I woke up this morning thinking, "did last night really happen?," and then I saw the tangible evidence. A Vanilla Ice autograph. But that's not even the most hilarious part about the evening.

Let's back up.

Mr. Whirled and I went with A.K. and her husband to see Rob Van Winkle himself. The venue? An alley next to a dive bar. Said bar was charging $5 for the pleasure. The scene was PACKED, however, and Sir Vanilla did an energetic 55-minute show. Seemed in good spirits. The rage and self-loathing and attempts at death metal out the window. I couldn't help but laugh when he first took the stage, appearing in a cloud of dry ice, surrounded by inflatable Halloween decorations (it's June).

Notes:
1. The music wasn't even that BAD. Of course, he sang some "new" rap songs, and they were certainly more listenable than most 50 Cent records.
2. He shot his "Ice Ice Baby" wad early, doing it mid-way through the abbreviated show. But he did an absolutely straight, no bullsh*t, version. He is finally embracing his legacy.
3. He had a schtick of dumping water bottles out into the crowd every 3 minutes or so and then tossing the bottles. This happened about 30 times until, evidently, his supply ran out.
4. Multiple times, he yelled for girls to "show their t*ts." How 90s!
5. By the last 15 minutes, A.K., Mr. Whirled, and I had bum rushed to the front of the stage. Meanwhile, on stage, several girls had been pulled up to stripper dance, guys were rolling a joint clear as day on stage (off which Vanilla was partaking - check TMZ later for this, I'll bet), and Vanilla was sharing a bottle of Jaggarmeister with whomever in the crowd was dumb enough to put their lips to the bottle.

So ... the autograph. I'd worn this tee shirt , which tvnewseditor sent me for Christmas. By the end of the show, the four of us had decided I had to get it signed. A.K. and I jumped up on stage to try to get into backstage "V.I.P." No dice. We ended up standing to the side of the V.I.P. section, arguing with bouncers, and basically giving up until, lo and behold, Vanilla emerges, Sharpie in hand. I somehow muscle my way to him, and he graciously signed my shirt. For, like ... 30 seconds. It took him forever because he signed something illegible, drew a bunch of crap, and was also apparently stoned. Should I have been talking to him? Asking if he was sad to hear of Tammy Faye Baker's passing? I just stood there, dumbfounded. And now I'm a proud owner of a Vanilla Ice tee shirt WITH a Vanilla Ice autograph. Of course my camera is broken so I can't share a picture of the autograph. But trust me, it will be in a tee-shirt frame one day.

Oh - and the hilarious part of the evening I mentioned? Due to some strangeness in a world in which Trishelle is the first lady, Johnny "Fairplay" Dalton, of Survivor and Danny-Bonaduce-fighting notoriety, was among Vanilla's entourage. He also emerged from the "V.I.P." (ahem) tent, and no one was paying the skinny motherf*cker any mind, so I yelled "Johnny!" and stuck out my hand to shake it. He reciprocated, and then, no lie, did the "PSYCHE!," hand-smoothing-one's'-hair-behind-one's-ear, leaving attempted hand-shaker hanging and humiliated. I was George McFlyed by Johnny f*cking Fairplay. At which point everyone in the crowd watching laughed, I swatted him on the shoulder and yelled "TYPICAL," and he flipped me the bird. Now, I realize his whole persona is one of a horrible, shameless asshole, but for God's sake. If I had bigger boobs this would not have happened.

My ears are ringing, but my spirit is not broken.

Went to see Duran Duran at the slightly shabby but altogether fine Rosemont theater last night. First time I'd seen the boys since July '05, and they were in fine form.

Fortuitously, my outing (Wednesday night) coincided with the one-day-a-week I'm working from home this week (today). So.

Unfortuitously, I was at the Cubs game Tuesday night WHEN Simon (Le Bon) and John (Taylor) threw out the first pitch AND sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame. I missed both performances. Sonofa. Cubs game, incidentally, is why no Idol review.

I'm a bad fan because I didn't exactly dig their new album, and as a result was not at all familiar with it.

Set list:

THE VALLEY (don't know it - decent))
RCM
NITE RUNNER (don't know it - boring)
HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF
PLANET EARTH
FALLING DOWN
COME UNDONE
SKINDIVERS (don't know it)
THE REFLEX
SAVE A PRAYER
A VIEW TO A KILL

ELECTROSET;
LAST CHANCE/ALL SHE WANTS/LEATHERETTE
I DON’T WANT/SKIN TRADE/TEMPTED

NOTORIOUS
GIRLS ON FILM
ORDINARY WORLD
SUNRISE
WILD BOYZ

THE CHAUFFEUR
RIO


So ... nearly everything I'd reasonably want to hear, keeping in mind that they will never play "UMF" or "Want You More!" or "Late Bar." Sigh. Some "New Moon on Monday" would be nice, but that's never happening, either. The "Electroset" was supremely cool, especially Roger's drumming.

Things of note:

1. John was wearing a Barack tee for the final encore. Which, of course, was "Rio."

2. Billy "ZWAN" Corgan, looking all of 19 if a day, came out and played guitar on "The Chauffeur."

3. My left ear is still ringing and I pretty much can't hear out of it. Next concert? Earplugs. No joke.

4. Simon had some lyrical misfires ("Reflex" chorus, "All She Wants Is" verse 2), but reprimanded himself so smugly that I almost wonder if they were intentional. He continues to be my forever favorite preening bastard. Did seem as though he was in a good mood last night. He's not good at hiding the irritation.

5. I don't feel physically and emotionally exhausted. Maybe I'm in better shape? Or had less space in which to dance so exuberantly.

6. There was a tee shirt I wanted but it was forty-five bleeding dollars. These people are out of their tree. Of course, nearly everyone I saw had bought some merch of some sort.

Allrighty - back to work with my one good ear ...

FictionPlane/The Police: As I noted, shitty-ass opening act fronted by Sting Jr. Everyone applauded fervently every time a song was over, for the sheer fact that it was OVER. When the Police triumvirate hit the stage, it was pretty exciting. It was only the 3 of them the entire time - no backup singers, no backup musicians. Which meant some things we're used to from studio albums fell by the wayside (e.g. "That's my soul up there ...") but I appreciate their integrity. Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers are far better musicians than they get credit for, though Copeland needs a serious haircut. They sang my favorite, "Synchronicity II," but my favorite performances of the evening were "King of Pain" and "Wrapped Around Your Finger." I will turn your face to alabaster ... when you find your servant is your master ... who writes lyrics like that anymore? Definitely not Hinder. They all looked like they were truly having a great time, as well, all of 'em. Did a very moving "Every Breath You Take" second-to-last then came out for a final encore of "Next to You," which seems oddly misguided, but who am I to judge.

Lifehouse/Goo Goo Dolls: Down at the Arch grounds with, I kid you not, 200,000 other people. But we finagled our way between the Arch steps and the stage, in a mosh pit of sorts mere feet from the stage. I saw Lifehouse in the fall of 2001, when they were fresh from their "Hanging By a Moment" high and were just pups - like 19, 20 years old. They were good then, good now. Strong set of 7-8 songs. Great view. As we waited for the Goo Goo Dolls, the pit in which we were standing grew much bigger and infinitely more annoying. Smelly teens up in our grill, dummies with mustard-laced corn dogs trying to scurry past. After 5 GGD songs, we bailed out. They did practically the same set as when I saw them last summer, with the welcome addition of "Long Way Down." Seems like they keyed down a song or two - wonder if Rzeznik was under the weather. Speaking of weather, though, it was perfect. Fireworks followed the show.

Styx/Def Leppard: All I can say is that the 4 of us went for Def Leppard and left as Styx fans. Who knew arena rock was so powerfully entertaining (I should have known). "Lorelei" was great, "Come Sail Away" was sublime, "Blue Collar Man" was kick-ass. Tommy Shaw's pipes are still incredible. All of the guys were totally still in the 80s, with feathered hair and leather pants and bolo ties. It was really endearing in a way. Then ... getting the Lepp out. The musicianship was fine, and Rick Allen never stopped smiling. But Joe Elliott's voice is not what it used to be, assuming it was ever capable live. Brother shrieks and struggles. Additionally, the set list was missing the Adrenalize, much to my disappointment. But it was still a tremendous time.

Chuck Klosterman: It's hard to see your idols fall. 3 years ago, when I went to a Klosterman signing, he was super personable and charming and I was surprised at how much better he looked in real life compared to his jacket photo. This time around, while his two hours' of commentary were funny and smart (disturbed only by a terribly dense emcee), he just seemed as though he couldn't be bothered during the signing portion. He was friendly enough, I guess, and sort of answered my questions, but he signed with just his name, for example (last time he addressed my book with the opening strains of "Beth" by Kiss). Plus? He looks like he's spent the last 3 years sleeping under various bridges. The guy is odd looking, for sure, but the unkempt hair, shaggy beard, and musty odor certainly don't help matters. Then again, grooming is so unhip, yo!

Police concert .... Lifehouse concert ... Goo Goo Dolls concert ... Def Leppard/STYX! concert ... Chuck Klosterman reading and signing ... so much to share, so little time.

Must do a proper update this weekend.

Sufficient to say, Joe Elliott is strugglin', mosh pits are not meant for my passive ass, 'Come Sail Away' is my favorite song ever, and I misrepresent myself as a low-IQ'd Spin groupie who doesn't know shit about shit.

On 1990, March 8, I had a life-changing experience. I attended my first "rock" (heavy on the quotes) concert solo. By solo, I mean with friends, rather than with parents/"grown-ups." It was, OF COURSE, New Kids on the Block, and we waited outside in the cold and I sacrificed my perfect-attendance record from high school, and we cried and laughed and sang and danced and some of us (not me) caught Eternity-for-Men-soaked-tee-shirts tossed cavalierly by the only Wahlberg that mattered back then, and I was totally wearing a blue-flowered tee and a jean skirt and possibly huarache sandals.

What I can't believe, aside from the fact that I'm still running around wearing jean skirts (though the garment did have a multi-year hiatus in there somewhere) is that said concert was 17 years ago. Had I been BORN on the stage that night, I could see an R-rated movie today. Huh? Whatever. Meanwhile, Jordan Knight and Joe(y) McIntyre are still assholes.