With the exception of one song, I love everything musical about the 80s. I love the bands, the singers, the clothes, the hair (oh the hair). I embarrass my kids by wearing a fantastically fringed 80s era leather jacket that I picked up while thrifting last year. I still obsess about Duran Duran, I dream of a Wham! reunion, and I can still quote John Hughes with the best of them. So when I read that Culture Club was touring with a stop in Vegas I squeaked with joy! I looked up the setlist. I knew it all.

Now before I go any further, you can remind me of those old Don Henley lyrics “Don’t look back, you can never look back”. I know. I’ve seen the good, bad, and the totally gnarly 80s reunions. Tears for Fears was pretty bitchin, other bands I would have to say gagged me with a spoon. Even worse, a couple of my beloved metal gods now have moobs!! But I was hopeful. I wanted to tumble for ya and yes Boy George, I really want to hurt you (OK not really, but maybe I’d hug you too tight?).

So a week ago Sunday, my 80s dream came true. In retrospect I should have paid for better tickets but I see over fifty shows a year. My per show budget is pretty slim. I was in the nosebleed section. I texted my husband “I’ll be that weirdo dancing in the balcony”. We were all that weirdo that night. George, when you can get the last row of the last section up on their feet, you are magic!

I could have written a standard review of the show. I could have said, “He played all of the hits. Although I’m a little disappointed George no longer sports rainbow braids, he did have this amazing suit that channeled a post modern Riddler, blah, blah, blah.” But the magic of the concert was so much more. He sang for us, he danced, he reminisced, and he threw imaginary rainbows our way. He told us he wished he could hug us all. When I shared that line with my husband later that evening, I said it was the most sincere statement I had ever heard. Despite not attending the concert, Daniel understood what I meant. Boy George was a first for our generation, the first performer to completely bare his soul. Others may have dressed in glitter and glam, but Boy George embodied it within every crevice of his being.

During the obligatory “thank you for coming” spiel, Boy George stated that since Las Vegas audiences are jaded and we see so many shows, he appreciated our attendance even more. I AM that jaded, cynical Las Vegan show-goer. I have made a hobby of attending concerts and shows in my beloved town, and even created a part time career out of writing about my experiences. It takes alot to entertain me most days. Yet, that concert and the love that surrounded us pierced my jaded, cynical heart. I had remorse when it was over, an emotion I rarely feel anymore from a live performance. George O’Dowd, you now stand in esteemed company with Bocelli (I cried the next day when remembering his beautiful voice), Foo Fighters (we had to leave early and regret it for every punch-in-the-face of a song that we missed) and the Scorpions last run-through at the Hard Rock (simply electric). Few performances transcend beyond the immediate enjoyment on the moment. Not only was that emotion lasting, but you inspired me to go forth as an ambassador of that love, sharing your message with the world.

When the concert was over, I wanted to continue that feeling of love. I wanted that connection to a time past, but one that I still felt a bond to. I was so overjoyed by that concert experience that I texted Boy George a simple message “You were magic last night”. Afterwards, I glanced at my phone at regular intervals hoping for a simple “like”. I did not get one, but what I did receive was an even bigger treat. A “follow” from the icon himself. So now I can spend my days twittering with Boy George. “Tweeting, you meant to say”, I can hear it now. No, twittering. My fantastically out-of-date, and social-media inept husband coined that particular phrase about a year ago as I was attempting to build a social media presence online. For us icons and throwbacks to the 80s, it only seems fit.