December 15, 2001
obscured by the bright lights from the front of the stage, he totters
out to the microphone, his left hand swinging a quart bottle of Rebel
Yell with about two and a half inches of liquor left in it."
first problem is the Authorial Voice. It’s not right.
Changed, somehow. You’re not quite sure, but it
isn’t what you’re used to hearing.
crowd is wild tonight. Not exactly lusting for blood, as this clearly
isn’t a bullring in Madrid, but it’s clear that the
audience is anticipating a disaster on stage. Rumors of last
night’s catastrophe in Cincinnati had preceded them."
second problem is the subject matter. What the heck is going on with
the writing in the third person jazz?
been a long, dragged-out swing through the heartland of America,
playing any dump with turnstiles that would have them. Small smelly
clubs with an inch of water on the dressing room floor, junior college
lunchrooms with their name written on the same message board that
normally spelled out this week’s lunch special, and a hockey
arena. What the heck was he doing playing in a hockey arena, and more
importantly, was this anyway for a grown man to make a living?" Where
the hell was he tonight?
right. Enough is enough.
Where, exactly, is this going?
voice booms out across the hall, "’ALLO, CLEVELAND!" He HOPES
that this is Cleveland. Not that these American wankers look any
different from town to town. "’allo, Cleveland!
‘allo, ‘allo, ‘allo! ARE YOU
READY? ARE YOU READY TO BIRTHDAY?! The lights kick in, the
guitars let out a thundering wall of feedback-drenched white noise, the
thump of the kick drum smacks into your chest like an explosive shock
wave AND THE THE CROWD GOES WILD!"
I get it!
entire thing was a big deceptive set-up by
who’s slipping in here as guest author of *FootNotes* for a
day to announce to Our Beloved Audience that today is SECRA’S
Dear Friends ... on a chilly December afternoon (she doesn’t
really REMEMBER if it was chilly, but I’m taking an authorial
liberty here - After all, it was in Seattle in the winter - that OUGHT
to be cold. It’s not as if she was born in San Diego, where
you could say "on a warm December afternoon.") As I was saying, on a
chilly December afternoon on a long-ago Sunday a mere forty-four
revolutions of Earth around the Sun ago, little Secra popped out into
the world, and after the passage of much time and many convoluted
peregrinations (not unlike this sentence in which you find yourself
mired, Dear Reader, the sticky parenthetical interjections clinging to
you like winter mud clings to your shoes) found her way to Castle
where, we hope, she’s finally found True Happiness after a
journey of Courage! Love! Tears! and Compassion!
out goes a Mighty Ker-Annggg! for Secra’s birthday! Turn the
amps up to eleven and say, "Happy Birthday, SecraTerri! You
are the love of my life, the light of my eyes, the joy of my world.
You’re the cream in my coffee, you put the 'Ace' in space,
and I’m glad you’re sharin’ my life.
that. I’m glad you’re sharin’ OUR
life (or lives, as the word may be).