So Monday night I went out to see the movie revival of the 70s-era musical Hairspray. It seemed like a reasonable plan for a Monday night. Little did I know, however, that I would end up actually traveling back in time to the actual 1970s. That's right. I was hand-picked to join a select group of New York "fans" for a private concert with the one and only, Barry Manilow.
Ok, okay, ok. So I'm not really a "fanilow." And I wasn't totally hand-picked. It was more like, Barry needed an audience and I needed a funny story to tell on Tuesday.
Going into the concert, the sum of my knowledge of Barry Manilow was that 1) he guest-judged American Idol last year, and 2) in the mid-90's, he and Michael Bolton were often mocked. Leaving the concert, I had learned a few new things: 1) Barry Manilow is very short, 2) So short that I bet he got beaten up a lot in junior high (I sort of wanted to beat him up just looking at him), and 3) Private concerts on Manhattan hotel rooftops aren't so cool when you really couldn't care less about the performer, but you have to pretend like you do - because you're on camera. For national television.
Lesson of the evening? When you have a plan to see a movie, see a movie. Like paper beats rock, revivals beat anachronisms.
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