Fan-ilow Fan-tastic

I am happy to report that Barry Manilow in concert was all that and a bag of chips. This coming from someone who has attended probably 100 concerts over the years--so, that's a big deal.

The concert was what I'd consider "old school:" a real band, complete with a percussionist playing the tympani and actual horn players. There was no electronic madness. Thankfully, special effects weren't on the docket. It was pure and simple entertainment. Singing, dancing, some banter with the crowd, great music, fun songs... belted out by both Barry and his house full of Fan-ilows.

Now, I've got nothing against all those concert gimmicks. After all, when you pay all that money for a concert ticket, you expect something in return. Heck, Madonna oozes gimmicks. But, Barry proves you can be a showman without the melee. Plastic surgery: yes. Gimmicks: no.

There is nothing better than knowing the words to the songs so you can sing along. Even better is when the entire crowd knows the songs. It was like a giant sing-along. Usually, this would piss me off. I paid to hear the performer, not you. But, in this case, it made total sense and added to the experience.

Everyone was smiling. I did not see one crabby person in the crowd. 

Considering Barry is 72 years old, he has great stamina, a strong (yet at times graveling) voice, and amazing stage presence. He doesn't tap dance or run around or jump off drum sets but he does work the stage at a steady pace and he certainly appears to be enjoying himself.

If his looks of appreciation and humility are fake, he's a good actor. Somehow, I'm pretty sure his reactions and interactions were genuine. He actually looked like he truly enjoyed being there. This wasn't a grind. This was as much fun for him as it was for us.

(Barry, if this isn't true, please don't tell us. Let us live in our bubble of Barry.)

It's hard to find any fault with this concert. For me to say that is quite the compliment. The only thing that bothered me was the whiteness of his teeth. We were close enough to the stage that we could actually see his teeth. It was disconcerting how white his teeth were, even from a distance. Maybe I'm just jealous as my teeth are naturally rather off white.

I enjoyed his self depreciation. That too seemed genuine and designed to connect with the crowd. It's hard not to like someone who is willing to poke fun at himself. I also liked that he sang one of his songs with himself--Barry 'dueted' with himself via a video from 1975. Not everyone can do that (not everyone's been performing at his level since 1975).

I will not speak of his plastic surgery. Okay, I will. It's not as bad as Kenny Rogers but it does scream out plenty of work. I do not begrudge him one stitch of the knife or one injection of whatever. He can do as he pleases, as long as he can perform as well as he did.

The biggest surprise? Barry is little. I mean like in actual stature. Not short, but overall. I don't know why this surprised me, but it did. He looked great in a tux, complete with tails. What's not to love about a guy in a tux with tails?

It's amazing how many hits the guy has had over the years; in fact, he has so many hits that he has to sing a medley lest we be there until the cows come home....and, those would be some pretty late cows.

If you have a chance to see Barry during his final tour (and, I do believe 100% this is indeed his final tour, unlike other performers who have been on like four final tours), go. You'll smile and you'll sing and you'll have a good time. You'll tap along and you'll leave in a ridiculously, genuinely happy mood.

You know you want to Copa. Go on, admit it. You know you do. You know you know the words. You know you know the moves.

Barry knows. Barry knows that you know that music and passion ARE always in fashion.

Catwalking at the Copa

You are going to get two blogs in one weekend. Is life grand or what?

I am writing today so you don't think I've forgotten you. I want you to feel the love in the Addiverse. I'll write again on Sunday, as I'll be in the afterglow of....

...a Barry Manilow concert!

Yes, Barry Manilow. I hope that doesn't ruin my reputation. I've gone to a bazillion concerts but never to see Barry. It's now or never. I'm going with now! (I've seen Neil Diamond in concert twice, so Barry isn't that far of a stretch. Don't tell Madonna.)

Better yet? We have seats on the catwalk! Why Barry has a catwalk, I do not know. Maybe it prowls around it as he sings "Mandy." Thank goodness the Gaybors enjoy a good time and like to sit near the stage. Barry will be within arm's reach. I'll try not to reach out and touch him.

Barry brings happy childhood memories. My sister played his live album over and over. Oh, how I loved singing along to his jingles. Barry was a busy guy back then--he wrote the songs we were singing. Songs from commercials. You'd be surprised how many jingles were his work.

Not that I want to be a Debbie Downer....one of the reasons I've been away is that MJagger's brother was in the final stages of his cancer. You don't want to hear about death, do you? It's maudlin. My brain had difficulty going elsewhere and that would lead to a downer of a blog. It was a horrible, horrible ending to a way too short of life. That is enough. You don't need to hear any more than that.

So, back to Barry. What does one wear to a Barry Manilow concert? A feather boa? 1970's throwback clothes? Sequins and fringe? Well, you know me. I'll stick to a sweatshirt and jeans.... and, dancing shoes. One must wear dancing shoes when seated on the catwalk.

Sunday. Sunday you will get the full report. Until then, picture me dancing at the Copa.

Tues-Much-Information Day

It's Tuesday, not that that matters to a blog reader. But, it matters to me. I'm starting a revolution. I want Tuesday to be Tues-Much-Information Day.

Oh, I could focus on how today features the Primaries in Illinois. But, that would be depressing. I'd rather talk about....

....my bowels.

They're kind of the same topic, if you think about it.

We've been using Poo Pourri for the past month. I declare that it works handsomely. At first, I was really skeptical. But, after test-driving both "flavors" for a month, I'm here to say that the product is mysteriously wonderful. How you spritz the toilet bowl water and then poop without leave anything blowing in the wind is beyond me. (Is it just me or does it seems wrong to put chemicals in the water so close to your tidbits?) My thinking says that the problem is not the solids, it's the gas. And, if it's the gas, then how can spritzed water make any difference?

Well, it does. I'm a fan. Not that my elimination efforts are that odifierous. (We are crossing in to the WAAAAY Tues-Much-Information now.) It's very handy for our bathroom without a vent. (Don't even start about why we have a bathroom without a vent.) And, it's delightful to use when things are a bit more....delicious.

No, I don't want to hear about how poop is not supposed to stink if you are healthy. Don't be hating on the end product, pun intended.

The successful results of my Poo Pourri test prompted me to take things to the next level. I blame it on my co-worker and his insistence that I try this product. I've seen it on Shark Tank. I've heard others talk about it. I've seen the most-hilarious ads. (You really should check the videos out). I've heard the hype. I've read the reviews. (You should read the reviews on Amazon. Worth the read.) Whatever am I babbling about?

I'm talking about the Squatty Potty.

My co-worker insists it is the greatest thing since sliced bread. His whole family uses it. (Yes, this is what we talk about at work, quite to the wife's dismay. Some people talk politics. Some people talk sports. We talk poop.) Yesterday, he was in my office and asked if I had ordered a Squatty Potty. When I said I had not, he went into action mode. He was so persuasive that I thought I might poop at my desk. I couldn't resist. I ordered one during my lunch break.

It is arriving today. Less than 24 hours from order to arrival. (America is great. What other country can get you a Squatty Potty with a 24 hour turn-around time?) I can't wait to give this thing a try. I can't wait to see the wife's face when she sees this thing. I can't wait to give you a report.

C'mon. You know you want to hear about my "results."

Much of the world is laughing that Americans buy something to help them squatty. They squatty naturally. No offense, but I'm in no mood to squatty over a hole in the ground. I'm all about our comfort level toilet with the slow-closing lid.  I'll use a product to help me squatty if I want to.

I asked my co-worker if I should use the squatty potty while sitting at the kitchen table--you know, to get things moving while doing other things like writing blogs or watching Squatty Potty videos. I figure squatty-ing at the kitchen table is no different than someone sitting on the toilet playing video games while waiting for the blessed event. But, his reaction served notice that this must be a bad idea.  He looked rather horrified. "Not if you don't want things to get messy."

Huh. He must get REALLY GOOD results from his squatting. I should be so lucky.

So, get ready. I'll be squatty-ing as soon as my Squatty Potty arrives. The wife won't be using it but I will be. I'm ready to rumble.....

Poo Pourri and a Squatty Potty. Is life good or what?  

Emptying the Nest

I work hard not to write about the politics of anything presidential. (Illinois government remains fair game. Its corruption and incompetence is always blog-worthy.) Four years ago, I vowed not to use the name of "She Who Must Not be Named" when blogging about the then upcoming election. I refused to give her power.... well, except the power of laughter. I did have some good laughs. This time around, I'm struggling. How I have managed to get this far along without mentioning the GOP, I do not know. Perhaps it is become I am dumbfounded, shocked into silence.

I promise my rant will be short.

Dear Grand Old Party, 

WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? You are imploding on an international level. The world thinks our country has lost its mind. Your party is in tatters. You'd be the laughing stock of the globe, except that this isn't funny. Those riding this great planet are flummoxed. So am I. A businessman-turned-reality-TV star with no political experience is burying you into a grave--a grave you dug. A guy who is spouting all sorts of hateful rhetoric is leading your party to "fame." It's a train wreck and you're on the train and we can't look away because who can look away from a train wreck? You owe the world an apology for letting this happen. I hope the so-far-right-we-can't-see-them-Tea-partying Christian-zealots are praying for you because you need it. God have mercy on your soul. You are no longer a grand old party. Get well Soon. Addi Warrior Princess

Shoo. I feel better already.

Eldest Niece, who has shared our abode since August, is in the process moving out. She graduated college, secured a full time job and signed a lease for an apartment near her employer. When she leaves, we will find ourselves in what is traditionally called an "empty nest." In some ways, it seems wrong to consider us "empty nesters" as we did not have children of our own and no one else has lived with us, so we didn't have a traditional nest. That said, for sixteen years, some form of living being has shared our space. Freckles joined us in 2000 and from then on, there was life beyond our own in this party palace. When Eldest Niece moves out, it will be me and the wife. No dogs, no niece. Just these lovebirds and our nest.


I cannot imagine being a parent who built a nest. Oh sure, it' part of the deal. You raise 'em, then give 'em a push out the nest so they can fly free. I tip my hat to you, parents of the world.

I wonder what it will be like to not have a dog in the nest. I really miss having a dog--the happy greeting at the door, the unconditional love, the laughs. Some days, my heart hurts with loss. Trust me--I don't miss the limitations or the costs or the worries. I don't miss getting up in the middle of a sub-zero night to take the dog out. I don't miss dead grass spots on the lawn. I like having the money I used to spend on the critters. The thing is: because the nest had a visitor, we didn't have to figure out out how to live without a dog.

The wife and I still "have" a dog or two in our nest. We worry about getting home within seven hours of leaving. We still look for a greeting at the door. Sometimes I forget I don't have to go home for lunch to let the dog out. I still look for the dog when I'm taking a quick run to the bank and I still end up in the dog treat aisle at the grocery story.

Don't hear me wrong--this is not to say I want a dog to fill that nest. I look forward to enjoying our nest without worry about a four-legged friend. It will take time and chocolate and travel to get used to the quietness of our dogless nest. I honor this process.

Perhaps the presidential election will serve as a great distraction from all this. I'll be too busy being horrified to notice anything else. Who has time to worry about an empty nest when the country's nest is on fire?

Good luck to Eldest Niece. I know she'll shine brightly in her new job, her new career. Great job, parental units of said niece. She makes your nest proud. Be with us, baby Jesus, as the wife and I face a new dawn in the nesting Addiverse.

Good luck, GOP. Sucks to be you.