A Summer Day, 1997

Background: Sometime in the summer of 1997 I began in earnest my collection of episodes of "Homicide: Life On the Street." Amoungst these eps was the Thanksgiving episode wich featured a haunting song with it's final montage. Searching the web, I found out that song was "What a Good Boy" by the Barenaked Ladies. This being 1997, I knew very little about the Barenaked Ladies, save that they were having a free concert at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame very soon.

Now I'd really fallen for this song. I played that part of the tape over and over again , and since a day in downtown Cleveland was better than a day in my suburban Cleveland Slavation Army getting yelled at, hit on, innappropriately touched or flashed by the local customers and selling porn, I decided to call up my friend and see if she wanted to go. The Gods of summer were smiling upon us already: she had plans to go with friends who invited me along and the day of the concert was my day off from work.

That day dawned bright and sunny, as all days off seem to. My friend and I walked through the neighborhood before catching a bus into the city together where we were meeting her friends. While walking, we passed a couple of kids out of school for the summer running a face painting stand in the front yard. For a steal at 25 cents, I got a goldfish painted on the back of my hand (if I'd known you only had to be able to paint goldfish, I would've had a stand just like it as a kid). We then caught the bus and made our way to the Best Location in the Nation (crack that mistake on the lake joke at your own peril). Once in the city, I practiced some of my city rituals: visiting the library and buying a street hotdog. While at the library - and let me emphasize how cool this was - a nice, random fellow hit on me.

To understand this properly, you should know something about me . I look o.k. That's about it. Not bad, mind you, solid B to B+ looks usually. On this summer day, however, I easily managed an A-. So to be hit on in the music section of the Cleveland Public Library was yet another bonus to the day.

Soon, we wound our way to where the concert would be. It was 4:00 p.m. and 3 hours before the concert. The 'Ladies' weren't too big in mid '97 so there were only about 20 other people already waiting behind the tape VH-1 put up to keep us away from the stage while they were setting up. Introductions were made between myself and Heidi's friends. They'd just arrived and wanted to see the city, so I volunteered to get us a place near the stage if they pulled the tape away while they were gone. This is exactly what happened and because I stayed behind for them they voted to give me the one space in the front row I snagged (the others were in a cluster behind).

Go back and re-read that if you have to: A Front Row... spot!

3 hours and a lot of very strange country background music later later, we were at the head of a large crowd and eagerly anticipating the first song. It had been a little chilly, but the crowd blocked out any wind and the sun was setting on the lake just to the side of us. Right before the lake, there was the Rock Hall. For those of you unlucky enough to not know what the Rock Hall looks like, it's an I.M. Pei glass concoction that seemed built to reflect sunsets like this. While we were waiting, a roadie changed the strings on Steven Page's guitar and passed the old ones out amoung those nearby that side of the stage. That would be us. Another bonus.

We knew there was hope when they stopped with the weird country music (who picks this stuff?). The crowd got quiet as someone I couldn't see bounded up on the other side of the stage. It was hard to hear, but I started to make out what he was saying. He was introducing himself before going on to introduce the band. I turned to Heidi and half yelled over the roar of the crowd: "You didn't tell me John Fugelsang was gonna be here!!!!!"

Ahh...John Fugelsang. I'd been admiring his looks and stealing his jokes (not in that order) for years. I could trace it all back to one moment. It was, coincedentally, the happiest time of my life. Daily acting/production classes, advanced acting on weekends, afternoon and weekend rehersals for play number 1 and evening rehearsals for play number 2. Sure, they had to keep waking me up to feed me at Thanksgiving, but that only added to the fun. So it must have been a day I had off from Play 1, for I was home after school, changing out of my uniform and making a snack when I put VH-1 on in the background. I'd been a VH-1 person ever since MTV lost the M. Apparently, VH-1 is where they sent all those pesky, unused music videos they had to get rid of. Preferring music over Kurt Loader, VH-1 was the only option left.

This could be problematic sometimes. Does Hanson need this much airtime? Do we really need Jon Secada? I didn't think so, but as the alternative was MTV Beach Party , I took what I could get. Because of this I didn't really expect much from VH-1 , which is why I was so surprised that afternoon while I was changing clothes and making some popcorn. There was someone walking down the street with Jon Secada,, conducting an interview. After the requisite eye-rolling, I began to notice something happening. Young girls were starting to come up to him, giggling and shouting to their friends: "OhMiGod, it's Jon Secada,!" Not surprising, which is why I wasn't paying attention to it. I was paying attention to the interviewer, or, rather, lack there of. Somewhere in this time, the interviewer had quietly sneaked off camera, but within a couple seconds he was back. He rushed up to Secada, jumping up and down, yelling:

"OHMYGOD! - YOU'RE JON SECADA!!!! YEAH!!!!"

No, no, no. ..he's not going to get away with this, surely! (Or Shirley, if you prefer).

But he did! Not only did Jon Secada not beat him up, he shook his hand and said "Uh...yeah, nice to meet you."

I was laughing (the popcorn was burning) and Jon Secada never knew what hit him. From then on I took extra care to see if that interviewer was back on VH-1 whenever I was clicking around. Lucky for us, he was there quite a bit, and I've stolen many of his best observations on the music scene and general idiocracy since then.

But back to the show. As I've said, I couldn't make much of what was being said, so I tucked the info away into the back of my brain and decided to worry about it later.

The concert was amazing. I've since become fan of the 'Ladies,' but have never seen them play better. Maybe they have and I just can't get a front row seat anymore. Wouldn't surprise me. They finished off the evening with the song I came especialy to hear. It was their encore number and, despite having never heard the song all the way through, I recognized it immediatly. If you know this song, you can imagin what it felt like to sing along to it at sunset on a lakeside with hundreds of fellow fans. You may only be able to imagin what it's like to do so from the front row.

Afterward, the 'Ladies' were to have a singing at the rock hall. "I'm going to go get an autograph," I told my friends. "But you barely know the Barenaked Ladies" they replied.

"Who cares about the Barenaked Ladies? I'm going to find John Fuglesang!" I replied as I walked off.

I made my way to the side of the stage where he had come on and gone off, shaking my head as I went (one bad side to being in the front row of a 'Ladies' concert, you spend a week shaking Mac 'N Cheese powder off your clothes). I would like to point out here that, while malling before the concert, Heidi and I went into a dollar store where they were selling cheap bags of pasta.

"Hey, Heidi," I called. "Do the Barenaked Ladies ever sing a song abut pasta? Like, is this something we could throw on the stage at any point?" Some people refuse to believe me when I tell them that, but Heidi will vouch for me. I think it proves me a natural 'Ladies' fan.

At any rate, I wasn't the only one looking around at that side of the stage. There was a group of fans there hoping to catch the band before they walked off to the head of the long line that had formed in the Rock Hall before they'd even stopped playing. A publicist-like-object told the group that she didn't really think they would walk by this way. Yeah, it reflected far too direct a point-A-to-point-B kinda route. The Ladies were actually gonna helicopter over us. Whatever.

Most of the group stayed anyway. The band walked by, I smiled when they did, they'd done good that night, but unlike most of the group I didn't go traipsing after them. Notice I say "most." When the Mac'N Cheese powder setteled, I noticed about 4 other young women waiting with me next to the side of the stage. They, too, were looking through the post BNL hubub for someone. Curiosity got the better of me.

"Hands up everyone trying to meet John Fugelsang!" I said. Their 4 or 5 hands all raised.

"Well, alright then," I thought. "Put together, we should be able to do this."

Sure enough, we presently spotted Mr. Fugelsang talking with someone behind the stage. The other girls just made some sort of "ip" noises and hopped up and down a little. While I'm sure there is some sort of helpfully Darwinian reason for their sort of response, I did something characteristiclly subtle of me. I believe it was oh-so-gracefully waving my arm and going "Over Hear!" It's the bane of my life I can't whistle (although I hear anyone can whistle, that's what they say).

At this point, Mr. Fugelsang turned, saw us waving at him, saw the girls behind me go into accelerated hop mode and began looking around behind him for the extra Lady who must have been left behind.

No...no musicians back here. He looked at us one more time before recomencing his 'there's gotta be a celebrity around here somewhere,' search. After that yeilded nothing, he began to cautiously make his way over to us, every few steps pausing to see if Steven Page was hiding behind him waiting to jump out so we could all yell "psyche!"

Finally, after walking the whole way over with girls behind me hopping away and all of us nodding our heads reassuringly, he reaches us and says "You want to talk to me?"

"Yes," I replied, I practically yelled at this point. I'm all for modesty, but sheesh. At any rate, I can't remember what I said next. This is probably for the best , as I'm sure it was hardly inteligent conversation.

One thing I do remember saying , however, was how I was a fan of his since that Jon Secada interview. "Yeah," Mr. Fugelsang replied. "He had no idea I was making fun of him." At this point, he presented me with the paper I had scrounged up for an autograph:

"Dear Casey," it read. "I hate Jon Secada too. John Fugelsang."

I imediately went home and put that autograph somewhere safe, like a good fan. However, like a bad fan, I currently have no idea where that is. So, you'll have to take my word for it. I figure I'll forgive him for spelling my name wrong and that'll make up the points I owe him for my Intro to Television class, where mentioning his name on a midterm essay about the current state of the networks got me extra-credit points. Who knew my Proff, Teresa Deskin, had worked on "Real Life"?

So where is the picture, you ask? The pictures someone naturally takes when they have a font row spot to the BNL and meet John Fugelsang? Well, let me tell you something. On an exceptional day in the front row of a BNL show where you meet John Fugelsang that is exactly what you do. On only a very good day where you have a front row spot for a BNL show and meet John Fuglelsang your camera breaks in the Cleveland Public Library. Which is why the Gallery does not carry a photo from the event.

Oh, well...maybe next time (;-)