I am a Marxist
A long time ago in a land far, far away, Richard Marx was a pretty popular artist. I was a huge fan, even going so far as to use a quote of his in my yearbook (I believe it was 'Lord I know I'm bound for Heaven, 'cause I've done my time in Hell.' Apparently at the time I thought high school was Hell. Then again, who doesn't?) So when Marx had a tour coming near Connecticut, I was all over it. My friend Mike and I were gonna go see him perform at an outdoor venue in Mansfield, MA on Wednesday, August 24th. We decided that the night before we'd go to my parents' beach house since getting to Mansfield was easier from there than from where we lived. It was gonna be great!
Now, I've seen a lot of artists in concert that many people would consider to be 'uncool'. My first concert was of course, Barry Manilow. I've also seen Lionel Richie during his Dancing on a Ceiling tour, the Beach Boys with Chicago, Huey Lewis and the News (with my mother!) and not once, but twice, I saw Michael Bolton. The first time was again with my friend Mike. Actually for that concert, Mike had gotten the tickets and left them in his house. When we went to get the tickets we realized Mike had locked himself out of the house and neither his parents nor his brother were home. So Mike had to climb to the second story of the house and break in through an upstairs window. But we got to see Michael Bolton! The second time was with a girl, so you know how that goes. We saw him at another outdoor venue and it was drizzling, but hell, I was there with a girl! The best (or worst) part was during the intermission, she got up to go to the bathroom. She was gone for 30-40 minutes and I just assumed that there was a long line for the facilities. While she was gone the concert restarted and I was more afraid that she was going to miss something than being afraid she was lost. She shows up again 3 or 4 songs into the second half and as it turns out, she was cutting back up through the covered seats to get to our place in the lawn when the concert restarted. And as luck would have it, Mr. Bolton started the second half of the show in the audience, about 5 feet from her. So of course she stood there, nice and dry and watched him from close up, while I sat in the rain, all alone, against a fence. Needless to say at the time I was rather jealous, although looking back on it, eh, not so much.
But back to Richard Marx. At that point in my life this was the one concert I really wanted to go to. I was all excited and couldn't wait. We get to the beach house on Tuesday night, hang out and watch TV, basking in the fact that we were high school students without parents and siblings to deal with. Just two single guys in their own beach house, drinking soda and having a wild old time. The next day we spend it again hanging out, playing mini-golf, doing whatever. Finally it gets to be the late afternoon and we walk out to the car to head to the concert. It was at this point the story takes a sad turn. Or a stupid one. See, today I always like to know what time it is and what the date is. As I sit here, I've got the clock on my computer, one on the wall in front of me, a watch, my cell phone, and about 3 clocks behind me. I've also got a one-a-day calendar, one on the wall and my watch shows the date, not to mention the calendar I use online. But back then, I wasn't that concerned with time and date. So once I got the tickets, in my mind, I was always thinking the concert was on Wednesday, August 25th. Once I had the date in my head, I let it go and just went with Wednesday, so to me, the concert was always on a Wednesday. As we got into the car I finally pulled out the tickets and took a look at them. I think I may have uttered a small 'oh no' before turning to Mike and asking him what day it was. He replied 'the 26th' at which point I groan and hand him the tickets, which were for TUESDAY, August 25th!
I am proud to say that since then I haven't made such a boneheaded mistake. That may also be why I constantly need to know what the date is and what time it is. But back then... well, Mike saw the date on the tickets, let out a scream, ripped the tickets in half, got out of the car and did one of those things you only see in the movies where he yelled and screamed and danced around the parking lot like a lunatic. I just sat in the car, with the ripped tickets in my hand, and stared out the front window. After a few minutes Mike calmed down and got back in the car and together we stared out the front window. Eventually we drove to KFC, got a big bucket of chicken, drove back to the beach house and ate ourselves sick. Mike was nice about it. He never blamed me or yelled at me. I think he could tell how disappointed I was. And I did feel horrible and really rather stupid. I kept the tickets. I taped them together and taped them to my desk. I still have them, buried somewhere in the piles in my room back home.
The saddest part of the story? To this day, I have never seen Richard Marx in concert. Ray Charles? Yup. Billy Joel? Definitely. Kenny G with Peabo Bryson? Sure... but not Richard Marx.
View the tickets
Now, I've seen a lot of artists in concert that many people would consider to be 'uncool'. My first concert was of course, Barry Manilow. I've also seen Lionel Richie during his Dancing on a Ceiling tour, the Beach Boys with Chicago, Huey Lewis and the News (with my mother!) and not once, but twice, I saw Michael Bolton. The first time was again with my friend Mike. Actually for that concert, Mike had gotten the tickets and left them in his house. When we went to get the tickets we realized Mike had locked himself out of the house and neither his parents nor his brother were home. So Mike had to climb to the second story of the house and break in through an upstairs window. But we got to see Michael Bolton! The second time was with a girl, so you know how that goes. We saw him at another outdoor venue and it was drizzling, but hell, I was there with a girl! The best (or worst) part was during the intermission, she got up to go to the bathroom. She was gone for 30-40 minutes and I just assumed that there was a long line for the facilities. While she was gone the concert restarted and I was more afraid that she was going to miss something than being afraid she was lost. She shows up again 3 or 4 songs into the second half and as it turns out, she was cutting back up through the covered seats to get to our place in the lawn when the concert restarted. And as luck would have it, Mr. Bolton started the second half of the show in the audience, about 5 feet from her. So of course she stood there, nice and dry and watched him from close up, while I sat in the rain, all alone, against a fence. Needless to say at the time I was rather jealous, although looking back on it, eh, not so much.
But back to Richard Marx. At that point in my life this was the one concert I really wanted to go to. I was all excited and couldn't wait. We get to the beach house on Tuesday night, hang out and watch TV, basking in the fact that we were high school students without parents and siblings to deal with. Just two single guys in their own beach house, drinking soda and having a wild old time. The next day we spend it again hanging out, playing mini-golf, doing whatever. Finally it gets to be the late afternoon and we walk out to the car to head to the concert. It was at this point the story takes a sad turn. Or a stupid one. See, today I always like to know what time it is and what the date is. As I sit here, I've got the clock on my computer, one on the wall in front of me, a watch, my cell phone, and about 3 clocks behind me. I've also got a one-a-day calendar, one on the wall and my watch shows the date, not to mention the calendar I use online. But back then, I wasn't that concerned with time and date. So once I got the tickets, in my mind, I was always thinking the concert was on Wednesday, August 25th. Once I had the date in my head, I let it go and just went with Wednesday, so to me, the concert was always on a Wednesday. As we got into the car I finally pulled out the tickets and took a look at them. I think I may have uttered a small 'oh no' before turning to Mike and asking him what day it was. He replied 'the 26th' at which point I groan and hand him the tickets, which were for TUESDAY, August 25th!
I am proud to say that since then I haven't made such a boneheaded mistake. That may also be why I constantly need to know what the date is and what time it is. But back then... well, Mike saw the date on the tickets, let out a scream, ripped the tickets in half, got out of the car and did one of those things you only see in the movies where he yelled and screamed and danced around the parking lot like a lunatic. I just sat in the car, with the ripped tickets in my hand, and stared out the front window. After a few minutes Mike calmed down and got back in the car and together we stared out the front window. Eventually we drove to KFC, got a big bucket of chicken, drove back to the beach house and ate ourselves sick. Mike was nice about it. He never blamed me or yelled at me. I think he could tell how disappointed I was. And I did feel horrible and really rather stupid. I kept the tickets. I taped them together and taped them to my desk. I still have them, buried somewhere in the piles in my room back home.
The saddest part of the story? To this day, I have never seen Richard Marx in concert. Ray Charles? Yup. Billy Joel? Definitely. Kenny G with Peabo Bryson? Sure... but not Richard Marx.
View the tickets
posted by SC | 8:58 PM
1 Comments:
You know what's even sadder? I've seen Richard Marx in concert twice. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, the second time was way past his prime and it was pretty lame. Oh, and the first time I rushed the stage (I know) because he was high-fiving people, and he totally skipped over me. As I headed back to my seat, these guys started yelling "Dis!" Ouch.
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