I moved to Los Angeles this past fall. I was nervous to say the least. I didn’t know if everyone would be overly schmoozy. I didn’t know if I would only be allowed to drink smoothies instead of eating food. I didn’t know if I would be able to drive or park under any circumstance here. Would I be required to wear bikinis and large sunglasses at all times? Would I have to date a former child star? There have been some frustrating moments. That is life in any city though. I think the pros definitely outweigh the cons. There have obviously been perks to living in southern California. Things like being an hour away to approximately one million different beaches doesn’t get old. A week ago, I got to attend a show at a small venue. This wasn’t just any show. It was a jazz show. A jazz show with the lead singer being Molly Ringwald.
I can’t begin to explain how obsessed I have been with her my entire life. I have large artwork framed of Duckie and Andie from Pretty in Pink in my bedroom. I could talk about my love of her and Robert Downey Jr. in The Pickup Artist for hours. Can you imagine a world in which Sixteen Candles doesn’t exist? Gasp! I can barely type this without crying honestly. The Breakfast Club is one of the movies that inspired me to write. One of my friends made this for me for my birthday last year.
At the beginning of the show, the venue manager announced no photography or recording would be allowed. What? Excuse me? I was about to be within ten feet of one of my heroes and I wasn’t going to be able to document it for all of posterity or at least to show my uninterested teenagers someday. I had a moment of panic. This isn’t strictly a smartphone issue. I was always the annoying friend with a disposable camera or a digital camera constantly taking pictures during any event. I am sentimental to a fault. I wouldn’t own up to scrapbooking, but I do own a large amount of full photo albums. I wasn’t going to be able to take a picture of Molly and most likely use a Valencia filter to show everyone how well my Tuesday night was going.
I took a deep breath and laughed at myself for being so ridiculous. It is the common joke nowadays. Parents recording their children’s recitals instead of actually watching them. The couple on a date who are both on their phones instead of speaking to each other. Taking pictures of sunsets and meals rather than sitting back and enjoying them. We are all idiots. I put my phone away and let the excitement overwhelm me as she walked onto the stage.
During the show I got to focus on the following instead of updating my social feeds:
- Listening to each song and how wonderful she sounded.
- The musicians’ facial expressions and how much joy they got from playing.
- Staring at the fact she is still one of the most beautiful people ever born.
- The moment of greatness when she sang her own version of Don’t You Forget About Me.
At the end of the show, I got to meet her and have her sign my copy of her CD. It was magical.