Colin Hay redux

My quest to hear what Colin Hay has to say about my life had some cool twists. Awesome venue: No clumsy-pawed security, so no Tampax-dropping flashbacks. And the opening act, Chris Trapper, may be a stranger to me, but he had some things to say about my life as well. Who knew?

Some things Colin Hay had to say about my life I will keep to myself. They are small things, but they are mine own. His show was a turning point. Things changed because of it. I changed because of it. And I don't just mean having the image of a pot-smoking, TV-watching goat permanently burned into my brain.

I also don't mean wondering what perverse force of nature draws several hundred pairs of eyes simultaneously to the crotch of the man who's just said he had prostate cancer. I don't actually think prostate cancer survivors have glow-in-the-dark junk, but we were all definitely checking for something.

Much changed last night, but some things, regrettably, have not changed. Inside my five-foot-zero body lives The Hulk, and nobody likes me when I'm angry. Somehow, I became trapped between my hunky husband and four inches of door frame as the Variety gave birth to many hundred humans at once. It was enough to make Mother Mary give Baby Jesus a little shake, I tell you.

Ribs slowly separated from cartilage as I was squeaking out words like excuse me, I'm down here, don't step on me, make room please, does anyone know if the trampled kids at the Who show were able to have open-casket funerals? No one seemed to hear, so I opened my mouth and loosed my inner Hulk.

"Get the FUCK out of my way!" I bellowed, and started throwing elbows, clearing a path. True, the throwing of elbows may have deprived a few fellers of post-show fun with their old ladies, but I was free to take my place in line to meet Colin Hay and that was the important thing.

I felt no guilt, because Colin Hay had something new to say about my life last night, even before I claimed my place in line. During his show, he looked deep into my eyes as I listened solemnly, taking each and every word to heart:

"Becky," he said to me from the stage, his fuggin halo barely visible in the stage lights.

"Becky, sometimes it's absolutely necessary that you cuss like a drunk Navy midshipman with flaming toilet tissue stuck to his backside. I know what's been shoved down your throat your entire life, but trust me: God will love you anyway. You must be heard, so sometimes you must use shocking words in a loud voice. What you have to say is that important."

That's the way I remember it, anyway. A small thing, but a thing mine own.