Saturday, January 29, 2011

Back in the Saddle

Yeah, I know. I haven't posted here in forever. Haven't had much to say, or nothing worth saying at any rate. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all, right? Those who know me, know that I haven't had much of anything nice going on in my life recently, besides my friends. I have some awesome friends.

Still single, still broke, still with no real purpose in life. Sitting here listening to Aerosmith on the computer and in a very bizarre mood. It's all Heidi's fault. Heidi is my very good friend who has taken me in for the past month and pretty much refuses to take me home until it gets warmer since there is no heat at my house. Long story that I'm not going to get into here, will just say it was more due to a flagrant error on the part of the power company that I refuse to pay for, than a financial thing. Anyhow, Heidi, God love her, is an idol fan. I hate all reality shows. They aren't based on reality at all. Give me a reality show where you are put in a situation where the baby has pneumonia, is almost out of medicine, there's the worst blizzard you've seen in five years raging outside and you need to figure out how to get to the drug store to pick up her medicine without taking her outside in the storm or leave your 9yo alone to babysit. This is more of a reality for me than being stranded on an island with x amount of items allowed to take with you. Anyhow, Heidi is an idol fan, she watches it religiously. Maybe since it started, I'm not sure. I need to convince her to take me home before I actually start looking forward to Wed & Thursdays ... American Idol night.

What's different, you might ask. I know I've been asking it. Maybe the fact that I never sat down and watched it before. I doubt this, as I still don't particularly enjoy the contestants. Maybe I've become more open minded in my old age. No, I'm actually becoming more close minded and cynical as I get older. Maybe it's that I'm bored and have nothing better to do than watch whatever is on the tv. This could be closer to the truth, but not quite it. I've already given a hint as to the reason. It's the judges. I've always loved movies Jennifer Lopez was in. Wedding planner, Maid in Manhatten, Monster-In-Law, etc etc. But that's not even it. It is yet another long haired drummer named Stevie ... ok Steven this time, same difference. It's funny, because my first thought upon seeing Steven Tyler on the judges' panel was a scene in Son-in-Law where Pauley Shore is wearing leopard print footie pajamas and exclaiming "Look! Steven Tyler pjs!"

As most adolescents coming of age in the 80's, I listened to rock music. Poison, GNR, Whitesnake, Motley Crue, and of course, Aerosmith. Larger than life-sized posters and magazine clippings hung on my walls in a futile attempt to cover the pink gingham daisied wallpaper that my mother had picked out when redecorating the nursery to my "big girl" room. Steven Tyler was not among the faces affixed to my bedroom walls. I was not a groupie, I'd never given him a second thought. I doubt I could have named the lead singer of Aerosmith or even pick him out of a line up.

Why the fixation now, you may ask. I know I've been asking it. Is he yet another man who has just aged well? Lord knows he was about fugly when I saw him in concert. Course drug addiction has a tendency to make one not so purty. I have no room to talk, I don't remember much about the aerosmith concert I attended after the acid we dropped in the parking lot. I do remember camping out for tickets though. My best friend at the time, her father called my mother claiming that Shannon and I were knee deep in some science project or other, and while normally he wouldn't let her have friends stay over on a school night, would it be ok if I did stay this once to give us extra time to finish the project. Within an hour he'd dropped us off at the mall to camp out for tickets. It was cold, but not freezing. This was back in the days when it actually paid off to camp for tickets. We got main floor, all the main floor tickets weren't already reserved for big wigs and radio station give-aways as they are today.

I returned home, at the proper time to make it look like I'd gone to school that day, rubbed my brother's nose in the fact that I had aerosmith tickets, and then asked what songs did they sing. He was livid that I had tickets and no clue who the band was. Not entirely true, I've just never been very good at remembering band names and placing them with song titles. The night of the concert, I recognized all of the songs played, as far as I remember at any rate.

After watching idol the other night, I resisted temptation for a couple of days before I found myself at google, looking up a discography for Aerosmith. It was deja vu, just like the night of the concert ... Dude (looks like a lady)! Love in an elevator! Angel! Walk this way! So many more favorites, that is Aerosmith that does them? What can I say, old age has not helped my memory of band names vs. song titles. I spent most of the night listening to Aerosmith on myspace (the best place to listen to music that I don't have, as far as I know, even though I hadn't been to myspace in ages) along with the one album that is on my computer, watching videos on myspace and aero force one, and looking at photos at and his facebook fan page.

Steven Tyler still isn't drop dead gorgeous, but there's something about him that just screams sexy. His fashion flair? His colorful sayings (Sh** fire, save matches. F*** a duck and see what hatches)? An animal magnetism combined with nostalgia of when I was younger? Lord knows high school sucked, and it's laughable to have thought that one day I would look back and miss the care free days of so long ago. When my biggest worry was how I would keep from getting caught sneaking out to go party with my friends. Or worse, get caught coming home after curfew, completely wasted. How simple life was back then. I'd give anything to have my mother still around to lecture me and bestow her pearls of wisdom on me that I had previously ignored.

I was just a fraction of a millimeter away from clicking the like button on Tyler's facebook fan page. Such a simple thing that I've done hundreds of time without a second thought. I noticed some of the posts on his page. Fans saying they love him, noting his sexy lips, yadda yadda yadda. How it would suck to be famous. People that you don't know being completely in love with you, or the person they think you are. Complete strangers who feel that they know you intimately, even just after a long night spent with google. Always being in the spotlight, never having any privacy, the scarey crazy fans *gulp*. The fact that anyone with a web browser can find out just about anything in your life from private, personal details in relationships, to drug addiction, to falling off a stage. Plenty of people have done these, myself included. Luckily for me, I'm not famous enough that if a video exists no one cared enough to post it on you tube.

So why not click the Like button? Let's face it, that button is for the little people, like you or I, who need the reinforcing qualities of the number of people who like us, not for a man who literally has millions of fans. It's hard to imagine him sitting at the computer elated that 97,896 people like his fan page and cheering for it to get to 100,000. But I guess that makes me just as guilty of presuming that I know him. So I clicked the Like button, maybe he is watching the number of fans rise, what do I know? Who even knows if it is the "official" fan page, there are so many. Though I did find one personal page with his name and picture that only allows friends to see any info. I wouldn't imagine a fan having a page in his name would have such a high privacy setting. No, I didn't attempt to friend him. We aren't friends and I never understood the whole "collecting friends that you don't actually know" thing on facebook. Though if you want to friend me Steven, I would probably accept the request. Yeah ok, Dream On right? Forgive me, I'll blame the sillyness on sleep deprivation.

So I raise my cup of coffee and offer a silent toast of good luck to anyone struggling with staying clean and/or sober (18 drug-free years for me), to those who have wandered so far off the path in their adult life that even traumatic high school experiences are considered their glory days, to those who wished they looked as good at 40 -- forget about at 62, and to long haired drummers that answer to the name of Stevie, Steve, and/or Steven.