MUSIC ESSAY

I Had a Love Affair With Richard Marx

And now I’m right here waiting….

It happened so quickly, that it took my breath away. We could have been oceans apart, day after day, but I never felt closer to him at that moment.

I should preface this by saying from, say, 1988–1992 I was obsessed with Richard. I played his music constantly. I danced to Hold on to the Nights at my first wedding. Weird, I know. But I’m a sucker for smart, funny, melodramatic men. I have always called him just Richard. It was just natural that we were on a first-name basis.

It’s what Richard would have wanted.

I even saw him in concert in New York City. And he was great! He’s one of those musicians who sounds exactly like what he sounds like in the studio live on stage. At least he did back in the 90s. I haven’t heard him live lately.

Look, if I’m being honest, I haven’t listened to his music since the 90s. I grew, I moved on to other things, other music, broadened my horizons, went back to my love of 70s and alternative folk music, and all that jazz.

It’s what Richard would have wanted.

What I do today is follow Richard Marx on Twitter.

If you are a damn communist liberal ignorant hippie like I am — I highly recommend giving Richard a follow. Trust me, he doesn’t post sappy love song lyrics or photos of soft bunny rabbits and kittens or anything like that. If you’re a man, your testicles won’t dry up and fall off if you follow him, and if you’re a woman — well, I’ve got nothin’. He’s whip-smart, has a dry quick sense of humor, and is quite politically savvy — if you like that sort of thing. (If you don’t, well — you don’t.)

He is Richard after all.

So, slap me on the ass and call me Betty — not a couple of weeks ago I received a Twitter notification.

I’ve been followed by Richard Marx.

Me!

What the fuhhh?

No effing way.

The squeals of an eighteen-year-old Ki echoed somewhere deep inside of me and I looked again for good measure. Indeed. Richard, my Richard, was following me.

What does a super cool chick in her 50s do? She runs and tells her writer friends. (Yeah. Super cool.)

(It’s what Richard would want.)

Later that day, at some point when my ADHD is starting to kick in, my shit wanders over to The Twitter.

And I just have to look again. I have to go and look and see that little thing that shows he’s following me.

And in less than a day…

Richard, my Richard, unfollowed me.

ME! The Memoir Queen.

No effing way.

I guess it’s what Richard wanted. But for a couple of hours. For a short, sweet, brief time — Richard, my Richard, was mine. (Along with his other 346.5K followers.)

Oh, Richard.

I took for granted all the times That I thought would last somehow I hear the laughter, I taste the tears But I can’t get near you now

Goodbye, my Twitter friend. Goodbye.

Note: No early 90s adult contemporary singers were harmed or stalked before, during, or after the writing of this post.