They say it's your belated birthday...

This year, I had the longest birthday in history. Most of the celebration was to be saved for the next week, when my sister was going to be in town and we planned to go to two Rick Springfield events in one day -- an in-store appearance on Long Island and a "Stripped Down" show in New York City.

That required a lot of planning and waking up at 7 a.m. to catch the train to Manhattan for the train to Babylon for the cab to Looney Tunes CDs. Unfortunately, it also involved subfreezing temperatures and a lot of walking for sis, who broke her toe the previous week and was in a walking boot.

We got there just in time to stand in line for about 90 minutes. On top of that, we found out that Rick had come down with a bug (not our fault this time!) The Looney Tunes staffer patrolling the line told us Rick might not perform nor take pictures with attendees. On previous occasions, musicians who had taken ill pulled the sick card on Looney Tunes. But then again, they weren't Rick Springfield.

They originally expected a healthy Rick to do three songs... he ended up doing 4 1/2 -- "Oh Well," "Human Touch" (with a lot of audience assistance), "Red House," "Jessie's Girl" (with assistance whether he actually wanted it or not) and some of "I Need You," a George Harrison Beatles composition.

On the YouTube video of the event, you can hear me go "yeahhhhhh" when Rick started "Oh Well," which also happens to be my favorite Fleetwood Mac song. He does it justice, even when he has the flu.

And then we went back out into the cold to line up for the pictures. If we skipped "I Need You," we might not have been at about 150 on the line, but we didn't. And eventually we did get back in the store and prepped to meet the man.

A bit about my plan. Originally, I helped coordinate a present for Sharon Wyatt, Rick's former co-star on "General Hospital." He was performing in Nashville on her birthday, Feb. 13. And the plan was for fellow Friends of Sharon Wyatt administrator David to take her to the show. But unfortunately, Sharon is still recovering from her umpteenth surgery for osteonecrosis of the jaw and was unable to attend. So my new plan was to get Rick to sign his new CD/DVD for her.

So we worked our way through the line. When it was my turn, and with me surprisingly not shaking for a change from either cold or Rick proximity, I told him it was my belated birthday and that my sister would be getting one signed for Sharon. I told him what that original plan was to be, and quickly got my picture snapped. Then it was her turn, and he signed "To Sharon, with love, Rick Springfield." Perfect.

There's a seamy side to being a Rick Springfield fan. You're forced to watch the lengths to which other fans go to to get to him. How they'll crowd him and try to stay in his face, as if that would make any kind of positive impression on him. (As I write this blog, he's doing a live event on stage at House of Blues in Boston. And fans were asked NOT to ask for a picture with him or a hug or an autograph during the question-and-answer session, but they did anyway.) I'm a dedicated fan, but I never want to be THAT kind of fan. And I think I'm not. In fact, I know I'm not, 'cause my sister would certainly straighten me out if I was.

Anyway as we rode the train back to the city, the snow began to fall -- see, it had been so cold earlier that it staved off the snow. Despite the MTA's attempts to rebuff us, we even got in a visit to the world's best bookstore, the Strand, before setting off for the night concert.

The performance was at The Concert Hall on West 64th Street across from Central Park. It's a converted church with, of course, amazing acoustics. The problem is finding exactly how to get in as there is no signage. Not too much fun hobbling around and trying to figure out where the door is when it's snowing and there are broken bones involved.

But eventually the right door of a door set I had tried before opened, and in we went to the 800-seat venue. Ah, warmth. Nice benches. People trying to step on your toes (good or bad) while getting to their seat in the padded pew.

One double rum and a nondescript opening act later, we got us some Rick. The poor guy was hurting, but he plodded to his stool with a bottle of cough syrup in tow. And truth be told, although he looked sick, he never sounded sick and delivered an incredibly intimate performance.

The "Stripped Down" shows are punctuated by sometimes fun, sometimes poignant, sometimes both at the same time stories about Rick from then to now. He started with "I Get Excited," really peeling away the poppier aspects of the song and delivering it in a raw style that set up the style for the whole evening.

My and my sister's joint favorite, "Affair of the Heart" was next, and he showed us how his use of chords now and then and probably in the future has remained the same. The evening included a spectacular slide show that complemented his stories. This was the case with "Me and Johnny," about a friend he made in childhood back in Australia who remains a close buddy today.

Rick went to the cough syrup bottle often. Frankly, I was amazed that he could recount these stories so lucidly. As I told my sis, I have trouble listing all the names of my cats when I'm under the weather and medicated.

One of the great tales told was about Rick going to Vietnam to entertain the troops and being serenaded by the sounds of bombs and gunfire. The pictures that accompanied these words were precious, and he truly looked like a baby in the midst of intense and great horror. The band gave him a solo to do on that tour, and that song was "Oh Well," now in his modern-day repertoire.

That and "Rolling and Tumbling" show off Rick's real talent and facility with the guitar. I would think that's being lost on the legions of fans who remember him as their first respective boyfriends, but increasingly, the crowds are featuring a lot of men -- and not just those dragged their by their women, but who are really into it. (As if to back it up, at this online House of Blues show, two guys were the first ones up to the mic to ask Rick questions.)

My favorite "Stripped Down" story is about the writing of "Love Somebody." It was inspired by Rick's co-star in "Hard to Hold," not the love interest played (badly) by Janet Eilber, but by the one left behind in the film, Patti Hansen. The former model is married to Keith Richards, and the Rolling Stones' guitarist moseyed down to the set when he heard his wife and Rick were getting along like gangbusters. And as Rick admitted, he turned into a 14-year-old girl himself when taking a picture with his childhood idol.

The most touching story of all would have to be about the passing of Rick's dad. As he explains, when it happened, he could only get a few lines of a song out ("April 24, 1981"). Only later was he able to truly convey his pain, in "My Father's Chair." He performed them back-to-back at the show and choked his flock up.

Sis was charmed by "If Wishes Were Fishes," a funny laundry list of things Rick would ask for if he got an unlimited supply of wishes, including that people stop referring to him as "Bruce Springsteen." He showed an affinity for technology too by belting out the soulful "Inside Silvia" with the assistance of a guitar app on his cell phone.

There were darling snippets of his early writing, including his debut single, "Speak to the Sky" and the very first song he wrote, the Beatle-esque "Painted Girl." Then a detailed story about being invited to write a song with Todd Rundgren, and the subsequent afternoon in which no song came forth. Instead, Rick toked, chilled and was pawed by the pet doxie. And of course, he would never leave out his two biggest hits -- "Jessie's Girl" and "Don't Talk to Strangers."

The evening was capped by a Q&A hosted by original MTV veejay Mark Goodman, who again tried to set down the ground rules about no hugging, autographs, photos. An "enterprising" Rick fan came up with another tactic, an offer to share her bottle of cough syrup with Rick. Another one -- at least one, that is -- would have been honored to get his germs. Sigh. I think I'm ready to write a blues song about the life of a sane Rick fan. A belated birthday gift to myself, no doubt.