No Parking: Special Event

I got a friend whose goal in life

Was to one day go down on Madonna
That's all he wanted, That was all

To one day go down on Madonna

And when my friend was thirty-four 

He got his wish in Rome one night
He got to go down on Madonna
In Rome one night in some hotel
And ever since he's been depressed
'Cause life is shit from here on in
And all our friends just shake their heads
And say too soon, too soon, too soon
He went down on Madonna too soon
Too young, too young, too soon, too soon

There are some events that are once in a lifetime deals. The above lyrics from Dan Bern's "Tiger Woods" is a playful tweaking of such an event, used to cast a light on how transitory, temporary great experiences can be. Who doesn't know the feeling of peaking too early? I had one of those last week, and no, it didn't involve going down on Madonna. I'm not sure WHO would really yearn for that anymore, but in Dan Bern's defense, the song's a good 15 years old. 

My once-in-a-lifetime event was getting to go to the Academy Awards, which was somehow more enjoyable an experience by virtue of no longer being part of Hollywood. If I would've done this 5 years ago, I would've held a private sadness at the thought that it wasn't ever going to be me in those front 20 rows. Rather, I was just a schmuck paying $10 for a beer while watching Sean Penn power by on his way to a umpteenth cigarette break. But since I stepped out of that world, I've been able to let go of so many of those obsessions and ambitions, and in all honesty, not feel bad about it beyond sometimes the aching thought of the years that I missed out on. So it was just fun to put on the wide-eyed fan cap and enjoy the big, broad absurdity of it all.

And it is patently absurd, although when you're actually there (past the spotlight glare of the red carpet with the shouting photographers, screaming fans and oceans of red), it's a strangely intimate affair. It's not a giant theater, and even though millions of people are watching the show, when you're in the room you're struck by the overwhelming sense of a high school theater production. Just with a really, really big prop budget. Granted, it's all very well orchestrated, but there's definitely a humanness to the preceedings when you're on the other side of the picture tube. 

There's a certain excitement, of course, to watching the show in the room itself. Our seats were solid though not spectacular. It was on the first level, so I could listen in on Richard Jenkins chatting with an old friend (he's more like an average joe than an actor, to be sure), but we were definitely in the back. Which gave a perfect perspective to walk out the doors as Seal and Heidi Klum walk in. Why were they there, incidentally? I wonder if he's in the academy from a nomination or something... 

The most enjoyable sequences were hanging out in the lobby bar, eavesdropping on conversations, watching Robin Wright Penn head in opposite directions of her soon-to-be-feted husband, seeing Viola Davis hanging out with friends to commiserate over her loss, and introducing myself to Peter Gabriel. I tried to rein in the adoring fan bit, and didn't want to lead with, "Dude, I love "Sledgehammer!". So I commented that his music just seems to get better with each year, and that I'd spent much of the last year listening obessively to "Father/Son". Which is true. He was polite, gracious, and eager to get back to talking to his girlfriend. But it felt good to introduce myself to at least one major name. A surreal moment was watching Brangelina stroll up to the bar, the crowd parting like the red sea, and then everyone in eyesight just not-so-subtly shifting to stare at them. Brad and Angelina acting like nothing was odd about any of this. Well, props to them.

Miley Cyrus. I don't understand why she's famous, but she's a relatively pretty girl in person. I suppose she'll mature and end up fairly attractive like the other Disney stars before her (et. al Britney, Hillary Duff, etc.). Women in general at the Oscars are fairly scary, with an overabundance of make-up, surgery, Botox and dresses that scarily blur the line between evening down and slut-whore. At least the famous people can pull off tacky without looking like skanks. Not so much with lots of the other women there.

The Governor's Ball was a delight, with free-flowing champagne and wine, and a spot near the door to watch the celebrities stroll past the paparazzi. Anne Hathaway trips on the stairs as someone steps on her train, and I gently move for her elbow (she didn't really need the help). She gives me one of those bemused looks of, "Ooh, that was almost a bad one". An amusing moment. She is pretty stunning in person. 

Others, not so much. Remember Bridget Fonda? Well, not many people do, and it might because she looks like total ass (married to Danny Elfman, who was nominated). Kevin Kline bumps me heading into the ball. I love that guy, and damn, he's actually really tall. Phoebe Cates still looks great, and was wearing red, by the way, which is a color that boys of a certain age will perpetually associate with her. Anthony Hopkins, dragging along a woman my age; you fucking cliche goofball. And what's with the fucking earring? What, you think you're Harrison Ford or something? Christopher Walken, not looking so good. The chick from "Slumdog", gorgeous in person, and still not making me believe her character.

We shared a table with Michael Shannon, who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. A nice enough guy, though he definitely had the full on, "I'm an actor" thing going on. His theater actor wife was very nice, and more concerned about getting back to their 8 month old baby than sticking around the party, which is a humanizing experience. Shannon was sweet to bring both his mother and step-mother, who was a nice lady from Chicago, though perhaps overly irritated by her son being beat by an iconic performance by a beloved dead-guy. Uh, I hate to break it to you, Ma'am, but for four men, it was an "honor to be nominated" kind of night. The food was decadent though unspectacular, but P. (my patron for the night) and I had our eyes on the clock, because the Oscars were only part 1 of an epic night.

It's well-known by those who know me that I'm a little bit of a Prince freak. A white boy from Wisconsin who danced in his basement to "When Doves Cry" when he was 8, has been through the ups and downs of fandom with our most mercurial of musical superstars. But seeing him live - especially when up close - is as close to musical nirvana as anyone will ever get. Trust me on that. And Prince announced a post-Oscar aftershow, just blocks from the awards. Damned if I was going to miss that. 

Moreover, I had introduced my friend V. to Prince's live music on our trip to Twentynine Palms. He's since been obsessed with seeing him live, and he was so determined to pull it off, that he stood on the curb for 6 hours to get us tickets. One of the sweetest things I've ever seen out of a friend, even though V. never seems to believe he's as good of a friend as he really is. Another friend got cold feet at the last minute, not willing to stand on line, but V. stood for half a day on a dirty Hollywood street with a bunch of strangers to see a musician that he had barely given any thought of prior to a month ago. P and I roll up at about 11:30, concerned about the ealier text messages that there are no tickets being sold - it's just a door charge - but the friendly Prince fans let us into line (we were only 10 people back), even though they'd been there all day. 

In pure Prince fashion (meaning, heavily disorganized and running late), we don't go inside until 12:30, and stand just at the left hand corner of the stage. Perfect. And in even more typical Prince fashion, he doesn't stroll onto stage until 1:15, and then proceeds to... tear it up. It was cover night in Prince's house, and we were treated to three Stones tunes, a blistering version of "Come Together" that would make Paul McCartney blink real hard, and a fun version of the Cars "Let's Go". I mean, the Cars??? Prince only played 5 of his own songs, and definitely seemed more into playing the Time's "Jungle Love" and "The Bird", which had the entire audience bouncing up and down, doing a 25 year old dance. Amazing. I think he's just kind of bored with his own catalogue, and as much as that pisses off the old-school, obsessive fans, I say it's all good. C'mon, wouldn't you get tired of your own music after 32 years too? Cut the man some slack, and he puts on the most amazing, captivating live show around.

V. couldn't get enough from P's exit, throwing his guitar on the ground and yelling, "Don't mess with me! I got too many hits!". It's a well-worn line for Prince fans, almost a nervous tic of his of sorts, but to V., he had clearly just seen the coolest guy on earth stroll off stage right, even though he left us without the second encore. But it was past 4 in the morning, and an amazing day needed to come to an end, even if none of us wanted it to. 

And when my friend was thirty-four 

He got his wish in Rome one night
He got to go down on Madonna
In Rome one night in some hotel
And ever since he's been depressed
'Cause life is shit from here on in

Here's hoping the song is wrong.