I had no real emotional response then (to Jon's lyrics or to their performance),
and I found that, by the end of this taping, I was at a similar place. It
wasn't that Bon Jovi's performance was necessarily bad - they played all of
the correct notes; they brought out all of the 80's hair-metal/rock-star posturing
that one would expect; and Richie's Spinal Tap allusions and general clowning
even had me genuinely laughing (and not just because I was on camera); but,
at the end of it all, their passion and enthusiasm was wasted on me. It elicited
no response other than boredom, even with my being right there in the front
row, closer to Jon and his band mates than I will ever get to 95% of the American
population!!!
It seemed that the women on either side of me, however, were at an entirely
different event. They gasped; they swooned;
they screamed; they hung on every word that left his mouth as if it were a
bottle of Evian in the depths of Death
Valley. They felt the band's passion; they had been waiting years, even
decades, for this moment: they were having their rock'n'roll moment, living
out their rock'n'roll fantasy, and it was turning out to be just as
they had envisioned it in their recurring dreams. Had Jon reached out to touch
one of them, the lucky girl would have fainted, proclaiming to the world until
the moment that consciousness left and her cold head met the ground that Jon
really was that dreamy, that his smile really did glisten, that
Richie's muscles really were that big…
*****
I had been waiting for this moment for as long as I cared to remember,
and I already had the entire night planned out: she
would see me from across the darkened club, and would be intrigued - I didn't
paint my face white, and I wasn't wearing all black - I didn't fit the stereotypical
fan/Goth, and she would want to know more… Of course, she would have
to run backstage and get ready, as they were about to go on, but sometime,
though, during their performance -- when they had to re-string their guitars
after scraping them repeatedly with knives, or when her brother Jim was finding
the right program on his keyboard -- she would give me "the sign"
and we would both know that I was to wait after they finished their performance…
She
would come out, meet a few of the obsessed Goth-kids who had been following
the band from city to city, and then she would come up to me, and we would
talk… I would explain how I had stumbled upon their music, how I had
arrived so early at the
Cure show that I was able to see her and her band mates soundcheck, how
I played their CDs repeatedly at the music store where I worked… This
of course would not impress her, just break the ice a little, and then we
would hide away in some out-of-the-way corner, or go to Bill & Ida's,
and discuss 19th
Century British literature -- you know, the Gothic tendencies of the Brontes
and such… Our conversation would progress, and soon we would be talking
about how she felt about Brazil
and how much I loved it down there… Rendezvous in Rio would soon follow…
I had it all planned out...
Of course, reality is never that kind… I arrived early at the club,
and eventually found myself talking with Rasputina
(who was opening for Cranes
on this tour)… It was time for them to perform, so I wished them luck
and walked over to the bar, where I spoke with some of the Goths who I had
seen at my store. Naturally, I only had so much patience for that conversation
- black, after all, only comes in one shade - so I came up with some excuse
and walked towards the restrooms… I turned the corner, and, all of sudden,
like an apparition, there she was - her long black hair pulled back, but still
falling forward just enough to frame her exquisite and slightly pale face;
she was around my height, just as I had imagined, and she had on a light-colored
dress… Now was my moment - it wasn't exactly as I had planned, but, so
what? I was cool, I could improvise -- it all led to the same end, regardless
of where it started… She looked at me with an innocent smile, waiting
for me to speak, allowing me to be the gentleman; I opened my mouth to say
hello and introduce myself, to impress her, just as I had planned - this was
my moment! This was my time! All of my plans and unintentional daydreaming
had all been leading up to these few seconds, and I wasn't going to let it
pass me by! I had seen Dead Poets Society - there was no other day
for me to seize: Carpe Diem!!!!!!!!!!!!
I opened my mouth to speak, and said…
Nothing. Not a, "Wha's-up?" Not a, "How are you?" NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!
I froze. Not a single intelligible sound came out of my mouth - I managed
to force out a cracked, "hey," and that was it! Had you heard just
the audio, you would have sworn a cat was being crushed by a steamroller,
that I had just gone through puberty… She walked off in one direction,
and I went the other, down the dead-end hall towards the pay-phone, waiting
until she was out of my sight…
*****
I guess that we all have our rock'n'roll fantasies… Some people just
survive them better than others…
