I'm sorry, I've been neglecting you, my loyal readers. I'm rehearsing a play right now, The Birds, and we open this weekend, and it's been taking up all my time. Come and see it! I am very glad to be doing this show, and it's been wonderful experience, but I will be missing many of the great bands and other theater shows coming up in Chicago in the following months. Check out the Reader to see what's on soon. Really, it's astounding. I'm most upset to be missing Morrissey, of course, but hey, what can you do?
I was going to tell you a mini 80's story, but with the passing of Pavarotti a few weeks ago, I thought I would share this story with you about him, to tide you over til my next shocking post: New Year's, 1987.
In 2000, I was in New York City, walking on 50th Street, and as I approached the corner at 5th Avenue, I saw two young girls, about 15 or so, hugging and jumping together, screaming and laughing, and pointing at a car that was waiting for the light to change. I wonder who they are so excited over? I thought to myself. As I got closer, I saw it was Pavarotti. Hi Pavarotti! We love you! They yelled at him. I couldn't help but caught up in their excitement, and thought wow! it's Pavarotti! Just then, a young lad of the girls age walked up to the corner, and asked who was in the car. Pavarotti! Pavarotti! The girls screamed at him. Who? he asked. Luciano Pavarotti, the opera singer! I answered back in a voice so nerdy and scary I startled myself when it came out of me, because I never knew I was capable of creating a voice like that. Oh. said the lad, as he and the giggling girls walked off down the street, leaving me alone at the corner. The light hadn't changed yet, and Pavarotti was still sitting there, doing his best to ignore what had and what was happening outside his car; I stood there, four feet away, waving at him, hunched over like a slack-jawed, drooling lunatic, for what felt like ten minutes. Wow, he's fat. I thought to myself. His head is leaning on the head rest, yet his gut almost touches the dash board. Finally, Pavarotti turns to me and gives me a strained, two second smile, and I cross 5th Ave., while I watch his car drive away.
Ok, I can't resist. This story reminds me of a story from the 80's. But it's very short:
One sunny afternoon, in 1986, I was walking on Diversey, near the el, when I saw Steven King walking toward me. Oh shit! It's Steven King! I think to myself, as my eyes almost pop out of my head. Oh shit! He knows who I am! I discern from his expression back to me. He starts walking a little faster, and I content myself with a little smile and wave in his direction. We obviously didn't have time to discuss how much his books meant to me, how I would act them out in my room, how I read everything he had ever written and couldn't wait for more, and my dream of writing a book as scary as the ones he had written. Sometimes a smile and a wave is enough, and sometimes it isn't.
p.s.
Par Time Lovers. did you see that? That's funny. Does the poster think Boy and Stevie are lovers of golf, or make love at the golf course, or say they are golfing when if fact they are trysting somewhere? The possibilities are endless. If you don't know what I'm talking about, click the title of this post to see and hear my favorite duet from the 80's. And to the commenter on the video, that is an expensive designer Gaultier 'bag' he is wearing...
3 comments:
So, last March me and the Mr. were in NYC. We were having lunch at this little Euro-style sandwich place. It had tables across from a counter in what was essentially a long hall that led to a larger room. We were seated in the hall and I was facing the door. Mid-bite I get the oh-there's-celebrity look on my face. Mark notices this and the look on his face said, "What?" At this point I have figured out who the celebrity is who is striding toward the back room. I am also now feeling that my reaction is way overblown. Mark is wanting to know what is going on. I realize if say the man's name, he will have no idea who I am talking about and I will have to explain the man's claim to fame and if I began explaining all that the man would be right next to our table as I was talking about him and, really, did Marvin Hamlisch need to deal with that?
He doesn't need to write anything ever again. I think he's written enough now to publish for 10 generations after he dies...
I read in Boy George's autobiography that Stevie Wonder grabbed him by the throat backstage after that duet. "I guess that was his way of thanking me for a good performance," he said. (Sometimes BG can be pretty funny.)
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