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Memories of a Fanilow

March 21st, 2010

A few weeks ago, I fulfilled a life-long dream and ventured to Las Vegas for my very first Barry Manilow concert at the Paris Casino. With me was my single friend Karen who I’ve known since high school, and who quickly reminded me why she always used to get me in trouble with my parents. Also with me that weekend was my younger sister Amy, who chose to forgo the Manilow magic and instead went to see that flash-in-the-pan Bon Jovi. (Loser.)

So here’s the story of what happened at the concert the evening of March 6th, 2010. Trust me when I say it was a long night, an expensive night, and at times, a very, very blurry and oddly humiliating night. But even so, it was one I’ll never forget.

5:00 p.m. Dressed in skirts and uncomfortable shoes, Karen and I primp for a fancy French dinner at the Eiffel Tower restaurant before our Manilow concert. Across the hall, my sister Amy and her friends put on jeans and prepare for their dinner of chicken wings and 60 oz. buckets of beer at Dick’s Last Resort before their Bon Jovi concert. We stop by their room to say good-bye and I smugly think how much more sophisticated our evening will be than theirs.

In just 10 short hours, I will know how very wrong I am.

5:30 p.m. Sipping champagne pêche at our cozy table for two overlooking the Bellagio fountains, Karen and I chat with our good-looking waiter Armando. He rests his hands on the back of our red velvet chairs and very smoothly says, “If there’s anything I can do for you ladies tonight, you just let me know.” This is the fifth or sixth time someone in Vegas has said that to us since we arrived, so Karen and I are beginning to wonder what “anything” actually means. Hookers? Blow? A private hot tub party with a gaggle of Reba McIntyre impersonators? Good God, we can only imagine.

6:00 p.m. Our salad course finished, we relax, take in the view, and guzzle the wine Armando has recommended. (Later we find out the wine was $25 a glass, prompting me to figuratively clutch my pearls and gasp, “Twenty-five dollars a glass? I could buy seven bottles for twenty-five dollars!”) Armando then brings Karen the house specialty, foie gras, which leads to the following conversation:

Karen: Try it!

Me: No.

Karen: Try it!

Me: No.

Karen: Try it!

Me: No.

Karen: Fine. But tu es une pussy, my friend. This pate’s le shit.

6:30 p.m. Our bellies full and our credit cards smoking, we take a thrilling 60-second ride in the Eiffel Tower elevator to the main floor of the Paris casino and walk over to the Manilow Showroom. At least 100 concert-goers have already lined up for the 7:30 p.m. show, all anxiously clutching onto their big, red tickets. For some reason, I think our passes give us entré into a private, champagne reception, so I ask the concierge where we should go. He’s not sure if our tickets actually do include the reception, which prompts Karen to then scream loud enough to drown out 1,500 slot machines: “PRESENT YOUR FANILOW CREDENTIALS, WENDI AARONS! PRESENT THEM! TELL THEM YOU’RE AN OFFICIAL FANILOW, WENDI AARONS! TELL THEM! TELL THEM YOU’RE A FAAAAA-NNNNNILOWW!”

As a look of distaste crosses the concierge’s face, I hiss “Shut up!” and yank her away. Because while I definitely do have my Barry Manilow International Fan Club (BMIFC) membership card in my purse, I’ve decided it’s for emergencies only. I do not take my Fanilow status lightly, my brother.

6:45 p.m. While I patiently wait in line to talk to someone at Will Call, Karen heads over to the Manilow Showroom bar to buy us two glasses of Manilow Merlot. “Tastes like soft rock from the 70’s,” I decide after I take a sip. Karen quickly downs hers, then busies herself by surreptitiously taking pictures of a loud, obnoxious woman who looks like she’s smuggling cantaloupes in the rear of her sparkly purple stretch pants. The woman then starts hacking up a lung while unfortunately standing next to a sign that says, “Everything’s Sexier in Paris Las Vegas!” Karen turns to me, snorts, “Well, obviously not EVERYTHING!” and a little of Barry’s vino shoots out her nose while she giggles like a toddler.

I predict we will soon be beat up.

7:00 p.m. Finally at the front of the line, I sweetly ask the ticket agent about the champagne reception. She’s also not sure what to do, which makes Karen once again yell, “PRESENT YOUR FANILOW CREDENTIALS, WENDI AARONS! PRESENT THEM! TELL THEM YOU’RE AN OFFICIAL FANILOW, WENDI AARONS! TELL THEM! YOU’RE A FAAAA-NNNN-ILOWWW!” I quickly shove $20 in her hand and tell her to go buy us some Manilow Pinot Grigio and a soft pretzel, but now I’m really starting to worry. I caress my BMIFC membership card and wonder if this is actually a Manilow Emergency.

7:20 p.m. We’re now nervously standing next to the special reception elevator waiting to hear if we can get on and ride up to the champagne party. I try to charm the senior citizen ushers by telling them that I’ve always dreamed of opening a pasta restaurant with Barry called, “Looks Like Tomatoes!” but they don’t seem to get my joke. Suddenly I feel the white-hot shame of being the uncoolest person at a Manilow concert.

They're laughing AT me. Not with me.

7:25 p.m. Bad news. Even though I’ve very reluctantly “presented my Fanilow credentials” like some kind of pathetic undercover easy-listening cop, we’re told we do not get to go to the reception. Instead, we must sadly enter the red-walled theater and find our seats. Karen tries to cheer me up by pointing out at least four older women who look like “Her Name Was Lola,” including one frisky septuagenarian who even appears to have “yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there.” Yes, the woman does look completely ridiculous and borderline insane in her sequined halter-dress and platform shoes, but still. She probably got to ride the special elevator to the champagne party. (Loser.)

7:45 p.m. The theater’s completely packed with women over 40 (and a few frowning husbands), all very anxiously waiting for Barry to appear. The wasted Wisconsinite behind us keeps whacking my seat and shouting, “Win’s Maniloo gonna get steerted already? Geez Lou-Weez! STEERT, damn you! STEERT!” But then suddenly, the lights dim, the curtains part, and all hell breaks loose. “MANILOW!!” Karen screams. “IT’S MANILOW! IT’S MANILOW!” Then she turns to me and whispers, “That’s him, right? In the shoulder pads? The one on stage? Should I stop yelling until I know for sure? I’m just going on instinct here.”

“Yes, it’s HIM!” I scream back. My heart is suddenly beating way, way too fast. I look around and see that I’m not the only one losing it as most of the audience appears to be having some kind of Barry Is The Messiah experience. The Wisconsinite behind me is actually weeping into her mixed drink. “IT’S BARRY! IT’S BAAAARRYYYY!” I scream. “OH, MY GOD! HE’S HERE!”

8:00-9:30 p.m. Standing in front of 3-foot high glowing lights that spell his last name, Barry takes the stage and bursts into “Could It Be Magic.” He sounds amazing, and the frantic crowd is happily jumping up and down and cheering. (I rather enviously note that front row and center are about 50 people who must be high up in the fan club. The Executive Fanilows.) Karen and I dance around with no rhythm and look like complete idiots, but I don’t care. We’re having a blast. A blast. Barry then pauses to graciously address the screaming masses, makes a rather ill-advised joke about using a douche (?) and then he continues with his string of hits. I loudly and off-keyedly sing along to “Weekend in New England,” “Even Now,” and “Bandstand Boogie.” I haven’t heard these songs in 20 years, but I still know every single word. Every single word.

As the show continues, Barry sings with his large band. He plays the grand piano. He croons “Love Me Tender.” Suddenly, I’m not so upset about missing the special elevator after all. Because Barry, Barry is fantastic. (Which I tell my Bon Jovi watching sister Amy in a text, only the next morning I see it came out like this: “bArRRy es SO GOOOOO!! bONjobi suxx!!”)

Finally, after we’ve all completely exhausted ourselves, Bare whips out the big finish. Rising from beneath the stage like a Phoenix from the ashes—if the Phoenix were a 59-year-old spray tanned guy from Brooklyn wearing a top hat and tails—he launches into a fabulous rendition of “Copacabana.” The middle-aged women next to us heave their reclined bodies out of their seats and start shaking their Chico’s-clad tailfeathers something fierce. The Lolas in the front row squeal and start to fist pump. The wasted Wisconsinite wipes her upper lip with her purse and appears to be having a major hot flash. And Karen and I do a really, really bad white girl samba while weepily embracing each other and grinning like smitten fools. Yes, we may be tired, a little (a lot) drunk and stuffed full of Vegas French food, but still—we’re having a moment. “This is the one I’ve been waiting for all night long!” she shouts. “I think I’m officially a Fanilow now!”

“You ARE, Karen! YOU ARE!” I shout back. “We’re both Fanilows now! EVERYONE IS A FANILOW! WOOOOO!”

Then a mere two minutes later, Barry takes his bow, the lights come on, and we have the heartbreaking realization that the show is finally over. Blinking in the sudden brightness, we straggle out of the theater, our feet sore, our spirits light, and our chins covered in all the wine that we didn’t quite manage to get into our mouths. Alas, the evening’s Manilow magic has ended for us.

But the Vegas humiliation? That’s just beginning.

Click here for Part Two.

Entry Filed under: Uncategorized

67 Comments

Add your own

  • 1. Kate  |  March 21st, 2010 at 1:17 pm

    Saw Barry twice in my life – once in 1977 (78?) in Milwaukee. I was on a date with this adorable young man. We drove up from the Chicago area to see him. He wrote the songs, ya know?

    So then a couple of years ago I took my sister (who had heroically driven my mother back to SD and had flown to O’Hare from Sioux Falls) after picking her up at the airport with two (free) tickets I had scored to the concert that night at the United Center (HUGE place). The room was full of women with worse dye jobs than mine, way tight pants, and sweaters with fur knit into them. He still wrote the songs (except he did not sing Looks Like We Made It – so I was a bit bummed. I made up for it by singing it really loudly in the car on the way home). Did you notice that every time he modulated keys he stood up or the piano rose? Made me chuckle. FUN!!!

  • 2. hokgardner  |  March 21st, 2010 at 1:38 pm

    I’m not sure I’d a told that story.

  • 3. Shelly  |  March 21st, 2010 at 1:40 pm

    OMG! While not an official Fanilow, I would LOVE to see him one day and am totally jealous of your adventure. Next time can I tag along?

  • 4. Amy @ The Bitchin' Wives Club  |  March 21st, 2010 at 2:04 pm

    I kept imagining the drunken Wisconsinite was Ann (plus 15 years)! Lol. It sounds like a great night, what better way to throw your pride to the wind and let it all hang out? At the COPE-PAAAAAAH!

  • 5. Sophie  |  March 21st, 2010 at 2:23 pm

    Yay for post-adolescent humiliation!

    My dream is to humiliate myself at a They Might Be Giants concert, which will never happen unless they come perform here.

  • 6. Cheryl  |  March 21st, 2010 at 2:27 pm

    I’m breathless with anticipation for the rest of the story. Please tell me there’s a rest of the story. Please? So many questions unanswered…

  • 7. Becky  |  March 21st, 2010 at 3:20 pm

    To be continued…..ack! Totally anticipating the retelling of the rest of your magical evening. Since you didn’t make a blatant plea for bail money before you signed off on this missive, I trust the evening didn’t end too badly. For the record, I don’t think bONjobi suxx.

  • 8. Tracy Hahn-Burkett  |  March 21st, 2010 at 4:11 pm

    I am totally laughing now . . . I can’t wait to read the rest!

  • 9. Libby  |  March 21st, 2010 at 4:38 pm

    My sisters both work in the concert industry. They both rave about how wonderful Barry Manilow is. The first time one of my sisters, Mandy, met him she told him when she was a little kid she thought he wrote the song for her. He smiled, patted her on the back and said “I did.”

    Oh, and for 25 bucks a glass that wine should have made you smarter and better looking.

  • 10. Jane  |  March 21st, 2010 at 5:08 pm

    When I saw him once (as a teenager) on the Merv Griffin Show, on TV don’t you know, I burst into tears. My sister still makes fun of me 30 years later. I still love him though. His playlist on my iPod is named something else just in case my sister checks.

  • 11. Laura  |  March 21st, 2010 at 5:20 pm

    That sounds like an awesome experience! One for the record books. My brother in law worked for the company that owns that French restaurant you went to. He opened it for them. Small world huh??

  • 12. Melody  |  March 21st, 2010 at 5:47 pm

    OMG How funny!I love to revel in other’s humiliation so can’t wait for part 2.

  • 13. Cassie  |  March 21st, 2010 at 10:12 pm

    BEST BLOG POST EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  • 14. Ladybird  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 2:14 am

    Oh dear!
    Can’t wait to read more :D

  • 15. Jamie Tighe  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 3:10 am

    I tried so hard to get on stage the last concert I went to…he always picks that one person to sing “Can’t Smile Without You” from the audience…made a HUGE sparkly sign saying, “MY FETUS IS A FAN!!!” (I was 8 months pregnant at the time). I was in the second row and he definitely gave me a very nervous look and passed me over for the fool behind me whose sign read “Marblehead loves Manilow” (I don’t even think she was from Marblehead, the tool). I think he thought I might have gone into labor on the stage. Hmph.

  • 16. muffintopmommy  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 5:26 am

    Um…looks like you made it?

  • 17. dg at diaryofamadbathroom@gmail.com  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 5:35 am

    I wrote about Tom Jones the other day. It was sadly not magical like Bar. All flying weiners and vag jokes. Sounds like Barry kept it classy (minus the douche comment, which, if drunk enough was probably as funny as Zach Galifianakis).

    P.S. Love the picture of you with Bea and Rue.

  • 18. Wendi  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 6:43 am

    I can’t wait to hear about the rest of the trip. I don’t know how you’re going to top Barry though. He’s a tough act to follow.

  • 19. chiefy  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 6:56 am

    Aw snap, I wanted to hear the rest…guess I’ll be back next time!
    I am really curious about what was up in that mysterious elevator you kept talking about…some kind of…party?

  • 20. the mama bird diaries  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 7:30 am

    Are Barry Gibb and Barry Manilow different people?

  • 21. Carolyn Online  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 7:34 am

    Oh my god how can Vegas get more humiliating than knowing all the words to an entire Barry Manilow concert???

  • 22. Anna Lefler  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 7:37 am

    You should totally hire those little ladies in the tomato-red coats to be your enforcers.

    Our (male) kindergarten teacher is a rabid Fanilow. We sent him to Vegas to see the show with backstage access to The Man. He had a blast, but I think all his weeping with joy confused the little boys in the class.

    Great post!

    :-D Anna

  • 23. Princess Mikkimoto  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 7:44 am

    Were there words in this post? I’m just still getting over how cute you are.

    Barry. Barry was my first love. When I was young (and stupid) and planning my wedding I was going to have all my bridesmaids and myself sing “Can’t Smile” to the groom. Now that the wedding is a year away, I think I’ll just toast the guy.

  • 24. SOCCERMOM  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 7:57 am

    Sounds like you two had a special evening. I agree, when in Vegas everything seems wonderful.

  • 25. KLZ  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 8:37 am

    It’s always the drunken nights where you think you’re going to be sophisticated that get you. Always.

  • 26. Lisa Rae @smacksy  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 8:41 am

    My favorite line: “I haven’t heard these songs in 20 years..” This I can not believe.

    (Please tell me you’ll be sporting one of those fine red blazers in Dayton.)

  • 27. deb  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 8:51 am

    Sounds like an incredible experience – love the shot of you and Barry “together” too! Can’t wait for the rest of the story, unless it stays in Vegas, of course.

  • 28. Sarah  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 9:34 am

    Can’t wait for part II. You are adorable, btw.

  • 29. Ashley, the Accidental Olympian  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 10:10 am

    “…and our chins covered in all the wine that we didn’t manage to get into our mouths.”

    HAHA. Been there. Done that!

    Can’t wait for part two!

  • 30. InvaderStu  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 10:24 am

    I’m scared now. Becoming a Fanilow is infectious?

  • 31. ann  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 10:33 am

    Looks Like Tomatoes.

    This post made me laugh out loud.

    And yes, Amy knows I always dab my lip with my purse.

  • 32. Andrea P.  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 10:37 am

    Best line in this part of the story was the line about the woman who “appeared to be smuggling cantaloupes in the rear of her sparkly purple stretch pants.” I thought the story was going to lead to a bitch-slap of some sort because Lord knows I would have done it. Glad you had a great time and it is hilarious for me that apparently to you, what happens in Vegas DOES NOT stay in Vegas. Yay for us…more entertainment and humor!!!!

  • 33. Mommy on the Spot  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 12:10 pm

    $25 per glass of wine?! Hmm, next time the waiter asked you if there was anything he could do for you, I hope you asked him to spot you money for your bar tab!!

    I can’t wait to hear part 2!!

  • 34. Kimberly  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 12:39 pm

    How much fun was this to read? (VERY!) Thanks so much for a great story!

  • 35. Melissa  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 12:57 pm

    So maybe this is completely inappropriate, but I want to know the joke he told about douche…

  • 36. Crisanna  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 1:37 pm

    I’m with Melissa…dare we hope that will be part deux?

  • 37. Sarah  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 1:43 pm

    The picture with the old ladies in their red suits is freaking priceless.

    And also. you’ve got to be the coolest FAN-I-LOW I’ve ever heard of.

    In my house we called him “Barely Man-Enough.” Sorry (hangs head in shame)!

  • 38. Patty  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 1:56 pm

    I cannot WAIT for the end of the saga. I must see if it compares to the Neil Diamond concert my sister took me to at Staples Center. The details of that event are strictly need-to-know.

  • 39. Annette  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 3:15 pm

    Thanks for this GREAT post. It brightened my day. I love the expression “Executive Fanilows”…a fearsome bunch–but great gals, too!!

  • 40. Amber  |  March 22nd, 2010 at 4:18 pm

    You’re so funny LOL I love reading your blog! I totally gave you a plug on my lil ol blog. You rock my socks lady!

  • 41. Shaboom from French Skinny  |  March 23rd, 2010 at 4:13 am

    I can’t wait to read the rest!

  • 42. Aunt Becky  |  March 23rd, 2010 at 10:13 am

    Dude. I AM SO JEALOUS. Not of BARRY, because I am a Tom Jones person myself, but wow. I am crying with jealousy. SEETHING.

  • 43. Sarah  |  March 23rd, 2010 at 10:38 am

    As many of your posts do, this one made me shower my computer in spittle while desperately trying to remain breathing – and quiet as not to wake up my 8 month old with hysterical laughter.
    While I am not a Manilow fan (I know, sacrilege) and definitely not a Bon Jovi fan, your description of the crowd made me actually WANT to go to a Manilow concert. Your descriptions are brilliant. I can smell the wine on Karen’s breath. I can not wait for the rest.

  • 44. alexandra  |  March 23rd, 2010 at 1:18 pm

    Not so crazy about Manilow, but love the girlfriend dialogue, “this pate’s the shit.” Now that, I like…thanks for the laughs!

  • 45. Heather  |  March 24th, 2010 at 10:55 am

    LMFAO!!!!! I am literally crying from laughing so hard! My co-worker said I’m “ate up!” LOL Thanks I needed that laugh.

  • 46. Cindy S.  |  March 24th, 2010 at 2:21 pm

    The wife of the golf pro in the small town in which I grew up left him for Barry Manilow. A life-sized poster of Barry Manilow that she refused to take off their bedroom ceiling. Not joking.

    Fanilows are a hard-core bunch. Way to keep up with the pack!

    And, now I’ll return to the endless “Copacabana” soundtrack playing in my head.

  • 47. Marinka  |  March 25th, 2010 at 7:04 am

    I really hope that there’s a guest post with the Bon Jovi recap.

  • 48. Amy  |  March 25th, 2010 at 11:14 am

    Thank you for the laugh…really needed that! Can’t wait for Part Deux

  • 49. Julie N  |  March 25th, 2010 at 1:26 pm

    Though I am a member of the subset tribe of Fanilows called Manaloonies, I can comment with complete certainty that you rock. I can’t wait for part 2. And I think I need to find me some Manilow 8-Tracks about now. Did he sing “When October Goes”? My favorite. Cheers! Jules

  • 50. Jen  |  March 25th, 2010 at 5:21 pm

    Classic! That was such a fantastic post. And, there will be more. I can barely wait to read what’s next. I think going to the concert was worth it just for the blog material. You should be able to milk this for ages. Glad you had a good time.

  • 51. Lisa D  |  March 25th, 2010 at 7:56 pm

    LOVE. IT. I went to Vegas in September with a friend for her 50th b-day. Her birthday gift to herself was front row tix and a back stage meet and greet with…. DONNY AND MARIE. This was while Donny was still competing in Dancing with the Stars and Marie ribbed him all night long about it. I was surprisedly entertained and it was a fun time. My birthday gift to her was tix to Thunder From Down Under. The other hot ticket in town that weekend was Brittney Spears. Um, no.

  • 52. Sans Pantaloons  |  March 27th, 2010 at 5:43 am

    Wendi, I love you!

  • 53. Karen at French Skinny  |  March 27th, 2010 at 8:39 am

    After reading this, I honestly love you.
    Now, WHAT HAPPENED NEXT????

  • 54. vodkamom  |  March 28th, 2010 at 6:25 am

    I am now and official Fannilow.

    thanks.

  • 55. sarah Pekkanen  |  March 29th, 2010 at 6:05 am

    Wait, Barry is only 59???!!!???

  • 56. Candy  |  March 29th, 2010 at 10:24 am

    Barry was my very first concert going experience, at age 12. I went with my mom, an original Fanilow. Although we only had lawn seats at the outdoor pavilion, my mom ditched me, left me in the charge of her drunken friend, hopped a security fence, and paid a kid in the second row 20 bucks to sit in her lap for the rest of the show.

    I totally wish I was making this up.

  • 57. Cathy  |  March 29th, 2010 at 4:12 pm

    this is so awesome! I felt this way at my first weezer concert. i’m fowarding this to my friend, whom loves bon jovi, and her sister, a Fanilow. :)

  • 58. Gretchen  |  March 31st, 2010 at 9:29 am

    I am breathless and speechless. I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in years.

    Did Barry do that funny medley of commercial jingles that he does? At least he did it when I saw him – 1977, Austin Municipal Auditorium, my first “rock” concert. Does this experience qualify me as a Fanilow? Or do I need the card?

  • 59. Lulu and Moxley's Mom  |  March 31st, 2010 at 8:44 pm

    You have lived my dream, Wendi Aarons. Are you sure your sister is really your sister? I think being a Fanilow is a dominant gene.

  • 60. Cathy  |  April 2nd, 2010 at 5:01 pm

    God I love this.

    Flash-in-the-pan Bon Jovi… nice.

  • 61. Inga  |  April 6th, 2010 at 12:32 am

    You should have tried the pate. Foie gras is amazing. Yes, I know how it’s made. Give me the syringe and I’ll force-feed the little bastards myself, that’s how good it is.

  • 62. Pamela Murray  |  May 17th, 2010 at 9:12 am

    Can someone please tell me how I can join the fanilow fan club PLEASE thanks Pam

  • 63. Annette R.  |  August 10th, 2010 at 7:57 am

    LOVED this entry! I am not an offical fannilow but I adore Barry too and I saw him at what was then The Garden State Arts Center here in NJ August 1997.(Just checked the concert stub-the only one I’ve saved-in my jewelry box). I had great seats for once-a friend w/a season pass sold them to us. I drug my husband w/me and even he had a great time and had to admit what a great showman Barry is. The screaming middle aged fans were funny and my husa\band said, “Mandy” should be “Andy” and I agree-gayest opening act of two male jugglers-but what a show! My bff has never seen him yet and we’d love to go to Vegas and include that. She loves him too and there will be no clubbing/fist pumping -even though I live AT the Jersey Shore. I have worked with orange people but only had orange legs once when I had a wedding invite in late July and refused to wear hose in that heat. Your descriptions of the Wisconsin accent were GREAT-I have Wisconsin in-laws and always enjoyed those when I’ve been there.

  • 64. Bat Meat & Succulents&hellip  |  October 9th, 2010 at 11:01 am

    [...] Wendi Aarons: She’s pretty bad-ass.  Probably too bad-ass for an award, but she’ll just have to deal.  Fall in deep smitt with Memories of a Fanilow. [...]

  • 65. Emulating Erma (Eventuall&hellip  |  April 20th, 2012 at 8:50 am

    [...] Aarons, Memories of a Fanilow. I may never get to a Barry Manilow show, but I can live vicariously through a woman who carries [...]

  • 66. Stephi  |  June 14th, 2012 at 5:04 am

    Lucky! What I’d give to go see Barry! He’s so sexy!

  • 67. Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom  |  December 2nd, 2012 at 7:56 pm

    Okay…so I’m two years late to the party…just found you via Nancy Davis Kho!

    So..So…SO funny, Wendi!! “Looks Like Tomatoes”…*snort*… I saw Barry twice…when I was a kid. With my Grandma and my mother. We sat on the lawn at an outdoor amphitheater. My grandmother sat in a lawn chair while people pelted fried chicken bones at us shouting “Down in front, Granny!” What a rowdy pack of Fanilows, no? Oh gawd, I was the dorkiest third grader ever, but it mattered not. We were at the Copa, baby! And yes…I still know all the words too. “When will our eyes meet?…When WILL I touch you?…When WILL this STRONG yearning end??” Probably nevuh.


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