Caught in a Time Warp

...with B.J. Thomas

[A Bag/E-Crap.com exclusive]

If you have ever read any of my past commentaries on favorite movies and music, you already know a little about me. Musically, I like GOOD alternative, GOOD punk, GOOD pop (even BAD pop sometimes - cheesy 70's tunes inclusive), and GOOD anything. Just give me something original or different from the norm (or ultra-cheesy). Similar with movies, I'll take the artsy cinema flicks anytime over the mass produced and overpriced "things" coming out of the major film studios these days. And of course, give me anything made by David Lynch.

Recently, I experienced a media time warp. I found myself listening to cheesy 70's music, while experiencing a Lynch-like movie setting. It was scary. Hell, it was downright frightful. And I survived to tell about it. The following is not for the faint of heart. If this is you, you might want to stop here. For the more daring...read on.

It was a Wednesday night like any other Wednesday night. Well, not quite. At 8PM, I had to attend a family dinner. Yes, I HAD to. There was no getting out of this one. Period. I got the details from a family member, used Yahoo maps to find the restaurant location, and set out for the north-central Jersey location. My first dilemma was finding somewhere to park my car. The restaurant did not have its own parking lot, and the street parking left a lot to be desired. 8:10. I had been driving around the block nearly twenty minutes waiting for a space right in front of the restaurant to open up. Finally, one did. I positioned myself with my blinker on, and lowered my window prepared to out-shout or even confront anyone who felt they were going to move in on this spot. This was not exactly Rumson, NJ, or Beverly Hills. You get the picture. The parking went without incident, and I arrived at the family table at about 8:15. The family table consisted of a couple lopsided dinette tables all put together to form one uneven, unstable, and downright annoying table. 

Our waitress was something out of an Anne Rice novel. She had fangs, and was dressed all in black. Actually, they might not have been fangs. They may have been the remaining stubs from where her teeth once sat. After ordering my first bottle of Sam Adams (the tap selection consisted of Bud, Bud Light, and Bud-something else), I found out that this...THIS...was the guest of honor's favorite restaurant. Something about the corned beef. Oh, and the entertainment. The guest of honor loved live music. Please let me die peacefully.

Right about the time that toothy brought me my second Sam Adams, the food was finally served. It took me at least five minutes to finish my, um, steak (I think it was steak), and by 9PM, I was downing my third Sam. Then, everything went black. Or hazy. Or very gray. The entertainment was about to start.

A gentleman in what appeared to be his 40's took the stage. Or, I should say, was standing in a corner of the restaurant/lounge with a microphone and a Casio-type music boom box. Smaller version of your typical karaoke machine. He introduced himself, and our guest of honor prepared to be entertained while eating her corned beef. And as he turned on the box, I noticed the leisure suit he was wearing, straight out of the 70's, and figured out he would be worth a laugh. How wrong I was. The programmed music began to play, and the first words were uttered... "Raindrops keep falling on head..." Great. Oldies! Okay, so the guy couldn't sing a lick, and obviously played no instruments, but who could not be impressed by the cheesy 70's tune he chose to start with. Heck, while ordering my fourth Sam, I even started singing along at some of the chorus. 

But all good things must come to an end. After concluding his opening number, he went right into the second one. The opening programmed bars of music sounded familiar, and they were not enhanced by watching the crooner's face, which was going into contortions, like he was ready to orgasm. The words finally came out... "I can't fight this feeling..." and on it went. The song, Hooked on a Feeling was another B.J. Thomas classic. Well, best to get the B.J. portion of the show completed before going into the real numbers, like Margaritaville and American Pie. Once completed, two or three people gave light, almost guilty applause, and I awaited my Jimmy Buffett fix. Instead, I got more B.J. "Hey, won't you play, another somebody done somebody wrong song..." He was a one-man and one boom box B.J. Thomas tribute act! Or was he simply obsessed with B.J.? Did B.J. Thomas ever record more than those three songs? I needed to learn the answer, so I politely waited for the next number. The applause was now gone altogether. Even our guest of honor was no longer paying attention to the deeply disturbed individual with the microphone. He announced that his next number was an "obscure little tune that was recorded by B.J. Thomas on his second album." He even gave the album name. I stood up, gave him a howl, clapped my hands together, threw some money on the table, said I had to run, kissed our guest of honor on the cheek, and made a full speed dash to the door. My car was still there. And I promised I would never listen to another B.J. Thomas song as long as I live.

Bag

Bag is the self-professed "creative genius" behind the web's hottest pop culture site, www.e-crap.com. He calls Manhattan and the Jersey Shore "home" and can be reached at bag@e-crap.com.