Great memories in music

I don't "do" concerts.  That isn't to say I haven't been to what probably amount to concerts, but they're usually disguised as something else.  But the few "performances" I've been to have been pretty good.

(Random thought: Airports have personalities, just like the cities they're in.  L.A. is for arriving or leaving, not passing through; Reno is small, slow, and full of people who are going nowhere while travelling.)

Years ago, I met a guy at a small restaurant in West Hollywood where a friend and I would go to dinner periodically.  This guy was undeniably straight but a very nice guy - and also a musician.  Once, after we got "friendly", we showed up at the restaurant - really just a small bar with a few tables - when the place was basically empty.  This guy - Marcel - got us our food, and then spent most of an hour sitting on the bar, playing and singing songs he'd written himself on the guitar.  I still have MP3s of some of them, and I love listening to them.  I wish he'd release them officially, but, well, he's been busy and probably doesn't even remember who I am.  All the better, probably.  One song I loved had this chorus:

Don't be so scared, you're not alone
I'll be alright on my own.
I'll be your best friend, it'll be okay
Know that inside, you belong
Here, tonight, safe in my arms...

... I went to Cancun the first time out of frustration.  Odd, I know.  I'd never taken a real vacation before, and always wanted to, but could never talk myself into letting "work" just deal with my absence.  A series of events over Thanksgiving week 2007 ended with me being completely pissed off and frustrated in Hollywood on a Saturday night.  I resolved then and there that, if they weren't going to respect me when I tried to be nice, fuck 'em.  The next week I bought a personal cell phone and booked the first vacation I found that looked fun - and it ended up being an Atlantis resort vacation at Club Med Cancun.

The resort itself is great, and I did a lot of really fun things there (sailing, swimming in water that deserves the name "caribbean blue", hiking around an active archeological dig), not to mention seeing lots of attractive guys and making a few friends.  One thing that stands out, though, is something I didn't really plan on (amazing how that works out).  Shoshana Bean was scheduled to give a small concert for us at the resort (she was staying there with us gays and having a blast, apparently); I'd never heard of her but had nothing else to do that night, so I went.

She was great - a lot of fun as well as really talented.  Half-way through, I discovered she'd played Elfeba in "Wicked!" when she broke out into a rendition of "Popular" that was hilarious.  The evening would have been well-spent no matter what, but her last piece...  She started out with, "I think that if I didn't bring this number, they wouldn't let me on the island."  She then paused as the crowd giggled.  "... This isn't an island, is it... Nevermind."  And then she started singing.

Now, imagine my position.  I've recently made a decision to change my life, to stop letting myself be run by other's needs and start doing things I wanted to do.  The vacation and everything about it was an exemplification of that.  And then this woman with a beautiful voice and amazing personality gets on stage and sings:

Something has changed within me,
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by
The rules of someone else's game...

And as I listen to the song for the first time, in tears from the aptness of it as well as my own sentiment, I heard the lines that - to a man who lives his life alone in his own head, who is never at home anywhere - still get me misty-eyed:

... and if I'm flying solo,
At least I'm flying free...

... I'm thinking of all of this for a particular reason.  The second time I went on the Atlantis Club Med Cancun trip, another Wicked star - Megan Hilty - performed a different song.  That song was in tribute to someone who had recently died, and everyone in the audience sang along with her.  The tribute was to Bea Arthur, and the song was, of course, "Thank You For Being a Friend".  It was oddly moving, in that crowd and at that time, and I can't help but think of it today.

And when we die and float away,
Into the night, the Milky Way,
You'll hear me call as we ascend,
I'll say your name, then once again...
Thank you for being a friend.