Yes, Peeps, tomorrow in the early morn we will be leaving for Hawaii for the Fourth Bi-annual Reunion of the band I played with in the sixties. We’re all Jersey guys, but we have scattered a bit over the years to places like Maui and Colorado. In 2002 (pre-blog), we gathered in Estes Park, Colorado. In 2004, the venue was Maui, and in 2006 we got together in Jersey.

We decided to return to Hawaii for this reunion, but rather than Maui, we will be rockin’ in Kona (on Hawaii, the Big Island). I’ll be bringing the electric axe (for use when I’m not drumming), and the other guys will be bringing a keyboard, guitars and bass. We have arranged to rent a set of drums and a sound system. There will be plenty of music, lots of bullshitting, tons of laughter and a cocktail or two.

Back in the sixties, the name of the band was “Saby and the Orientals,” a name that would now beget much howling from the politically correct peeps of the world, but it was a cool name back then for a band comprised of three Japanese American brothers and two Irish lemons, all from the same town in Jersey. Back in the day, we played at all sorts of places, including some pretty rough Buckets of Blood.

We did find time to cut a record in 1966. The “A” and “B” sides were both originals, written by Saby. We heard back then that it got about three minutes of air play in Albany and, oddly enough, in Hawaii (who knew?). After that, it became a mere conversation piece. However, just this week, we learned from the son of one of the guys that our 45 has become somewhat of a half-assed collector’s item. Someone on the web is selling it for $200.00! We also learned that the record is part of a compilation on an album available online called, “The White Group Sound.” I found that to be particularly comical, given that 3/5 of the band isn’t “white.”

Hell it doesn’t even raise us to the level of being “One Hit Wonders,” but we all got quite a kick out of seeing that our foray into the record world is still alive (albeit moribund) out there somewhere. I think I still have a few copies of the 45, and, if I can, I’ll figure out a way to post it, provided you’ll all agree to be kind.

The other band member who still lives in New Jersey and I (with spouses) will spend five days in Kauai before heading into Kona for the actual reunion. I expect to be back in Jersey, tired and hung over on June 21.

I have invited several most excellent bloggers to leave a few droppings here in my absence, so be sure to stop by to see their stuff, some of which will undoubtedly be most unkind to Yours Truly.

Play nice while I’m gone.

While we were in Philadelphia, we chartered a couple of Philly Ducks for a tour. They are refurbished WWII Army DUKW amphibious vehicles. You hop into one of these, and the “Captain” takes you for a riding tour of historic Philadelphia. Once the vehicle reaches Market Street in the shadow of the Ben Franklin Bridge, the Captain drives the DUKW into the Delaware River, for the water part of the tour, which includes sailing past the Battleship New Jersey and other great ships.

Everyone is presented with a “quacker,” as a souvenir. Thirty-five lawyers all making like ducks. Quite something to behold.

Touristy? Absolutely.

Great fun? Absolutely.

It’s just one of many fun things to do in the City or Brotherly Love.

Most bloggers are aware of the pitfalls of Blogging While Intoxicated (“BWI”), but Making a Sexy Video While Intoxicated (“MASVWI”) is a particularly bad idea.

Farookin’ hilarious.

Note: The video is PG or possibly PG-13 rated.

A colleague of mine who was also going to Philadelphia suggested that, instead of driving, we take the train. Seemed like a pretty civilized idea to me. We would meet in Newark’s Penn Station and go from there.

I decided that, rather than arrange for a limousine to take me into Newark (Mrs. Parkway flat out refuses to drive into Newark), I would call the local cab company. I called a couple days in advance to make a reservation. They called 45 minutes before the scheduled pickup and asked if it would OK if they picked me up a little earlier. “It would really help us out,” the dispatcher said.

I was ready to go anyway, so I agreed.

I was picked up in a very old, very run down Lincoln Town Car that needed body work. The crumbs all over the seat told me that a previous passenger must have eaten a hard roll on the way to his or her destination. The windshield was badly cracked and the wipers were stuck in the vertical position. The driver was a local oldish guy. I’ve seen him and some of his fellow drivers in the local 7-11 from time to time buying coffee, presumably between fares.

I asked, “You guys real busy in the mornings?”

“Oh yeah. Lotsa airport work. Which airline are you going to?”

“No, I’m going to Penn Station in Newark.” I guess he’d forgotten. I liked the guy.

I said, “I see you guys dropping off the old ladies at the beauty parlors in town.”

“Oh yeah. We do a lotsa dat, but a little later in the day. We also do lots of doctor appointments. One lady walks sideways all da time.”

“Sideways?”

“Yeah, it’s really crazy. She comes outta da house sideways. Walks down da stairs sideways, and when I help her outta da cab, she walks into the doctor’s office sideways. Must be something wrong with her legs.”

“Damn, that’s pretty weird.”

“Then there was da lady who passed out on da curb.”

“Huh?

“Yeah, she opened da door, and then I hear da door slam shut. I start to pull away; I look in the mirror, and she’s not in the car. She was passed out on the curb.”

“Holy crap. What did you do?”

“I told her I would take her to da emergency room, but she didn’t wanna go. She said she was just a little dizzy is all. So I took her to da beauty parlor like she wanted.”

Throughout all this, the two-way radio was blasting, with another driver asking about traffic on Route 78.

“We got seven drivers, and all ya hear on da radio is dat guy. He loves to hear himself talk on da radio. “

“Is he a new guy?”

“Nah, he’s been around for years. One time, a lady wanted him to drive her to Chicago.”

“A cab ride to Chicago? Are you kidding me? The lady must be crazy.”

“Yeah, she probably is nuts, but he drove her there. Drove all night, except for a twenty-minute nap in a rest stop.”

After a bit of chitchat about gas prices, I arrived at Penn Station. The car was grubby, the ride was about one-third the price of a limousine, but it was definitely more interesting.

I’ll have to keep my eyes open around town for the sideways walking lady.

Alas, peeps, I will be away from the keys, through the end of the week, on business in The City of Brotherly Love. I know, when people think of Philadelphia, they usually think of Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. All that makes perfect sense, but you ought to leave some room to think about Mummers String Bands.

Years ago when I was a yoot, my parents took me to Philadelphia to see the Mummers Parade on New Year’s Day. I recall that it was absolutely bone-shattering frigid that day. The temperature didn’t bother the string bands much, because every band was followed by a station wagon full of booze.

As I recall, damn near half the people in Philadelphia seemed to have a load on and virtually everyone in the parade was shitfaced. In the parade, between the string bands and floats, regular peeps, some in clownish costume of varying degrees of completeness and some in street clothes moved along.

The common thread running through the all the marchers in the parade was the Mummer’s Strut – an arms raised walk/dance (a tad like Jackie Gleason’s “Travelin’ Music” dance) that rhythmically propels the drunks down the street. (The guy walking in front of the band in the You Tube clip above has it down.) I recall seeing one guy in the parade (wearing sort of a clown hat), who was obviously plastered, do a face plant on the street. His only-slightly less stewed buddies dragged him to his feet and saw too it that he got right back to strutting.

These two guys appear to be practicing for January 1.

I loves me the Mummer’s Strut.

Play nice while I’m away.

You’ve Got Questions? I’ve got Answers.
Because I’m Very Smart, and You’re … Very Not.

Dear Senator Clinton,

I think you’re totally awesome. I know that you went to Wesleyan and Yale and stuff, but you’re really just a regular person. You know, it’s just like you are one of my friends, like my friend Mandy. After work on Friday nights, me and Mandy (we work at the dog food factory in town) put on our sexy shit and go out to Elwood’s Tahitian Palace. They make great fancy drinks there with Hawaiian Punch and all. Anyway, me and Mandy usually drink until we puke, or until we get picked up, whichever comes first.

LOL!!! I’m laughing now because I remember the time that Mandy and me were in the bar all night drinking Elwood’s fancy Hawaiian Punch drinks and we were like really shitfaced. About one minute till closing time some really skeevy looking guy picked up Mandy, and when she got in his car she puked all over him. Red puke. LOL!!! It was awesome. You know, like, she puked and got picked up on the same night. I think that’s, like, ironical.

Anyway, like I said, I think you’re AWESOME, and so does Mandy. I forgot my question. Sorry.

Sincerely,
Lurleen Stumpett

Dear Lurleen:

You’re right. I am awesome, but I really am just a plain old small town gal. Elwood’s sounds like a groovy place. Do they have Jefferson Airplane on the juke box? You like Grace Slick? She’s freakin’ awesome. I love Hawaiian Punch drinks. I have them all the time on my campaign plane. Once I’m elected (You and Mandy be sure to vote!!!!! Tell your friends at the dog food factory!!!!), I’ll give you and Mandy a call, so you can come visit me in the White House.

Dear Senator Clinton:

I am a longtime supporter of yours. I think you are awesome. I think is really cool that you have been able to campaign with Chelsea. She is awesome too. How was it to be able to campaign with her? I’ll bet it was awesome.

You guys are awesome.

Sincerely,

Lillian Knapp

Dear Lillian,

It was awesome.

Dear Mrs. Clinton:

I am 30-years old, and I live in New Mexico, and I think you are the smartest woman who ever lived. Mrs. Clinton, I would love to have you over to my house for some homemade Mexican food. I really make it good, and I’m sure you would like it.

I know that you probably get lots of fan mail and lots of letters from people inviting you places, and I know I am probably hoping against hope that you will even read this letter, much less agree to come to my house for Mexican food.

Please come. It would mean everything to me.

Most sincerely,

Consuela Hernandez

Dear Consuela,

Viva kielbasa!!

Dear Senator Clinton:

I’m tired of your bullshit. You can’t win, so when are you going to drop out of the race?

Anxiously,
Kieth “O”

Dear Kieth “O”,

How’s about you caress my ample ass and kiss my mondo canckles?

Previous Editions of “Ask Hillary”:

Vol. 1
Vol. 2
Vol. 3
Vol. 4
Vol. 5
Vol. 6
Vol. 7
Vol. 8
Vol. 9