I never have been or never will be Shanequa, so yeah, QUIT CALLING!

Why is it that when someone calls you, and it’s a wrong number, and you TELL them it’s a wrong number, they don’t believe you. It’s like they think your lying or something.

Are you sure this isn’t Shanequa?

Look dude, I’m pretty sure I’d remember if my name was Shanequa. Not to mention the fact that I’m a guy.

And then they text you.

Hey girl, what are you doing to night?

Right, like that’s going to fool you. Like you don’t know that it’s the same person who just called you. Like, if I really WAS Shanequa, then the texting technique would fool me and I would be a stupid bonehead who would not get the connection between the call and the text.

I want to speak to Shanqua. WHY AREN’T YOU SHANEQUA!!!

And then they get all pissed and defensive.


or maybe it’s just the people calling and not actually the phone. Not sure.


How can I convince this person that I am not Shanequa, or that I am not some person who has Shandqua’s phone. Like we’re at the club or something and someone calls and Shanequa goes, “Oh damn! It’s blah blah. I don’t want to talk to him. Here, take my phone and pretend that they got the wrong number”.

Anyhow, that’s what I’m thnking that the person on the other end of the line is thinking.

And then they go, “Who is this”.

That doesn’t matter. You got the wrong stinkin’ number. Don’t call or text me again. You goofed up. This ain’t Shanequa’s phone. Accept that fact and move on. I can’t make this Shanequa person materialize in front of me because I HAVE NO FRICKIN’ CLUE WHO THAT EVEN IS!

And then 2 days later they text you again.

“Hey girl, what’s up”?

Really dumbass? You’re that stupid?

Sometimes I feel like pretending that I AM Shanequa. I fell like spouting lurid sex talk. I feel like making up a bunch of shit. I fell like saying, Oh I’m sorry, Shanequa died.”

But, I don’t. I just keep feeling the angst over not being able to convince this person on the other end of the line that I AM NOT MOFO SHANEQUA. And that I am not hiding her.

Sometimes I fell like flushing the damn phone down the toilet.


Ring Ring! Your Middle Age is Calling.

So, I was looking at photos of rotary telephones that I had googled. They had the nerve to call this phone VINTAGE.

That phone is NOT vintage. Retro maybe, but not vintage.

As far as I’m concerned, stuff isn’t vintage until everyone who was alive when it was invented is dead.

Now THESE are vintage.


For me, a phone isn’t truly a phone unless it has a party line, or can be used as a murder weapon.

Also, telephones are supposed to have switchboard operators at the other end.

The phones nowadays suck. Cell phones! Phooey! Sure you can do a lot of stuff with them and I have one, but that’s beside the point. Cell phones have no personality. They’re little electronic annoyances. If you want something dependable, it needs to be linked to a landline… not a satellite.

Every day, thousands of people lose their cell phones. It’s kind of hard to lose a rotary phone. They’re either mounted to the wall or so heavy that you have a be an Olympic athlete weightlifter to pick them up. 

I’ll admit that rotary phones CAN be a pain in the butt. Especially if you’re trying to be the first caller to a radio station, so that you can win tickets to the Mott the Hoople concert, and you misdial on the last number. But so what. The concert probably would have sucked anyway.

You can’t take rotary landline phones with you. So what. The bells are super-loud and you can hear them from a mile away. Think of all the exercise you will get when run your ass off to answer the phone before the person hangs up.

You can’t text with a rotary phone. Okay, so write a letter and give the mailman something to do. Besides, texting is so annoying anyway. You don’t even have to know how to spell. All you have to know is the first letter of the word.


Can you imagine what it would have been like if our Forefathers would have had texting capabilites?

Yo J. I’m riting the preamb 2 that const. thing we were talkin bout. How this B?


BITD – I mean, back in the day, we were left to our own devices. If you got stranded somewhere, or even kidnapped, then you had to actually use your imagination to get yourself out of the precarious prediciment. No calling or texting. Just your wits and survival skills. Nowadays, if people don’t have their cell phone and they get lost, they just die.

Cell phones turn people into zombies. Take a look at a zombie movie and then take a look at a busy metropolis during lunch hour. It’s the same scene. People ambling aimlessly, oblivious to anything other that the vapid conversation coming from the other end of the phone. They run into buildings. They walk into heavy traffic. Some have even fallen into water fountains.

Heaven forbid if there’s a bluetooth involved. Then they look like psych ward out-patients. Running around like a raving lunatics and flailing their arms. One-sided arguments that sound like psycho-babble.

You think, “Are they talking to me”?
“Is this a crazy person that I should run from”?

Who needs Big Brother when people have cell phones? They constantly rat themselves out. From their cell phones, they update their social networking sites with maps pinpointing exactly where the are. They blab everything to the world. They post pictures of themselves committing crimes. They send nude pictures of themselves. What kind of idiotic behavior is this? Do you WANT people to think you’re an idiot? Do you WANT the cops to know where you are when you break the law? Do you WANT to have to resign from public office?

This past weekend I went to a cell phone store to get a different plan. The girl was like, “Ummm, you only use an average of 13 minutes a month. You could probably get by with a lesser plan.”

Actually, I could probably get by with a rotary landline phone.

Leaving Las Vegas – Part 2

Let’s see, where did I leave off? Oh yeah, strippers Alicia and Shannon had moved out from next door, and I was feeling separation anxiety. Go figure.

Since I had been laid off from the MGM and the ‘Liar, Liar, Pants of Fire’ Human Resource Dept. hadn’t helped me with any other prospects, like they had promised they would, I had a lot of free time.  I had received a bonus, some severance pay and accrued vacation time on my final check, but that money wasn’t going to last forever.

One day I ran into a magician that I had met while I was working at Big Dogs. His name was Gino and he was doing a show at the San Remo (It’s no longer the San Remo. It is now Hooter’s Hotel and Casino. I guess they figured they could make more money if the Hotel had the word ‘Hooter’s’ in the title. IDK)

Here is one of the rooms in the Hooter’s Hotel and Casino. Isn’t is hideously uber-tacky?

I don’t know who came up with this color scheme or who picked out the spreads for the beds, but seriously…GAG!!!
It’s called Hooters, not Welcome to Bradyland.

Anyway, I have totally gotten off topic. I was talking about my magician friend.

I’ll stay off topic just a tad longer to show you this.
Okay, NOW back to Gino.
Gino invited my to come see his show. I’m not a big magic person. I know how most of the tricks are done, so for me it’s quite boring. But, I went anyway.
The show was pretty good. He had one trick where he caught a bullet in his teeth. I was impressed.
What I wasn’t impressed with was the music that he used in his show. It was crap.

When I met him after the show I asked him, “Who does your music? It sucks”. He said he knew. We struck up a deal and I did some new music for his show. More money to last me for a while.

One day I decided, “Hey, I should go to Dealer’s School”. I was a pretty good blackjack player. My mom had taught me well. I figured why not experience blackjack from the other side of the table and get paid for it without the risk of actually losing money.
So, I went to the Las Vegas Dealer’s School that was a few blocks from the Gold Coast Casino. I paid my $369.00 to learn how to deal blackjack. It was a pretty laid back school and you could come and go as you pleased. When you felt that you were ready, they would send you out on an audition at one of the Coast casinos.

After about 3 weeks, I felt I was ready. I auditioned at the Barbary Coast. I worked there for about 2 weeks and decided that I hated dealing. I mean, I really hated it. Most of the people I dealt to were drunk and obnoxious idiots. I wanted to scream.
So, I quit.

After a few months of sitting around my apartment, doing nothing but reading murder mysteries and thinking of ways to pinch pennies, I decided it was time to get a job.
I had developed this elaborate scheme on how to save money by not paying for food. If you know where to look, Las Vegas has all kinds of places where you can eat for free. Some legal – some not.

Here is the free food system that I developed:
Monday: Right down the street from where I lived was a strip club called Play it Again, Sam’s. On Monday nights they had a free buffet set up. I would usually go with my friend, Joaquin. Joaquin’s dad was a civil rights attorney, who had argued twice before the U.S. Supreme Court. He had wanted Joaquin to follow in his footsteps and be an attorney, too. That didn’t happen. Instead, Joaquin was a starving artist. He was also what you would call a ‘playah’.
So, on Monday nights we would go and eat the free buffet, and occasionally Joaquin would get a lap dance.

Tuesday: Tuesday was $5.00 Beer Bust night at the Buffalo. Only, I didn’t get the beer bust. I just ate the free snacks. Sometimes they had some really good stuff.

Wednesday: Wednesday was Underwear Night at the Eagle. If you were in your underwear you got to drink for free. They would give you a big plastic bag to put your clothes in when you stipped down to your skivvies. I always made sure that I wore boxers and an over-sized t-shirt. Aside from the free snacks, I also got to drink for free.

Thursday: Thursday was buffet at the Gold Coast. Over the years I had acquired hundreds of thousands of points on my Gold Coast Player’s Card. You could redeem the points for merchandise or free buffets. I chose the free buffets. Also, they would send free buffet tickets in the mail a few times each month.

Friday: Friday was, again, Underwear Night at the Eagle. See Wednesday.

Saturday and Sunday: On Saturday and Sunday, you could go into almost any hotel or casino, and find free food set up somewhere. Most of the time is was outside banquet and convention rooms, or inside karaoke bars. Sometimes, I would even sing.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a cheap ass, or anything like that. I’ll admit that in the beginning, it was all about saving money, but after a while, it became more of a game of seeing how long I could actually go without paying for food.

Besides, I quit using the system after I got a job. A job at the Olive Garden.

End of Part 2

Dear Movies – Please Stop Making Me Cry

I try not to be a big baby and cry at movies. It’s quite embarrassing when it happens. I can pretty much figure out which ones are going to be tearjerkers and I try to prepare myself. Most of the time, however, it doesn’t work.

If it’s in a movie theater, it’s not so bad. It’s dark and people can’t really see you. Also, I have a trick that I use to disguise the sobs. If I have a feeling that the movie is going to induce tears, then I take some kleenex with me (or a concession stand napkin if I forget), and sniffle, dab my eyes, and occasionally do a fake sneeze throughout the movie – BEFORE the sad part happens. Then, when the sad part does come and I do start to tear up, people will say, “Oh, he’s not crying. He has a cold or something. He’s been doing that sniffling throughout the entire movie”.

Sometimes, however, it doesn’t work. I start making those ‘trying to suppress a cry’ noises. You know, like the ones that little kids make after they’ve cried their eyes out and then try to catch their breath afterwards.

The worst and most embarrasing time that it happened was when I went to see Mr. Holland’s Opus. OMG, I was so unprepared!
I sniffled a little during the clarinet scene. But, at the end, when they were having his surprise retirement party for him in the school auditorium, and 30 years worth of past students had come back to premiere the composition that he had been working on THE ENTIRE MOVIE, I kind of lost it.

Mr. Hollands Opus clarinet scene
Mr. Holland’s Opus tearjerker finale

I'm sorry I was such an ungrateful child, mama

The other movie that makes me boo hoo every single time that I see it is Imitation of Life (Lana Turner version). Especially the part with Annie and Sarah Jane in the hotel room.

Get out the kleenex
Imitation of Life – Sarah Jane, the ungrateful child scene

Other movies that make me cry:
Dark Victory with Bette Davis – the part where she goes blind right before she dies.
Searching For Bobby Fischer – ending scene
Madame X – Lana Turner’s death scene – the end
Old Yeller – the rabies scene

I also cry at tv shows. That’s why I won’t watch Undercover Boss or any reality or talk show where they make poor, unfortunate people’s wishes and dreams come true.

The Not-So-Amazing World of 3D

I read an article the other day about how moviegoers are losing interest in 3D movies. The article cited various reasons as to why. For me, the reason is simple. It’s such an obnoxious chore to watch them.

I suppose that if you had 20/20 vision, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, since I don’t have that 20/20 vision, I don’t know what the experience is really like.

Here is what people with good vision see:

Without my glasses, this is what I see:

3D is a movie gimmick. Bwana Devil, released in 1952, is considered the first feature length 3D movie. Apparently, movie sales were dropping off because of the culprit known as television. So, to get people back into the movie theaters they needed a gimmick. 3D was it.

3D enhances the illusion of depth perception. It’s like a giant Viewmaster, only the pictures move.

I have never seen a 3D movie, where afterwards, I didn’t leave the theater feeling completely frustrated.

First of all, you have to wear those glasses. I already wear glasses, so I have to put the 3D glasses over them.

Second, I have astigmatism and horrible depth perception. Astigmatism is a defect in the eye or in a lens caused by a deviation from spherical curvature, which results in distorted images, as light rays are prevented from meeting at a common focus. Add the 3d effect to that and things get really confusing.

The very first 3D movie I saw was House of Wax with Vincent Price. Even though I was only 14, and my head probably wasn’t as big as it is now, I still got paper cuts behind my ears because the stems on the cardboard glasses weren’t long enough.

Whenever I watch a 3D movie, and stuff goes all freaky, I can’t tell if it’s because of me or the movie. I’ve tried all kinds of techniques to try to keep the movie in focus. I’ve tried;

  • Watching without the 3D glasses
  • Putting my regular glasses OVER the 3D glasses
  • Watching with one eye closed
  • Continually re-adjusting the 3D glasses (therefore causing paper cuts behind my ears)
  • Wearing the 3D glasses upside down

The only thing that seems to work is watching the movie with the 3D glasses on and one eye covered. I don’t get to see the 3D effect, but at least the movie stays somewhat in focus.

Apparently, since its inception, there have been all kinds of advances made in 3D technology. Yeah, whatever. For someone like me, who has Mr. Magoo vision, that technology will always be in its inchoate stage.

Now they have 3D television. About 6 months ago, when I was a Best Buy to get a new TV, the salesman tried every trick in the book to get me to buy one.
I was like, “Look dude, I’ve been around 3D a lot longer than you. I don’t care how many advances that the experts say have been made in the technology, it still sucks”.

“Oh no, he said, “It’s so much better than it used to be”.

I was thinking, “How in the crap do you know? You’re like 12.”

He tried to get me to put on those new and improved big ass ‘I just had my pupils dilated old person glasses’  and watch the demo 3D TV. Pass! Just put the new TV in the car and let me be on my merry way.

Illusion-O glasses

As far as movie gimmicks go (yes, 3D is a gimmick), I much prefer vibrating seats, hypnovista (which TOTALLY does not work), illusion-o, blood dripping from the ceiling, sensurround and smell-o-rama. At least those gimmicks involve senses in which I have full capacity.

Hey, let me put on these groovy glasses and watch a movie all screwed up and out of focus. YAY!

The Taste of Music is Sometimes Sour

Let’s face it, everybody has songs that they keep secret. Songs that they would NEVER let their friends or family know that they like. Some, of which, may even be in their top 20 favorite songs of all time.

Luckily, with the advent of headphones, and eventually walkmans, mp3 players, and ipods, it’s a lot easier to hide the dirty little musical secret. You could have, what is considered by some, the best musical taste in the world, but it can all be negated as soon as people find out that you actually like Friday by Rebecca Black. You can go from musical taste savant to someone who rides the short bus to music appreciation class, all because you like one song.

I wasn’t savvy enough to hide the less than astute side of my musical taste until I was well into my twenties. It was the summer of ’86 and I was having a poker party in my apartment. During one of ours breaks, my friend John started looking through my record collection. All of a sudden I heard him shout, “Oh my God, Bob! What the hell is this? You LIKE this”?
Then he held up the album for everyone to see.

Everybody busted out laughing.

I ran over and grabbed the album out of his hands. “That’s not mine”, I lied. “That’s my sister’s album. It must have gotten mixed in when I moved”.

“I know your sister”, said John. “This is not hers. You’re such a liar, Bob”.

He was right. I was a liar. It WAS my album.

After that, a few of the other guys started rummaging through my albums.

I rolled my eyes, and went into the kitchen to get another beer. All of a sudden I heard someone go “EWWWWWWWW!”, followed by hysterical guffaws.
“We have to play it”, someone said.”We have to play it.”

I went into the living room to see which album was causing all of the hysterics.

Someone pulled the album out of the jacket and put it on the turntable. A few seconds later Long-Haired Lover From Liverpool was blasting through the speakers.

Click here to listen to it

Anyway, they all started dancing around my apartment, acting like a bunch of drunken idiots. Which is what they were. Drunk and stupid idiots.

After that, there was no more poker. 

Over the course of the next few hours, my records were taken out of the covers and strewn everywhere.

At about 4 in the morning, when everyone – with the exception of Larry, who was passed out on my couch – was gone, I surveyed the damage. What a mess. As I was putting the records back into their covers, I discovered that someone had stepped on my 12 inch single of The Freaks Come Out at Night by Whodini, and cracked it into. Bastards!

So, that was the night that I learned to hide all of my records in the ‘dubious musical taste’ category. They can incite mayhem. They can turn a poker party into a Comiskey Park Disco Demolition Night type of event.

Now, I’m not saying that I have bad musical taste. I don’t think I do. Music taste is relative anyway. And, it’s age appropriate.

I like all kinds of music, for the most part, and am not afraid to play the songs openly. But, there ARE those songs that I keep hidden and only play when no one is around. The songs that I pretend I don’t like. The ones that I make fun of, but secretly love.

I guess I will rat myself out and present a partial list of those songs:

Sundown – American Juniors
Paper Roses – Marie Osmond
Shake Your Love – Debbie Gibson
Sweet and Innocent – Donny Osmond
Hearbeat – It’s a Lovebeat – The DeFranco Family
One Step Closer – S Club 8
Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde – Babs Tino
Birthday Party – The Pixies Three
Wenn Der Sommer Kommt – Heintje
Johnny Loves Me – Suzie
Easy Come, Easy Go – Bobby Sherman

and of course

Hey Deanie – Shaun Cassidy

that I mostly listen to…

Jimi Hendrix

John Coltrane

Janis Joplin

Apollo 440

Hopefully, that partially redeems me.

An Old Persons Review of the MTV Movie Awards 2011

So, I watched the MTV Movie Awards last night. I wanted to scream. What is wrong with those people? Are they on crack? Did they drink too much alcohol?
Seriously, just about everyone was acting like some kind of moronic idiot. I wanted to scream! Of wait, I already said that. That’s okay, it deserves reiteration.

Emcee, Jason Sudeikis told crappy jokes about Arnold Schwarzenegger and his mistress/girlfriend/baby mama. Dude, that was so 2 weeks ago. Plus, the jokes were just stupid.

At one point in the show, the picture and sound became out of sync. It was at the part where Sudeikis and Emma Stone were singing a 4 measure duet. Toward the end of their song the picture stuttered for about a half a second and it was all back in sync again. They should have left it out of sync. Not too long after that, Robert Pattinson, said the F word, and it slipped past the censors and didn’t get bleeped. Who is in charge of this show’s production? A fifteen year old?

The F word was used several more times during the show. All of them were bleeped. Do these people not realize that there are kids in the audience? Sure, kids hear and say that word all the time, but at least try to act like a responsible adult when you are presenting yourself to millions of viewers. Saying the F word to try to be funny does not automatically turn you into a comedian. I just makes you look like your not smart enough to amuse people any other way.

Seriously Reese, what are you even saying?

Reese Witherspoon won some kind of special award. Her speech was so pretentious I wanted to vomit. She talked about how you don’t have to take off your clothes or act stupid in a reality show to make it in Hollywood. You can do it the way she did it…by acting.

Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis presented Robert Pattinson with the popcorn trophy for ‘best male performance’. They also groped each other. He grabbed her boobs and she grabbed his crotch. Really? I mean, REALLY? Talk about a cheap way to get laughs. Again, millions of people are watching the show. Is this lascivious behavior how you really want to get laughs? Obviously, it is.

There were a few ‘normal’ and legitimately entertaining moments during the show. The Foo Fighters performance was very good. It was a welcome respite. For a few minutes I actually felt like I hadn’t stumbled into a crackhead convention.
Also showing some decorum was Taylor Lautner. He gave the speech when The Twilight Saga: Eclipse won for best picture. He was gracious, coherent and it was one of the saner moments of the show.

Justin Bieber was the Best Jawdropping Moment winner. He was smart enough to come from off-stage to receive the award, say thanks, wave to his fans, and then exit – all without making himself look like an idiot. I knew I liked that kid for some reason.

Best Line From a Movie winner was child actor Alexys Nycole Sanchez for her line “I want to get chocolate wasted” from the movie Grown Ups. I just hope that she wasn’t in the audience during all of the F bomb utterances or the Timberlake/Kunis groping. How awkward!

I guess I could say that the show was entertaining, but only in a ‘train wreck/OMG, what is wrong with these people’ sort of way.
It seems that the only reason that they have the show in the first place is to promote upcoming movies.

Normally, I wouldn’t have watched the show, but, I was not in charge of the remote. Unlucky me.

Will the Real Mr. Howell Please Stand Up

When I was a kid, there were three things that I wanted to do. Be one of the kids on The Partridge Family, be one of the Brady kids, or live on Gilligan’s Island.
I started playing the drums the year that the Partridge Family premiered and would practice by playing along with their records (records were round vinyl things that you put a needle on and sound would come out. Thanks, Edison!).
My family didn’t always like me banging on my drums like a lunatic. I got complaints. Mainly from my sister.

After a while I was like, “Hmmmm, maybe I don’t want to be a Partridge after all”.

Then I went through my Brady phase. I wanted to live at 4222 Clinton Way in Woodland Hills. I wanted to be Bobby. He was the most logical choice. We had the same name, and he played the drums in that episode where he didn’t get into the glee club, and football great, Deacon Jones, showed up to Peter’s football practice in those hideous multi-colored bell bottom pants.

I even had a Brady Bunch lunch box. Not cool for someone in the 7th grade. Especially a guy. But… I didn’t care. One day, during lunch, two girls in my class – Cozette Pumpford (I’ll never forget that name as long as I live), and some other girl whose name I can’t recall – started following me around on the playground and saying, “Hi Marcia”, “Whatcha doin’ Marcia”?, “Nice lunch box, Marcia”, etc…etc…etc.
 Others started joining in. I was traumatized. After that, I never took my BB lunchbox to school again. I started using paper bags.
The calling me “Marcia” taunting lasted for about a week, and then they all just forgot about it. Thank goodness.

All of the Brady trauma wasn’t in vain, though. Years later I would go on to win a Brady Bunch trivia contest, where the prize was lunch with Barry Williams, who played Greg. He was Super Cool and even signed his book for me. I had a hamburger and he had a salad.

Currently, I live in a subdivision called Woodland Hills. My backyard, however, doesn’t look anything like the Brady’s backyard. It looks more like the infamous grassy knoll in Dealey Plaza – the one notoriously associated with the JFK assassination.

Of the 3 childhood wishes, living on Gilligan’s Island is the only one that I still kind of wish I could do. The only drawback would be having to deal with headhunters. You only have to be around 6 other people. Well, actually 7 if you are an addition to those that are already there.  If I had to replace one of them, it would be Mr. Howell. The only reason I say that is because it seems like everytime that I have my picture taken, I subconsciously strike a Mr. Howell pose.

And They Call It Puppy Love

Donny Osmond was on The Talk a few days ago. I like Donny. When I lived in Las Vegas I went to 3 of his concerts. Mainly because of propinquity. He would perform occasionally at the Orleans Hotel and Casino, which was located right down the street from where I lived. This was before he started doing his show with Marie at the Flamingo.

The first time that I went to see Donny I was with my friend Elvis. Elvis was just her nickname. Her real name was Yvonne. She also went by the name of Toni – the name given to her when she rode with Hell’s Angels. She was about 10 years older than me and one of the sweetest people that I have ever met. That is until you got on her bad side. I once saw her grab a butcher knife and shove it up under a guy’s throat. He was a big guy, too. She threated to rip his throat out.  

Elvis has tattoos covering her shoulders, arms and part of her neck. Most of them are Elvis Presley related. In later years she developed an infatuation with Antonio Banderas and got some tattoos relating to him also.

Elvis’ mother had been an actress in Hollywood back in the 40s and 50s. I can’t recall her name, but she mostly had bit parts, and acted as a stand-in for some actress that I also can’t recall. I’m thinking Lana Turner, but I may be wrong.

Elvis was originally from Providence, RI, and is somehow connected with Cross Pens. I think that her mother was married to one of the guys who owns it, or something like that. Anyway, Elvis gets money from them. She gets $1000 a month, and $20,000 at the end of every year. I’m not exactly sure how her mother is connected with the company now, but I do know that she’s really rich because of it. The big drama was when Elvis’ father/stepfather (I’m not sure which) died, and her mother married one of the guys who worked in their stables. According to Elvis, he tried to brainwash her mother into letting him control her finances.

Elvis had 4 kids. One of her daughters had died when she was trapped in a car that was in flames and burned to death. She also had a son who was an alcohol and drug addict. She told me a story about how she had come home one day (she was letting him stay with her), and he had drank all of the liquor in her Elvis Presley liquor bottle. She kicked him out. 

Anyway, my first time to see Donny perform was with her. We were sitting in the 4th row. Elvis wasn’t really a big Donny fan, but the concert was around the time of my birthday, and this was her present to me.

Most of the people at the concert were woman who were about my age. Just like me, they grew up with him. The thing that surprised me the most about his concert was how the women reacted. It was like it was 1972 all over again. Every time he would start to sing a new song they would start screaming and rush the stage. They first time they did it I was like WTF. They would scream and cry and shout “Donny! Donny”!

Before every song they would yell “Puppy Love, Puppy Love“! About halfway through the show he pulled some fortunate female (the homliest of the bunch I might add) out of the audience and brought her up on stage, where she sat in a chair while he crooned Puppy Love to her. I must admit that this part of the show kind of made me want to gag. I remember Elvis turning to me and saying, “What is the hell is wrong with these stupid women”?! I just shrugged my shoulders.

The next time that I went to see Donny perform, I was with my friend Camille. She had never seen him perform before, but was a fan. I had figured that the last concert, where the women became frenzied and crazed, was an isolated incident. Must to my amazement, however, it was exactly the same as it was before. Even more shocking was that my friend, Camille, was pretty much leading the pack. As soon as Donny started singing, she was out of her seat and at the front of the stage in about 2 seconds – screaming and yelling and crying “Donny! Donny!”. The thing that made me almost die from hysterics, though, was that there were 2 guys up there doing the same thing. It was so bizarre seeing 2 men about my age acting that way. When Donny sang the song Yo Yo, one of the guys started dancing so spasmodically that I thought he was having a seizure.

The last time that I saw Donny perform I was with my sister. Even though, like me, she grew up watching and listening to Donny, she wasn’t as big a fan. Which is kind of strange since SHE was the one who had all of his records and read of his exploits in the 16 and Tiger Beat magazines.
Lucky for me, she wasn’t one of the woman, who yet again, screamed and yelled and rushed the stage. I was thankful.

I have never seen Donny and Marie perform together. That’s kind of surprising, too, because I used to live so close to the Flamingo, where they are performing.