I was just curious as to what this person is. Is it a happy female, with no breasts and a chin shadow, or is it a super-effeminate dude with a neck beard? These days...well, who gives a fuck, right? Long as they're taking their meds. Have a nice day. Fuck me, man.
In high school I was in the Key Club. We did a lot of stuff for the school and the community but being in it also allowed my buddy, and president Tommy and me to get away with murder, including things like being able to leave school any time we wanted and go down to the river for a swim and a bowl or whatever we wanted to do, but that's another story. Every year there was a statewide convention in Mobile, with I guess a thousand people or so from all over the state and beyond. I've also mentioned that that first real gig for a huge audience cured me of what stage-fright I may have had, if any, for life.
They had a talent show so we decided to put together a band. I know there's photos of us around somewhere but it'd take some serious digging. We looked so outrageous in the costumes our moms had helped us make, and we had the music to match. I remember I had on black bellbottoms, white patent-leather boots (that's correct), a gold polyester shirt with pointed collars that were 4" long, and a green satin sash. That was the only time I ever dressed like a Rock Star in my life, and I have to admit it was kinda fun. Cheeseball but fun. Cheese is perfectly okay, if you can back it up.
The band was my former neighbor and friend (still) Billy Steiner on guitar, Alan Hunter, who was one of the original Veejays on MTV when they first started, on piano, and me on drums. We came up with all these insane originals, including a little ditty called "Chewing Gum (is So Much Fun)" that was nuts. It had a dramatic breakdown in the middle, where chewing too much gum led to an horrific mishap. The protagonist blew a gigantic bubble while he was driving. It was bigger than his head and when it popped it blinded him. His girlfriend happened to be crossing the street when it happened, and tragically he ran over her. I'll never forget the last part..."I blew a big bubble...I got into trouble...the bubble popped...I couldn't stop...I ran my baby down...right in the middle of town." Too much.
I haven't told the whole story of that weekend in this blog, and I'll have to tell it again soon. Except for the time our church group rented a chalet in Gatlinburg, my first time playin in a band in Florida and a few choice weekends it was one of the wildest times I could've ever imagined or planned for, and it's fitting to go along with this story. Anyway we had to get there by Friday afternoon to register our Key Club Sweetheart in time, so we got a hotel room for the weekend. That night there was an informal rehearsal in the auditorium for anybody who wanted to go through their acts, so we decided to go for it.
Back then there wasn't a million kids starting bands in high school like there is now, and we were a big deal just for that, and before we played a note. There were the typical acts...girls who'd sing tender love songs, juggling, comedy routines and the like, but as it turned out our main competition was a barbershop quartet, although we'd have never though so, and found out in an interesting way. The atmosphere was very relaxed and fun and casual, all but for four people anyway. Everybody who wanted to went through their routines, and everybody else clapped and cheered and it was a very supportive situation. There were some talented people.
I can't remember if we played before the barbershop guys or if they went first although we went on very near the end of the night, but when we finished our thing people went nuts and were slapping us on the back and high-fiving, and when they finished their routine, and they were very good, the response was...let's just say it was a bit milder...a little stiff and almost "called-for," if that makes sense. I mean, a Rock band versus a barbershop quartet? Come on. We reckoned we'd take the grand prize the next night. A crowd response is one thing, but a response from our peers as it were, where it's personal, to me told the tale, and we should take it no problem, but it wasn't meant to be. In fact it was never meant to be, nor any other situation like it.
I can still picture the scene when we finished, and you couldn't have scripted a movie any better. Everyone had gathered around us and was telling us how much they enjoyed it. Everyone but the barbershop guys that is. They were huddled in a corner, talking amongst themselves (I love that phrase). It was absolutely textbook. My first thought was " Sorry guys, great harmony and nice suits and all, but y'all are goin' down." We figured out that it was the general consensus, including, reluctantly, the quartet.
It was totally a friendly deal, at least with almost everyone. We didn't go down there to try and smoke the rest of the Key Club talent in the whole state of Alabama but we figured we'd score pretty high. We did have an unfair advantage to begin with, if nothing else for dressing up like insane Disco-clown poofters, but we put a lot of rehearsal into it. Those songs had insane time-changes, tempo shifts, kicks and stops, and we could turn on a dime. To this day that was one of the tightest bands I've ever played in. Now that I think about it, it was really bordering on "Prog." If the music hadn't been good (and quite different) we'd have never thought about dressing up like that, and we'd have had acoustic guitars, brushes on the snare and jeans and t-shirts.
Everybody besides four guys was in a good mood, and we stayed at least an hour after we finished. A girl and a couple of guys came up and started talking to me, while Alan and Billy were talking to all the Sweethearts or whatever. They seemed a bit more "Grateful-Dead-ish" if you will, than most of the other kids there, with all due respect, and I think they sensed that in me. They were cool. We shot the shite for a few minutes, and then to my surprise, and the beginning of another chapter in my "waking up," the girl basically said "BTW, I really hate to tell you this, but y'all aren't going to win tomorrow night. They are." She nodded toward the barbershop guys. I thought she was joking, except for the look on her face. I was baffled.
"What are you talking about? We smoked those guys" I said. "I know," she said, "but they're going to win, and that's the truth." I was incredulous, as they say. I asked her to please explain, so she and I went over to a table and sat down, while the two dudes went somewhere else. I clearly remember the story she told me, as it yanked me into another level of learning what REALLY goes on behind the scenes. Interestingly this was what people today would call "conspiracy theory," but we saw it firsthand, and so did several-hundred other people. That sister was ahead of her time, and had I known I'd have kept in touch with her. Instead, what she was calmly and casually telling, with an even, storytelling tone and with no sign of deception, was news to my naïve ass.
"We're mostly old-money here" she said, "and they control things. They call the shots. It's not the mayor or the city council. It's them." "Who is 'them?'" I asked. "The super-rich, basically" she said, "but it's more than that. This is just a small part of the system, but it's like this all the way to the top." "What 'top?'" I asked. "As 'top' as you can get...this city, this state, this country...and the whole world" she replied. "But the barbershop guys?" I asked. "How the..." "Even the barbershop guys" she said. "It's just part of the deal. They're going to win, and everyone's known it all year.
I could see that maybe, but then again, all that year they'd never had to go up against a Rock band, much less the Bazooka Boogies. I thought we'd surely pull off an upset. She went on to explain that the barbershop guys were the richest of the rich, and they'd already won the past two years, and that since this was their senior year they were going to go out in a blaze of glory, and it was preordained and not even the Bazooka Boogies could stand in their way.
I just sat there trying to take it in. She sat patiently, letting me do so. "I know it sounds crazy" she said. "Yeah, it does" I said. "It's how it is, and it's been this way forever. They're going to win. You'll see. I'm sorry" she said. She sat calmly and we talked a bit more. Like most people I could spot an obvious liar by them, but somehow I believed what she was saying, although at the same time I couldn't believe it...my head was spinning. It was a "truth tornado." I saw truth in her eyes. Maybe we'll meet again sister...you never know...but we were meant to meet, and my eternal thanks and love go out to you.
I went back to mess with my drums or whatever and told the other guys what she'd said, and naturally they were in disbelief. "She sounded pretty serious" I said. "She's messing with you man" one of them said. "Probably ballin' one of the barbershop boys." We laughed, and I was in disbelief too, but I said "I don't think so. She thinks they're as dorky as we do, and we should absolutely win, but it was basically a setup." The two guys who were with her walked back by and heard me quietly telling them, talking amongst ourselves, and nodded their heads. We were looking at each other bug-eyed and with tilted heads.
We discussed it a bit more and I think I believed her maybe more than they did, but nobody ruled it out. Still we all thought that Saturday night, when the crowd and the judges were in place, and it wasn't about who was supposed to win but who kicked the most ass, we'd win. Had it been a fair competition we'd have already won, hands-down. We were a little freaked for sure but we shrugged it off. Alan and Billy went back to the hotel and wisely got some rest, while Bobby, Tommy and I drove in my VW Squareback (RIP, girl) to Dauphin Island.
I'll give a sneak peak of the story of the whole weekend, and I'll tell it because we got into a very ponderous mood, and we talked a lot about what we'd just witnessed. We were still a couple years shy of legal, but back then it wasn't too tough to get liquor, as I'm sure it is now. We had a quart of 151. We stopped at a store to buy mixer. We got a nice big bag of Mai-Tai mix, cups and a shaker, and for good measure a can of Coke. What we forgot to get was water to mix the Mai-Tais. Oops. We went out onto the beach and we were ready to party. We pulled everything out of the bag, but no water. "Oh, SHIIIIIT!" we said in unison.
We were in a pickle. It wouldn't do to use seawater, or advisable to pour the drink mix powder down the gullet like Pixie Stix and chase it with 151, although we probably considered it. By then the Coke had even gotten warm. I remember hoisting a bottle of 151 in one hand and a Coke in the other. We were cussing but we had to laugh. We each had a whopping 10oz of 151, and 4oz of warm Coca-Cola. Ready...GO!
We did it lunatic-style, turning up the bottle of fucking 151 and taking a big swig of booze followed by a tiny sip of Coke. It wasn't much of a chaser and it was pretty brutal, but we made it through the bottle. We properly-disposed of the bottle and saved the Coke can as a souvenir, We properly-disposed of a good bit of our brain cells too, and were buzzed as buzzards, at least until the next afternoon.
As if nearly 11oz of 75% alcohol wasn't enough, we had some of, as Steely Dan would say, "The fine Colombian" too. I don't remember if it was the Gold or Red variety but I'm gonna say Red, but either way it was the Top o' Line stuff...the expensive, "special-occasion" stuff. The further icing on the cake was that there was a big storm way out in the Gulf, and we were getting sustained winds of at least 40 knots or more, with gusts higher. Windy conditions aren't conducive to trying to light a pipe, and that's what we had.
Fortunately it was my trusty Proto-Pipe, my first (of several) that George from California gave me when I stepped off the plane in San Francisco. It had a special feature that was illustrated on the booklet that came with the first edition or two, and which is probably worth a fortune on eBay, if you can find one (they're asking $150 and way up for originals now. The original price was $9.99. It was carved out of a solid billet of brass that was shaped like a "U" and about 5/8" thick (later models were nearly an inck thick, with a swivel lid). You could take a book of matches and open it and curl it perfectly around the bowl, with about half an inch of the matchbook flap above the edge of the bowl, which acted as a windscreen. We'd never tested it out in winds like that but it worked.
The tradeoff was that you'd get a "sulfur hit" because you'd have to light the bowl while the flame was blazing if it was really windy, and since it was still burning the compound you'd taste it big-time, and especially with grass as tasty as Colombian, it was a bummer, but of course it didn't stop us. As our buzz increased so did the wind. Although we wanted to get the 151 out of the way just because it was so gnarly, we had sense enough to take a few puffs before we started drinking, rather than the other way around. If you get wasted on booze first, and then smoke weed, a condition known as the "Twirlies" will invariably result. Unless it's a mild case, and you're able to "surf" it, which can really be fun, in most cases it can make people so dizzy that they throw-up. Normally you don't want the Twirlies.
Still we got buzzed out of our gourds on the 151 alone, and we'd saved most of the tokin' for after. I was concerned about Bobby because he'd never smoked pot in his life until the drive down to Mobile earlier that same day, but even though he got extremely stoned his first time he enjoyed it, and amazingly he had no problems. We didn't let him smoke nearly as much as we did and he didn't drink quite as much, but he had a buzz like he'd never thought about having.
After several pulls of 151 and tiny sips of Coke we were getting a little wobbly. The wind gusts didn't help, and in the case of being mixed with alcohol, neither did the Colombian. Nobody fell down, but it became a team-effort not to, and also to light the bowl in gale-force winds. There was a discarded wooden pallet on the beach, and we crammed together and stood on it, half holding each other up and half shielding from the wind. Bobby and I grew up in the same church, and his dad was a long-time minister there. I'd known Bobby's brother for a long time but I didn't know him very well. He was a year younger.
Imagine...you're standing on a beautiful, empty beach at around midnight, only you're standing about ten inches apart from two other guys, including a new guy, on a 3' X 3' pallet that sits three inches above the sand but seems like three feet. The wind is howling, you're drinking fire-ass liquor like a lunatic, and smoking the best weed known to mankind, and still imho. And in Bobby's case, here he was with two guys he hardly knew...me he knew a bit but not Tommy...smoking pot for the second time in his life and getting as high as the balls on a giraffe, hoping that all the 151 fumes didn't create a giant fireball and blow up in his face when he was lighting the bowl.
On top of that he'd just met a guy (me) who'd driven like a racecar driver along with the teacher driving the lead car, since we had to have our sweetheart there by a certain time to register and we were late as hell because of her doing her hair or something, so we had to royally-exceed the speed limit, reaching speeds of 110mph in a VW, smoking weed in a 3' bamboo bong, not to mention the driver is tripping his everloving balls off on some really good acid, and this is a long sentence.
I can only imagine what he was thinking. He was a very mellow guy, but I remember the first time I smoked the really good Colombian, and I can't imagine mixing any alcohol at all with that intense, otherworldly-but-earthy buzz, much less adding the equivalent of about 15 or more shots of regular 80-proof liquor. He handled it fine. Bobby's the best.
He definitely passed the "pallet test," and he's someone I really love and respect. He's one of those people I admire, who not only have a sense of humor that's off the charts funny, but also a bit quirky and/or twisted, and preferably a little of both. The term "unique" is overused, but Bobby's sense of humor was way up there. He cracked us up all night. I can't remember how long we were out there but it was several hours, and most of that time crammed together on a pallet, in the middle of a huge beach, by the ocean, with the wind and surf high and getting higher, and, ha-ha so were we.
There were clouds rolling in but the sky was still mostly-clear, and we saw quite a few meteors. We eased-up on the laughing eventually and got into a more contemplative mood. We were so smashed that we'd forgotten all about what happened earlier, but it all came back to us at the same time, and we were like "What was they talking about? Could it really be true? Those goobers are going to beat out the Boogies, and it's already a done-deal? And the whole thing is part of a bigger thing? What the hell?" It was a very sobering thought, only we were well-beyond being able to sober-up at that point. We were three sheets to the gale-force wind.
The night of the show we walked in proudly and headed toward the stage area to change into our loud, polyester, Acid/Disco outfits. On the way in I noticed the judges, and they noticed us too. The judges were the principal, a woman art or music teacher and a local celeb I think. Something felt really wrong, and the judges looked nervous. I knew something was up, and the only thing that made any sense, if what I was feeling was going to happen did, was that what the girl had told me the night before was true. That was not a fun thought.
Again I can't remember who went on first but the quartet and the Bazooka Boogies were the last two acts. We outdid ourselves, and probably put on one of the most entertaining shows of our musical careers. I'd crammed as much Bazooka Bubble Gum as I could into my mouth, and when the part of the song came up where he blew a giant bubble, so did I. As in the tune it was bigger than my head, and when Alan sang "The bubble popped" and we did the stop that went with it, I popped the bubble with a drum stick.
I hadn't told anybody I was going to do it, so it was a surprise for them too. True also to the song, when it popped it covered my face, and it occurred to me that I was glad I was playing a drum kit rather than driving a car. I had long hair and it took half an hour to get all the gum out of it but it was worth it, and I had help from a couple of young ladies who liked the band and liked my hair. Come to think of it I guess they were my first groupies, although nothing else happened. Ah, the Rock & Roll lifestyle...chicks picking bubble gum out of your hair.
The principal got up to make a little speech and announce the winner of the talent competition and the sweetheart contest. He started in with something like "Welcome, friends! On behalf of the Key Club of Alabama...blah-blah...we'd like to thank you for all your hard work...blah-blah..." and then announced the acts one by one. The idea was to go by crowd-response. Everyone got a good hand. Finally he got to the barbershop guys. "So-and-so Barbershop Quartet!" he cheerfully announced. YAY...clap-clap-clap, YAY, clap-clap." There were a few cheers and whistles, and some very loud clapping, but honestly now, you'd look pretty stupid going apeshit over a barbershop quartet, even an Elite barbershop quartet.
"Bazooka Boogies" he announced, and the place did go apeshit. All doubt as to whether we'd won vanished, for a moment anyway. People were cheering and yelling, even the adults, which were half the crowd. The other two judges were sitting quietly behind their little desks on the stage. When the cacophony died-down they were curiously quiet, and glancing nervously at each other. Obviously they hadn't expected anything like the Bazooka Boogies, and we'd thrown a wrench into their machinery. It was truly amazing to watch. The crowd was squirming in their seats (as were the judges), waiting for the principal to announce the winner, which was obvious to all.
Instead, the principal fumbled his way through something unbelievable...he walked over and whispered to the other judges. They didn't look pleased at all. Their faces were blank, or maybe sad, when by all means they should've been happy and smiling. It was unnatural, and everyone in the whole place knew it. It was the Twilight Zone in real life. It was completely weird, but on with the show, you know? Let us know, yo.
He walked back to the podium and announced something to the effect that they "weren't sure" who'd gotten the best response, and that they were going to call our names and do it again. There was a collective "Huh?" from the crowd. I remember the first thought in my head when he said that, and at exactly the same instant some gentleman shouted it from the crowd- "You need to clean your EARS!" That got applause. It was classic.
"Okay...Barbershop Quartet!" YAY! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP, etc. They'd managed to ramp it up a good bit...conjuring-up every bit of evil energy they could. There were a few WOO-HOOs and a few people gave them a standing-O, but when he announced us, they just cheered even louder. But then, just as the girl had said, the principal very unceremoniously awarded first place to the barbershop quartet. There was a collective gasp from the audience, and an "OHHHhhh..." in unison. It was just like a TV show soundtrack.
Billy and Alan and I just looked at each other like "Damn...she was right." You can believe we were bummed, but we were big about it, quite unlike the barbershop guys, who seriously were jumping up and down and frankly acting a little like sissies or Miss Americas, like they'd actually won ANYTHING except the right to keep the system, and their bullshit, self-delusional lies, intact. It was incredible, but we damn sure learned a lesson that day. It was very tough to learn but boy did it stick with me, and shoved me a good chunk further down the road of trying to learn what it was all about.
After the show there was a little party, with a nice spread of finger-foods and things, since nobody had had dinner. It was pretty festive, but the "judges" got the fuck out of Dodge, and I don't blame them. They totally threw that contest in front of God (and Satan) and everybody. They should've been ashamed, but their system has no shame. For those keeping score that would be the Beast System. I still remember making direct eye contact with the woman "judge." I was thinking "You evil, lying bitch! You're TEACHING us!" It's true.
I spotted the girl and we went outside for a chat, and perhaps a bowl too, but I don't remember. "You were right" I said. "I'm really sorry" she said. "Please, don't be sorry. You blew my mind but you told the truth." "Yes" she said. "You're not part of that thing" I said. "No, I'm not" she said. "I can't be. I know where they get their power." "I think I know too" I said. "I sure did see it" "Uh-huh. Everybody knows who really won" she said. "So it's just the deal, huh? Here, there and everywhere else?" "Yep" she said. "They're the only ones who really matter." "Damn" I probably said.
It was a paradigm shift and life-changing, and I had to basically smash to shit my former assumptions (what we'd been taught, that is) about those in power, and in fact WHOM was in power. That train of thought really took off that night, and it's still on the tracks today, gainin' steam the whole way. If I hadn't met that girl maybe I'd have been as baffled as some of the crowd was, although a good number of them were obviously in on it. They acted like something completely abnormal and backward was perfectly normal, and they did it in front of hundreds of people.
Sometimes I wonder what became of the barbershop boys. I'd bet dollars to donuts they're all Freemasons, and probably went into the family business, and were groomed to be rich, narcissistic assholes. In their minds they actually won that talent show all those years ago. They truly think that. In their twisted world lies are truth, and I know that from firsthand experience. Luckily I believed that girl, and when they announced the "winner" I was able to just let it go. Not so much Billy and Alan, but at least we'd had a heads-up, unbelievable as it was, and weren't as shocked as we would've been. Still it was beyond surreal.
It's not like a half-century resentment about losing a talent show in high school, or the barbershop guys themselves, it's the situation, and the lesson, not to mention the total shock to the system. Bookended by a weekend that was unbelievably fun and insane, I learned something heavy. I mean, we get bits and pieces of it all the way back to Scrooge McDuck as kids, but it doesn't really sink in consciously that that's how it really is, for many of us anyway.
What's funny is that the crazy-sounding story the girl told me went from being what we'd call a "conspiracy theory" today to being proven absolute fact in less than 24 hours, and it almost never happens like that. It usually takes a little bit (and I do mean only a little bit) of time and a little bit of research, but without a TRULY open mind, and not just one people SAY is open, it's pointless. I wanted to believe that that sister was just making up some crazy story just to mess with us or that she was tripping or something, but oddly enough she never once came off as anything but sincere, and danged if she wasn't right.
Meeting that girl was no accident. I hope she's doing well, and I wish she could know how far she scooted me along in my journey to find out what the story was, aka the truth, to the best of my abilities and no matter if it's what I believe or wish were true. Maybe she does know. She's wise beyond her years...I can say that. She nailed it. As for the barbershop boys, it could've been the Acme Bowling Team for all it mattered, but the fact that it was a barbershop quartet really adds to the absurdity and humor of the story.
Again, imagine...it's just another talent show, when out of nowhere comes this crazy-ass band, dressed like fools but with these insane but accessible tunes about blowing giant bubbles that make you wreck your car and stuff like that, and pulling it off with showmanship and being tight as a miniskirt, getting smoked by a barbershop quartet. It could never happen on this planet or any other.
So there you have it, finally. Sorry, I can digress and ramble and I could've told this story in three paragraphs but I didn't, but who gives a fuck anyway 'cause I'm the only fool who reads this blog, and that's no problem. But if they did they might think about it, because it can't be denied. It goes WAY beyond just super-rich people getting preferential treatment. It goes beyond fairness, because we all know that life isn't always fair, but something that blatant on such a scale and in front of so many people...it's not normal. It should never have happened by any stretch of the imagination and yet it did.
Technically that sister was a "Pre-Conspiracy Theorist," although the term was first coined by the CIA (that's right) to discredit people who didn't believe the Warren Report and the "official explanation" of the JFK thing. By the by...do you still subscribe to the "lone gunman" theory? She opened my eyes as gently as she could, and I'll never forget her. As for the barbershop boys, well...y'all won, kinda. Enjoy your trophies, boys, and keep on singin' up a storm, while you can. Ain't no barbershop quartets in Hell.
What I have a problem with is that it's being FORCED upon us, especially kids. Even my gay friends can see that. It shows the guy standing in front of the mirror, looking at himself deep in thought. Apparently he's deciding what gender he wants to identify as. He ends up putting on a business suit like a dude, but then he has makeup to make him look very feminine. He's up against a normal guy, and naturally he's the one who gets the job. It's bullshit.
A mere ten years or so ago if someone showed up for an interview looking like that they'd have been told that the position was no longer available, and to seek help, and fucking rightly so. Nowadays if they DON'T hire these people they'll be penalized under the fullest extent of the law. Let me be perfectly clear...this is NOT hate speech. I don't hate ANYONE. Hate will eat you alive from the inside-out, and I don't carry hatred for ANYONE in my heart. What people choose to do with their bodies (and their minds) is none of my business, but I can't stand seeing that shit paraded around like it's normal. It CAN'T be and it never will be. Sorry, folks, that's just how it works. In fact I feel for these people; I just don't want to look at them. The above image truly is disturbing (and Satanic) to me.
The idea that someone can be a man one day and a woman the next is utter bullshit, and impossible, yet we're supposed to not only embrace it but to support it. Do people honestly think you can change your gender according to how you feel that day? How fucking stupid do you have to be? It's one thing to be gay, but to think you can change gender back and forth on a whim is preposterous. How did we even get to this point? Welcome to the Beast System.
That this shit is presented as normal just shows how sick we've become as a society. There are people who actually believe this bullshit. I'm assuming they flunked Science and Anatomy classes in school. And anyone who'd call this hate speech instead of logic have their heads so far up their asses that they can't get any oxygen to their brains. I love my gay friends every bit as much as my straight friends, and that will never change. And BTW not a one of them thinks they can swap genders. Smart.
I've said before that people who study past civilizations, specifically what made them fail, say that in EVERY single case the last thing that happened before they crashed was a situation called "sexual ambiguity." If we're not there I'll eat my hat. If you support the notion that you can change your gender according to mood, you're a fucking fool. You are, and you deserve what's coming. Wake up, y'all. This is the truth.
