Coming clean

Since I've had so many requests (OK, only one) to tell you what happened the night of our concert, I've decided to share. But don't blame me for the letdown that's sure to follow. After all, it's not really that funny.

After waiting in line to have Ian Tyson sign a picture of himself for the kids, I asked him if he wouldn't mind making it out to them. His reply was: "Nope. You'll have to do it yourself. I can barely write my own name." And in his mind he was thinking: "Stupid crazy lady. I'm only out here because my manager said if I don't try to create some good PR, he'll revoke my X-box priviledges. And I've almost mastered Guitar Hero III on expert level." That's probably why his hands hurt him. Too much X-box 360. It has nothing to do with the fact that he's 75 years old and has been playing a real guitar for the last two hours with arthritic fingers.

So then, feeling a bit chagrined, I asked if I could take his picture. He said, "Just tell me when you're ready." Well, I was ready right then, so I took one, but he wasn't ready so I thought I would try to snap another picture of him when he was, but the dang camera takes F-O-R-E-V-E-R for the flash to charge. So I was all, "Sorry. Just a minute. Sorry!"

A literal minute. Seriously! A minute is a long time when you're waiting to take a picture and there are other crazy raging fans behind you all wanting a piece of the celebrity. So he started to act like he was falling asleep waiting for me. And they all laughed, and laughed. And laughed. Then the camera was ready. Ian, however, was done waiting. So I snapped the shot anyway and off we went. Mumbling under my breath, I said, "Whatever. I don't even care." And under his breath, I swear I heard him say, "Ha HA! Take that, manager. I'll show you how a master Guitar Hero Celebrity works the crowd."

But I'm over it now. And I can move on with my life. Bitter? Psh. Whatever. I don't even care.