I’m not sure that Vanilla Ice was ever truly relevant, but he was at least well known once. It was not at that point in time when I went to see him in concert. It was maybe fifteen years later. I went and saw him when he put a rock track under “Ice, Ice Baby” and his hair was no longer platinum blonde. I am not saying this makes it better, I am just stating a fact.
The concert was loud and not particularly musical. The venue was small and hot. The crowd was rambunctious and smelled exactly like a large crowd of people in a small, hot room would be expected to smell. Most people were drinking an alcoholic, black licorice flavored drink which caused their burps to smell, just, fantastic.
I was young, dumb, and at an iffy point in my musical appreciation career, however. I enjoyed myself. Afterwards, as I found myself being poured onto the street with the rest of the unwashed twenty somethings, I looked around and saw that the sociopath that I had come with had disappeared. I was all alone, not counting the seventy other people, of course.
I walked slowly down the road towards the parking lot, hoping he would show up. Then, out of the darkness came his sweet siren call:
DO YOU WANT TO PARTY WITH VANILLA ICE?
Yes, yes I did. God help me, I wanted to party with Vanilla Ice.
So we followed his caravan of a surprisingly small number of people to the conference room of a nearby hotel. What says party more than Meeting Room A?
So the revelry commenced, and was there booze a-flowing!
No, no there was not.
Ah, but was the music turned up to 11!
Nope. No music.
I got you now; so there must have been drugs pouring out of Mr. Ice’s ears, right?
The less than a dozen people sat in the conference chairs circling the board room sized table. We took one grainy photo with Vanilla Ice where we all pretended to have a much more exciting time than was available. Afterwards, the hotel management asked us kindly to wrap it up, and we did.
I was in bed by eleven.