Ready for another edition? I don't think we have any new subscribers this time, so I don't have to explain what is going on here. But I am required to remind you that...
I do not make this stuff up!
In this edition:
AND INTRODUCING A NEW FEATURE...
The Deborah Classifieds
A friend asked if he could use my wealth of friends to seek some help. Why not? If you feel used, skip over it (although he's very funny).
And now to the stories...
**Another addition to the "Do I know a Tom Bradley?" series
Longtime Deborah fans know that I can not meet a famous person without saying something memorably stupid. The title phrase refers to the time that one of Mayor Tom Bradley's former press secretaries (friend Bill) was renting a room from me while he worked for Sen. Dianne Feinstein in DC. Bill hadn't yet gotten his phone hooked up, so his calls came in on my line. One night I answer the phone and a voice says, "Hello, this is Tom Bradley." Now, remember, I don't do well recognizing voices, but I am pretty sure I don't know this one. I rack my brains for who the hell Tom Bradley is -- a former high school classmate? a consulting client? a friend of my parents? jeezuz, did I give my phone number to some guy named Tom Bradley?! WHO is Tom Bradley?! I decide not to try to fake it, so I reply with the now famous, "Do I know a Tom Bradley?" There follows a very, very long pause. Tom Bradley curtly asks for Bill. My synapses are finally firing at this point and I say, "Ohhhh, THAT Tom Bradley! Why didn't you say so?"
The latest addition involves a musical icon, a folk heroine of mega-proportions -- Joan Baez. One night I was at the local music hotspot to dance to Afro-Latin big deal, Ricardo Lemva. Joan Baez was due to perform the next night at another local venue. As the crowd thinned after Lemva's band was done, someone says there's Joan Baez up front. Apparently she had come in to enjoy the happening. I got all excited about my proximity to such an ICON. The enormity of this was lost on my date, who is too young (shut up) to know who she is, (well that and he wasn't born in the USA). I tell him I MUST say something to her, that I can't leave without making contact with this ICON. But, omigod, WHAT am I going to say? I actually have a moment to concoct something meaningful, something beautiful, something generous, something that I could report proudly. As I advance toward the door, I struggle. I'm not going to the concert, so I can't ask her to sing a favorite song or tell her how excited I am about it. In fact, I only own one album of hers (which I like an awful lot), but I don't know if Diamonds and Rust is a key album, and what if she comes back with, thanks but I really liked Big and More Famous Album much better, didn't you? Yikes, I can't leave without making contact with the famous Joan Baez. I'm getting closer to her, I'm nearly there, think woman, think! Something meaningful, something significant. THINK! Then I hear my voice saying, "Hello, I've been racking my brains to think of something pithy to say to you and I can't, so I thought to myself 'oh shit' just go over and say hello to the woman." Diva Baez's reply, "'Oh shit' is the perfect thing to say."
**Two Joses and a Scotch
I went to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival again this year -- my 4th time. Friend Elisa was with me, marking her 7th time! It was -- as always -- fabulous. (Akbar, you MUST get there soon!) And I also got to see childhood friends Jenny and Kate, who each actually found me amongst the thousands, and to meet musical penpal Len. I even made a new female friend there, Kris. (See? I don't just pick up men.) The Big Easy (as New Orleans is known) comes by its name honestly. I feel completely at home there, nothing I do would faze anyone. It is a sensual city, focusing on two of my favorite activities -- food and music. (OK, so the city has a sex fixation, too -- make that three.) It was four days of nonstop music -- I don't go for the Jazz, but love the blues, the swamp rock, the rock 'n roll, the gospel, the zydeco -- parties, 30 second crushes (that would be frequency not duration, well maybe both then), late nights, tasty food, and underage kissing. I can't match last year's Mississippi River seranade by the death penalty lawyer story, but a defining moment of relaxation is captured in the last night's soak in a hot tub with two Joses (who had the room next to ours -- one a record promoter, the other a restaurant manager -- music and food --puhleeze) and a scotch.
**Representative Democracy is Safe in Amherst
We have recently finished up another marathon session of Amherst Town Meeting, where we changed the name of our Animal Control department to Animal Welfare, told the President of the United States how we feel about nuclear weapons while at the same time telling UMass how we feel about freshmen having cars on campus. The biggest eye-rolling moment happened during a budget discussion when we explored what kinds of snakes are actually on the town-owned golf course (which was being pitched as a conservation area for those of us completely uninterested in golf). One woman sits through it all patiently crocheting purses and carry-alls out of strips of plastic shopping bags, while another, more active woman constantly fiddles with her hair in such a way that each time she stands up to speak a tuft sticks up reminding me of a cockatoo and I am unable to listen to a word she says.
I am quoted in a UMass magazine article about Town Meeting that Amherst's Town Meeting is so representative (in terms of numbers) that if you double the size of it, you have the number of representatives in the entire U.S. Congress, except, in the Congress, they represent about 260 million rather than 35,000 people! No unmarked packages have been left on my doorstep nor have I been reminded that I won my last election by only one vote. Perhaps my censure will take place at the next session.
**If this is Tuesday, I must be Deborah
This is a story about relaxation -- something I don't ordinarily do well. Recently I had to go to LA for a business trip and stayed over to hang out with my friend Jenny. I have no love of LA and told her that I wanted to experience Jenny's LA so I could understand why she loves it so. After about ten hours of sitting on a beach at her volleyball tournament, she hands me her cell phone so I can check messages from my machine in Massachusetts. I dial 413, pause, hmmm, 256, pause, longer pause. I could not remember my phone number! Clueless. Had to hand the phone back.
Wanted: TV/Hollywood connection
Hi, I'm Eric, one of those "gentlemen" almost-was, but-is-now-a-friend Deborah collects. Getting to the point: My friend Doug and I have developed a sitcom concept. It's good: We have some name people interested in it (including a soap opera star who would get some pulses pounding . . . sorry Deborah, he's too young -- oh wait, that's not the problem -- he's married.), and we might have it in the door at ABC -- it did pass the muster of the VP of Advertising. But we're not sure, yet. And we need to get in the door at Fox and/or NBC -- there's a natural programming synergy there with other programming. Not to mention a potential bidding war. What we need is another high-level connection in TV programming/production -- even an agent, if need be, with integrity and connections (yeah, right). So here's your chance to be part of a major Hollywood success story. Let us know who you know. It'll be worth your while. Respond to: saleswords@aol.com. And now back to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress.
So there you have it, my friends, the latest edition of the Deborah Chronicles. In the next edition, Deborah reveals a revelation and future plans.
Be well and Go Smiling!
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