Thursday, September 06, 2012

Hall and Oats

In February of 2012, I read a blog in the Wheeling Intelligencer.  The author (Phyllis Sigal) wrote passionately about her run-ins with various celebrities...

 I've spoken to many celebrities — George Carlin, Arlo Guthrie, John Oats, Mary Chapin Carpenter and Kenny Loggins, to name a few. George Carlin was a little miffed during our interview because "his people" hadn't supplied me with basic bio information. John Oats didn't take too kindly to my description of Connecticut, where he lived, as a "suburb of New York City."

I felt the need to chime in.  She had invoked the name of one of my biggest musical influences - the other half of the magical twosome... John Oates of the famed rockers, Hall & Oates.  But she had misspelled his last name!  WTF?  A true fan of John Oates would know how to spell his last name.  Seemed to me that she was name-dropping.  Trying to live vicariously off the greatness of others.  I've met some famous people in my time, but you'll never hear me mention them.


Yep, that's right.  At the tender age of 10, I shared a hotel elevator with "Benson" in Hyannis, MA.  Or how about this fuck?


Yep, that's Allen Funt from the prehistoric tv show Candid Camera.  I met him while on safari in South Africa.  Imagine the impression he must have made.  I was only 12 years old, mired in the throes of prepubescence.

Rest assured, I've met my fair share of musicians as well.


Yep, that's King Diamond.  Everyone's favorite satanic heavy metal operatic singer from Denmark.  Hung out with him after a concert.  A man died that night.  A brief excerpt from my odd, oh biography.

On October 28, 1988, I watched a man die right in front of me.  I've witnessed a ton of random violence, but I've never seen anyone die.  On that day, a group of us went to a club called Bogarts on Vine Street near the University of Cincinnati.  Everyone's favorite satanist, King Diamond, was performing.  A small crowd had gathered for the opening act, Armored Saint.  About 3 songs into the show, I was standing on the periphery of the pit and watched a kid get karate kicked in the sternum.  He hit the floor like a bag of wet cement, reminiscent of the WKRP In Cincinnati airborne turkey drop.  The assailant just wandered off and got lost in the crowd.  I'm guessing he made a hasty exit.  It was unusually surreal.  Just one swift kick and the kid went into some kind of cardiac arrest.  To the best of my knowledge, they never caught the other guy.

Anyone ever hear of Brad Paisley?  Anyone ever hear of Danny Lilker (bass player/lead singer of Nuclear Assault) - I watched him get busted for smoking a doobie.  How about porn star Briana Banks?  And what about Vicki Lawrence from Mama's Family?  Yep, in theory I saved both of their lives.  I drove them both from Pittsburgh to Wheeling.  I could have easily driven all of us off a cliff.  But I didn't.  And I didn't go bragging to everyone either.  It's just not who I am.  It's just not what I do.  I can't go for that (no can do). 

So back to the Oates fiasco... I decided to write something in her little blog comment section.  I chastised her for the incorrect spelling and explained there was a reason he didn't take kindly to her description of Connecticut as a "suburb of NYC."  It's because she had equated his entire existence with "oats."  The sum of his parts, his sole purpose for existence had been marginalized.  Barley, corn, wheat, soy bean futures, rural sustenance.  I mean, I don't like it when people call me "Staff" or "Safershit."  One time someone used my address for a piece of junk mail.  They employed the last name "Waferbean," which seemed a bit of a stretch.  To this day, I have no idea of the perpetrator.

WELL... rather than Phylis Sigal politely thanking me for my submission, she did the exact opposite.  Yes, she made the necessary spelling corrections.  But what happened next really took me aback.  Not only did she delete my comment... SHE REMOVED HER COMMENT SECTION FROM ALL FUTURE BLOGS, both past and present.  I must have really offended her.  It's difficult to believe that a contributor to such a historic, noble and venerable newspaper, The Intelligencer, would have such "thin skin."  Talk about someone who is out of touch.  And I'm not the only who thinks this.



We've all heard the expression, "if you can't take the heat, get out of kitchen."  This reminds me of another "Phyllis."  She recently passed away.  A woman known for her self-deprecating sense of humor... Phyllis Diller (1917-2012).


Now there's a woman who truly set the standard.  Would she have removed the comment section of her blog?  I doubt it.  Would she have known what a blog is?  I doubt it.  Would she have known about the existence of the internet.  Maybe.  She was 95.

So what's the deal with all this crap about Hall & Oates.  Well, me and Gigi went to see them last night at Stage AE.  Believe it or not, it was totally SOLD OUT.  No joke.  Yes, that means 5,500 showed up to recreate some memories from the mid-Reagan era.  You need not be a private eye to realize that 5000+ is a packed house.

Before the concert, we were approached by some renegade t-shirt vendors.  This was the t-shirt.

     
The pose seems a tad melodramatic, I suppose.  I like the message though, especially in an election year.  John Oates is the epitome of doing what he wants and being who he is.  If you need any proof, look no further...


That bass-playing goober shaved his trademark mustache.  And maybe got a side of botox to boot.  It's definitely a cleaner, crispier, quakier Oats.  Well, the dynamic duo did not disappoint.  They "jammed" out for a little over an hour.   
How about that?  A double-double encore.  Not the greatest triumph considering they only played 10 songs, but who cares?  It was a fun, albeit brief trip down memory lane.
  
All in all, I'd have to say that Daryll Hall and John Oates helped make my dreams come true.
On the other hand, Phyllis Sigal has given me nightmares.

  
  
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