M-A-D-O-N-N-A    by   Ryan Burr

 Uh! It would have to be annoyingly chilly, damp, and overcast on positively the most thrilling day of our lives, and it WAS summer in New England. No matter, my friend Mickey and I were en route to New York City to do something a little huge. As we pulled into a gas station, we got behind a car full of girls whose car windows blead "Bon Jovi." I say to them, "So, you girls saw Bon Jovi in New Jersey last night?  That's cool."
      "We're on our way to see Madonna," I add quickly
      The look back from them was one of, "We're not worthy"--not that we were looking to out-trump them.  Well, yes we were. I mean, come on, this is M-A-D-O-N-N-A. In less than two decades, she has scored more number-one singles than Elvis Presley or The Beatles; seized sexuality in the most scandalous, yet satisfying ways; played the media like a guitar; and cracked at Catholic beliefs, gender roles, and the stereotyping of homosexuals, making them more visible, if not more accepted. I'm sure Madonna could add more to this list. But more than anything, you have to admire a girl who has ascended from unknown suburban Detroit teenager to international superstar and icon. For all these reasons and many more, I love her.  And shelling out $344 for a ticket to see her "Drowned World Tour" in July 2001 didn't necessitate a second thought.
      When the Material Girl smoked onto the stage, it was intensely emotional. I threw out my arms toward her, as if I could squeeze her to release the happy energy in my body. Nevermind that I was 8.5 million rows back! But I felt like I owed her something more tangible than money for all the music she has supplied, music that has so diveresely and frequently spotlighted my day to day life. On a "slow day," I only listen to a half-dozen songs from her various albums. Those are the days when I'm not whisked away to a club--a gay club---where her songs dominate the airwaves and she continues to "rule the world."
      To me, "La Isla Bonita" was the best part of the show, if I was held at knife-point and forced to chose one song. Each word just struck so passionately true with me: "I want to be where the sun warms the sky...when it's time for ciesta, you can watch them go by...beautiful faces, no cares in this world...where a girl loves a boy and a boy...loves...a girl." As the performance climaxed with the most brilliant Spanish dancing, couples began dancing in the aisles of Madison Square Garden. Being single at that moment was tough, but yet not so.
      The encore of Madonna's show was the song "Music," an electronic pop song clearly ahead of its time.  As my friend Mickey said, "Music will win best song at the Grammy's in 2005." The performance for this number was awesome as well. Clips of our girl flashed the screen, taking us through the countless stages of her styles, looks, and music. Mickey and I should have been splashed in this sequence, since my lavender tank-top was embroidered with "Burgeoise" and Mickey's black top completed me with "Rebel."
      Leaving the concert and going back to our hotel was a bit of a down time.  We just saw our greatest idol, musically and personally--hell, if we had to attribute our homosexuality to some environmental factor, it's her!  She just yanks it out of you. But those 90 minutes of exultation had expired, and we knew it was quite likely we may never see her tour again. It was actually quite depressing for a little while.
      But an hour or so later, we hit a great club in Manhattan, dotted with boys who had just seen Madonna, or were about to see her during her six-concert schedule in the city. One mystery man meandered the club with his "Forbidden Love" shirt. I like that, too.
      When, later in the night, a remix to "Secret" awoke everyone and jammed them onto the dance floor adn we punched out the words to the song when keyed, it was clear to me:  Madonna is far from over in my life.