Yowza, yowza, yowza!
You excited for the chance to be in the spotlight, Matt? ; )We need a story with all that yowza!
There it stood. My legacy. A simple dynamic microphone on a stand. Vintage they called it. Just like me. Vintage is what they call things and people who are no longer useful, but still have appeal to some obscure aesthetic. Like my microphone, my cigarettes, and me.A guy never thinks he’s going to end up in a museum. My whole life was in this museum. My microphone – not a similar mic, but my very one. It even said so in the plaque. A few cases over there was a beige fedora. I had a beige fedora, too; it was with the coat check, because I’d worn it today. My favorite gin, my favorite smokes, and the pulp fiction trash I used to read between shows. They were all memorialized somewhere in this museum.It struck me that if I sat down next to a case, just still enough, someone might think I was an exhibit.I was uncomfortable with that feeling, and resorted to the only thing I knew to do. I started singing. My voice wasn’t as clear as it used to be, and I didn’t project as well anymore, but I still knew how to hit those notes, and I still knew how to pack as much emotion into every syllable as anyone could. I saw a woman my age stop and smile. A married couple, a little younger than me hung about with the glow of nostalgia come-alive. Even a few kids stopped to listen and tap their feet.A guy never thinks he’s going to end up in a museum. The secret is to bring the house down when you do.
That was my Richie Cunningham. Give me a few minutes.
That microphone represented two things. I stood backstage, watching the door. Any moment, my future would catch up to my past and I would have to make a decision. For now, though, all I could think of was the spotlight. The guitar hung at my waist, a little heavier than I was used to. But the strings, the frets, the neck in my hand felt right. As the noise from the crowd faded, I glanced at the door one last time. It was still closed. And then, they introduced me.The crowd was a bit hesitant. I'd made a few enemies while there, and fewer friends. But this was my last best hope of getting home.I'd never played with that band. There was no question they'd never played with someone like me. We started out slow, grooving to one another's beat. Music was music, and soon we found our rhythm.They were a bit stiff, while I was loose. All over the stage I pranced and strutted and let the music play. I sang my heart out, and in a flash, I saw them come through the stage door. But the crowd was rocking. The band was on fire and there was no way anyone was going to stop me.That was, until I overdid it. Whatever I did though, knocked my three pursuers out and I was able to get away. As to the crowd, well...I guess they weren't quite ready for what I had to offer. But there kids were gonna love it.That night, the microphone saved me, but it could well have been my trap. Lucky for me it was the distraction I needed to get back to the future.
Nevets, sweet story.Matt, you're bouncing around. Is it Richie Cunningham...Martie McFly...Calvin Klein? hahaha Funny!