Wednesday, November 12, 2008

It's nineteen eighty-_______ ........

In some parts of the lab, we aren't allowed to wear headphones. So when we are working in these places, we usually have a radio blaring or if possible, internet radio blaring. Internet radio is good because you have a better chance of finding music that pleases the masses.

The boys tend to listen to super hard rock, but I can't do that for extended lengths of time or I start feeling really aggressive, in a "You talking to me? Cuz I'll kick your ass..." kind of way. I tend to like pop-y stuff, stuff I can sing along to under my breath, stuff I don't have to think to hard about....like Madonna (a guilty pleasure, for sure).

One day, a couple of weeks ago, one of the boys left the room, and he set it to Madonna for me before he left. Another friend of mine was working with me and after about ten minutes, she asked if we could "maybe listen to something a little less...eighties?" "Whatever," I said, biting back a comment about how maybe she didn't want to date herself in front of the young man who just left us.

I also chuckled inwardly, as I thought to myself, "If she only knew...."

If she only knew that I had done something uber-eighties just that Sunday before.

Another coworker and I had gone to a concert together. A good friend of hers had extra tickets and she invited me to.......ahem...a Rick Springfield concert. It doesn't get any more eighties than that, does it???

It doesn't. And that is perfectly okay.

I went along because I figured there are worse ways to spend a Sunday night, the venue was small, and I knew I liked at least one of his songs.

Having spent my entire high school career wanting to be Jessie's Girl, or at least using that as the reason why I had no one beating down my "she's taken" door, I could not resist.

We dutifully went to our assigned seats, and made polite small talk while we waited for the show to start. About 10 minutes before showtime, we noticed a bunch of ladies all start walking towards the apron of the stage. No way, I thought. Rushing the stage at Rick Springfield? In 2008??

Should we? We looked at each other, naaaahhhh,, hesitating.

He came out.

We hesitated no longer. We were not disappointed, either.

Down in the front of the stage, a mere five people back from the front of it, I eyed his leather jacket. It was perfectly distressed, but it appeared to be from wear, not because he bought it that way. I kinda hoped he'd throw it into the crowd, but totally forgot about it once he took it off.

Because ladies, that man had a surprisingly impressive set of guns. Not too bulky, nicely defined--you know--the kind of arms that let you know you're being held. I poked my friend and mouthed "wow." Who knew?

I bounced around, singing along, surprising myself that I knew a lot the songs, not so surprised when I started placing them in my teenage timeline. He was really friendly with the crowd, and wasn't too cheesy at all (although there were, I admit, a couple of cheesy moments). He went to all sides of the stage, whipping the ladies into a frenzy.

I'd forgotten how good looking he was (how is that possible?) until I looked up at precisely the right moment, purely luck, as he looked right at me. (Okay, so maybe not right at me, but at the ten other girls around me and me.) . Hit fully by the force of those green, green eyes, I felt my heart just stop for a second. There he was, not fifteen feet away from me, all green-eyed, sweaty, six-foot-one of him. With his guitar. Oy. I swooned like the fifteen year old girl I once was.

It was great fun; I had a really good time. He went up into the audience, and was in the tiny space in front of some lady's seat, playing away. I thought she was going to come unglued, I still have no idea how she managed to stay composed when all the people around her were just going apeshit.

After the show, we stood around outside, marveling at how awesome he looked. We started speculating how old he must be, about how old we were (back in his soap opera days and now), finally settling on late 40's/early 50's. My curiosity was piqued, so I looked him up when I got home.

He's 59.

Which should make me feel "ewww" in a bad way, but instead makes no difference, as I feel "rrrrrr" in another way. (Seriously, his earring bothered me way more than his age does. You can check it out. Google him, there's pictures on his website.)

The show was about an hour, hour and a half, and he sang the entire time; totally energetic and interacting with the audience. Not bad for an old guy.

An old guy who is the new guilty pleasure on my iPod.

5 comments:

Mrs. L said...

So, do you have a poster of this 59 year old hunka burnin' love hanging on the wall of your bedroom now?

Bridgett said...

I looked him up...you're right. He doesn't look 59 AT ALL.

Nothing wrong with a little swooning, btw. ;)

Aim said...

I don't think you forgot how good he looks, I think he just looks better now! Glad you had a great time.

Gillie said...

I used to kiss my Rick Springfield poster before I went to bed every night!! I actually beat up my little sister for accidentally breaking my Jessie's Girl 45 (not my proudest moment I admit~the beating as well as the fact that I owned a 45 record.).

womandriver said...

OMG. He's 59! Ya that would be about right considering I'm almost......... 40. I watched him faithfully on General Hospital! I also remember the movie he was in... Hard to Hold. Wonder if you can get that on netflix... just to see how cheesy I was back then! LOL