I desperately wanted to write this tribute yesterday, but I was working very hard for my money on the golf course and, later, at a boxing event. Please forgive me, Diva.
My buddies give me tons of grief for this, but I am not ashamed to admit it: I loves me some Donna Summer.
Several years ago, my much younger sister and I were road tripping and I suggested she hit play on Donna Summer’s Greatest Hits. My sibling assumed I was jesting.
No way, sista. HIT. IT.
If I had to pick one song – and I fucking hate you for making me do so – I would go with “Heaven Knows,” just barely ahead of “On The Radio,” mostly because I wanna be the back up singer for that song in karaoke some day. (Note: Simpson Girls, I am talking to you!)
Last summer, appropriately, I was driving from South Bend, IN to Chicago. Hungover and in the dumps post-break up, I was slightly concerned I might fall asleep at the wheel. No amount of Diet Coke or hair band metal did the trick. I grew more despondent. My heart knew what I needed: Donna.
Ms. Summer’s Greatest Hits lifted me to heights I did not think possible on I-80/90.
In addition, I learned that Donna, the original Bad Girl, may have invented the “booty call.” Check out these lyrics from “Hot Stuff:”
Sittin here eating my heart out, waitin’,
waitin’ for some lover to call,
dialed about a thousand numbers, baby,
almost rang the phone off the wall
This was a woman who knew what she wanted and, dammit, she was gonna get it.
And how about the wisdom she dispensed in “Heaven Knows”?
Don’t get caught with foolish pride
Throw the other things aside
Its only you and me
I think we all hope we can commit like that.
Hope they crushed it in MacArthur Park for you last night.
Donna – baby, please – I know this isn’t your Last Dance.
Photo by: exquisitur