Barry Manilow -- The Concert

Because music comes in all forms, and all formats, I decided to share some of my most memorable concert experiences as part of the new blog format.

There is a story here. . .don't judge. I love my brother Mike. I really, really, REALLY love my brother Mike. He is the only one in the world I would have done this for.

With that, let me set the scene . . .Picture it, St Louis, the late nineties. I am in college getting ready to come home for the holidays when I get a call from my mother. The conversation basically went as follows:

"Hi Sweetie. We have the laundry room cleared for you. How many suitcases can I expect and should I bring the SUV to pick you up?"

"Very funny," I replied. And after a prolonged silence, "alright, two large ones and two carry ons. You may want to bring a dolly."

After much laughter, Mom carried on. "Honey, you may need to sit down, I have news. I left your father unsupervised with your brother recently . . ."

"Mom, we have discussed this. They are never, ever to be left alone. Mike is sneaky and Dad is susceptible. Just tell me. How bad can it be?"

Mom took a deep, dramatic breath, and then she let fly with the horror. "Your brother learned that Barry Manilow is coming to San Diego soon, and he told your father, and your father got tickets, and he got four tickets, and I am not going without you."

"I need a drink."

"You're too young to drink," Mom replied primly.

"Mom, do you really want me to remind you of the Mexico incidents from your youth?"

"I should have never encouraged you to speak. Moreover, I should have just waited until you were home and let you find out the hard way," Mom replied. "Anyway, that is not the worst, I mean best part. Don't you want to know where we are sitting?"

"Isn't it bad enough that we are sitting in the arena?" I replied glibly.

More silence, and then the dreaded words. "Kelly, your father went through a ticket broker. We are sitting on the floor, in the front row, dead center."

The remainder of the conversation is not fit to print . . .sufficed to say, I hit at least three of Carlin's Seven Dirty Words in the remainder of the conversation and then I hightailed it to the campus bar for liquid courage. But lets face it . . .there is no amount of liquid that could dull the senses enough.

Fast forward to me coming home, somewhat subdued and drowning in dirty laundry. Mom and I girded our collective stomachs and prepared for the Barely Man-enough (did I say that) concert. Some brilliant person, otherwise known as my masochistic Dad, suggested we make a night of it with dinner before hand. Oh goody, so I will have a full stomach to throw up with.

The concert was at one of the local arenas and before I knew it, I was plunked in a folding chair on the front row between my brother and my mom. All too soon, the lights went down and the show began.

Can I just say that Barry Manilow is one of the smallest men I have ever seen. I mean, I could seriously span his waist with my hands (not on a first date of course). He was wearing a purple suit and enough make up to put Mary Kay in the black for decades. And lucky me, I got to see it all up close and very personally.

Mike, on the other hand, missed a good chunk of the concert. Apparently, Barry has a large, and I do mean LARGE following, in the form of very voluptuous women. I mean, seriously, there was not a Weight Watchers meeting that night . . .all the ladies were screaming for Barry.

The largest of the large Marge's was conveniently seated right behind Mike. The reason Mike missed a majority of the concert is because his "lady friend's" bodacious and humongous tatas were literally covering Mike's head. Every once in a while, Mike would swipe blindly at the woman trying to move the gazungas out of the way, but it was useless. Mike spent the entire concert head banging to the great sounds of Copacabana, and not voluntarily.

Mom and I were in tears . . . The laughter had us completely breathless. Dad, in the meantime, was practically sitting on Mike's lap because the person next to him took up all of her seat and half of his. None of us really saw the show on stage. The one in the audience was too good to miss.

It was one of the best concerts of my life, simply because of the stories and memories that we have as a family. Also because we all ended up having to have chiropractic treatments and massages to recover from the beatings we took.