Cramped, compact, smokey, audience close to the stage, poor lighting, bad acoustics, etc. but they were the best. And....they don't make 'em like they used to.
P.S. The artist be Johnny Winter in this photo.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
"Now This Was A Concert Hall!"
Cramped, compact, smokey, audience close to the stage, poor lighting, bad acoustics, etc. but they were the best. And....they don't make 'em like they used to.
P.S. The artist be Johnny Winter in this photo.
"BTW"
I listened to the "State of the Union Address;" I watched the "Democratic Response" to the "State of the Union Address;" and I wonder what the fuk happened to: "Ask not what your country can do for you; but what you can do for your country." Lucy?....
Monday, January 30, 2006
"Thanks For The Picture of You, Hoots, From Back In The Day"
Dear hoots, I hope you don't mind my showing this photo of you taken back inna day. You, who are now a semi-retired child of the sixties, and you, who are now in your sixties. vee
P.S. Woodstock?
P.S.S. Aftermath of a peace march?
P.S.3. Winding down after a civil rights march?
"My Son, The Drummer"
A picture of Charlie Jr. playing the skins, daddy-o. The next Richard Starkey, the next Ringo Starr, the next-dare I say it-Ricky Ricardo, the next Desi Arnaz? Only time will tell, eh?
The picture was taken a coppola years ago.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
"Omitted Movies"
I just wrote this foray into the infantile on another web site. So as not to waste it and try to think up something new for tonite's edition of "The Pond," I'm a gonna use it. These just happen to be movies now playing at your local Bijou, and they all have food service themes. Submitted for your approval and perusal:
1) "Fun With { A } Prick and Wayne":
Autobiographical story allah Hunter Thompson from a fledgling writer named vee for short. Who tackles the food service biz with a flair. Vee is always in trouble with the brass, because he sometimes speaks his mind to his superiors. Rated "R" for "Rancorous."
2) "End of the Spear":
A moving documentary about workers who toil in broccoli fields. Their livelihood is threatened when restaurant customers across the globe begin desiring the "buds" only. "What to do with the spear?" is the movies tagline. Directed by Che Guevera!
3) "Narnia: The Line, The Bitch and The Wardrobe":
Former Zulu warrior becomes CEO of a chain of eating establishments. The "line" is where the action takes place; the bitch is Queen Safia, wife to Theofour, the Magnificent; and the wardrobe is Aficanesque tribal gear worn by the team members. Edith Head comes out of retirement to design the costumes. Sure Oscar winner for Ms. Head.
4) "Underworld Evolution":
Zombies take over all the jobs in the food biz due to pods that are released from Saturn's moons. They descend to Earth due to global warming and holes in the Ozone. Sort of a remake of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," except that only food service workers are affected.
Little do guests know the team members are aliens from another planet. Service improves and comment cards and recipe cards become extinct.
All bades well until the Pods form a union led by their leader, Uranus. Exihilirating ending. Rated R for "relentless."
5) "New World": Infantile writer of forays is tired and sleepy and tired of trying to think up more ideas for "omitted movies." So he decides to retire his keybored and seek other forms of amusement. Rated "X" for Xtinct.
Friday, January 27, 2006
"Poppa-Oom-Mow-Mow"
The computer ain't cooperating, so's I got to go with this picture of "The Beachboy's album, which my Aunt Mad purchased for me when I was a mere lad of twelve.
The l.p. [ long playing for the uninformed ] has a lot of good songs including "I Get Around."
If you'd like to hear a song from back in those days click here and scroll down til you find Paulie Mac and his band who sing "Please, Please Me." Circa 2005. Just push play, eh? Apologies to Aerosmith.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
"Super Bowl"
The Falcons reached the Super Bowl in 1998. Alas, they did not win thanks to John Elway of the "Broncos" and Gene Robinson, who played for the "birds."
Eugene's story is quite funny and tragic. And here it is:
6. Eugene Robinson Gets Hooked [ from AOL's "Top Ten Heartbreak Moments in Super Bowl History" ]
The morning before he was to play in Super Bowl XXXIII for the Atlanta Falcons, highly-respected safety Eugene Robinson was presented the Bart Starr Award in recognition of his "high moral character." Ever eloquent, Robinson thanked everyone associated with the award, then went out later that night and embarrassed those very same people, not to mention himself and his family.
While his wife and children were back in their Miami hotel room, Robinson went down to South Beach and was charged with soliciting an undercover police officer for oral sex. His arrest was quite obviously the biggest news of the week. Robinson played the next day at Pro Player Stadium against Denver, but he wasn't mentally into the game. In the second quarter he was beaten badly by Denver's Rod Smith and John Elway took advantage, firing an 80-yard touchdown pass that gave the Broncos a 17-3 lead.
Robinson was playing in the Super Bowl for the third year in a row. He had won a championship with Green Bay in 1996, lost to these same Broncos in 1997, and then lost 34-19 in this game.
For more click here!
Eugene's story is quite funny and tragic. And here it is:
6. Eugene Robinson Gets Hooked [ from AOL's "Top Ten Heartbreak Moments in Super Bowl History" ]
The morning before he was to play in Super Bowl XXXIII for the Atlanta Falcons, highly-respected safety Eugene Robinson was presented the Bart Starr Award in recognition of his "high moral character." Ever eloquent, Robinson thanked everyone associated with the award, then went out later that night and embarrassed those very same people, not to mention himself and his family.
While his wife and children were back in their Miami hotel room, Robinson went down to South Beach and was charged with soliciting an undercover police officer for oral sex. His arrest was quite obviously the biggest news of the week. Robinson played the next day at Pro Player Stadium against Denver, but he wasn't mentally into the game. In the second quarter he was beaten badly by Denver's Rod Smith and John Elway took advantage, firing an 80-yard touchdown pass that gave the Broncos a 17-3 lead.
Robinson was playing in the Super Bowl for the third year in a row. He had won a championship with Green Bay in 1996, lost to these same Broncos in 1997, and then lost 34-19 in this game.
For more click here!
"Kong"
I last saw this flick on a double bill with "The Thing From Another World" at the "Fine Art" Theatre circa early 80's. What a thrill for a science fiction aficionado. And to see them on the big screen. Well, it don't get no better.
P.S. As chronicled many a time on the Pond, the Thing was an alien carrot from outer space. The two aforementioned flicks? "They don't make 'em like they used to.
P.S.S. I have not seen the new remake. But plan on catching it.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
"Hellah"
Hellah? Madeline Gaskin? Nah, she ain't here. Where is she? Hell, I think she done up and gone to Edowah Diddley!
Aunt Mad did everything in style, her own inimitable one. Even a simple thing like answering the telephone evoked her own special greeting, [ "hellah" ] and it was the way she began every phone conversation. Never hello but hellah.
"Crack my back, l'il fella. You crack it better than the chiropractor."
Aunt Mad would request my services whenever I came over to her house every Monday night. She firmly believed in the medical profession known for its bone-crushing adjustments. She had taught me well, even though all I did was take my hands and push on her back, as she lay on her big titties, er, the frontal part of her body.
"That was good, but harder, l'il fella."
Crack!.... Crack!....Crack! It never failed, as I was the kid with the magic fingers.
"You done good, l'il fella. Here's fifty cents."
Aunt Mad loved getting her back "cracked," and figured that it was a good deal, since the chiropractor charged 5 bucks, and she got off easy with me. But you could buy a lot with 2 quarters back in those days. A coke was a dime and a comic book ditto. And candy bars were a nickel, except for a "Chunky." I guess because the little square chocolate morsel had nuts and raisins. Even though they were good, I always felt ripped-off purchasing one. You only got about two good bites and the cost was double the normal ones. Like a 3 Musketeer, Mars Bar, or Snickers-my favourite of the big 3 was the one with the creamy nougat.
All right Sara, Miss Arnold. Who needs to squeeze their sponge?"
I'm not sure where and how Aunt Mad met up with Sara, but they had been friends for years. She lived in the west end of town, and Miss Arnold was Sara's mother, 90 years old, er, young. She moved fairly well for a 90genarian, but she required assistance when entering and exiting the car. This particular day, the threesome were riding in the countryside enjoying the sights when nature's call reared its ugly head.
"Let's pull over here. All right, Miss Arnold. Don't be shy. We're gonna squat here and squeeze our sponge."
"Squeeze our what?" Miss Arnold inquired.
"Squeeze your sponge, goddammit!"
Mission accomplished-finally-after some show and tell, the unlikely trio headed back to the Bel-Air.
"Now, Sara, help your mama get in the car....Sara....Don't slam the goddamn....Sara!"
Sara had done the unthinkable and had slammed the car door on her mother's fingers. Not sure if they went to the hospital. Back in those days, people were a little sturdier and much tougher by today's standards. But like today, Sara threatened to sue Aunt Mad.
"That goddamn Sara done threatened to sue me. She's the one who slammed the goddamn car door on her momma's fingers. I ain't got no goddamn use for her."
It took a few years, but they finally got over it and became friends again. But Aunt Mad was always wary of Sara after that.
"I had a good checkup today, l'il fella. Dr. Gold said my sugar was under control. Let's go the cafeteria and get us something to eat."
I liked going out to eat with Aunt Mad, because she didn't care how much I ate or what I got. She looked forward to eating out, but she had to eat the right foods a few days before her doctor's appointment. Hers was a "damn the torpedos" syle, and any restrictions just didn't mesh.
After a quick jaunt down the road-yes, we bypassed the banana split ice cream shoppe-we arrived at the popular 2 line monster at the airport. Aunt Mad got her usual carrot and raisin. Next were the desserts.
"Should I get egg custard or lemon meringue?"
A dilemma occurred every time we entered the array of goodies. Which sweet would she choose? A clean bill of health from her doctor, so it was splurge city. All those days of bypassing the starches and sweets would end today at the dessert bar.
"Ah, hell. I think I'll get 'em both."
And get 'em both she did.
Next up were the meats. I would get my usual. A chop steak topped with an onion ring.
"Does your l'il boy want a child's plate?"
"Hell, he can eat more than you and me put together. Child's plate, smild's plate. Give 'em two."
Hellah! They definitely don't make 'em like they used to.
This concludes "Aunt Mad Chronicles III."
Aunt Mad did everything in style, her own inimitable one. Even a simple thing like answering the telephone evoked her own special greeting, [ "hellah" ] and it was the way she began every phone conversation. Never hello but hellah.
"Crack my back, l'il fella. You crack it better than the chiropractor."
Aunt Mad would request my services whenever I came over to her house every Monday night. She firmly believed in the medical profession known for its bone-crushing adjustments. She had taught me well, even though all I did was take my hands and push on her back, as she lay on her big titties, er, the frontal part of her body.
"That was good, but harder, l'il fella."
Crack!.... Crack!....Crack! It never failed, as I was the kid with the magic fingers.
"You done good, l'il fella. Here's fifty cents."
Aunt Mad loved getting her back "cracked," and figured that it was a good deal, since the chiropractor charged 5 bucks, and she got off easy with me. But you could buy a lot with 2 quarters back in those days. A coke was a dime and a comic book ditto. And candy bars were a nickel, except for a "Chunky." I guess because the little square chocolate morsel had nuts and raisins. Even though they were good, I always felt ripped-off purchasing one. You only got about two good bites and the cost was double the normal ones. Like a 3 Musketeer, Mars Bar, or Snickers-my favourite of the big 3 was the one with the creamy nougat.
All right Sara, Miss Arnold. Who needs to squeeze their sponge?"
I'm not sure where and how Aunt Mad met up with Sara, but they had been friends for years. She lived in the west end of town, and Miss Arnold was Sara's mother, 90 years old, er, young. She moved fairly well for a 90genarian, but she required assistance when entering and exiting the car. This particular day, the threesome were riding in the countryside enjoying the sights when nature's call reared its ugly head.
"Let's pull over here. All right, Miss Arnold. Don't be shy. We're gonna squat here and squeeze our sponge."
"Squeeze our what?" Miss Arnold inquired.
"Squeeze your sponge, goddammit!"
Mission accomplished-finally-after some show and tell, the unlikely trio headed back to the Bel-Air.
"Now, Sara, help your mama get in the car....Sara....Don't slam the goddamn....Sara!"
Sara had done the unthinkable and had slammed the car door on her mother's fingers. Not sure if they went to the hospital. Back in those days, people were a little sturdier and much tougher by today's standards. But like today, Sara threatened to sue Aunt Mad.
"That goddamn Sara done threatened to sue me. She's the one who slammed the goddamn car door on her momma's fingers. I ain't got no goddamn use for her."
It took a few years, but they finally got over it and became friends again. But Aunt Mad was always wary of Sara after that.
"I had a good checkup today, l'il fella. Dr. Gold said my sugar was under control. Let's go the cafeteria and get us something to eat."
I liked going out to eat with Aunt Mad, because she didn't care how much I ate or what I got. She looked forward to eating out, but she had to eat the right foods a few days before her doctor's appointment. Hers was a "damn the torpedos" syle, and any restrictions just didn't mesh.
After a quick jaunt down the road-yes, we bypassed the banana split ice cream shoppe-we arrived at the popular 2 line monster at the airport. Aunt Mad got her usual carrot and raisin. Next were the desserts.
"Should I get egg custard or lemon meringue?"
A dilemma occurred every time we entered the array of goodies. Which sweet would she choose? A clean bill of health from her doctor, so it was splurge city. All those days of bypassing the starches and sweets would end today at the dessert bar.
"Ah, hell. I think I'll get 'em both."
And get 'em both she did.
Next up were the meats. I would get my usual. A chop steak topped with an onion ring.
"Does your l'il boy want a child's plate?"
"Hell, he can eat more than you and me put together. Child's plate, smild's plate. Give 'em two."
Hellah! They definitely don't make 'em like they used to.
This concludes "Aunt Mad Chronicles III."
Monday, January 23, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
"From Fark.com"
If you're a fan of Ted Kennedy, you'll want to view the many pictures of your hero
on fark.com.Can't wait to read "69 Oldsmobile Down."
Great site for all you Ted Kennedy fans! Enjoy!
Friday, January 20, 2006
"Response"
When writing forays it's always good to get some feedback.
Briggs was the consummate ass whipe. But he had a job to do, perhaps an agenda from higher up, and he did what he thought was right. And we even got along with each other after a year or so. But I never trusted the sob, because minus the suit and tie, laptop, and manufactured charm, he was just a dumb fuckin' redneck. So last nite after a hard day at the office, I got "into the zone" and out popped "Briggs."
Vee
P.S. Yes, I'd like to give Briggs 20. It can be found in the frontal portion of my trousers. Well, perhaps half of that.
Briggs was the consummate ass whipe. But he had a job to do, perhaps an agenda from higher up, and he did what he thought was right. And we even got along with each other after a year or so. But I never trusted the sob, because minus the suit and tie, laptop, and manufactured charm, he was just a dumb fuckin' redneck. So last nite after a hard day at the office, I got "into the zone" and out popped "Briggs."
Vee
P.S. Yes, I'd like to give Briggs 20. It can be found in the frontal portion of my trousers. Well, perhaps half of that.
"Briggs"
I worked with Briggs at Picc***** Cafeterias. He was my regional manager. And he was an asswhole from jump street. I had been slaving my ass off the entire year and had been on vacation during the Christmas holidays. One of the perks for yours truly-having a break during the holidays. He was the new kid on the block, and he had just arrived in town.
His holiness' regime was beginning-he was so full of himself because he had managed the busiest store in the company, and he had ideas out his asswhole. And he must have thought I was some kind of dweeb and useless piece of shit when he introduced himself to me and the troops.
"So this is H.W."[ Hell Whole for the uninitiated ] he proudly exclaimed, as me and my charges basked in his grandiose acknowledgement of our store. We were numero uno in sales, profit, etc.
Like I said, I had just come back from vacation on Friday-richly deserved imho after dealing with all the shit I put up with-and it was a Monday. On Saturday we had had snow and had to close. And Sunday was Sunday-busy as hell [ whole ] so I hadn't had a chance to really check out the place.
Later Briggs pulled me to the side and said:
"Sometimes it's not a good idea for a manager to be in the same store for a long period of time."
After he dropped this implosion on me, I thought for a second and realized he was talking about me. What had I done? He makes this opinion in less than an hour. Damn, he's good.
Instead of saying "fuck you" I did what I normally do and told him I didn't appreciate this wacky shit coming from his mouth. If I had had a cucumber I would have shoved it up his ass.
I know this is hard to believe, but he and I [ how do you like the grammar, eh? ] didn't "hit it off" after that.
So every time he came to my unit, he approached me warily. And I never trusted the sob who wanted me to fail and set me up to fail. They called him the "terminator," because he fired folks, notably managers. He fired two in my region his first few months on the job. But they needed to go, because 1) was a fuckin' thief and had been stealing for years, and the second one didn't give a shit anymore.
So Briggs had a reputation as a bad ass, but I thought he was a punk and a sniveling piece of shit. If he were here at the keyboard right now, I would kick his ass. Good thing he's not here or my foray would have to be continued.
He had all these great ideas about service and how we could take the business to another level. And they were good ideas. But he shoved 'em down your throat. Because he thought he was King, and you [ me ] was a dinosaur and didn't know jack diddley.
Well. the King knew service but he didn't know jack when it came to hiring managers.
Cases in point: he hired a retread from our company who had quit and wanted to come back. The guy was a smartass who could never get along with the guests. Great for business, eh?
2) He hired a "gay" guy who liked to steal food.
"Best manager I've ever seen in customer service," Briggs once said of his prized recruit. Only because the fucker jumped up during his job interview and carried a tray for a guest. And Briggs bought into it. What a dumb fuck!
"How can I satisfy your cravings?" was the gay man's shtick while serving on the cafe***** line. Replete with feminine gestures associated with this behavior.
3) Briggs hired a male who takes his wife's last name. My friend from sunny Florida thought the manager was gay as well. But he did have an appetite for the ladies which eventually led to his demise. [ allegedley, that is ]
4) He hired a drug addict who was a single parent and had a major attitude problem.
5) He transferred an ass whipe to my unit who just happened to be inolved in armed robberies.
6) Oh, there was another who's now serving time for armed robbery.
And these were the good hires!
No wonder the f'n company went to hell whole in a hand basket. I am so glad and relieved that I am no longer part of the insanity.
As for Briggs, I hope one day I will meet up with him. May the synchronstic force be with me. Cos I will tear him a new ass whole. Too bad I can't go back in time to that cold day in hell whole when the two of us collided. It would Shirley be different.
Have a warm night, v.c.
P.S. One day Briggs was at my store, and he seemed distant and displeased.
One of my squirrelly managers [ see above ] asked me what was wrong with Briggs.
I said, "he's got his nose up his ass. Looking for his next promotion."
His holiness' regime was beginning-he was so full of himself because he had managed the busiest store in the company, and he had ideas out his asswhole. And he must have thought I was some kind of dweeb and useless piece of shit when he introduced himself to me and the troops.
"So this is H.W."[ Hell Whole for the uninitiated ] he proudly exclaimed, as me and my charges basked in his grandiose acknowledgement of our store. We were numero uno in sales, profit, etc.
Like I said, I had just come back from vacation on Friday-richly deserved imho after dealing with all the shit I put up with-and it was a Monday. On Saturday we had had snow and had to close. And Sunday was Sunday-busy as hell [ whole ] so I hadn't had a chance to really check out the place.
Later Briggs pulled me to the side and said:
"Sometimes it's not a good idea for a manager to be in the same store for a long period of time."
After he dropped this implosion on me, I thought for a second and realized he was talking about me. What had I done? He makes this opinion in less than an hour. Damn, he's good.
Instead of saying "fuck you" I did what I normally do and told him I didn't appreciate this wacky shit coming from his mouth. If I had had a cucumber I would have shoved it up his ass.
I know this is hard to believe, but he and I [ how do you like the grammar, eh? ] didn't "hit it off" after that.
So every time he came to my unit, he approached me warily. And I never trusted the sob who wanted me to fail and set me up to fail. They called him the "terminator," because he fired folks, notably managers. He fired two in my region his first few months on the job. But they needed to go, because 1) was a fuckin' thief and had been stealing for years, and the second one didn't give a shit anymore.
So Briggs had a reputation as a bad ass, but I thought he was a punk and a sniveling piece of shit. If he were here at the keyboard right now, I would kick his ass. Good thing he's not here or my foray would have to be continued.
He had all these great ideas about service and how we could take the business to another level. And they were good ideas. But he shoved 'em down your throat. Because he thought he was King, and you [ me ] was a dinosaur and didn't know jack diddley.
Well. the King knew service but he didn't know jack when it came to hiring managers.
Cases in point: he hired a retread from our company who had quit and wanted to come back. The guy was a smartass who could never get along with the guests. Great for business, eh?
2) He hired a "gay" guy who liked to steal food.
"Best manager I've ever seen in customer service," Briggs once said of his prized recruit. Only because the fucker jumped up during his job interview and carried a tray for a guest. And Briggs bought into it. What a dumb fuck!
"How can I satisfy your cravings?" was the gay man's shtick while serving on the cafe***** line. Replete with feminine gestures associated with this behavior.
3) Briggs hired a male who takes his wife's last name. My friend from sunny Florida thought the manager was gay as well. But he did have an appetite for the ladies which eventually led to his demise. [ allegedley, that is ]
4) He hired a drug addict who was a single parent and had a major attitude problem.
5) He transferred an ass whipe to my unit who just happened to be inolved in armed robberies.
6) Oh, there was another who's now serving time for armed robbery.
And these were the good hires!
No wonder the f'n company went to hell whole in a hand basket. I am so glad and relieved that I am no longer part of the insanity.
As for Briggs, I hope one day I will meet up with him. May the synchronstic force be with me. Cos I will tear him a new ass whole. Too bad I can't go back in time to that cold day in hell whole when the two of us collided. It would Shirley be different.
Have a warm night, v.c.
P.S. One day Briggs was at my store, and he seemed distant and displeased.
One of my squirrelly managers [ see above ] asked me what was wrong with Briggs.
I said, "he's got his nose up his ass. Looking for his next promotion."
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
"Spend More Money!"
"Stossel is an idiot who should be fired from ABC and sent back to elementary school to learn journalism." "Stossel is a right-wing extremist ideologue."
The hate mail is coming in to ABC over a TV special I did Friday (1/13). I suggested that public schools had plenty of money but were squandering it, because that's what government monopolies do....
Everyone has been conned -- you can give public schools all the money in America, and it will not be enough," says Ben Chavis, a former public school principal who now runs the American Indian Charter School in Oakland, Calif. His school spends thousands less per student than Oakland's government-run schools spend.
Chavis saves money by having students help clean the grounds and set up for lunch. "We don't have a full-time janitor," he told me. "We don't have security guards. We don't have computers. We don't have a cafeteria staff." Since Chavis took over four years ago, his school has gone from being among the worst middle schools in Oakland to the one where the kids get the best test scores. "I see my school as a business," he said. "And my students are the shareholders. And the families are the shareholders. I have to provide them with something."
The hate mail is coming in to ABC over a TV special I did Friday (1/13). I suggested that public schools had plenty of money but were squandering it, because that's what government monopolies do....
Everyone has been conned -- you can give public schools all the money in America, and it will not be enough," says Ben Chavis, a former public school principal who now runs the American Indian Charter School in Oakland, Calif. His school spends thousands less per student than Oakland's government-run schools spend.
Chavis saves money by having students help clean the grounds and set up for lunch. "We don't have a full-time janitor," he told me. "We don't have security guards. We don't have computers. We don't have a cafeteria staff." Since Chavis took over four years ago, his school has gone from being among the worst middle schools in Oakland to the one where the kids get the best test scores. "I see my school as a business," he said. "And my students are the shareholders. And the families are the shareholders. I have to provide them with something."
"The Screen's Foremost Delineator of the Draculian"
Huh? Hoots', that title is right up your alley.
P.S. The Butterfly McQueen foray was not intended to coincide with MLK day. Just synchronicity at work, I guess. I wasn't even aware that it was MLK day until much later in the day.
I just happened to find a link to movie quotes and tried garnering a picture for one of them-can't remember which one it was. When it failed I went with the GWTW one, just by accident and coincidence.
P.S. The Butterfly McQueen foray was not intended to coincide with MLK day. Just synchronicity at work, I guess. I wasn't even aware that it was MLK day until much later in the day.
I just happened to find a link to movie quotes and tried garnering a picture for one of them-can't remember which one it was. When it failed I went with the GWTW one, just by accident and coincidence.
Monday, January 16, 2006
"Aunt Mad Chronicles II"
"Put that l'il fella on my big titties dusted with Bloomingdale's finest. I'm a 'gonna rock him to sleep."
Yes, Aunt Mad was proud of her big mammary glands. And never skipped a beat to advertise them. She had never had kids. Why?-I was never privy to that information, but when a young pubescent v.c. arrived, she latched onto me as her own. She would recount this story many a time as we were cruisin' down the hiways and biways of the deep south. "L'il fella, [ that was my pet name ] I used to rock you to sleep on these big titties. Have a gingerbread man!"
Aunt Mad used to hang her wash on her back porch. And hang it she did sans bra. At least she wore panties. It was a daily ritual. And she didn't care if the world saw those big titties-she was damn proud of them and was gonna show 'em off.
"If it don't have a green stem, we ain't buying it."
If we stopped at a produce stand off the beaten track in Wakula Springs, Florida or took a trip to the Farmer's Market, when we bought a watermelon, it had to have a green stem. No green stem-no dice. And when you thumped it, it had to have just the right sound. Aunt Mad always closely inspected every watermelon. No matter if it had stripes, or if it was round, each one had to pass the tests: green stem and thump!
"How much you want for them melons, Mister?"
"3 for a dollar. lady."
"Shit!"
If she didn't like the price, we'd drive off until we found another stand.
"How much for them melons, Mister?"
"4 for a dollar, m'am."
"L'il fella, put them goddamn watermelons in the trunk, but make sure that sob don't switch 'em out with ones without green stems. I done thumped 'em and they is good."
Sometimes the lecherous bastards would try to dupe us by substituting some brown stemmed ones, but Aunt Mad would stand guard as they were meticulously placed into the trunk of the car. Plus, you didn't ever want to push her buttons, which were always smouldering and easy to catch fire.
"Pee Turkey-Squat One"
This was another phrase that Aunt Mad coined. I'm not sure to this day what it means, but I admit using it in my adult life:
"How long on fried chicken, fry cook?" [ former job of mine where greased poultry was a popular item ]"18 minutes." Which meant he hadn't dropped any and the staff and the guests were in for a long wait.
"Pee turkey, squat one."
And:
"How's the staffing today." [ same job ]
"Billy's cousin was shot 8 times and won't be coming in; Susie's on her period and won't be coming in; Freda's sister was in a car accident and won't be coming in; Linda's baby drank bleach and they rushed her to the hospital and she won't be coming in; Fred's in jail-seems he hasn't been going to his probation officer; Darwin, asst mgr. came to work but pooed [ soiled ] his pants ] and won't be coming back today; and the district manager came by and said the place was filthy and needs cleaning up and all of us need to stay even if it takes all night; and look, there's the health inspector."
"Pee turkey, squat one."
The ceramic ditty was a good 12 inches high. It was of an older colonial couple-pre-Revolutionary War days- at least in their 60's. They appeared posh and well-to-do as they stood next to each other in a pose. Both wore wigs reminiscent of that day and were dressed as if they were headed to a party at George Washington's manor. The woman in question had on one of those dresses with the slips, girdles, and other constraints underneath, while the gentleman sported his gear with short pants and sox to his knees. Our damsel in distress also wore a quizzical look on her face. Turn the statue around and the well-bred gentleman had his hand up m'lady's dress.
"You like that, l'il fella?"
I was too young to know much about the birds and bees at that time in my young life, but I knew it was risque, invoking a thrill for a young lad. Remember me and Bogus Bob had shown each other our buttocks under the warehouse, so I was intrigued by this mystical harbinger.
"Lay that l'il fella on my big titties, dusted with Bloomingdale's finest."
No wonder I always need a pillow to rest my head on. Pee turkey, squat one.
Yes, Aunt Mad was proud of her big mammary glands. And never skipped a beat to advertise them. She had never had kids. Why?-I was never privy to that information, but when a young pubescent v.c. arrived, she latched onto me as her own. She would recount this story many a time as we were cruisin' down the hiways and biways of the deep south. "L'il fella, [ that was my pet name ] I used to rock you to sleep on these big titties. Have a gingerbread man!"
Aunt Mad used to hang her wash on her back porch. And hang it she did sans bra. At least she wore panties. It was a daily ritual. And she didn't care if the world saw those big titties-she was damn proud of them and was gonna show 'em off.
"If it don't have a green stem, we ain't buying it."
If we stopped at a produce stand off the beaten track in Wakula Springs, Florida or took a trip to the Farmer's Market, when we bought a watermelon, it had to have a green stem. No green stem-no dice. And when you thumped it, it had to have just the right sound. Aunt Mad always closely inspected every watermelon. No matter if it had stripes, or if it was round, each one had to pass the tests: green stem and thump!
"How much you want for them melons, Mister?"
"3 for a dollar. lady."
"Shit!"
If she didn't like the price, we'd drive off until we found another stand.
"How much for them melons, Mister?"
"4 for a dollar, m'am."
"L'il fella, put them goddamn watermelons in the trunk, but make sure that sob don't switch 'em out with ones without green stems. I done thumped 'em and they is good."
Sometimes the lecherous bastards would try to dupe us by substituting some brown stemmed ones, but Aunt Mad would stand guard as they were meticulously placed into the trunk of the car. Plus, you didn't ever want to push her buttons, which were always smouldering and easy to catch fire.
"Pee Turkey-Squat One"
This was another phrase that Aunt Mad coined. I'm not sure to this day what it means, but I admit using it in my adult life:
"How long on fried chicken, fry cook?" [ former job of mine where greased poultry was a popular item ]"18 minutes." Which meant he hadn't dropped any and the staff and the guests were in for a long wait.
"Pee turkey, squat one."
And:
"How's the staffing today." [ same job ]
"Billy's cousin was shot 8 times and won't be coming in; Susie's on her period and won't be coming in; Freda's sister was in a car accident and won't be coming in; Linda's baby drank bleach and they rushed her to the hospital and she won't be coming in; Fred's in jail-seems he hasn't been going to his probation officer; Darwin, asst mgr. came to work but pooed [ soiled ] his pants ] and won't be coming back today; and the district manager came by and said the place was filthy and needs cleaning up and all of us need to stay even if it takes all night; and look, there's the health inspector."
"Pee turkey, squat one."
The ceramic ditty was a good 12 inches high. It was of an older colonial couple-pre-Revolutionary War days- at least in their 60's. They appeared posh and well-to-do as they stood next to each other in a pose. Both wore wigs reminiscent of that day and were dressed as if they were headed to a party at George Washington's manor. The woman in question had on one of those dresses with the slips, girdles, and other constraints underneath, while the gentleman sported his gear with short pants and sox to his knees. Our damsel in distress also wore a quizzical look on her face. Turn the statue around and the well-bred gentleman had his hand up m'lady's dress.
"You like that, l'il fella?"
I was too young to know much about the birds and bees at that time in my young life, but I knew it was risque, invoking a thrill for a young lad. Remember me and Bogus Bob had shown each other our buttocks under the warehouse, so I was intrigued by this mystical harbinger.
"Lay that l'il fella on my big titties, dusted with Bloomingdale's finest."
No wonder I always need a pillow to rest my head on. Pee turkey, squat one.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
"Shaken Not Stirred"
Okay, I'm obsessed at times with the larger than life 007. Only the early ones. Plus, it's a quick and ez foray.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
"Editor Is Tired and Sleepy-Volume II"
I wish I had the balls to be so self-righteous and pious. Maybe in my next life.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
"License To Kill"
I am watching the old Bond movie from 1989. And found this poster from a liberal web site while perusing google for tonite's foray.!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
"[ I'm a ] Wild and Crazy Guy!"
I just got back from Tampa, Florida. Went to a class for two days for my new job. My old company never sent me anywhere. I take that back. They did send me to L.S.U. via Baton Rouge, circa 1981. For a class on management fundamentals. There were 30-40 in the class hosted by Mr. Bennett, who had ties to a cafeteria chain based in the "red stick."
I still recall the one situation that had the class stumped. Volunteers from the peanut gallery [ apologies to Buffalo Bob ] attempted to move a piece of cargo, which weighed about 25 lbs., from one spot to another via an employee who was one of the mgr volunteers. [ role playing, eh? ] Each manager failed to persuade the employee to move the box. He just stood there and said no, he wasn't gonna do it. Why? After all of us charges showed him how to pick up the box with bended knees; instructed him on where to place it; blah, blah, blah.
The secret or the answer to the problem was: no one asked him why he wouldn't attempt the task. Seems he had a hernia and couldn't lift more than 10 lbs. It never occurred to us to axe him.
I liked the meetings we had in Tampa. Not much of a segue way. On Tuesday class started at 12 and ended at 6. Not a bad gig. And, today, 8:30 to 4. The instructor was a lady [ 52 ] who was quite a character. Which made the work less boring and mundane. Plus, she let us take breaks every hour and a half to 2 hours. And she was a wild and crazy guy, er, gal. Allah Georg and Yortuk Festrunk, the two czech brothers from back inna day.
After our short meeting on Tuesday, me and some of the others went to TGIF Friday's. The appertifs were lukewarm. Where's the manager, eh? And I tried the Jack Daniel hamburger with a salad and fries. The salad was delicious but the burger had that unmistakable taste of the new millenium. Can you say soybean?
And to think when I hired on at a cafeteria chain, we used to make those babies from a fresh chuck after dispensing with the bones. Then we added a few rolls and garlic bread , combination seasoning [ white peppa and salt ] and H2O. Voila. They don't make 'em like they usta.
Anyway, back at the casual dining soiree known as Friday's, I purchased a tall Mick Ultra draft to wash down the soybeans and later returned to enjoy a slice of vanilla bean cheesecake. Can you say expense account? It was okay and a huge slice. No wonder since it cost $5.00. Which is obscene in a way. But then Howard Stern gets 100 million a year for 5 years, plus a bonus of 200 million for sparking signups in the wonderful world of satellite radio so nothing's surprising anymore.
Anyway, back to the meeting. Today we covered a lot of ground, and I learned a lot. Implementing and executing will be the biggest challenge. I can hear my boss now.
"Cat, why haven't you implemented and executed what you learned in Tampa? We didn't send you down there for your health!"
Seems he went to the same mgmt. class I went to in '81. No wonder he's the G.M., the head honcho, the big boss man. He knows how to ask the tough questions.
Well, it's good to be back home. Kitty made me a salad and a baked potato for dinner. Damn, she makes the best salad. With a homemade dressing pinched from some Mediterranean cookbook. But tomorrow it's back to the old grind.
Gimme shelter, v.c.
P.S. I stopped at Pizza Hut after our meeting and had a personal pan pizza. One of those tiny individual ones. Of course, it was less than lukewarm. Ah, the restaurant business. Like a box of chocolates-you never know what you're gonna get.
Monday, January 09, 2006
"Piccadilly Circus"
Famed Piccadilly Circus in London. The name was pinched from Picca***** Cafeterias. The nerve of the Brits, eh?
Friday, January 06, 2006
"From Prussia With Love"
Intrigue on "The Orient Express" with 007. Also starred Robert Shaw as the maniacal psychopathic agent for SPECTRE. [ see Capt. Quint in 'Jaws': "Fish swallow you whole" ] And Lotte Lenya.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
"Global Warming"
I am always amused by those who claim that global warming is wreaking havoc on the earth. How do they know? What scientific data have they read? And if they quote data, how reliable is it?
I have no idea if global warming exists. I'm too busy writing infantile forays "On Golden Pond" to know. Or to find out. And how do you find out? My sister, Olga, believes there is global warming. My brother-in-law, Francois, believes in global warming. And he's a conservative.
And, Shirley, Hillary Clinton, Bill, John Kerry, Michael Moore, and followers of their ilk believe in g.w.
I wonder how they know. What info are they privy, too, that I don't know.
From last year, here's my take on global warming:
posted by vietnamcatfish at 9:10 PM 2 comments
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Thank God for Global Warming!
The weather outside is frightful
But inside it's so delightful.
Bangor, Maine is reporting temps of 29 below. Thank goodness for global warming. Or the poor souls of the northeast corner would REALLY be freezing their asses off. And the rest of the northeast is under a winter weather advisory. Must be an aberration, eh? Shirley, by next week, the world will return to normal and the polar icecaps will continue to melt as they make their assaults on Mother Earth.
Is it too late to swear in John Kerry? I-among others including Senator Boxer-demand a recount. Those poor disenfranchised voters who had to wait in long lines. And who had to give up the fight because their asses were cold, er,their legs hurt.
Damn, CBS, er, Fox news is showing the blizzard conditions in New York City. 3 feet of snow is expected. And Cleveland, Ohio, home to some of the d.v's. Snowing like crazy. "Nasty, nasty night" in Philadelphia claims the savvy Fox reporter doing an on-location "live" report. 16 degrees is expected at game time for tomorrow's NFL showdown.
In fact, the weather is "The Big Story" on Fox. And it's bad in Washington, D.C. as well. Thank goodness for global warming. Can you imagine the mess we'd be in tonite without it? I shudder [ pun unintended ] to think of the implications.
Uh oh. Here comes the obligatory "don't go out unless you have to." They've got to be kidding. Only an idiot would travel those roads. And idiots don't pay heed to advisories so what's the point.
Global warming? Thank you oh omnipotent force. And may its force be with you. As your freezing your asses off.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Opting to go and get in my warm bed instead of engaging in postscripts, so's I'll have some ass left.
I have no idea if global warming exists. I'm too busy writing infantile forays "On Golden Pond" to know. Or to find out. And how do you find out? My sister, Olga, believes there is global warming. My brother-in-law, Francois, believes in global warming. And he's a conservative.
And, Shirley, Hillary Clinton, Bill, John Kerry, Michael Moore, and followers of their ilk believe in g.w.
I wonder how they know. What info are they privy, too, that I don't know.
From last year, here's my take on global warming:
posted by vietnamcatfish at 9:10 PM 2 comments
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Thank God for Global Warming!
The weather outside is frightful
But inside it's so delightful.
Bangor, Maine is reporting temps of 29 below. Thank goodness for global warming. Or the poor souls of the northeast corner would REALLY be freezing their asses off. And the rest of the northeast is under a winter weather advisory. Must be an aberration, eh? Shirley, by next week, the world will return to normal and the polar icecaps will continue to melt as they make their assaults on Mother Earth.
Is it too late to swear in John Kerry? I-among others including Senator Boxer-demand a recount. Those poor disenfranchised voters who had to wait in long lines. And who had to give up the fight because their asses were cold, er,their legs hurt.
Damn, CBS, er, Fox news is showing the blizzard conditions in New York City. 3 feet of snow is expected. And Cleveland, Ohio, home to some of the d.v's. Snowing like crazy. "Nasty, nasty night" in Philadelphia claims the savvy Fox reporter doing an on-location "live" report. 16 degrees is expected at game time for tomorrow's NFL showdown.
In fact, the weather is "The Big Story" on Fox. And it's bad in Washington, D.C. as well. Thank goodness for global warming. Can you imagine the mess we'd be in tonite without it? I shudder [ pun unintended ] to think of the implications.
Uh oh. Here comes the obligatory "don't go out unless you have to." They've got to be kidding. Only an idiot would travel those roads. And idiots don't pay heed to advisories so what's the point.
Global warming? Thank you oh omnipotent force. And may its force be with you. As your freezing your asses off.
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. Opting to go and get in my warm bed instead of engaging in postscripts, so's I'll have some ass left.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
"Paper Moon"
Funny movie from back inna day which made a star out of Tatum O'Neal. From Peter Bogdanovich. And filmed in glorious black and white.
Monday, January 02, 2006
"Eddie Gaedel"
No, it's not the ball boy talking to the manager. It's Eddie Gaedel, the shortest man ever to play in the Major Leagues at 3 feet 7 inches. His career consisted of one at bat. Of course, he walked. On 4 straight balls.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
"McCartney"
I don’t know where to start. There was magic in the air, but was I going to be part of it? Or was I to miss out? Stay tuned for the answer.
The tickets for the concert had gone on sale months ago. They were gone in hours. Two shows. Me and Kitty didn’t get tickets. We should have camped out. Hung out with the hippies at the “Turtles” ticket outlet. Done anything to get them. But, alas, we did nothing.
Paul McCartney had last been to The Pond back in 1976. With Wings. Of course me and Kitty attended that concert. It was fab. A rockshow at the concert Gebow. Long hair at the Madison Square. Rock and roll at the Hollywood Bowl. We were THERE!
I had grown up with the Beatles and here was Paul McCartney in Bon Jovi singing his recordings. I remember the time George Harrison had his concert here, circa 1974. We had a floor seat maybe on the 40TH row. But to walk onto the floor and see one of the Fab 4 playing guitar and singing is an indescribable feeling. It was even better to see Paul solo.
But that was many years ago. Even though I still buy Paul’s every album his career had been on a downslide. So when we didn’t get tickets to the concert I wasn’t that concerned. If I miss the concert it won’t be any big deal. In hindsight what a dumb, collosal, monumental gaffe of all time that would have been. Paul’s 47 years old. He was last in town 14 years ago. He might never be back. Ever. [ editor's note circa 2006: Paul has been to Pond Jovi a few more times since this concert-But Who Knew at the Time, eh? ]
Sunday night’s concert would be concert number 1. Cancelled until Monday was Saturday’s concert. It had to do with Paul saving his voice.
I had to work Sunday. Normally I get off at 9 or 10. It was a frightful night. Cold around 40 degrees. And it had been raining all day. Not raining but POURING. We had been shorthanded as usual at Hell Whole, [ editor's note circa 2006: Some things never change, especially in the glamourous world of the food biz ] so I was very leery about getting off early and going to the [ Sunday ] nite concert. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you I still didn’t have a ticket. I had looked in the want ad section of the paper and was immediatly intimidated by the number of ads hawking Paul McCartney tickets. They read: Good seats; excellent seats; cheap seats; etc. There were reports in the paper that tickets were going for hundreds of dollars. My plan was to go the scalper route. In hindsight I wouldn’t recomend this approach.
I called Kitty and asked her for advice. Should I go? I knew she wanted to go, too, but couldn’t/wouldn't because of the cost. She encouraged me to go. Because she knew what it would mean to me. With many misgivings I decided why not. My main concern was a big one. My frigging windshield wipers didn’t work and it was still pouring. Could I drive the fifteen miles to Pond Arena in a fog, buy a ticket from a scalper and have fun all by myself? These were a lot of big ifs and I was already tired from working all day.
I said goodbye to the troops [ team members ] and headed for old Betsy, my 1977 Dodge Van. In human years Betsy must be at least 200 years old.
"Old Betsy don’t fail me now old friend," I muttered to my inanimate motorized constant companion. Maybe by some miracle my wipers would work tonight. Uh huh. Yea, right.
I started up the grand hill that signals bye-bye to my work establishment. I looked out the windshield. Or tried to. What were those motorized contraptions coming toward me with their many little lights blinding my already limited sight. I assumed they were cars. I wasn’t sure.
My last moment of indecision occured next. I was at the overpass. Turn right and go home to a nice warm fireplace. Turn left and it’s adventure time. No ticket and no windshield wipers. I hadn’t had much excitment lately so.... I turned left.
The cars sped by me on the Interstate. Driving 40 miles an hour and in the slow lane me and old Betsy miraculously made it to the arena. Now the fun was going to start.
It was still pouring. I paid my seven dollars for parking and ran across the parking lot. Luckily I didn’t step in too many puddles. [ editor's note: if memory serves, the poor boy had no umbrella, either ]
There was a crowd milling about, as I walked up to the first person I saw. The young man asked me if I wanted to buy a ticket. This is too good to be true I'm thinking.
“Where is the ticket?” I asked.
“On the floor,” he said.
The $64,000 question was next. I gritted my teeth. “How much do you want for it?”
Without blinking he calmly answered, “$75.00.”
I had gotten $200.00 out of the Tillie before my odyssey had begun, so I was in good financial shape. This wouldn’t dent the budget much after all.
But before I could swallow good a young punk next to us said, “I’ll take it.” They consumed the deal in seconds, acting as if they were long lost buddies. I felt the urge to kill, being new to the scalping buisness. Next time it won’t be as easy for my adversary. There will be counter offers until that ticket is mine. But when you’re standing in the rain, you’re not prone to rational thinking.
Nagging feelings emerged in me brain-this was going to be difficult. It was already 8:00 the time the concert started. Time was becoming a factor.
“Tickets,” a young black teenager shouted. He was on the street level. I caught his eye and ascended the 50 or so steps to the top. Another person ran after him. Here we go again I thought. But before I could negotiate a ticket he blew me away.
“Get away from me, Cop. I ain’t selling you no ticket.”
“What? Did I look like Rene Enriquez?” [ editor's note: see "Hill Street Blues" for this obscure reference-one of my favorite tv shows ]
I got feisty. “I’m no cop. I just want to buy a ticket.” I threw in some choice ezpletives. I was getting mad. It didn’t work.
Starting to lose confidence, and me being Mr. Optimistic, I looked around. The crowd was thinning out. Most had gone into the building. The scalpers were about done, too. It didn’t look good for the home team. Somebody told me you could go to jail for buying a scalped ticket. I could see myself in jail with all the murderers, drug traffikers, child abusers and drunk drivers. Maybe I could room with Pete Rose or be on his softball team.
I gave it one more shot. “Do you have a ticket for the concert,” I asked the 30ish man standing in the rain.
I gritted my teeth. Again. Jail loomed a possibility. Bingo! For $75.00 I got a ticket. 20 rows up. To the right of the stage.
Was this a good seat? Who knew? I walked into the Omni and called Kitty on the pay phone. [ editor's note: this was before the advent of cell phones ] She was surprised and happy that I had made it. Here voice was tinged with excitement. Mine too.
Richard Lester of "Hard Day's Nite" fame projected Paul in different phases of his career onto movie screens in the dark cavernous arena . As a Beatle ( 1960’s ); as a Wing ( 1970’s ); and as a solo performer ( 1980’s ). The screen flashed the words. Today. And out walked Paul McCartney and Linda and the rest of the band.
They started out with a new song off their new album. [ another editor's note: "Figure of Eight." ] The concert was beginning.... But that’s all for now. However stay tuned for another trip down scalper’s lane. Where you’ll.... go to a basketball game; speed down I-69 at 80 miles an hour and live to tell about it; rush through a maze of stairs and ushers checking your ticket stubs on the way to another concert this time buoyed on row "4"; borrow money from a stranger and change cloths in the Golden Pond Parking Lot, while barely escaping a jail cell with Pete Rose. These stories and more you’ll be privy to when you read McCartney II.
Coming soon to your computer! [ editor's last and final note: The above foray was written on an Apple 2 C computer circa 1991. The next installment will be viewed "On Golden Pond," my blog and not on my computer. ]
The tickets for the concert had gone on sale months ago. They were gone in hours. Two shows. Me and Kitty didn’t get tickets. We should have camped out. Hung out with the hippies at the “Turtles” ticket outlet. Done anything to get them. But, alas, we did nothing.
Paul McCartney had last been to The Pond back in 1976. With Wings. Of course me and Kitty attended that concert. It was fab. A rockshow at the concert Gebow. Long hair at the Madison Square. Rock and roll at the Hollywood Bowl. We were THERE!
I had grown up with the Beatles and here was Paul McCartney in Bon Jovi singing his recordings. I remember the time George Harrison had his concert here, circa 1974. We had a floor seat maybe on the 40TH row. But to walk onto the floor and see one of the Fab 4 playing guitar and singing is an indescribable feeling. It was even better to see Paul solo.
But that was many years ago. Even though I still buy Paul’s every album his career had been on a downslide. So when we didn’t get tickets to the concert I wasn’t that concerned. If I miss the concert it won’t be any big deal. In hindsight what a dumb, collosal, monumental gaffe of all time that would have been. Paul’s 47 years old. He was last in town 14 years ago. He might never be back. Ever. [ editor's note circa 2006: Paul has been to Pond Jovi a few more times since this concert-But Who Knew at the Time, eh? ]
Sunday night’s concert would be concert number 1. Cancelled until Monday was Saturday’s concert. It had to do with Paul saving his voice.
I had to work Sunday. Normally I get off at 9 or 10. It was a frightful night. Cold around 40 degrees. And it had been raining all day. Not raining but POURING. We had been shorthanded as usual at Hell Whole, [ editor's note circa 2006: Some things never change, especially in the glamourous world of the food biz ] so I was very leery about getting off early and going to the [ Sunday ] nite concert. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you I still didn’t have a ticket. I had looked in the want ad section of the paper and was immediatly intimidated by the number of ads hawking Paul McCartney tickets. They read: Good seats; excellent seats; cheap seats; etc. There were reports in the paper that tickets were going for hundreds of dollars. My plan was to go the scalper route. In hindsight I wouldn’t recomend this approach.
I called Kitty and asked her for advice. Should I go? I knew she wanted to go, too, but couldn’t/wouldn't because of the cost. She encouraged me to go. Because she knew what it would mean to me. With many misgivings I decided why not. My main concern was a big one. My frigging windshield wipers didn’t work and it was still pouring. Could I drive the fifteen miles to Pond Arena in a fog, buy a ticket from a scalper and have fun all by myself? These were a lot of big ifs and I was already tired from working all day.
I said goodbye to the troops [ team members ] and headed for old Betsy, my 1977 Dodge Van. In human years Betsy must be at least 200 years old.
"Old Betsy don’t fail me now old friend," I muttered to my inanimate motorized constant companion. Maybe by some miracle my wipers would work tonight. Uh huh. Yea, right.
I started up the grand hill that signals bye-bye to my work establishment. I looked out the windshield. Or tried to. What were those motorized contraptions coming toward me with their many little lights blinding my already limited sight. I assumed they were cars. I wasn’t sure.
My last moment of indecision occured next. I was at the overpass. Turn right and go home to a nice warm fireplace. Turn left and it’s adventure time. No ticket and no windshield wipers. I hadn’t had much excitment lately so.... I turned left.
The cars sped by me on the Interstate. Driving 40 miles an hour and in the slow lane me and old Betsy miraculously made it to the arena. Now the fun was going to start.
It was still pouring. I paid my seven dollars for parking and ran across the parking lot. Luckily I didn’t step in too many puddles. [ editor's note: if memory serves, the poor boy had no umbrella, either ]
There was a crowd milling about, as I walked up to the first person I saw. The young man asked me if I wanted to buy a ticket. This is too good to be true I'm thinking.
“Where is the ticket?” I asked.
“On the floor,” he said.
The $64,000 question was next. I gritted my teeth. “How much do you want for it?”
Without blinking he calmly answered, “$75.00.”
I had gotten $200.00 out of the Tillie before my odyssey had begun, so I was in good financial shape. This wouldn’t dent the budget much after all.
But before I could swallow good a young punk next to us said, “I’ll take it.” They consumed the deal in seconds, acting as if they were long lost buddies. I felt the urge to kill, being new to the scalping buisness. Next time it won’t be as easy for my adversary. There will be counter offers until that ticket is mine. But when you’re standing in the rain, you’re not prone to rational thinking.
Nagging feelings emerged in me brain-this was going to be difficult. It was already 8:00 the time the concert started. Time was becoming a factor.
“Tickets,” a young black teenager shouted. He was on the street level. I caught his eye and ascended the 50 or so steps to the top. Another person ran after him. Here we go again I thought. But before I could negotiate a ticket he blew me away.
“Get away from me, Cop. I ain’t selling you no ticket.”
“What? Did I look like Rene Enriquez?” [ editor's note: see "Hill Street Blues" for this obscure reference-one of my favorite tv shows ]
I got feisty. “I’m no cop. I just want to buy a ticket.” I threw in some choice ezpletives. I was getting mad. It didn’t work.
Starting to lose confidence, and me being Mr. Optimistic, I looked around. The crowd was thinning out. Most had gone into the building. The scalpers were about done, too. It didn’t look good for the home team. Somebody told me you could go to jail for buying a scalped ticket. I could see myself in jail with all the murderers, drug traffikers, child abusers and drunk drivers. Maybe I could room with Pete Rose or be on his softball team.
I gave it one more shot. “Do you have a ticket for the concert,” I asked the 30ish man standing in the rain.
I gritted my teeth. Again. Jail loomed a possibility. Bingo! For $75.00 I got a ticket. 20 rows up. To the right of the stage.
Was this a good seat? Who knew? I walked into the Omni and called Kitty on the pay phone. [ editor's note: this was before the advent of cell phones ] She was surprised and happy that I had made it. Here voice was tinged with excitement. Mine too.
Richard Lester of "Hard Day's Nite" fame projected Paul in different phases of his career onto movie screens in the dark cavernous arena . As a Beatle ( 1960’s ); as a Wing ( 1970’s ); and as a solo performer ( 1980’s ). The screen flashed the words. Today. And out walked Paul McCartney and Linda and the rest of the band.
They started out with a new song off their new album. [ another editor's note: "Figure of Eight." ] The concert was beginning.... But that’s all for now. However stay tuned for another trip down scalper’s lane. Where you’ll.... go to a basketball game; speed down I-69 at 80 miles an hour and live to tell about it; rush through a maze of stairs and ushers checking your ticket stubs on the way to another concert this time buoyed on row "4"; borrow money from a stranger and change cloths in the Golden Pond Parking Lot, while barely escaping a jail cell with Pete Rose. These stories and more you’ll be privy to when you read McCartney II.
Coming soon to your computer! [ editor's last and final note: The above foray was written on an Apple 2 C computer circa 1991. The next installment will be viewed "On Golden Pond," my blog and not on my computer. ]
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