"I'll be the one . . . "

I met Holly outside of the new Whole Foods on 14th Street. And not surprising, the new and gleaming temple of yuppiedom was doing a brisk trade with the post work crowd. I had wanted to pick up some English muffins and some peanut butter, but the check out line was a bit daunting.

Holly: "Are you sure you don't need to get anything?"

I took a second look at the mob of people and shook my head no.

Instead I dragged her over to Irving Plaza since we had some time to kill before heading back to my hood for movie night at Life Cafe. There was a Josh Rouse concert coming up and I was going to get tickets come hell or high water. Or come screaming Backstreet Boy fans.

Lucky for me, the Backstreet Boys (!) were doing two nights at Irving Plaza (for a whopping $60 per ticket). I was a little amazed that they still had a fan base after all these years, if a fan base includes a couple dozen of overly excited gay boys and Latinas. Feeling a bit sullied for even being within a quarter mile radius of a boy band let alone a pop concert, I skulked into the foyer, lip curled in disgust as I summoned all the music snobbery I could. Waiting in line at the box office, I noticed a familiar tune playing. In fact it sounded like a band rehearsing and singing.

Not just any band . . .

Yes, blog reading boys and girls, I can go to my grave (or cremation urn) knowing that I have heard the Backstreet Boys rehearsing.

Holly turned to me and said, "I didn't know these guys were still alive."