COLUMN: Swiftie

If you close your eyes and listen closely, you can probably STILL hear the internet talking about Taylor Swift this week.   

As you likely know, in an attempt to regain control of her master recordings, the world's most popular songstress has been painstakingly re-recording and reissuing her entire back catalog, album by album. These recreations have come with an arsenal of unreleased and bonus material that's proving to be a treasure trove for Swifties worldwide. 

This week, Taylor released the re-recorded version of her mega-selling album "Red," and the centerpiece is a new version of "All Too Well," perhaps the most biting of her famous break-up songs. Some call it the "You're So Vain" of the millennial generation. The original was already an emotional powerhouse, but this new version is a next-level gut-punch of seething vitriol that's been sending fans to their Kleenex boxes faster than anyone could possibly shake it off. Last weekend, she performed the entire ten-minute opus on Saturday Night Live.

Me? I'm just sad. Not for Taylor Swift. Not even for actor Jake Gyllenhall, long purported to be the villain of the song. No, I'm sad because that song could have been about ME. You see, Taylor and I once had a moment.

I've told this story before, but I don't care. I'll trod it out until my last day. It just gets better with time. I have but few great stories in my arsenal, and none shine so bright as The Time Taylor Swift And I Almost Became An Item. At least, that's the way I tell the story. Taylor might tell it differently.

Once upon a time, Taylor Swift played a concert in the Quad Cities, and yours truly was assigned by this very paper to review the gig. When I got to the arena and grabbed my review tickets, I was astonished to see a second ticket attached -- for a post-show meet-&-greet. From that point on, nothing else mattered. I don't remember a word I wrote about the show. It might not have even been in English. All I cared about was both meeting and greeting Taylor Swift.

Record company meet-and-greets aren't exactly the ideal settings to make a great first impression. They're less cozy and personal, and more akin to a cattle processional. You're lined up and paraded by the artist in quick succession. At best, you've usually got just enough time for a photo, an autograph, and about twenty seconds of small talk before you're shoved out the door. If I wanted Taylor Swift to fall in love with me, these were the most important twenty seconds of my life.

Now, I know what you're thinking. She's a celebrity music icon. I'm a fat, unkempt newspaper columnist twice her age. Don't worry, I was thinking the same thing. But after long analysis, I decided that maybe just this ONCE, I would be willing to lower my standards enough to date an international pop superstar half my age. These are the sacrifices I make in life.

We may seem like opposites, but I reckon Taylor Swift and I have plenty in common. She likes music. I like music. She likes performing concerts. I like attending concerts. Two-for-two so far. Let's see... she likes cats. I like SOME of my cats. She appears to breathe air. I, too, require air to function. Clearly, we are soulmates.

I had just had to convince her of this in twenty seconds. No problem. When it was finally my turn in line, I approached, looked up (she is TALL), said hi, and she said hi back. Got a quick pic and an autograph and I opened my mouth to commence the suave and charming small talk that would make her mine forever.

That was the precise moment when the little kid in line behind me passed out cold to the ground, in what could only be described as the most fortuitous loss of consciousness I've ever witnessed. Before I could even say, "I...," she pushed me aside and raced to his aid. The last thing I saw as I was being shoved out the door was Taylor Swift cradling this kid's head in her lap. I hate that kid.

If it hadn't been for him, I'm sure she would have been fallen for my eloquent charm and we would be together today, her wowing millions of fans and me DJing the afterparties. Or maybe we would break up and never ever get back together, in which case she'd be on Saturday Night Live singing ten-minute hate songs about ME and I could at least be the dude walking around going, "Why yes, the song 'Get Away From Me, Creepy Fat Newspaper Guy' IS about me, care for an autograph?"  

But alas, we will never know -- unless Taylor comes BACK to town for another concert and I am somehow able to score another meet-and-greet pass. Don't worry, if that happens, I've learned my lesson: I will DEFINITELY make sure that I'm first one to pass out.