Things got a little hairy there for a while. Madonna was in town and was popping up everywhere. She was booking appearances and interviews, planning screenings, and fueling rumors that she might “surprise” clubgoers at various sites in Manhattan. And yet the opportunities to see the diva eluded little self-proclaimed Madonna fanatic Brian.

This is my saga.

First, I heard she was going to be on MTV’s TRL. That show - in fact, the whole channel - is a bit out of my demographic (read: older than 24), so I didn’t expect to catch a glimpse of Madonna on Monday.
And I sure as heck wasn’t going to Times Square and braving the tourist throngs on the off chance Madonna might peer out of the studio window and wave to the poor slobs below.
Viewing the tape later, I saw that’s exactly what she did. But I was happy with my decision: no studio, no TRL. I happily watched from the comforts of my own apartment, excited to see a snippet of the upcoming Hung Up video and extremely thrilled for/envious of the dancers she cherry-picked to dance with. Plus, those weenie roll Farrah Fawcett curls were growing on me.

The whole I’m Going to Tell You a Secret premiere contest on MTV’s website irked me to no end. I didn’t know if they were really encouraging fans to enter multiple times or not. Sure, I have sour grapes that my number didn’t come up, but congrats to those who effectively used every single different computer at their disposal. I am proud of my few (*cough* twenty *cough*) submissions, entered under a variety of friends’ names and an array of computers. The whole thing reeked of inadequacy: There was a glaring spelling error (“Selet One”?!?) that sat there for the length of the contest. The trivia question itself was technically incorrect, as well; we were given the choice as to whether Madonna performed six or eight times on the VMAs. Really, the answer should have been seven, as a performance was beamed in from the Who’s That Girl Tour. But who am I to quibble??

Alas, I never got an e-mail declaring me (or my friends or my family … or some made-up people) a winner. I spared my friends who worked at MTV from my begging and whining. I took the hint.

The theater that screened the film is two blocks from my building, and I made it a point to avoid the theater at all costs, lest I be teased into thinking I could somehow charm my way in or maybe check out the scene in hopes of spotting Madge. No, I couldn’t bear the humiliation! To see those giant search lights, to feel the luxuriously rolled out red carpet, to experience that paparazzi … No, I would have to be invited. So I purposely stayed downtown that night.

When I resurfaced at work the next morning, I learned from you intrepid fans that some people that went to the theater without a ticket were granted access. To kick me while I was down, some colleagues informed me of their experience at the screening, not knowing I was a huge fan. Worst of all, they said they could have “easily” gotten me a ticket and perhaps a seat at the invite-only after-party dinner with Madonna herself.
To them I say: WELL, NOW YOU ALL KNOW FOR NEXT TIME!

After I composed myself and removed my hands from my colleagues’ throats - or was forced to by security, depending on who you ask and what the lawsuit says - I assured myself it wasn’t my time to see Madonna again. She’s in New York, I rationalized, and I should share the wealth, let others bask in her glory and actually gaze upon the living legend in the flesh. One of my best friends reminded me about my front row seats for the taping of The View this past summer and, of course, the incredible Lisbon show. And, wait, aren’t I supposed to be all cool and blasé about Madonna since I work in the industry?

Hell no! When Madonna’s Letterman interview was announced, I almost plotzed. In 2003, when she was there to plug The English Roses, I had no problem getting tickets. But there was no time on Thursday! With four hours to the taping when I first heard she was scheduled (yet another fun “surprise!”), I called in some favors but realized it was too late. When I caught wind they were setting up for a shoot outside of the studio on 53rd Street, I reverted back to my Tuesday night ennui. If it wasn’t meant to be, it shouldn’t be. Though I felt a twinge of “should I go?”, I decided to just watch it later.

If you don’t live in a major city where huge performers are rumored to “surprise” fans at clubs and other venues, like, every other week, I can tell you it’s slowly killing us.

As I mentioned last month, every time Madonna is in New York, rumors swirl about her showing up at Roxy, the (mostly) gay megaclub that hosted one of her earliest performances back in the day.
This goes for Cher, Kylie, Mariah, Britney, Christina, J.Lo... basically, any diva. Sometimes the rumors pan out, as Cher demonstrated at Roxy and Britney at Splash.

But Madonna had not followed through on those type of rumors since 1998, when she introduced the masses to Ray of Light.

DJ Peter Rauhofer shrewdly used the Confessions on a Dance Floor font in his invite for the John Blair-sponsored October 22nd party at Roxy “with special guest.” The disclaimers sent by Rauhofer’s and Roxy’s people that “Madonna will not be performing” did nothing to quash the hype. After all, no one honestly thought she would perform. But appear …?

I hadn’t been to Roxy in over two and a half years, since Madonna was last rumored to perform. I’m now sober, in a long-term relationship, and no fan of big crowds. The chance to see Madge trumped all three reasons not to go.

Oh, and it was torrentially raining, the admissions price got jacked up at the last minute, I had a big day planned for Sunday, and there was the counter-rumor that she was definitely NOT going to be there.

Still, my gut told me to go. My posse went early, secured great spots along the stage [in the picture, I’m wearing the black bandanna, front row, on the right], waited it out like troupers, and had the times of our lives. You all know the rest of the story: after hours of teases, the lights went out at around 2:00 AM and Madonna followed her entourage onto the stage. Simply put, she was a vision. She clutched a record as she spoke, her sheer blue dress and diamond-encrusted eyelashes glittering in the lights. Those eyes! Those skin! She has to be seen in person to be believed. The crowd, several thousand strong, shook the building with cheers and applause. You can’t deny this woman’s status as the preeminent figure of pop culture.

And when she started dancing, all the drama of the week melted away. I didn’t mind that I lost some hair worrying about getting tickets to things. I forgot it was raining. I forgot how crowded it was. We were all in the same room as Madonna.

If only I had worn my “I Love New York” t-shirt written in Hebrew! Perhaps I would be the one in the press photos dancing with her during that song. For what it’s worth, my year was made when Madonna reached into the crowd and grabbed my hand. Later on, she even pointed to me during a disco move. That proximity - and hearing some new songs - eradicated any doubts that the Roxy decision was the right one.

That’s my report from the “capital of the world,” the city where if you believe hard enough, Madonna will appear and touch your life. What a town!