that wrench on it and next thing we knew, out came a ton of dirty water and sludge (but no asparagus). All over him.
Rather than get upset about it, he was probably happier than I was that he had figured it out! My wife was happy, because he concluded (I'm still not sure how) that the issue probably wasn't the asparagus and was more likely just years of build-up.
Posted by: Mens Skinny | April 21, 2011 at 03:20 AM