Confronted by Richard Marx

What I don't understand is why Marx lives in Chicago.

Assuming he hasn't been divorced eight times and has no raging coke habit, I can't imagine living in cold and crowded Chicago with his wealth and no job to tie him down. That's why God invented San Diego.

 

I believe Eric Clapton lives in Columbus, Ohio.

Go figure.

If I were Clapton I can't say for sure exactly where I'd live, but I'd be able to see Catalina on a clear day. When I wasn't at my villa on Lake Como.

 

No one but crack-addicted whores should live in Columbus.

 

RIP Whitney.

 

After seeing the responses in this thread, I checked the members list. I'm shocked no one has signed up as Richard Marx and started posting in this thread.

 

Columbus makes sense.

No high rises.

(I will simply save all of you the effort and call myself an asshole for this post. Sometimes i just can't resist. Good night.)

 

It continues:

http://www.salon.com/2013/01/19/richard_marx_hates_my_guts/

 

Obscure Blogger Continues to Gravy Train off Famous Singer's Name.

Film at Eleven.

 

"I have never received as much attention for a piece of writing as I have for that yarn about my barroom encounter with a pop star."

No wonder he's flogging that horse again. He might be doing it five years from now.

 

Also, Marx kicked McClelland's ass in his letter.

Maybe he should take over the blog.

 

It's amazing to me that this guy somehow thinks he's getting the better of this "fight."

 

What an awesome letter.

"While as insecure as the next person, I’ll choose my view in the mirror over yours any day of the week. But not just for what’s on the outside."

Win: Marx.

Incidentally, when I was in Morocco (07-09), Marx was HUGE. My guess was someone, long ago, used "Right Here Waiting" as an English lesson and it's continued.

I tried to use some other song in a lesson for this one youth club and it didn't go over well. The class, mostly 15- and 16-year-old girls, asked if I had "Right Here Waiting." I did.

So I put it on and oh, my. To a person, those little girls just sighed and swooned.

Oh, and I need to work "Today, you became the poster-boy for Chickenshit-itis" into my everyday language.

Can this guy lack such self-awareness as to think this makes him look good? It makes me want to give my copy of Repeat Offender its first listen since 1991.