Groupies and other weirdness.
I like to end my weekends at a bar downtown (whose name I'll keep quiet for now), for a few very specific reasons:
1) Local, very mixed crowd - old, young, black, white, gay, straight; and all very chill.
2) Lots of TVs showing sporting events.
3) Sweet bartenders that tend not to charge me for half my drinks (see, I don't want to out them and then have to pay my whole tab, horror of horrors!)
4) Live music with my musician friends, and the chance to come up and sing a few tunes with them.
This fourth on the list is the newest of the bunch - for the more than decade-long friendship I've had with these guys, I've just gotten over my nervousness of singing in public within the last year or so (to be fair, the less-than-full-price drinks help). Listen. I know I sing pretty well, and I'm OK with that. But to have people looking and judging me when I do? That is truly difficult. But, I've gotten over it, because I know that I'm better than most of the patrons of the room, and even if I'm not, they're not singing right now. I am. She who holds the mic sings the tune.
In any case - the unintended side effect of this is having people come up to you to tell you they like you. Most of the time it's a high-five, other times it's someone tapping you on the shoulder with a beer and an "awesome!". Sometimes it's a misplaced (or even perfectly placed) come-on, with varying degrees of success. But nothing prepared me for what happened last night.
I had finished singing an acoustic, slightly jazz version of "you oughta know" by Alanis Morissette, and found my place in the corner of the bar. This adorable Irish hipster dude in a flannel shirt and trucker hat introduced himself, shook my hand and said, "That was amazing! That's one of my favorite songs, and you sang it beautifully."
I thanked him and started to walk away. He stopped me.
"Can I...can I just...um...hold you right now?"
But before I could even utter the "WHAT" that I'm sure you've just uttered, he did it. Held me. Like, wrapped his arms around me, one hand cupped behind my head, and fucking held me. I raised my trapped arms, bent them and did a "bro back clap" hug to signal that the cradling was finished. He then asked me if he could introduce me to his friends at the table. I went, introduced myself, shook hands and eventually went back to my spot, beer in hand.
I am super sure that this has never happened to Steven Tyler.
1) Local, very mixed crowd - old, young, black, white, gay, straight; and all very chill.
2) Lots of TVs showing sporting events.
3) Sweet bartenders that tend not to charge me for half my drinks (see, I don't want to out them and then have to pay my whole tab, horror of horrors!)
4) Live music with my musician friends, and the chance to come up and sing a few tunes with them.
This fourth on the list is the newest of the bunch - for the more than decade-long friendship I've had with these guys, I've just gotten over my nervousness of singing in public within the last year or so (to be fair, the less-than-full-price drinks help). Listen. I know I sing pretty well, and I'm OK with that. But to have people looking and judging me when I do? That is truly difficult. But, I've gotten over it, because I know that I'm better than most of the patrons of the room, and even if I'm not, they're not singing right now. I am. She who holds the mic sings the tune.
In any case - the unintended side effect of this is having people come up to you to tell you they like you. Most of the time it's a high-five, other times it's someone tapping you on the shoulder with a beer and an "awesome!". Sometimes it's a misplaced (or even perfectly placed) come-on, with varying degrees of success. But nothing prepared me for what happened last night.
I had finished singing an acoustic, slightly jazz version of "you oughta know" by Alanis Morissette, and found my place in the corner of the bar. This adorable Irish hipster dude in a flannel shirt and trucker hat introduced himself, shook my hand and said, "That was amazing! That's one of my favorite songs, and you sang it beautifully."
I thanked him and started to walk away. He stopped me.
"Can I...can I just...um...hold you right now?"
But before I could even utter the "WHAT" that I'm sure you've just uttered, he did it. Held me. Like, wrapped his arms around me, one hand cupped behind my head, and fucking held me. I raised my trapped arms, bent them and did a "bro back clap" hug to signal that the cradling was finished. He then asked me if he could introduce me to his friends at the table. I went, introduced myself, shook hands and eventually went back to my spot, beer in hand.
I am super sure that this has never happened to Steven Tyler.