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September 16, 2005

Shake Your Love

I didn't realize how gay I've become until I went to a free Debbie Gibson concert on our cruise. Actually, now that I think about it, there were guys there who were way gayer than I. During a quiet moment in her show some guy yelled to Debbie, "Gurrrrrl, I get lost in YOUR eyes, mmm'kay?" Looking fierce and determined he then sashayed like a professional runway model up and down the orchestra aisle, turning it into a temporary catwalk of crazy. When he reached the end of the aisle, he spun back around and stopped for a moment. Using his arms he formed an S shape and rap-sung "I just can't sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-shake your love, boy," before resuming his imaginary catwalk duties, until his friends finally got a hold of him and escorted Miss Thing back to her seat away from the alluring spotlight.

Debbie performed a bunch of Broadway tunes for about an hour. I guess she's been doing pretty well in the theatre scene and wants to establish herself as a serious stage performer. Whatever. It totally put me to sleep. All the queens in the audience seemed to know all these songs. They kept clapping when she started the lyric. I really can't stand show tunes. Sorry, I did not get that particular gay gene. I am a sucker for eighties trivia and crappy music, though. If they come out with a Trivial Pursuit version focusing on eighties music, I will totally beat you.

After wrapping up the Broadway portion of her show she reemerged wearing jeans and launched into a greatest hits set. It must be weird being like 35 or so and singing "Electric Youth," a song you wrote when your hymen was still attached. I can't imagine reading things I wrote 20 years ago, much less reciting them in public. It would be very strange. But she seemed to be having a great time singing and dancing with various dudes in the audience.

Anyway, a few weeks earlier, Mike, our spin/cycling instructor at the gym, played a Debbie Gibson song during class. He usually plays one 80's song each session. This time it was Debbie's turn. Some woman chimed in rather loudly after he played the song, "If we didn't know you were gay before, we sure do now!" Everyone laughed. I could tell he was somewhat embarrassed. After class she kept going off on him for playing Debbie Gibson. It was weird, though, to try and get motivated by one of her songs.

"Shake your love; I just can't shake your love."

Um, no. That is not going to make me spin faster.

So because of this whole little Debbie Gibson controversy during his class, I thought it a perfect time to get my secret boyfriend spin instructor an autographed picture of her since he seemed to be a true fan (even though he's like 41 years old). Plus I figured my thoughtful gesture had the potential to score me some head behind Rob's back.

So after the show we stood in a huge homosexual line to meet her, just to get a little gag gift for a guy we have become friendly with but still hardly know well. Debbie Gibson t-shirts, CDs and photos were available for purchase while we waited. I was told I had to buy one of these items if I wanted her autograph. Mean! I was planning to have her sign an ATM receipt I found in my pocket. My little gag was becoming pricey. I decided to buy the cheapest thing they had -- a postcard. It was $7. Nice.

It was now our turn to say hi to Ms. Debbie Gibson. It was very awkward. There were lots of people around us taking pictures. The middle-aged men before us were saying things to her like, "You were so amazing tonight" and "You meant a lot to me when I was growing up. Your music helped me get through some difficult times." I'm thinking, "Only in My Dreams" was therapeutic for you? It never really spoke to me quite like that. A couple bong hits usually did the trick.

I didn't know what to say after hearing what those guys so passionately said, so I looked at her and just said, "My friend Pam has a nose similar to yours." She tilted her head as if confused and said, "Oh, that poor thing." "No, no, no -- your nose looks great,really. They just look similar." Okay, this has now gotten beyond weird.

I handed her the postcard, "Can you make this out to Mike?" "Of course," she said sweetly. She signed it and posed for the token photo. She handed me the signed postcard and we walked away. Uncomfortable mission accomplished.

I glanced down to read what she wrote.

Mike, so glad we met, Deborah Gibson.

GODDAMN YOU, DEBBIE GIBSON! I am NOT Mike.You did not meet Mike. You totally fucked up my gag gift, Debbie Gibson. I'm really pissed at you right now, Debbie Gibson.

I thought about going back to have her correct the mistake. But I had already invested too much time in this silly souvenir. It's the thought that counts anyway, right?

I have yet to give it to Mike. He better freakin' appreciate it.

What the hell am I doing here? Please kill me.

UPDATE: We gave him the postcard after class. He seemed genuinely flattered by our efforts. He has since had it framed. I confirmed this when he showed it to me one evening at his place.

Posted by durban bud at September 16, 2005 7:15 AM

Comments

Posted by: Tom at September 16, 2005 10:22 AM

Posted by: jimbo at September 16, 2005 10:42 AM

Posted by: Pam at September 16, 2005 11:33 AM

Posted by: stina at September 16, 2005 12:49 PM

Posted by: TOS at September 16, 2005 2:47 PM

Posted by: Matt in LA at September 20, 2005 12:57 PM

Posted by: steve at December 16, 2005 8:58 PM

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