The secret life of a Backstreet girl

Back - Index - Submissions - - What is RSS? Date: Feb 23, 2000 Source: The Colby College Echo Submitted By: Katie Curry By Katie Curry, Contributing Writer **A Colby Senior stands before the microphone in a crowded room of folding chairs, clears her throat, and begins to speak in a nervous, wavering voice. "Um…oh boy. Hi, my name is Katie. And…uh…I love the Backstreet Boys." The group supportively responds in unison "Hi Katie." She sighs, feeling the load lift. Her admission helps her out of the denial stage, and the next step is to embrace the problem, to talk publicly about her experience as a closet Backstreet Boys groupie.** So there, it's out in the open now, but I know I'm not alone in my addiction. How many students alone in the privacy of their dorm room with the sound proof walls or cruising around the streets of Waterville in their cars actually change the radio station when "I Want It That Way" comes on? More than likely there are those out there, whether they admit it or not, that know most of the words, and perhaps even own an album or two. It all started in the winter of ’98, when I bought their first album as a joke and much to my own shock accidentally ended up liking it. Then their second album came out last May which I was committed to buying. Come September, when they played a show in Boston one hundred dollars didn't seem like so much money to pay anymore for the experience of seeing them live. Suddenly their faces began appearing around my dorm room this semester, some concealed behind the door, others in a secret location hidden under the otherwise innocent looking tapestry on my wall. It was around this time that their voices mysteriously found their way onto my voicemail message. By then, I was officially and shamelessly hooked on Kevin, Howie, AJ, Brian, and Nick (my personal favorite.) Last weekend my friend and I happened to be poking around Albany, NY while the Boys were there. Okay, fine, I was there for the Valentines Day concert. But then we happened to drive by a hotel with 12 black tour buses parked out front! All right, we were searching for them. And so the adventure began. We proceeded to march into the hotel, ignoring the area roped off for obsessed fans, for this certainly could not apply to us. Instead we bypassed security, jumped on the elevator, and began a diligent search of each and every floor for a sign of them. After awhile the search proved fruitless and exhausting so, in the true spirit of a Colby student I suggested a stop in the bar to rejuvenate our strength. We sidled up to the almost empty bar, because in truth how many diehard BSB fans are over 21? We ordered two glasses of Sam Adams, and slyly asked the bartender what floor he would stay on if he were a Backstreet Boy. He chuckled, "I don’t know, but if I were one of them, I’d be right over there at that table." No way. We grabbed our beers and walked on over to say hi to AJ (the rebellious one), with every ounce of cool we lit his Marlboro Light, and watched as he took a shot of Jack Daniels. We chatted, watched him play pool, watched him leave to go play in the snow. Howie D. entered (aptly nicknamed "Sweet D"). He ordered a drink, stood around, and eventually came over to introduce himself. He apologized that it took so long to say hi, but he didn’t want to cause any chaos. We quickly forgave him. Unfortunately the remaining three Boys - Kevin, Brian, and Nick were occupied up in their hotel room with their girlfriends, but we got to meet everyone else. The ten dancers were there—do not assume that just because one dances for a living that one does not drink heavily the night before a show. We met the band—the ones who actually play instruments, and the crew, most of whom had gray hair and bushy beards, and had never listened to an entire performance. We found ourselves pondering the question "what would we do to get ourselves better tickets?". We partied until 2 a.m., when everyone decided it was bedtime. It was snowing hard, so some crew members offered their hotel rooms so we wouldn’t have to drive back to our hotel. Instead we gave them our cell numbers in case they felt like sharing their tickets, pointed out that we were from Maine and that this was not a storm, and headed off into the snow. Thanks to the Fly Guys, two crew members who hook the Boys into harnesses to fly them over the crowd, we ended up with 8th row seats the next night. The show was amazing, full of energy and great music. Yes, we were deafened by the pre-pubescent screams that surrounded us for two hours. Yes, we screamed enough to lose our voices. And yes, we went back to the same bar, just in case we were lucky enough to get another sighting. After hanging out for a few hours, we left with the cell phone numbers of the Fly Guys in case we ever need any additional Backstreet favors. I’m sure we’ll think of some reason to call them, but for now the sensory overload is enough to keep my head in the groupie clouds for quite a while. As we teenyboppers like to say—KTBSPA—keep the Backstreet pride alive. Comment on this item. Next Item: Grammy's sell-out is music fans' loss Prev Item: Backstreet Boys Overwhelm, but Carlos Santana Wins Too