Somehow I missed the news. My friend Brat had to tell me. And apparently it's official. The engagement between Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong has ended.
Even though I confessed a major crush on Sheryl Crow a few months ago before her Portland concert and perhaps may have made a disparaging comment or two directed at Lance Armstrong, I can't exactly rejoice at this news.
For one thing, there is hardly a snowball's chance I'll ever meet Sheryl Crow, let alone realize the celebrity fantasy.
And for another thing, I can empathize with the situation Sheryl and Lance are going through. I don't know who is the wronged party here, or the more wronged party, but loving someone and not seeing that pledge of commitment fulfilled is painful. It fucking sucks.
And it can take a while to get over. I long while sometimes. So, I don't relish their separation. And I wasn't trying to curse their engagement in a previous post where I threatened (in jest, well, mostly) to thump on Lance Armstrong.
However, if by some weird fluke I should happen to win the Powerball lottery (which is now up to $210 million) and in the jet-setting travels that would ensue, I should happen to meet Sheryl, and she needs a shoulder to lean on and an empathetic ear and heart to hear her tale of woe, I would graciously make myself available. Hey, sometimes you just need someone to cry with until you can laugh, and live and love, again.
I think Brat would understand. Wouldn't she? Maybe concert tickets and a backstage pass would smooth things over.
Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Powerball lottery
Fantasy
Showing posts with label Lance Armstrong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lance Armstrong. Show all posts
Monday, February 06, 2006
Monday, October 17, 2005
An intimate birthday gift from Sheryl Crow
Concert ticket: $80.85
Parking at the Rose Garden Arena in Portland: $20
Draft microbrew beer: $8
Spending your birthday evening being serenaded by Sheryl Crow: Priceless
It’s been quite the day, so in an attempt to share as much detail as I can about the Sheryl Crow concert, we bring you this special All-Sheryl-Crow-edition of the Digital Fishwrap Rainbow Roll. Settle in folks, this is a bit long.
***
And, because I’m sure someone will be dying to know after comments made in an earlier post, of course biker boy, the instigator behind the “Live Strong” cancer awareness bracelet and the huge rock Sheryl was sporting on her left-hand ring finger, Lance Armstrong himself was at the show.
And no I didn’t kick his ass, or strangle him with my bracelet, but the boy certainly pushed his luck at flaunting himself with the object of my unrequited musical crush.
I first spotted Armstrong wearing a black shirt and ballcap, off on the left side of the stage behind the soundboard, where a guitar mechanic was tuning instruments for Sheryl during the performance. No one else seated around me seemed to spot the seven-time Tour de France winner though.
Then, in between songs, Armstrong starts coming onto the stage carrying a guitar. I turned to the guy next to me and said, “Look who is bringing Sheryl her guitar.” The guy didn’t get it at first. So I repeated it in a different way. “Do you recognize the guy bringing her her guitar?” About that time a buzz went up from the audience, mostly the women. Then there was a completely unnecessary display of hugging and kissing right there on center stage.
Sheryl made a joke about how it was hard to find good help and something about that being the most expensive guitar tech she ever had, which drew a laugh from the audience. She never introduced him though, even though she mentioned him by name a couple of times during the show. Then Sheryl and the band launched into “All I Wanna Do,” which was the song that brought Crow and her music to my attention and spawned the crush that has now lasted more than a decade. Obviously, the special nature and aura of positive feelings and emotions that song has evoked for me over the years is not forever tainted with Lance Armstrong kooties. I may never recover.
Biker boy made another appearance onstage during one of the encores when Sheryl signaled for him to join her on stage, and the two briefly danced during the musical solo. I saw visions of myself sprinting the nine rows to the stage and tackling Armstrong in a fit of rage, but then the coward skulked back off stage to hide inside the concert security perimeter.
Crow fronted a 5-piece band and an 11-piece string section, producing a sound capable of rock ’n’ roll power and orchestral complexity, and a hint of country twang at one point.
Crow herself played acoustic, electric and bass guitar, piano and even a little harmonica thrown in.
The song list went deep into selections from Crow’s latest album “Wildflower,” particularly early in the show. I’m not 100 percent certain, my memory may be influence by the fact that I listened to the CD on the way to the concert, but I believe she played every single song on the new album. She may have missed one or two. I lost count during the show at about 7 or 8 songs off the news album.
But there were plenty of old favorites on the playlist as well. Of the 16 songs (yes there are 17 tracks, but one song is on there in two different versions) on her “The Very Best of Sheryl Crow” album, Crow and company played a dozen or more songs.
Notably absent from the playlist were the hit singles “Leaving Las Vegas,” “Steve McQueen.”
Crow played two encores for the Portland audience, but many in the crowd seemed on the verge of bolting, some even walking toward the exits, willing to walk out before the house lights were raised and Crow’s second curtain call.
The wait for the first encore was a tad long, but when Sheryl came out on stage in a different outfit, the lag time between stage departure and reemergence was easier to understand. Sheryl ditched the dress for a pair of jeans and tank top T-shirt, and lost the high heals in favor of some biker-chick high-heel sandals.
Among the songs in the encore sets were Elton John’s “Levon,” “Soak Up The Sun” and her post-9/11 inspired “Safe And Sound.”
The concert itself had a much more intimate feel than the Brad Paisley/Sara Evans/SugarLand show I’d attended at the Rose Garden just a few weeks earlier. This seemed more like a show in a Las Vegas showroom venue than a major sports arena. The stage was set sideways on the arena floor, and there were far fewer seats sold for Sheryl’s show than the country concert. A good portion of the arena was actually curtained off, with maybe about half the seating capacity used.
There were no video screens showing Sheryl’s face. There were a couple of video backdrops, but those were used to show images and graphics related to some of the song, almost like a music video, rather than showing the performer sitting far from the stage. But the way the seating was set up, no one really seamed far from the stage.
Of course my impression of intimacy may have been colored by the fact that I was on the arena floor, a mere nine rows from the stage, with an excellent view of Sheryl, her outfit, her legs, her… well, you get the idea.
I could not find a souvenir vendor at the show anywhere. I was so looking forward to getting a Sheryl Crow T-shirt, so I could always have her lips close to my heart. But I walked through a fair amount of the Rose Garden concourse and didn’t see a booth anywhere. There was food. There was beer. There was booze. But no T-shirt booth. Oh, sure, I would have bitched about paying some outrageous price for a shirt. But for Sheryl, it would have been worth it.
That, and I know how hot women find it when middle-aged men where apparel with the likeness of another woman on it. I’m sure my dating life really would have picked up with my beer gut wrapped in a silkscreen portrait of Sheryl. Talk about a babe magnet! Does anyone even say babe magnet anymore?
Then, almost exactly 2 hours after the first note was played, the show came to an end. It was the climax to a great day. Couldn’t have been better, well, except for that whole having to work thing. And an hour after the show ended I was back home. But that certainly wasn’t the end of the excitement.
Shortly after arriving home, the evening is capped by a police car ripping through the apartment complex where I live at a high rate of speed, lights and sirens going, apparently in pursuit of someone. The car circled much of the complex before coming to a stop a ways down the lot. A few minutes later several more patrol cars showed up.
Nothing like a little crime drama to add a little extra spice to an already exciting day. There I was, standing outside in the parking lot with the neighbors, swapping details about what we saw and heard, and gawking down the way to see if we could see what was going on. Not daring to venture too close, lest there be weapons drawn and boogie-men, with or without badges, running loose.
This will certainly be a birthday I will not soon forget.
Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Live music
Portland, Ore.
Birthday
Parking at the Rose Garden Arena in Portland: $20
Draft microbrew beer: $8
Spending your birthday evening being serenaded by Sheryl Crow: Priceless
It’s been quite the day, so in an attempt to share as much detail as I can about the Sheryl Crow concert, we bring you this special All-Sheryl-Crow-edition of the Digital Fishwrap Rainbow Roll. Settle in folks, this is a bit long.
***
Sheryl Crow took the stage at the Rose Garden arena at about 8:25 p.m. There was no opening act. No introduction from the wings. Just the dimming of the house lights, the lifting of curtains surrounding the stage, and Crow and her band taking the stage, belting out the first lines and licks of the first song of the night.
Crow was the picture of the casual pop songstress, wearing a white summer dress with a pleated hemline, which showed off her slender, verging on skinny, legs from just above the knee all the way down to her strappy high-healed shoes. But her vocals left no doubt this singer has roots in rock and blues and she packs some powerful pipes in a slender frame. I have to say, ordinarily I like a woman with some meat on her bones. A little junk in the trunk. But Crow defies what I would ordinarily describe as the ideal. Maybe it’s the hair. Maybe it’s the eyes. The lips certainly have something to do with it. And my God, the voice is stunning. And Sheryl and I did have one matching accessory item, or lovely yellow Live Strong bracelets.
Crow was the picture of the casual pop songstress, wearing a white summer dress with a pleated hemline, which showed off her slender, verging on skinny, legs from just above the knee all the way down to her strappy high-healed shoes. But her vocals left no doubt this singer has roots in rock and blues and she packs some powerful pipes in a slender frame. I have to say, ordinarily I like a woman with some meat on her bones. A little junk in the trunk. But Crow defies what I would ordinarily describe as the ideal. Maybe it’s the hair. Maybe it’s the eyes. The lips certainly have something to do with it. And my God, the voice is stunning. And Sheryl and I did have one matching accessory item, or lovely yellow Live Strong bracelets.
***
And, because I’m sure someone will be dying to know after comments made in an earlier post, of course biker boy, the instigator behind the “Live Strong” cancer awareness bracelet and the huge rock Sheryl was sporting on her left-hand ring finger, Lance Armstrong himself was at the show.
And no I didn’t kick his ass, or strangle him with my bracelet, but the boy certainly pushed his luck at flaunting himself with the object of my unrequited musical crush.
I first spotted Armstrong wearing a black shirt and ballcap, off on the left side of the stage behind the soundboard, where a guitar mechanic was tuning instruments for Sheryl during the performance. No one else seated around me seemed to spot the seven-time Tour de France winner though.
Then, in between songs, Armstrong starts coming onto the stage carrying a guitar. I turned to the guy next to me and said, “Look who is bringing Sheryl her guitar.” The guy didn’t get it at first. So I repeated it in a different way. “Do you recognize the guy bringing her her guitar?” About that time a buzz went up from the audience, mostly the women. Then there was a completely unnecessary display of hugging and kissing right there on center stage.
Sheryl made a joke about how it was hard to find good help and something about that being the most expensive guitar tech she ever had, which drew a laugh from the audience. She never introduced him though, even though she mentioned him by name a couple of times during the show. Then Sheryl and the band launched into “All I Wanna Do,” which was the song that brought Crow and her music to my attention and spawned the crush that has now lasted more than a decade. Obviously, the special nature and aura of positive feelings and emotions that song has evoked for me over the years is not forever tainted with Lance Armstrong kooties. I may never recover.
Biker boy made another appearance onstage during one of the encores when Sheryl signaled for him to join her on stage, and the two briefly danced during the musical solo. I saw visions of myself sprinting the nine rows to the stage and tackling Armstrong in a fit of rage, but then the coward skulked back off stage to hide inside the concert security perimeter.
***
Crow fronted a 5-piece band and an 11-piece string section, producing a sound capable of rock ’n’ roll power and orchestral complexity, and a hint of country twang at one point.
Crow herself played acoustic, electric and bass guitar, piano and even a little harmonica thrown in.
The song list went deep into selections from Crow’s latest album “Wildflower,” particularly early in the show. I’m not 100 percent certain, my memory may be influence by the fact that I listened to the CD on the way to the concert, but I believe she played every single song on the new album. She may have missed one or two. I lost count during the show at about 7 or 8 songs off the news album.
But there were plenty of old favorites on the playlist as well. Of the 16 songs (yes there are 17 tracks, but one song is on there in two different versions) on her “The Very Best of Sheryl Crow” album, Crow and company played a dozen or more songs.
Notably absent from the playlist were the hit singles “Leaving Las Vegas,” “Steve McQueen.”
***
Crow played two encores for the Portland audience, but many in the crowd seemed on the verge of bolting, some even walking toward the exits, willing to walk out before the house lights were raised and Crow’s second curtain call.
The wait for the first encore was a tad long, but when Sheryl came out on stage in a different outfit, the lag time between stage departure and reemergence was easier to understand. Sheryl ditched the dress for a pair of jeans and tank top T-shirt, and lost the high heals in favor of some biker-chick high-heel sandals.
Among the songs in the encore sets were Elton John’s “Levon,” “Soak Up The Sun” and her post-9/11 inspired “Safe And Sound.”
***
The concert itself had a much more intimate feel than the Brad Paisley/Sara Evans/SugarLand show I’d attended at the Rose Garden just a few weeks earlier. This seemed more like a show in a Las Vegas showroom venue than a major sports arena. The stage was set sideways on the arena floor, and there were far fewer seats sold for Sheryl’s show than the country concert. A good portion of the arena was actually curtained off, with maybe about half the seating capacity used.
There were no video screens showing Sheryl’s face. There were a couple of video backdrops, but those were used to show images and graphics related to some of the song, almost like a music video, rather than showing the performer sitting far from the stage. But the way the seating was set up, no one really seamed far from the stage.
Of course my impression of intimacy may have been colored by the fact that I was on the arena floor, a mere nine rows from the stage, with an excellent view of Sheryl, her outfit, her legs, her… well, you get the idea.
***
I could not find a souvenir vendor at the show anywhere. I was so looking forward to getting a Sheryl Crow T-shirt, so I could always have her lips close to my heart. But I walked through a fair amount of the Rose Garden concourse and didn’t see a booth anywhere. There was food. There was beer. There was booze. But no T-shirt booth. Oh, sure, I would have bitched about paying some outrageous price for a shirt. But for Sheryl, it would have been worth it.
That, and I know how hot women find it when middle-aged men where apparel with the likeness of another woman on it. I’m sure my dating life really would have picked up with my beer gut wrapped in a silkscreen portrait of Sheryl. Talk about a babe magnet! Does anyone even say babe magnet anymore?
***
Then, almost exactly 2 hours after the first note was played, the show came to an end. It was the climax to a great day. Couldn’t have been better, well, except for that whole having to work thing. And an hour after the show ended I was back home. But that certainly wasn’t the end of the excitement.
Shortly after arriving home, the evening is capped by a police car ripping through the apartment complex where I live at a high rate of speed, lights and sirens going, apparently in pursuit of someone. The car circled much of the complex before coming to a stop a ways down the lot. A few minutes later several more patrol cars showed up.
Nothing like a little crime drama to add a little extra spice to an already exciting day. There I was, standing outside in the parking lot with the neighbors, swapping details about what we saw and heard, and gawking down the way to see if we could see what was going on. Not daring to venture too close, lest there be weapons drawn and boogie-men, with or without badges, running loose.
This will certainly be a birthday I will not soon forget.
Lance Armstrong
Live music
Portland, Ore.
Birthday
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Now I do have to thump on Lance Armstrong
It's official, Lance Armstrong and I are going to have to tangle, that is if he shows his skinny little biker's ass in Portland during his "fiancee " Sheryl Crow's concert this month. I knew this might happen, but now it's certain.
Yea, I know they are reportedly engaged, but I know from personal experience that engagements don't always culminate in weddings. So I was still holding on to my Sheryl Crow-will-be-my-wife/lover/sugar momma fantasy.
I realized the other day, while buying tickets to Sheryl's upcoming concert that I somehow missed the release of her new album last month. The things you miss when you don't have a newspaper subscription and are completely out of touch with pop culture. So, anyway, I decided to stop by Best Buy today on my way home and pick up Sheryl's album “Wildflower” and Sara Evans' album, “Real Fine Place, ”which was released today.
Speaking of Sara, she of course is going to abandon her husband for me once we finally actually meet, but I'm not going to get into that right now. Because this post is about Sheryl. And me. And kicking Lance Armstrong's ass. And I won't want to look like a fickle, disloyal fantasy lover. So, let's, for now, just forget I brought Sara up. I still luv ya Sara, but well, you are out of state and will be in between tour stops in North Dakota and Illinois when Sheryl’s in town and...
Wait. Where was I?
Oh yea, so I bought Sheryl’s new album. I was flipping through the liner notes, having a good-ol’ time while the CD played when I discovered that part of the album was recorded at a studio in Portland. I took this as a further sign that Sheryl and I are destined to get together.
And then it hit me, like a bicyclist slamming broadside into a moving car. It was right there. In the dedication.
“To Lance with deep love and appreciation, this record is for you.”
So that’s why I have to kick Lance’s ass. Celebrities and sports superstars getting engaged is one thing. That happens all the time. Those never last. But putting something in the liner notes of an album? That stuff is with you forever! You can't take that shit back!
Of course I can’t blame Sheryl, because she is, well, perfect, so it has to be that Lance guy’s fault. So, he has to pay!
OK, so Lance is younger than me by about 6-7 years. And he’s a world class athlete. But, it’s the principle of the thing. OK, so I concede that Lance would probably kick my ass and use by bones for bicycle spokes. But I can’t just stand for this insult!
You see, Sheryl and I have a history. She doesn’t know anything about it, but it’s completely real if only totally imaginary.
The first time we met, I was driving my ’88 Honda Prelude down a narrow, winding road to Coquille on the Oregon Coast. Or maybe I was coming back from Coquille. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I was driving. Coquille was involved. The Prelude was there. The sun was shining, which was a rarity on the Oregon Coast, so maybe that’s why the memory is so vivid, except for the parts that are a little vague and nebulous. I’m driving down this road and this song comes on the radio. This voice. This tune that just wouldn’t get out of my head. A goddess with a light, airy voice was singing of sights and quirky characters inhabiting Southern California, making them sound funny and sad and stranglely heroic all at once. The song was “All I Wanna Do,” and as quick as you can say "until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard" I was head over heels for Sheryl Crow.
Sheryl’s “Tuesday Night Music Club” CD was probably the first non-country music CD I bought in years. And she is one of the few artists of whom I have all their CDs in any genre. OK, so she’s only had seven albums in 11 years, and I ended up buying three at once a few years ago because Sheryl and I lost touch for a while, but I came back Sheryl, a bigger fan than before. And besides, just what were you doing with Eric Clapton when I wasn't looking? Let's not point any fingers missy!
Anyway, “Tuesday Night Music Club” was my transition album. I was a fan while still living in Oregon, but after moving to Southern California in 1995 and spending time in some of the places she sings about on the album, like aformentioned Sunset Boulevard, Las Vegas (even Barstow) the album and the collage of photographs on it took on a newer, deeper, different meaning to me. The lyrics were made real by seeing, experiencing, some of the places that inspired the words and melodies.There were photos of signs on the album cover and liner notes and the photos themselves were signs of a fate and a destiny yet to be realized.
I remember lying in my bed in my Mojave Desert apartment, listening to songs like “Leaving Las Vegas” and my imagination would drift off. I would daydream that Sheryl, tiring of all the celebrity attention and rat race of L.A., bought a place in the desert (hey, it wasn’t unheard of, Roy Rogers lived there and, um, well, um, some other celebrity or other whose name escapes me).
So, anyway, Sheryl bought a place in the high desert and we met somehow. I think I had won the lottery or something and moved to a more upscale part of town (because anyone flush with lottery winnings and record sales cash would obviously gravitate to Victorville or Apple Valley, Calif.) and we ended up as neighbors. Anyway we hit it off. And I became her lover and fulltime tour and studio photographer, traveling with her. And when we weren’t on the road, we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lounging by the pool at her house or my desert home, or her L.A. home. And often we would take late night roadtrips to Vegas, shouting the lyrics to “Leaving Las Vegas” as we drove through Barstow on Interstate 15, and laughing like hyenas. We could of taken our private jet, but singing the lyrics wouldn't have been the same while flying over Barstow.
It was an elaborate storyline, played out over a long span of time. Well, except sometime in there the role of Sheryl was played by Terri Clark. But now Terri just got married, so we don’t need to get into that whole heartbreak.
Mostly it was Sheryl. Always it was Sheryl. Even if she sometimes was taller and wore a cowboy hat. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
And that’s why I’m going to take my little yellow “Live Strong” bracelet and stretch it over Lance’s head and strangle him with it.
Well, after getting his autograph. And telling him what an inspiration he is.
Then he’s going to pay! Sheryl will forgive me though.
Won’t she?
Hell it’ll be my 40th birthday, she’ll have to. Temporary insanity. It’s totally defensible.
Right?
Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Sara Evans
Terri Clark
Music
Fantasies
Yea, I know they are reportedly engaged, but I know from personal experience that engagements don't always culminate in weddings. So I was still holding on to my Sheryl Crow-will-be-my-wife/lover/sugar momma fantasy.
I realized the other day, while buying tickets to Sheryl's upcoming concert that I somehow missed the release of her new album last month. The things you miss when you don't have a newspaper subscription and are completely out of touch with pop culture. So, anyway, I decided to stop by Best Buy today on my way home and pick up Sheryl's album “Wildflower” and Sara Evans' album, “Real Fine Place, ”which was released today.
Speaking of Sara, she of course is going to abandon her husband for me once we finally actually meet, but I'm not going to get into that right now. Because this post is about Sheryl. And me. And kicking Lance Armstrong's ass. And I won't want to look like a fickle, disloyal fantasy lover. So, let's, for now, just forget I brought Sara up. I still luv ya Sara, but well, you are out of state and will be in between tour stops in North Dakota and Illinois when Sheryl’s in town and...
Wait. Where was I?
Oh yea, so I bought Sheryl’s new album. I was flipping through the liner notes, having a good-ol’ time while the CD played when I discovered that part of the album was recorded at a studio in Portland. I took this as a further sign that Sheryl and I are destined to get together.
And then it hit me, like a bicyclist slamming broadside into a moving car. It was right there. In the dedication.
“To Lance with deep love and appreciation, this record is for you.”
So that’s why I have to kick Lance’s ass. Celebrities and sports superstars getting engaged is one thing. That happens all the time. Those never last. But putting something in the liner notes of an album? That stuff is with you forever! You can't take that shit back!
Of course I can’t blame Sheryl, because she is, well, perfect, so it has to be that Lance guy’s fault. So, he has to pay!
OK, so Lance is younger than me by about 6-7 years. And he’s a world class athlete. But, it’s the principle of the thing. OK, so I concede that Lance would probably kick my ass and use by bones for bicycle spokes. But I can’t just stand for this insult!
You see, Sheryl and I have a history. She doesn’t know anything about it, but it’s completely real if only totally imaginary.
The first time we met, I was driving my ’88 Honda Prelude down a narrow, winding road to Coquille on the Oregon Coast. Or maybe I was coming back from Coquille. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I was driving. Coquille was involved. The Prelude was there. The sun was shining, which was a rarity on the Oregon Coast, so maybe that’s why the memory is so vivid, except for the parts that are a little vague and nebulous. I’m driving down this road and this song comes on the radio. This voice. This tune that just wouldn’t get out of my head. A goddess with a light, airy voice was singing of sights and quirky characters inhabiting Southern California, making them sound funny and sad and stranglely heroic all at once. The song was “All I Wanna Do,” and as quick as you can say "until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard" I was head over heels for Sheryl Crow.
Sheryl’s “Tuesday Night Music Club” CD was probably the first non-country music CD I bought in years. And she is one of the few artists of whom I have all their CDs in any genre. OK, so she’s only had seven albums in 11 years, and I ended up buying three at once a few years ago because Sheryl and I lost touch for a while, but I came back Sheryl, a bigger fan than before. And besides, just what were you doing with Eric Clapton when I wasn't looking? Let's not point any fingers missy!
Anyway, “Tuesday Night Music Club” was my transition album. I was a fan while still living in Oregon, but after moving to Southern California in 1995 and spending time in some of the places she sings about on the album, like aformentioned Sunset Boulevard, Las Vegas (even Barstow) the album and the collage of photographs on it took on a newer, deeper, different meaning to me. The lyrics were made real by seeing, experiencing, some of the places that inspired the words and melodies.There were photos of signs on the album cover and liner notes and the photos themselves were signs of a fate and a destiny yet to be realized.
I remember lying in my bed in my Mojave Desert apartment, listening to songs like “Leaving Las Vegas” and my imagination would drift off. I would daydream that Sheryl, tiring of all the celebrity attention and rat race of L.A., bought a place in the desert (hey, it wasn’t unheard of, Roy Rogers lived there and, um, well, um, some other celebrity or other whose name escapes me).
So, anyway, Sheryl bought a place in the high desert and we met somehow. I think I had won the lottery or something and moved to a more upscale part of town (because anyone flush with lottery winnings and record sales cash would obviously gravitate to Victorville or Apple Valley, Calif.) and we ended up as neighbors. Anyway we hit it off. And I became her lover and fulltime tour and studio photographer, traveling with her. And when we weren’t on the road, we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lounging by the pool at her house or my desert home, or her L.A. home. And often we would take late night roadtrips to Vegas, shouting the lyrics to “Leaving Las Vegas” as we drove through Barstow on Interstate 15, and laughing like hyenas. We could of taken our private jet, but singing the lyrics wouldn't have been the same while flying over Barstow.
It was an elaborate storyline, played out over a long span of time. Well, except sometime in there the role of Sheryl was played by Terri Clark. But now Terri just got married, so we don’t need to get into that whole heartbreak.
Mostly it was Sheryl. Always it was Sheryl. Even if she sometimes was taller and wore a cowboy hat. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
And that’s why I’m going to take my little yellow “Live Strong” bracelet and stretch it over Lance’s head and strangle him with it.
Well, after getting his autograph. And telling him what an inspiration he is.
Then he’s going to pay! Sheryl will forgive me though.
Won’t she?
Hell it’ll be my 40th birthday, she’ll have to. Temporary insanity. It’s totally defensible.
Right?
Sheryl Crow
Lance Armstrong
Sara Evans
Terri Clark
Music
Fantasies
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