Performer: INXS
Songwriter: Andrew Farriss
Original Release: Welcome to Wherever You Are
Year: 1992
Definitive Version: None
It seemed to me that INXS
was on top of the world when this album came out, but it didn’t connect with
me. I had already discovered Pearl Jam and the whole alt-rock Seattle scene, so
maybe I had moved on.
Speaking of connecting,
everyone has moments when something so surprisingly wonderful happens that it
seems to defy explanation. These moments are the kind that happen only in the
movies or on TV. You see them and think, “that would never happen in real
life.” Well …
I remember the day clear as
a bell. It was a Thursday in September 1992, and I went to the gym for a work
out first thing in the evening after I woke up. I was invited to Dave’s for a
dinner party that night. I was going to be the fifth wheel among Dave, Julie, John
and his new wife. Actually, make that the sixth wheel, because Dave had just
become a father the previous month. That was all right; it would be a cool,
laid-back evening before I went in to work.
When I got home, I had a few
messages on my answering machine. I can’t remember whether it was the first or
second message—in fact, I think it was two due to uncertainty about having the
right number on the first attempt—but as soon as I heard the voice, I stopped
cold in my tracks, and my gym bag and jaw dropped to the floor.
It was Jenna. She called to
say that she got my number from the Journal, was off work tonight and did I
want to get together for a drink?
Now think of this: Not only
was the hottest woman in Flint if not the world at that moment interested in
me, she made the effort to call the Journal to get my home number and call ME
to ask ME out. That just doesn’t happen in real life—only in the movies or on
TV.
As an aside, you should know
that newspapers DO NOT give out the home phone numbers of their employees.
That’s standard policy, because there’s no way of knowing who the other person
is on the line, and the nature of the business means that ticked-off folks
trying might be trying to find you.
Well, the Sports department
knew the deal between me and Jenna, so the part-timer that night assumed that
delivering the sensitive piece of information was an exception to the policy.
Or, perhaps he knew the absolute Hell I would have made his worthless life had
I gotten into work that night only to find out … Wait a minute … WHO called? And you DIDN’T give out my
number? Do you not see that plate-glass window that I’m about to throw you
through?
Anyway, after I picked up my
jaw off the floor and did the Yes-Yes dance wildly across the living room area
of my apartment, I called Dave to unfortunately—oh DARN—back out of attending his
dinner party. Yes, I did that first, because I didn’t want to sound like the
little boy who suddenly got everything he always wanted for Christmas when I
called Jenna back.
I must have been successful,
because she didn’t change her mind when we spoke. She said she lived up in
Clio, which is way the heck north of Flint, and, of course, I was in Grand
Blanc, way the heck south, so we decided to meet in the middle. Her choice was
a divey looking bar on Dort Highway near to I-69 that a friend had told her about
and I had passed by a thousand times. Sounds great. Of course, pizza at Chucky
Cheese in the middle of a kids’ birthday party would’ve sounded good to me at
that moment.
As soon as I hung up, aside
from an elation that I couldn’t contain—and the need to shower again, of course
(don’t know if I’m clean enough from the ol’ gym, you know)—I suddenly was
slapped in the face by the reality of the situation. Remember, I was going to
play it close to the vest while Jenna rebounded from her recent breakup. I
didn’t want to push it, because if I did, it wouldn’t work out. I was thinking
the long game here: We had to go slow.
Well, that plan had just
been crumpled up and consigned to the trash can of Best Laid Plans. I
instinctively knew that this was bad timing. But what was I going to say, no?
Not a chance of that. No, the cards had been dealt, and now I had to play them
as best as I could.
We met at the bar, and I
don’t remember much about it except that it had a jive DJ in the dance
area—think: Deadmau5 minus the mau5 head … and the creativity, talent and cool factor. Jenna wasn’t interested
in dancing, and before long, the music grated, so we left.
She might not have had to
work that night, but I did, so we went to the Friday’s downtown, which I
believe is now long gone, because it was quick and close to the Journal
building—and I did want a little something to eat before work, since I hadn’t
had anything yet that day. (One can’t live on elation alone.)
What I remember about being
there—besides the fact that Jenna looked absolutely gorgeous—was that she
ordered brie, which I had never had before; I picked up the check; and when we
parted, she left me with the promise of a second date (U2 at the Silverdome the
next week) and a kiss that had me floating on Cloud 9 all the way to work.
Heaven sent, indeed. Maybe
this will work out after all …
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