Brown ribbon, its shiny surface spinning, a neon crimson bead the size of an insect eye
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| period in an intimate Los Angeles studio. He selected The Beatles’ “She’s Leaving Home”
and Elton John’s “Your Song” with standards such as “Summertime” and “Go Away Little Girl” on the 12-track album. The all-star band included former Crusader Joe Sample on acoustic piano, Eric Gale on electric and acoustic guitars, Paulinho da Costa on percussion, Phillipe Saisse on synthesizers, Steely Dan veteran Steve Gadd, and bassist-producer Marcus Miller. “There’s Best-Of project that’s coming next,” said Jarreau. “I just finished a couple of studio cuts with George Duke.” Duke and Jarreau had collaborated on a new song, “Good Hands Tonight.” “You get kind of thumbprint, handprint signature Jarreau stuff,” he said. “There are some new listens on there, so it should be fun, available in mid-October.” The “Moonlighting” theme will also be included on the album, a first. Frankie Laine and Patti Page, along with Teresa Brewer and Guy Mitchell, were among his influences. “I listened to pop music of the times,” he said. “I listened to pop music of lots of different time periods and epics. Jon Hendricks, the fiery jazzer, and Johnny Mathis, the balladeer, were probably the two biggest influences on my music. “I did a lot of singing as a kid. My first singing was real close to home and church. It wasn’t long after my first little fund-raiser recital for the Seventh Adventist Church in Milwaukee, that I was singing in first grade and second grade and third grade PTAs. “Mom came to school and accompanied me. I loved it. It felt fun for me. I sang every chance I got. It seemed like people liked it. They always asked me to come back and sing again.” By the time he was 16, he was singing for an orchestra that played for sorority and fraternity parties. “I spent a lot of years in school studying and took a degree in psychology and rehabilitation counseling and worked in that area for four years, but I wasn’t real good in that work, and I left it.” In 1965-68 he was in San Francisco and began singing two or three weeks a night with Duke “packing them in.” “I really took my Ph.D. with George Duke,” said Jarreau. “He was really just a genius, even then. When we stopped working at the Half Note Club, he went right to Frank Zappa and Cannonball Adderly.” The Haight-Asbury community was a “hot bed” then, he said. “That was Jefferson Airplane country and Gracie Slick country and Greatful Dead country and Janis Joplin Country. Winterland was there and Fillmore West. Elvis was just the beginning. That was the heart of rock and roll on the planet. I walked through it on the way to the grocery store. I’ve got original bell-bottom trousers at home.” *************** Shivering in the freezing temperatures on Oak Street, awaiting the Kid’s City Parade wasn’t too bad until the coffee kicked in. Dashing into the Founder’s Centre, it was an apprehensive walk, slow but deliberate with only one sustained pause at-attention. You try to telegraph cool, unnoticeable body language of “I don’t want you to know that I am heading for the can.” Bourgeois angst. Pushing the exterior first entrance door open, my noggin almost headbutted the second door as my wrist cracked, coiling from the doorknob’s tight steel mini-jiggle. It’s harder to get into that bathroom than it is for the Prince of Wales to learn ebonics now that a security lock has been installed. Imagine the disappointment and chagrin, not to mention the discomfort, shock and intrepid fear. Folger’s no more. Scatological terror was imminent. Punching the numeral lock buttons out of sequence, my digits fumbled, trying to ring up the secret combination. “Ahem.” Finesse, my dear. Call Kreskin! With no luck, an employee in the building saved the day. “This is a high crime district, you know,” he said, sharing the secret combination with me with a smile. Returning to the johnny, I noticed suits filing into the quarters, one-by-one, until I realized that securing a seat in the facility would be impossible on the first floor even with the top-secret combination. There is no telling why the top-secret combination was enacted. When I was trying to find Rolling Stone’s building in New York City in 1983 to take a prospective story to Associate Editor Susannah Koger on The Way International cult group, there was the same anticipation. Trying to find a public commode in “The Big Apple” is harder than finding a gas station in rural Williamsburg County. Maybe that white stick on top of the Founder’s Centre is a radio transmitter for the International Potty Patrol. The second floor powder room was open and empty, thank goodness. If you ever find yourself in this situation, try either the number that comes after “422” or the one that comes after “424.” I feel your pain. Invest in Metamucil stock, friend, because that stuff works. I wouldn’t want to divulge company secrets or compromise security, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. Don’t tell anybody I told you. ****** Subj: Re: thehand.bmp Date: 98-03-27 14:33:12 EST From: markk@onslowonline.net (Mark) To: Bulltim@aol.com (Bulltim)
cease.
what about a start-up newspaper, begin as a monthly, then weekly, then three times a week.
make it read hometown, and then push for tourism dollars. make the locals feel good, people who live there all year-round. now why are you in the doghouse? just put on hank williams’ “move it on over” are these quote marks messed up, or what? “kjlkj” i worked with a charles turnipseed in savannah, at the paper... from alabama originally, but a hippie, deadhead type have you ever beeped yourself to get out of a situation? found on the web a kreuzwieser in austria; says there are kreuzwiesers in australia, too
> questions, ***** questions..i think sh’e s on ***....sunny 80, bikinis on > beach.....in the doghouse......interviewing tom turnipseed, running for s.c. > a.g., at airport...he has a radio show in columbia...he’s heard of my whorehouse > story..... > buzy week.....let’s all take off for the weekend....collectively....dropped > beeper in the toilet this a.m. at office....took my time as bubbles began to > pop out of the speaker part.....it’s in the back and you can’t read it...i may > have successfullly destroyed it....
Date: 98-03-27 15:10:13 EST From: Bulltim To: markk@onslowonline.net i love the smell of air conditioning in a trailer...i lived in a trailer in laurinburg after i moved back home after 1976 breakdown...i was working in a mill in red springs....a tornado jumped over it...crushed a church roof...caught the clap in that mobile home.... they always tell me to refer to it as a manufactured home in the paper....it was a tin can.....had fun....remember that night vividly, rocking....5 a.m., lights out....dog under manufactured home... and then there was the smell.....of air conditioning...the other trailer i lived in was beside a hog killing shack....squealing during the day when i’d attempt to sleep...i still hear those pigs screaming...getting their bloody nuts cut off..... i heard the screams at the airport just now, interviewing the guy running for a.g. against the current 1, tom turnipseed is his name...running against charlie condon...they’re both against the death penalty..... sunny....80s...film at 11 Subj: Re: thehand.bmp Date: 98-03-27 12:36:31 EST From: Bulltim To: markk@onslowonline.net ok....boss is losing it....driving us crazy....every 5 min...assignments, questions, reasking questions..i think sh’e s on coke....sunny 80, bikinis on beach.....in the doghouse......interviewing tom turnipseed, running for s.c. a.g., at airport...he has a radio show in columbia...he’s heard of my wh story..... buzy week.....let’s all take off for the weekend....collectively....dropped beeper in the toilet this a.m. at office....took my time as bubbles began to pop out of the speaker part.....it’s in the back and you can’t read it...i may have successfullly destroyed it.... Subj: Re: ac Date: 98-03-27 18:35:12 EST From: markk@onslowonline.net (Mark) To: Bulltim@aol.com (Bulltim) that’s so weird, cos there’s a pig and cow farm just around the corner from my manufactured home: you can smell the money! 76 i had a breakdown at ASU. were you up there then? you off this weekend? need advice, lazy.
The mall didn’t advertise much, but following the Dixie Chicks around that afternoon was fun at the mall. *************************** When The Dixie Chicks started stripping at one shop in the dressing room, I felt a little funny, quite unprofessional and out of place. Driving around in a limo at Waccamaw Pottery was rough. I ran across the mall to get them some bottled water, blowing $25 on the CD and other junk and putting me in the hole for my weekly budget. We were in an apparel shop, and the country trio was probably nude by now, trying on the clothes. An expectant Jennifer Tidwell of Conway, S.C. shopped with The Dixie Chicks March 26 with money to burn in a $500 shopping spree at Myrtle Beach’s Outlet Park, courtesy of GATOR 107.9 FM. “I was really shocked,” said Tidwell on winning. As she shopped with The Dixie Chicks, the 26-year-old mom had her eye on the baby clothes at the Osh-Kosh shop, as she exchanged shopping ideas with the Top-10 country music trio. “Oh, they’re wonderful. They’re a great group,” she said. “I can’t wait the CD so I can listen to it.” It will be Tidwell’s second child with a due date of Nov. 3. “We have a little girl who is four and a half,” she said. “We’ll have to wait a few months before we find out, but we’re going to find out. It’s a blessing. Everybody’s really excited.” The Dixie Chicks even stopped by a record store in the Waccamaw Pottery mall to sign a poster as music from “Wide Open Spaces” played on the intercom. What was it like growing up in a musical family? “It was great having my mom play violin,” said fiddler Martie Seidel. “She played really well, and she would sit on my bed when I was practicing giving pointers and play along with me. I was five years old when I started, so it was really nice to have the parents playing with me because practicing while you are young is solitude. You’re by yourself in a room, and it’s not a lot of fun.” Dale Evans was an influence. “Yeah. We named our first album ‘Thank Heavens for Dale Evans.’ When she had her heart attack, we sent her a dozen yellow roses. We’ve been in constant contact with her.” Emily purchased a comforter for her bunk bed before the afternoon of shopping was over. Natalie Maines was dressed in overalls as she combed through the racks of clothes at Waccamaw Pottery which is located next to Fantasy Harbour and The Gatlin Brothers Theatre. Ronnie Milsap’s venue was back there until he moved to go back on the road. Growing up around her father, steel guitar player Lloyd Maines, helped her carry the legend of West Texas music into Generation X. “It was very cool. I learned a lot from him. He was a professional,” she said. “He was the one who taught me really to stick with what’s in your heart, to know when to compromise and when not to. We hung out around some cool people, Terry Allen and Joe Elie and people like that, so it was cool.” Her father used different instruments, according to Natalie. “He is not someone who gets attached to one guitar. He is buying and selling instruments all the time,” she said. “Some steel guitars people have made for him and given to him, and he’ll play them for a long time.” The Dixie Chicks are not slowing down on the road. They performed at The Beachwagon in Myrtle Beach and were on the road with their bus to the next destination. “We’re doing a lot of writing, pairing up with a lot of Nashville writers trying to get something written for the next album. Our main thing right now is doing a lot of shows and promotions and albums and media stuff. We’re going to Canada for the second time next week to do media stuff there. We’re opening some shows for Alan Jackson and Clay Walker.” Natalie keeps busy on the road. “I read a lot. I like to work out and just listen to music,” she said. Natalie said she spent St. Patrick’s Day in New York City in an Irish pub with some beer and Irish food. She likes “The Simpsons,” and the last movie she saw was “The Apostle.” Natalie and Emily played air hockey as they took a break from shopping in an arcade. Emily enjoys “The Simpsons” too. “I don’t really watch that much TV,” she said. “I love ‘Seinfeld,’ a lot of the comedy stuff. I don’t really watch anything that has a story line, a continuing story line because I can never keep up with it being on the road and everything.” While shopping, Emily purchased a comforter for her bunk bed. Emily enjoys listening to Bela Fleck when it comes to bluegrass music, and the last movie she saw was “Good Will Hunting.” “It was great. I loved it,” she said. “I hadn’t seen any other movie on the Oscar ballot, so I was kind of rooting for that one even though I haven’t seen it.” “I like to hang around the house. I have a dog and a cat. I like to spend time with my family,” said Emily. “We just did ‘The View’ with Barbara Walters. That just happened. We’re trying to get on all the maximum shows like David Letterman and all that.” The band once tried to get on “Late Night With David Letterman,” but was tossed out of the lobby for singing. “We went in there just hoping to catch someone’s eye and get some attention that way. Then the security started coming out of the woodwork because you’re not allowed to do that. We’re just hoping that if we smile big enough, they won’t throw us out, but sure enough, they threw us out in about half a song.” *************************** It’s tax night. We’ve got to talk about it. I’m in trouble because I had a beer. But first a call. Danger, Will Robinson, danger. Just got back from buying a new couch and chair. The revolving account we didn’t pay off from last year with the new couch we got for $1,500, so today is the day our interest rates go into effect that we have to pay now since we didn’t pay it off in time. The state just sent us a notice that a warrant has been placed to collect a lien for a $400 tax bill; the IRS is expecting us to pay last year’s owed amount by April 15 in a couple of days. I suppose I should quit messing around and finish the book. The editor of the local newspaper asked me in a meeting last year a question I was surprised to hear. You always gotta be careful what you do because you never know who is looking. “Was that you running down the street the other day near IGA?” “Ah, did you see me?” I hope it was somebody else. “I distinctly remember seeing you. You were running down the road at a high rate of speed.” “Maybe it was someone else.” “No, I believe it was you. Why were you running?” I had been clipping a high rate of smoker’s lung speed, having to huff and puff during breaks. “It might have been.” “You had some flowers....” “Oh yes. Now I remember. I had just found out some good news.” “Oh, really?” Now it’s going to be all over town.” “I had bought some flowers at the flower shop. That’s right. That was me. I had just found out my wife was pregnant.” You feel funny telling people that you are expecting a child. It’s like I never tried to do it on purpose before. I remember the day I found out - it was a good feeling. “Could I get a Jim Beam and a Bud?” “Yes. You must have had a hard day,” the bartender at our favorite steakhouse bar said. “No, quite the contrary, my good man. Here is a five-spot for you. Buy yourself a beer.” “This one is on the house, sir. What’s the occasion?” “I just found out my wife is going to have a baby. We’re going to have a baby.” “Oh, that’s great. Let met buy this one for you.” There is a clown with blue, red and yellow balloons, walking by. One lady has on a gorilla costume. Dressing up in costumes is so much fun because masquerades are so inhumane, a cruel trickery through which one is able to hide in executive session and unidentified solitude. My Grandmother Sanford used to dress up in a black outfit every year, and we’d visit her in East Laurinburg - that black pointy hat and makeup. I follow the hallways and become inextricably lost, backtracking and trying to maintain my composure in a restroom, splashing my face with cold water and staring in the mirror. “Could you tell me which way back to the first floor Room A?” “Are you lost?” In a white costume, the woman’s red painted nose made her look like a drunk, very unprofessional. “Yes, very.” “Sir, if you’re going to light that up, you’ll have to go outside.” “No, I’m just getting ready. This has been a rough day, alright?” “Go down to the end of the hall, take a left, then walk down until you see the pharmacy and hang a right. It’s about 100 feet on down on your left. You can’t miss it.” I love Halloween. It’s the only day of the year that you can be socially evil and revert to your childhood. I don’t like sweets anymore, but just give me a stack of horror films and a black light, and I will enjoy the holiday along with everyone else. When I applied at the Wilmington Morning Star, the managing editor and his assistant gave me a funny facial expression when they asked me what my interests were. “I like slasher flicks,” I said. No lie. Well, this Halloween would be one like I had never experienced before in my life, even when goblins and ghouls seemed real when the age of five seemed like a field trip into fantasy and scary ghosts visited me at night, breathing hot hair down my neck and making noises underneath my bed. My reoccurring nightmare was one that was more frightening than any other since and any movie I’ve seen. It started wrecking my night life when I was about five. Scenario: Dark. It’s about five to midnight in our old house. On 1st Street in Laurinburg our home was small but nice for the 1950s-60s. At night when the sun went down the streetlight would stream beams of light, bars of illumination which would make the living room floor visible. The windows were cloaked in a white, thin fabric of curtain while the others were dark and thick. Every time I would have this nightmare, it might change, even just a minute detail difference, but the main plot was always indescribably haunting. I would dream that I would wake up as a child and go to the door while everyone was asleep because there was a sound. A light knock at the door. Or a scratching. Anyway, when I’d walk to the door, my body’s functions become harder to control, moving slower with little or no supervision by the time I make it to the door. About two feet from the door or three, I stop dead in my tracks, frozen. “Hahahahaha!” There is a deep, skewed voice, echoing from the door’s exterior on the porch. There is nothing I can make out from the door’s window, but suddenly, there appears a shadow, a silhouette, and I can feel the demonic presence of a devil, the Devil himself, on the other side of the portal. I can’t move now because paralysis has set in. The shadow moves, but most of the time it is still with a finger at the pane, a long jagged fingernail. A cold touch is felt on my spine, moving up, making me fall to the floor, motionless and unable to move a muscle. There’s a squeak. The door is opening. The cold laugh permeates my head. Nobody else has awakened because they can’t hear it. Now he’s coming in the house, and we’re helpless. This is when my cranial region shuts down, and some divine force allows me to wake up, if I haven’t already been fortunate enough to jump start my consciousness on my own. I took the nurse’s directions. It had been a hectic morning. A bloody a.m. Driving her to the hospital. Waiting in the emergency room waiting room, and this young padre-to-be, who finally quit the priesthood, visited with a church assistant and gave me a hug. It was a lonely feeling, knowing she was in the operating room. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?” The mask this Halloween participant was wearing was white as the driven snow, wrapped around her face with two slender cords tied around the back of her neck. Shining chrome of steel’s glint blinded me as my hand was gripped with fingernails. “Can’t somebody supply some drugs for her pain? I’ll go down to Racepath if you can’t help.” The hospital staff was nonplused. No medication. And the bills are still hailing. After work this week a year and a half later, the phone rings. “This is CSI. Your account is overdue.” “And how much is this overdue account, amigo?” “Seventy-nine dollars and fifty three cents.” “I’ve already paid that amount sir.” “It says here that you still owe us.” Supper is burning, and so is my patience. “Why don’t you just go screw yourself? Give yourself an abortion.” Now I’m lost in Conway Hospital, pacing down hallways, already lost again after the braindead nurse gave me a bum steer, guiding me into absolutely the last ward I wanted to be on. “We need an obstetrician for Room 203.” The wallpaper looked really gay; worse than that at Catawba Memorial in Hickory where I learned there had been asbestos in the baby ward until they renovated. In my wife’s recuperating room, my eyes were shutting as I lay on the bed awaiting the final procedures. After she returns, medicated, she sleeps as I close my deadline afternoon eyes with my beeper in one hand and her hand in the other. Vibrating in my palm, the communications device pulses, humming. “ASAP. Call the office.” It’s my psycho boss again. Calling me while I’m at the hospital. “There’s a lady who called.” “Ah. I’m in the hospital now. What can I help you with?” “She claims you owe her $500.” “What?” “You know that On Your Mind you did at Carolina Forest Elementary School the other day?” “Yes, I interviewed a bunch of people in the lobby of the office. It went well.” “Well, she wants her $500, and I told her she’s crazy.” “What in the hell does she want $500 for?” “She said you told her if she’d do the interview, you’d give her $500.” Durn. A thousand unsuspecting marks, and this one had to go south on the scariest day of the year. “Well, you tell her to go to hell. I’ve got a situation here. I just told her that to get her to do it. I was laughing. It was a joke.” Download 2.99 Mb. Share with your friends:
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