While trying to stay awake at Sunday's Christmas party we ended up discussing our first concert experiences. Mine was as vivid as if had happened yesterday...
It was the summer of '85. I was 12 and my three best friends in the world were Karen, Llesena and Malaika. We were a perfect foursome...I loved Ricky Schroder, Llesena loved Adam Ant, Malaika loved Ralphie from New Edition, and Karen, sweet Karen, loved Rick Springfield.
For Karen's 13th birthday her parents had gotten tickets for the four of us to go see Rick's Cathode Ray Tour. Karen wore her I Heart Rick Springfield t-shirt - the homemade kind that you iron the fuzzy letters and hearts onto. At the concert, we somehow managed to fanagle our way to the front, near the stage. We were all dancing (as best you can to Rick Springfield) and having a great time as Rick sang his way into a frenzy. Then it happened, a huge ball of phlegm escaped Rick's mouth and headed in our general direction. Llesena, Malaika and I shrieked in horror and attempted to flee the path of the spit missile. Then we saw the flash that was Karen at top speed, heading directly for it. She studied the flight path and planted herself for the hit. The lougy (spelling?) hit her almost perfectly on the chest, right near the fuzzy heart on her shirt. She was so happy she was in tears. She exclaimed that Rick had spit on her and was thrilled at the thought of his phlegm was firmly embedded in the shirt. We all recoiled in disgust as she pointed to it and demanded no one touch it until it dried. All the way home from the concert she gushed about the spit wad she had gotten. She circled the spit location with a marker so everyone would know exactly where the DNA sample was to be found. She wore the shirt to school weekly, dousing it with cheap musk rather than washing it. It was the quintessential badge of preteen lust and she wore as if it were a Medal of Honor.
To this day I don't know if Karen ever washed the shirt. But in this day of eBay and cloning I am certain she could make a profit selling it. Then again, I don't know how many Rick Springfield's the world can handle...
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2 comments:
Hi there, it's Zinka....A co-worker, apparently cyber-stalking me, found this entry online...who are you?
Zinka! It's Kat. How the heck are you? Where are you? I know, it was Robert Smith, not Adam Ant. Sometimes I have to embellish for the art of things. E-mail me at glibgibberish@gmail.com.
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