A pierced ear and a Bryan Adams song stuck in my head

So last week, a PR person offered us tickets to cover a Rod Stewart concert.

Now I was a fan of his old stuff from the 70s, the Faces stuff and Maggie May (an early cougar song come to think of it), and Every Picture Tells a Story, and Gasoline Alley. Then came Tonight's the Night and If You Think I'm Sexy and his inner cheese molded forward. And this century Stewart recorded a couple albums of Great American Songbook standards on which he sounds like Macy Gray trying to sound like Sarah Vaughn.

Needless to say, I took a pass and sent the offer to someone who is a fan. And she was happy because Bryan Adams was opening the show. too. (Which made me think - Adams may have been there to sing off stage in case old Rod the Mod couldn't hit any notes. They do have similar voices.)

And that's where trouble began.

First, somebody at work started singing Adam's Summer of 69 - the one where he got his first real six-string at the 5-and-Dime. If that weren't bad enough, next thing you know I have his opus from Kevin Costner's Robin Hood stuck in my head. Yup, Everything I Do was playing on an endless loop in my brain.

If that weren't bad enough, attempting to exorcise that demon, I shuffled through my 5,000 song iPod and played the damn song in my car. Yes, I am man enough to admit I have a handful of Bryan Adams songs downloaded. They remind me of when I and my firefighting friend Tim used to deejay wedding receptions.

Having to play Love Shack, the Hokey Pokey and YMCA 10,000 times did get old. But there was free food and drink and it was usually fun. Sure, about half of all marriages end in divorce, but for the most part receptions seem so damn optimistic. Almost every guy looks nice in a tuxedo, fresh and almost innocent. Brides even more so. Of course bridesmaids often have to wear those dreadful dresses (perhaps to make the bride look even hotter), but that adds to the fun.

Watching white people dance is always a good time - and where but a reception do people slow dance anymore? So when we were deejays, we had to play a lot of songs like and including Everything I Do.

But who amongst us doesn't have wuss music in their collection? (And at least one of you better not be laughing too much because I know YOU like and own Celine Dion music!!!) Thing is, though, playing the song alone in my car, I teared up a bit.

Yes, I become a blubbering wimp. I have mixes that make me sad and lots of Sinatra and I on occasion play this melancholy music when I am driving. It's therapeutic. Maybe it's a middle aged thing, but either way it cleanses the pallet. I turn into Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye and start missing everyone. And I think about wedding receptions and, for better and worse, not ever getting hitched myself. And about not having kids to take to baseball games and dinosaur shows. And about time flashing and the novel yet to be written. And about my flailed relationships. And about the last time anyone said they loved me.

Yes, my heart will go on. But I SWEAR that is NOT one of the songs I play!!!!

I bring this all up because this past weekend I went to a 10th wedding anniversary party for my friends Allison and Tony. I saw some old friends, some couples I didn't know with their babies toddling about and it seemed to reinforce (in those post-rational way we make connections) me playing the Adams song (yet nothing excuses me singing along with it).

All of which is a roundabout way of saying congratulations to all of you who have found and have had success holding onto those you love. May a better song play in your head.

Me, since I don't see myself donning a wedding ring anytime soon, I bought another piece of jewelry. I got my ear pierced. The right one if that matters to you. And by right I mean the left. Earring codes have me confused. For all I know it could mean I joined the Latin Kings and love to sleep with goats.

It was only $23 at the Piercing Pagoda, where they will split a pair for you, at half price plus $2.

Oddly, I also bought some topsiders, which means I've just set myself up to look like a Jimmy Buffett fan - or one of those CPAs who fancies himself a biker. Sometimes all you can do is something silly to break a mood - or get a song out of your head.