Fanilows

It was not what I thought it would be.

When I Christmas-gifted a good friend with tickets to Barry Manilow's Valentine's Day concert at the Staples Center, I expected to enjoy a diverse crowd. A little white trash, a little blue collar, a little disco queen, and a lot gay. I figured it would be another good night to be a cat burglar at some Kings Road apartment complex in West Hollywood. While there certainly was an opportunity to check all of the above, there was one overriding element to the crowd at Staples on Thursday night.

It was OLD!

I'm not talking about the upper age brackets of middle age. You know, the baby boomers who were in college during the 70s and still have their fond memories of England Dan and John Ford Coley. No, the crowd was older than that. I am talking about the are-you-having-side-effects-with-your-Cialis-gee-isn't-it-too-bad-about-Lincoln-wow-that-Moses-sure-is-a-stitch old.

I knew what kind of human parade it was going to be when I saw one woman, probably 65 years old, wearing red "f me" pumps and matching red fishnet stockings. Irma La Douce from the assisted living brothel. Two dames in their eighties started a conga line going up the stairs at the end of the concert. Doctors all across Southern California probably spent their Friday morning fielding complaints about pains in the hip. But, I got the impression that all these folks have been there at a Manilow lovefest before. One woman behind me was telling her friend about her "Barry bucket." Every year, she keeps putting loose change and dollar bills into this pail. At the end of the year, she collects her dough and spends it to go and fly to someplace where he is performing. And, I'm betting she wasn't the only one like that. I started to feel like I had walked into a 20,000 seat Hallmark card.

Since my gift giving is always top notch, we had seats on the floor. And that certainly is a special place to enjoy a performer like Barry Manilow. I got to admit that I enjoy the dude. He has a songbook that is unmatched to anyone else. And his act has not changed. The only modifications are some easy-to-spot facial tucks which became even more noticeable when they juxtaposed his singing of "Mandy" to a clip from a 1975 Midnight Special. It was that particular segment which made me realize why I was sitting in the middle of a musical mah johng tournament. When you see Barry 33 years ago, you can understand what all these ladies are embracing. He's the average-looking boyfriend from the neighborhood. The meshuggah son who didn't go to college. Playing all that honky tonk rock and roll. Who cares if he's a little bit faggila? He's my boy.

And, Thursday night, they were all reunited with their Barry. So, they cheered and danced and screamed and pulled a few calf muscles. For a chance to be young once again. They were all ready to take a chance again. For an evening when it could be magic.

I hate to admit it. I was there more for the experience, than the music. And his act is so Vegas I was expecting either tigers or some Cirque Du Soleil acrobat to fly in from one of the skyboxes. But, as I was leaving and waiting my turn while a bunch of fossils slowly mounted the stairs, I couldn't help but remember my youth as well. And how much fun I was having too. And also to consider that my knees bent a little slower every time I stood up at the end of a number. And that I needed the help of some old coot next to me when I couldn't figure out how to activate my "Music and Passion" glowstick.

Maybe there's a conga line in my future after all.

Dinner last night: Grilled prawns and garlic noodles at Crustacean for another birthday celebration.