It happens once in a lifetime. For Dish, the miracle occurred at 7:50 p.m. last night. Somehow, we managed to be at the Barrymore's stage door as Duran Duran dashed in. Had I been fourteen, I would have hurled at the opportunity to see real Duran Duran molecules up close. Going to concerts doesn't quite convince me that these are real people. For a second, I cursed BF's height since he cooly surveyed the orgasmic sighting while I had to keep hopping up. So easy for him, so hard for me who loves them. As I stood on my tiptoes, I saw someone with a big hat rush in (John Taylor?), then a tall, leggy blonde. Then the back of Nick Rhodes's head. I might have caught a glimpse of his nostrils, too. These nostrils, the back of his head, had movement, and no scratchy newsprint to stick to my freckles. Girlfriend had severe roots that needed attention, yet rock stardom forgives coloring outside the lines of hair care. I forgive the keyboardist and it charmingly validated my own inattention to follicle management. I clicked my camera and got nothing. And then it was over.The concert was great fun--I left hoarse from singing and blind from their overuse of strobe lights. Best of all, BF didn't seem miserable (though the earplugs were in use). My only complaint was: Duran Duran's main fan base is women from 30-45. We may be craggy-faced, unhip with big hips, married breeders, saggy-breasted, and not in keeping with a more desirable Timberlake audience--but how many times do we have to see these skin-and-bone models (who I'm sure are nice women and who wouldn't want to be in a Duran Duran video?) playing with their thongs in the videos? While these mini-features attest to the band's sexual prowess in all areas of life--mental institutions, jungles, yachts, deserts, theaters, historical eras, unfurnished rooms, mudpits, and landmarks--Dish is tired of the super-obvious means of bait. It's so 1983. And we get the message: Duran Duran is ultra-hetero. Duran Duran is ultra-hetero. Duran Duran is ultra-hetero. Despite this, Red Carpet Massacre is my new favorite album of the decade. Well done.
4 comments:
Dish, darling...so d'lish and spciy a report, though I would expect no less. Your wordcraft is legendary, as are the Men of Duran. Brava for representing the now-grown 80's girl-teen, and for calling the now grown popstars on their overuse of waif-chic. It was unhealthy then, it is unhealthy still, 20 years later.
Viva la Mujer Natural!
Oh, I should also say, I am so jealous. So freaking jealous. I hope you screamed out to John that I will always love him.
I would have totally screamed out to John except BF was there scrutinizing me for STRANGE BEHAVIOR (note: Duran Duran lyric).
And ps, John is mine. Actually, they're all mine. MINE!
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