Scream For Me, Jones Beach!!!

Okay, I think I've officially maxed out my tolerance for gray-haired 80s bands who are long past their prime. If seeing The Police a few weeks ago was a happy, nostalgic visit to yesteryear, tonight's grating trifecta of Styx, Foreigner, and Def Leppard at Jones Beach was a sad reminder of how much time has passed since those awkward days of inopportune pimples, unrequited crushes, and Breakfast Club cliques.

Styx, who were sans Dennis DeYoung, were abysmal. The new lead singer they corralled to do the job was pure fromage. White suit, piano tie, and enough bad segues and audience ass kisses to make your eyes roll back into your head. Sail Away and Two Much Time On My Hands were passable, but on the whole, Styx sounded like shit. Too bad. Get DD back and then let's talk.

Foreigner were surprisingly good. Lou Gramm wasn't there but the guy they got to replace him was solid and sounded just like him. I'm embarrassed to admit that I got a goose bump during I Want To Know What Love Is, a song I absolutely despised in high school. (Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me lately? I'm so sappy and emotional, I feel like I'm going through menopause. I'd better snap out of it soon, because I'm getting on my nerves.) They also played my favorite Foreigner song, Juke Box Hero, which I keep calling Guitar Hero for some reason. At the tail end of the song, they swung into Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin. Nice job Foreigner, our paths may cross again.

And last, but not least, there was Def Leppard, probably my favorite rock band in high school, before they screwed the pooch with Hysteria, then Adrenalize, and whatever shyte they put out after that. High N' Dry and Pyromania: GOOD. Hysteria, Adrenalize, Ensuing Shyte: BAD. Listening to them, I literally felt bipolar. They come out playing utter garbage like Excitable and Animal and Rocket, all of which have lyrics so vapid and cliched that whoever wrote them should be forced to take a creative writing class. Or talk to Eddie Vedder for some badly-needed help in the inspiration department.

Then they kick it old school and start playing Foolin' and Photograph and an amazing acoustic version of Bringin' on the Heartbreak, and they turn me around. Hey, these guys aren't talentless tools after all, I think to myself. Before they got popular, they actually wrote some decent songs. Maybe I'm being too hard on them. And I'm pumpin' and I'm singin' and I'm dancin'.

Then they switch back to their more recent stuff. First, they slow things down and get all serious with the absurdly stupid Love Bites. ("Watch out!" Pause, pause. "Love BITES!") Then, when no one's looking, they raise the roof with the Stupidest Song I've Ever Heard: Pour Some Sugar On Me. Here's a taste:

Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon fire me up
Pour your sugar on me
Oh, I can't get enough

I'm hot, sticky sweet
From my head to my feet yeah

Do ya like sugar, ladies? One lump or TWO?! Please. Fuck you, Def Leppard.

All of the above might have been tolerable had I been drunk. Sadly, I learned tonight that Jones Beach concerts are dry. No beer for sale. You want to get liquored up, ya gotta tailgate. Just like all the mulletted yahoos we saw in the parking lot on the way in.

Fortunately, my wallet felt no pain tonight, as the tickets were free, courtesy of friend J. a/k/a Shamrock. I call him Shamrock because the guy is so fucking lucky, he must have been born with a shamrock up his ass. One time in Vegas, we happened to be walking by the Roulette table and he called two numbers in a row. Two numbers, right on the nose. Of course, because he was with Eeyore (me), we didn't put any money down on his little hunches.

Since law school, where we met, Shamrock's had more jobs than I can count on one hand, while I've had exactly two. Yet he's always flush with cash and always seems to enjoy his job(s) more than I do.

Does life throw him curveballs? Oh yes. Many years ago, Shamrock married a beautiful woman whom he'd been dating for a couple of years. She was totally stunning, and whenever I'd go out with the two of them, it was fun to watch the male heads turn and Shamrock's reaction to same. It was a combination of self-pleased pride and anxious insecurity. I was the Best Man at their wedding. Two years after they got married, they got divorced. (I'm 0 for 1 as a Best Man. Word.) Did divorce get Shamrock down? Nosiree bobskee. Within a year, he met the woman who would become his second wife. After a year or so of dating, they got married in, you guessed it, Vegas. They now have two kids and seem pretty darn happy. Me? My luck's been a bit different. Things have gotten so bad that I can't manage to work a relationship that hasn't even started yet. The lovely L.P. called off our future wedding a couple of days ago, and we haven't even met! (Beware the youngins, folks. They're notoriously fickle and unpredictable. No, I'm not going to explain.)

Recently, Shamrock lost his job because a new CEO at his company brought in his own people and did a major overhaul on management. No problem. As compensation for his termination, Shamrock got a huge severance that paid him his full salary for the rest of the year. Now he's about to be hired by a bigger, better company, and for more money. Oh and he just got back from a trip to Dubai that featured: a camel auction, indoor downhill skiing, and an entertaining evening with three Russian ladies, none of whom he laid a finger on (he swears). The guy knows how to live, bless his Shamrock heart.

Before I leave, I have a small confession to make. I lied about having had my fill of tired 80s bands. In fact, Shamrock and I are going to go see Van Halen next. They're touring with David Lee Roth. He looks good for his age, don't you think? Then maybe we'll catch The Scorpions. Looove The Scorpions. They'd just better not play that cheesy-ass Cold War ballad,Winds of Change. Old habits die hard.