Why I Did Not See 'Weird Al' Yankovic on Friday

When I was 17 years old, I, like now, didn't buy a new belt as soon as I lost my old one.

It was April, or May, or June, or October 1996, I'm not quite sure when. I was either a sophomore or junior at Middletown High School South. I had hair down to my butt, and a hankering to see "Weird Al" Yankovic during his Bad Hair Day tour.

Myself and several other white and nerdy friends stood outside Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank, probably discussing what each of us felt was clearly "Weird Al's" best work. Not his most popular work, mind you. His best work, at that moment at least.

"Another One Rides the Bus?" No, that was his first video. "Amish Paradise?" No, that was his newest work (at the time). "Fat?" No, I was a chubby teenager, that allowed too much availability for less sensitive folks to make fun of me.

No. Probably his best work was "Dare to be Stupid," as made famous in Transformers: The Movie (the original, not the Michael Bay atrocities). The funny thing is, I don't even like that song. But, knowing my self half-a-lifetime ago, that likely is what I said. Because I like Transformers.

Whatever our favorite song was, it didn't matter. Because that was one awesome show.

Al, the typical showman, went through the gamut of costume changes for the many of his songs. Madonna. Kurt Cobain. An Amish Coolio.

I actually take back what I said just before, however, about my favorite "Weird Al" song. It wasn't "Dare to be Stupid." It was "The Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota."

What? That's not even that great of a song! It's not, but it did elicit one of the greatest moments of the concert, when about a dozen dorky teenagers, and less-dorky children, began running around the theater, at the behest of Mr. Yankovic and his hypnotic accordion.

Unlike now, when I am older and strangely more self-conscious than I was when I had more reasons (and more opportunities) to be self-conscious, I happily joined the dance. And remembered that I didn't have a belt on, and was wearing pants that were too big for my belly to support them.

No, this story does not end with an embarassing scene of me, jeans around my ankles, in front of 2,000 people at a "Weird Al" Yankovic concert. But, it did possibly set in motion a since lifelong tic of making sure I don't have "plumber's crack" showing. God forbid. As we danced, and ran, and skipped throughout the theater, I continued every few feet to hike those Wranglers as high as I could, as if training to be a stereotypical old man telling the neighborhood kids to get off his lawn. Chances are, no one noticed, not even my friends, who were too busy being blissfully unaware how silly we looked. Neither did I, for the most part.

So it goes. The longer we're here, the more time we have to accumulate a Hope Chest of stuff, both beneficial and potential detrimental.

Which is why I decided not to go to the . My Hope Chest already has that memory, along with my first awkward kiss in the woods. The first time I got drunk with my brother in his room while we watched Dazed and Confused. My first time, in 1999, cutting off all my hair after having it for pretty much my entire teenage life (actually, that is an example of when I did try to recapture something that had already passed. Had I only thought of this Hope Chest metaphor before deciding to grow it back amidst a receding hairline).

For some, they can live that memory again and again. And, that's great. And, if you have that memory, like I do, that's great, too. It's the forcing of one or the other that puts the whole thing out of whack. I don't always acknowledge that in myself, but I did here. Why ruin a fond memory, especially since it didn't involve a long-haired, red-faced teen ducking for cover because his pants fell down in the middle of a dance down the aisle?