It wasn’t until 1999 that I actually saw Chris Isaak in concert.  I had told my friend Holly the story of the faulty brakes (I’ve told everybody) and as a birthday gift she bought me a ticket to his “Speak of the Devil” tour.  Finally, in all his glory and blue wisdom he crooned us out of the doldrums and then invited a few of the skankily dressed girls up onto the stage, unfortunately we had left our cleavage tops at home.  For the finale he donned a mirrored suit and the light beamed off of him like a disco ball.  As the strobe lights pulsated to the music I stood quietly with the others, waiting for the epileptic seizure to occur. 

When they announced that he would be in the lobby signing autographs I couldn’t believe it. Even though I’m not an autograph getting type person, my friend and I got in line and stood for about two hours.  Now, I’ll get David Sedaris’ autograph because he is a writer, it makes sense.  Chris Isaak, however, is a singer,  I’d rather him sing me a song.  I was quite content, though, in looking over his mirrored pants while he signed a t-shirt for Holly and casually chatted with her while scribbling horns and a moustache all over his face.  

Since that concert Chris has only put out three albums but he has kept busy with the Chris Isaak Show and has appeared in six movies.  I however, seven years older, realize I spent eight years pining to see Chris Isaak in person and all I can remember about him his ass in mirrored pants.  I am fashion whore scum.  What is even worse is he is touring as I write this and I am as broke as those cowboys’ backs on the mountain.  I have gone full circle and am right where I started, longing to see Chris Isaak.  Will I ever get a chance to redeem myself?  I guess I too will be Forever Blue.

   Hey, Chris, your mirror plates are missing...