After being away from my blog for this long, I’m sure I can’t put together a cohesive, well-thought-out post, so you get what you get.
I’ve been sick for a month, since I wrote the entry “Sickness,” and I sure hope to get better soon. Without going into the gross details, the doctor thinks I have a parasite, the kind you get when you drink well water or out of a stream. How I got it is anyone’s guess. The doctor is quite sure that’s what it is, but he wants the test to come back positive before he prescribes the strong antibiotics it takes to kill it. So far, no test results and there is a good chance it might be inconclusive. We will have to see. I have had more of an appetite this week, which is good, but I’m still exhausted a lot of the time and pretty cranky, too. I’d like all that to be over soon.
But what I started to write . . . Â I just noticed that Bryan Adams, the old rocker who sang Summer of ’69 and other forgotten rock songs of the 80s, is a father for the first time at 51 years old. I’m surprised he is that old. I thought he was a lot younger than me when he was up-and-coming. I guess he had been up-and-coming longer than I knew.
News stories like this remind me of all sorts of little stories that relate to that news maker. The first that came to mind was a story from my aunt’s preacher. Now I can’t even remember why I was having a casual conversation in Eldorado, Oklahoma, with my aunt’s preacher in the first place, but I was. I had just been to see Bryan Adams in concert in Amarillo and somehow that came up in the conversation. The preacher nodded and said, “Yes, I know Bryan Adams, he visited our church recently.” Well, you hate to tell a kind, old Baptist preacher, “Uh, no he didn’t,” so I just smiled and began to change the conversation to something safer. But then he went back to the story. He said that the kids in the church would often turn in visitor’s cards in the offering plate from Micky Mouse or celebrities and the preacher would have to think quickly as the cards were gathered and delivered to him and he greeted the visitors by name from the pulpit. He would have to sort through them on the fly and toss the obvious frauds. But he said on the previous Sunday he did not know the name Bryan Adams so he graciously welcomed “A visitor from Canada, Bryan Adams is with us this morning,” Â until he noticed the high school kids trying to keep a straight face. So he truly DID know who Bryan Adams was when I mentioned him and he had been a visitor at their church — sort of.
The other story I associate with Bryan Adams … Â I went to that concert with a great date, a guy I was super infatuated with. I guess that was our first date, as a matter of fact, because I just happened to run into him days before it after not having seen him in ages, and I asked him to go. Before the concert there was a meet-and-greet with several people from the media and Bryan Adams. As I recall it, we were actually all seated comfortably in a room (rare for a meet-and-greet) and having a nice conversation. My competitor on the other morning show in town was there with his wife. She asked Bryan what was the most memorable city on his tour so far. He said that he had had an amazing crowd in Omaha and the kids there just really were a great audience to play to. Her response was something to the effect that “I guess those potato farmers don’t get a whole lot of entertainment there.” You could see the incredulity in his face and he moved on to another topic. My date, who was originally from Iowa, was just completely livid about her and her assumptions that Omaha (a city that is bigger than Amarillo, I believe) was a “farm town.” And, of course, thinking “potatoes” instead of “corn” when it came to Nebraska. I ran across that woman again a few years later in my career and determined that she was not just stupid that night, she was truly one of the least intelligent persons I have ever met.
So that’s what I thought about when I read Bryan Adams’ name online tonight. The End.
One of these days I might have to backtrack and tell about going to a cemetery for Decoration Day last weekend, getting up at 4 in the morning to watch my friend the Prince of England get married, and, oh yes, the death of the most evil man that has walked the planet in my life. It’s been a newsworthy week and I write about Bryan Adams. Maybe he’ll Google his name and find me, his old pal Janice.