An Open Letter to Bryan Adams
Dear Bryan Adams,
I don’t blame you. After all, how could you have realized the sincerity of my effort; how could you have seen the heart, the soul that I poured into every keystroke?
No online contest could capture the devotion of a true fan, and so tonight someone else is cradling between their palms the autographed album that should have been mine. Their hands are probably sweating all over your Bare Bones, but I’m not bitter, Bryan Adams, not at all.
On Monday, Bryan Adams, I typed my contest entry while I sang “Heaven” with you. Then I sang the harmony. Then I alternated line by line between the melody and the harmony until my housemates ran screaming from the room. I may have to move out, Bryan Adams, but it’s not your fault.
On Tuesday, Bryan Adams, I looked at photographs while I sat at the computer. I shook my head in awe at your talent. I admired your photograph of Sting, and I realized that the large bags under his eyes, the deep furrow of his brow, his receding hairline only add character to the picture. (Just to note, Bryan Adams, in the unlikely event that you ever snap my photo, I prefer “airbrushed” to “character”.)
Wednesday, Bryan Adams, I wrote a haiku for you before I hit the enter key. Yes, I could have written full verse and in iambic pentameter, but let’s be honest. You’re busy, I’m busy; I felt that seventeen syllables adequately conveyed my meaning.
If you sign Bare Bones
and even if you scribble
No Ebay for me!
On Thursday, Bryan Adams, I reviewed your concert schedule. Somehow, despite shows all over North America, Europe, and Asia, your tour still bypasses my city this spring. I don’t like to think that you’re avoiding me, but I have to be honest. It cuts like a knife. Wistfully, I submitted yet another contest entry, but was forced to admit that it just won’t be a party this year, not if you can’t come around.
I was late for work on Friday, Bryan Adams. I emerged dripping from the shower. Steam filled the room and clouded my reflection in the mirror. I rushed to the computer. Tiny rivulets of water ran insistently from my wet, matted hair down the slow, smooth curve of my neck to that point low on my left chest where the towel had been carelessly knotted. A faint, albeit musical, gasp emerged from my parted lips as I felt the knot release. Right hand on the keyboard, I waved uselessly at the towel with my left until………………………..until I came to my senses, Bryan Adams. After all, who lets an imported 100% Pima cotton towel hit the floor? Not me, Bryan Adams, certainly not me.
No, you are not to blame for the inadequacy of online contests, Bryan Adams. I hope you understand, though, that not all entries are created equal. Some reflect heart, soul, and even a damp towel, all invested in The Right Place.
To purchase Bryan Adams’ new LIVE acoustic album “Bare Bones”: http://amzn.to/eEpuE1
For Bryan Adams news, media, and tour dates: http://www.bryanadams.com/
I am not bitter.