Rock Me Gently, Rock Me Slowly

My wife is really upset.

Live Nation is having their only New York area Neil Diamond concert at the Nikon Jones Beach Theater on June 8, 2012. That is three days after our 30th wedding anniversary and tickets are only $170 each. I say only because my brilliant, hardworking world-renowned psychologist wife is a diehard Super Diamond devotee.  Not a groupie mind you, but she is an active aficionado. And she works hard and deserves many of the perks that she earns.

Now there are three problems. Problem number one is that advanced seating sales is thru Cit card members only and I cancelled our cards in October because they wanted us to pay a card fee, which I thought was asinine. We use our other bank Disney rewards for all our purchases, because when my son graduates college after four years of tuition with virtually no financial aid and billions of dollars in books and other University fees, my sweet spouse is going to want a hug from Tigger (who runs a very close second to Neil Diamond for her, but sings like Paul Winchell) at Walt Disney World in Florida.

So we can’t get in on the advance ticket sales that comes directly after the out of state scalpers and easy listening radio stations have glommed as many as they could. My wife thinks I did this on purpose, even after I consulted her about cancelling the cards before I acted.

Problem number two is that I hate attending concerts at Nikon Jones Beach Theater. It is an open air arena that smells like old seaweed, gets too breezy at night in June, uncomfortable seats and has all the acoustics of a Louisiana river boat chugging’ up the Mississippi River. I hate the fact that at any time (which has actually happen to me five out of seven times) it can and will rain like heck, which makes the whole experience unbearable. I refuse to listen to Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show inside of an ice cold shower and sprinkler system. I'd sooner join Cindy Lauper inside an eight-speed blender.

Problem number three is that I tolerate the modern “Jazz Singer” because of my partner’s affection for his musical talents. Here is a guy who sang and acted opposite Sir Lawrence Oliver, and it bombed! I, on the other hand, have been known for vehemently making fun of Neil Diamond's lyrics and Elvis-like outfits over the decades. In the song I Am I Said, in which Neil Diamond’s lyrics longingly state, "I am, I said, to no one there, and no one heard at all, not even the chair."

Now I thought to myself, if he'd taken another 10 seconds to come up with a better rhyme, the song would be so much better. He just looked around the room for a rhyme and saw a chair? It's obvious the chair wouldn't have heard him — it's a chair! Couldn’t he have said “no one to care?”  Or "no one, I swear?” But No. The chair was there, without a care, so he did dare, write without flare, about the chair, I do declare!

I do not relish going to a concert where the highlights are listening to the singer do another band’s rendition of the original singers song, because the other band’s version was one hundred times more popular. So Neil Diamond doing UB40’s version of Neil Diamond’s version of Red Red Wine only instigates my angst. I do not relish going to a concert where another highlight is turning on my Heart light flashlight and waving it too and fro cumbaya style as we sway in time to the music.

Because of our 10,950 days and nights together as man and wife AND our 1,460 days and nights together before that as boyfriend and girlfriend, I am honor bound to put a big smile on my face (poncho or not) and listen to Sweet Caroline and "Baa, Baa, Baa" and "So Good! So Good! So Good!" at exactly the right time if I want to spend another 10,950 days and nights together being married to the same woman, which was and is my plan. I vowed for better or worse and I guess this is not as bad as it could be. 

Yup, she could be a Twi-like-erer, aka Twilighter ALSO! Now I've read every Twilight book except for the last one. I think the premise is hilarious, that these brilliant, active blood sucking, super strong vampires and shape shifting werewolves would be ...(yuck) high school students. I'm sorry, but if I'm a 200-year-old really sophisticated cultured being that can do whatever I want, I'm not going to high school.

Then the whole idea that all these beings find the protagonist bimbo so unfathomably attractive, even though she's the most egotistical, snotty and self-centered girl I've ever encountered? It's just so absurd. And mom's and older women dress up to go to the premieres and stand in line for hours like a Rocky Horror Show tween. Having to go to that with her to THAT... now that would be My Song Sung Blue!