Okay, I’ve whined in the past about my job and goddammit here I go again, I had a horrible fucking night at work. Tons of “super rush” jobs, pressure, stress, the heartbreak of psoriasis, doom, gloom, a field of screaming babies, tarantulas with bad toupees, lions, tigers and Dick Butkus in a bathtub of warm Aunt Jemima syrup. I’m here to tell you, this was one bad night. It’s over now though and I’m home drinking beer. And “Big Boobs Dating" is following me on Twitter, so I’ve got that going for me. It’s a little after three in the morning and I’ve been trying to think of something to do for tomorrow’s post. Actually, make that today’s post. Well, I was going through my files and found a scan of one of my most fun freelance articles I ever did. I thought I’d post that and some of the pictures that weren’t used and that’ll be today’s MAD.
The article was written for the NY Post back in December of 2007. A friend of mine is an editor at the Post and he called me and told me about a story where someone would put on a Santa outfit and basically be a real life, “Bad Santa.” He said they were having trouble finding someone to do it and wondered if I was interested. I told him I’d love to, went and picked up the Santa suit and talked with the editor I was going to work with on the story and a couple days later I went out with a photographer and we spent the day going to places that the real Santa would never go. We went to a strip club, an OTB parlor, a bar, Hooters and Victoria’s Secret. The published article is below.
The photographer’s name is Liz Sullivan and she was great to work with. Totally fearless. When you do stuff like this, you really have to put things and people around you out of your head and just focus on getting the shot you want and she was great at this. The manager in Victoria’s Secret was screaming at us and I just kept posing with underwear and Liz kept shooting. Then they called the cops on us, so we figured that would be a good time to leave, fast! We didn’t get kicked out of the OTB, but the guys inside weren’t too thrilled to have us in there and after about ten minutes we decided we had had enough. The whole day was a total blast and it was a snap to write. My only regret is they changed the lead line. I was told to write it from the point of view of someone who hates Christmas, but is going to try to go out and enjoy it in spite of himself. So my lead line was: “When it comes to Christmas, I’m ho-ho-hopeless.” Okay, it’s not Billy Shakespeare, but hey, I thought it was pretty good. The line was changed to: “I ho-ho-hate Christmas.”Oh well, that’s life in the freelance world and that’s why I don’t do it much these days.
Liz was nice enough to give me a disc of all the photos she took. Below are a few that the NY Post didn't use.
Subway Santa doesn't need no stinking MetroCard!
Ho, ho, ho! Mary Crimble!
Keying, "I heart Rudolf" in the subway window.
Talking with people and seeing if they were good little boys and girls all year.
And a beer to start the story off.
On the escalator at Victoria's Secret before they called the cops on us.
The hostess at the Lace strip club. She was thrilled that she was going to be in the NY Post and told me to come back with the paper when it was published and we'd party at the strip club. Then the NY Post didn't publish this photo. Thanks, NY Post!
And here we are at Hooters. Walking away from the table I remember saying to the waitress, "Those guys seem like real lunkheads." And she shot back, "Complete and total lunkheads!" Welcome to Hooters!
Here I am with the entire Hooters staff.
This was our last stop, the Off Track Betting Parlor. They weren't too thrilled with us in there.
Shortly after this photo was taken we were met with a chorus of, "Fuck you, Santa, get out of here!" A bunch of Grinches in there, I tell you!
Back at Langan's bar...
Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Alright, it’s Tuesday, so that means it’s my night to go out in search of a swizzle stick. I have to admit, tonight is going to be a sure thing and I cheated a little without even knowing it. I remembered the surf bar, Réunion, that I visited on my 365 bar crawl last year. I went to their website and was just looking around and I stumbled upon this: A sugarcane swizzle stick! Sounds good to me, surf’s up!
And here we are, it hasn't change a bit in a year since I first visited.
The red surfboard points the way down the stairs...
Wow, the bar is crowded for a Tuesday night. I see a seat at the end of the bar, so that's my destination.
And friendly bartender Topher delivers a freshly made Mermaid drink.
It looks delicious, and we have a swizzle stick!
A sugarcane swizzle stick. I don't think I'll add this to the collection though. It might make things a bit too sticky.
A view from my perch at the bar. Light bulbs hang overhead and colored lights are strewn here and there to give this place a colorful and fun feeling.
A shot of the well=stocked bar.
Surf Hell's Kitchen.
And speaking of surfing, some of the Happy Hour specials are plastered on this surfboard in the middle of the bar.
My second drink was a cocktail called, Papelon, which Topher suggested and it was fantastic and also came with a sugarcane swizzle stick. Two for two!
A surfing photo book on a shelf lit up by a candle hangs on a wall near the bar.
There's surf movies on the TV in here on the wall opposite the bar.
Cowabunga!
Anita and Adam were seated next to me at the bar and we had a nice chat about the internet and my 365 bars blog.
And suddenly...Surf's Up! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Crazy Eddie sent in a link and suggested this song as the nightcap in light of the London riots. Perfect choice Crazy Eddie, thanks for the link, I’ve never seen this one!
Motherfucker! I just realized I forgot to bring my camera with me. I’ve been leaving it by my bag so this wouldn’t happen again, but I had to go to work early today (I had to be there by the crack of noon!) and must’ve left it behind. That kills the plan I had, because I’m not going all the way home and then traveling somewhere else. But since I stayed home last night I do feel like I should do something, so I thought I’d go home, get my camera and wander around where I live. Just a random night in my neighborhood. Why the fuck not? Next stop, my apartment where I’m hoping my camera is. If somehow I lost it this post is going to be a little bit dull tonight.
****UPDATE: The comments section is acting up again. Right now it's not allowing me to leave a comment. If anyone else has a problem, please email me. I'm working on getting it fixed now. Thanks!
Okay, this is how stupid I am. I'm back in my apartment and sure enough, my camera and phone were on the futon where I left them and forgot to pack them inside of Gumby. I just said to myself, "This'll be good, I'll take a picture of the camera on the futon." Then I realized that I needed my camera to take that picture, so here's one of the phone and Gumby. And yeah, I talk to myself, you got a problem with that?
Wow, the beer selection in here is a little anemic. I need to fix that before the night is through. Okay, it's out we go.
And so it's down the steps we go, out into my neighborhood.
And next to the Hollywood Diner is the Wine Gallery liquor store.
Marilyn Monroe is featured in their front window.
A flavaboom just opened up here. Just what this town needs another frozen yogurt place. Okay...full disclosure, I come here at least once a week. You make your own fro-yo and they have a toppings bar where you can put whatever you want on top. It's a chain place, but it beats the shit out of the fucking Olive Garden up the street.
Here's Maffei's Pizza place. This corner pizza parlor has been on the block forever and has great pizza. I eat here a lot.
They're closing up and the guys inside posed for this photo.
And here's the fucking Olive Garden. Ecch. Hey, I just thought of something. We're a couple blocks away from the Chelsea Hotel. Jeremiah Moss recently wrote a great post on Jeremiah's Vanishing New York about spending the night in the Chelsea Hotel the last night before it closed. It's one of the best things I've ever read on the internet, check it out here: Last Night At The Chelsea. Let's go check out the Chelsea Hotel.
A dog and a papaya drink. I wish they had beer in here, but what are you going to do?
I couldn't resist an ebony and ivory ketchup and mustard shot before I go.
And here it is, the dimmed Chelsea Hotel sign. I tried to get a shot of it using a flash so you could see it, but I couldn't get it, it was too dark. It's like a ghost that refuses to appear.
Here it is brightened up via Photoshop.
The canopy remains for now.
The hotel is temporarily closed. Sorry for the inconvenience and to all the tenants that we threw out, enjoy the street!
Take a picture now, because when it reopens it'll probably have a Chipotle in the lobby.
The El Quijote is a great restaurant next door to the Chelsea Hotel, I need to stop in here one of these nights.
Okay, the last stop of the evening is the Blue Valley Deli. My corner deli. I'm in here almost every night of the week for my two staples of life.
Beer...
And diet Mountain Dew for the morning.
And Tenzen behind the counter rings it all up.
And we've come full circle, back to the apartment. That looks a little better, doesn't it? Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Tonight I thought we’d have a dinner and a movie here at MAD. I didn’t get a cheeseburger last night, so I thought I’d cook one at home and have a nice stay at home Sunday dinner. And I got a movie from a friend of mine at work called, “Captured.” It’s a documentary about photographer Clayton Patterson who has been documenting the Lower East Side in pictures and video since 1979. It’s a great film with wonderful New York imagery and I’ll post a link to where you can watch the film in its entirity for free. But first...it’s time to eat! Well, I have to cook it all first.
Here's all the ingredients for tonight's Sunday dinner.
Instead of a bun, I thought I'd have an English Muffin to house the burger. Before I cheese them up, i'm going to toast them in the toaster oven. Away you go.
I'm grilling a chopped up onion in the electric skillet.
Okay, the muffin nice and toasty brown, so it's time to add cheese to them. And tonight we're using two cheeses, Velveeta on the right and Provolone on the left. Okay back into the toaster oven you go!
Okay, now I've added some pre-cooked bacon to the onion mix. You can buy cooked bacon at the store now, I never knew! Oh the miracles of modern foodism.
Okay, the onion/bacon topping is done, so I've put that off to the side and thrown the burger into the skillet. I've seasoned it with pepper and mustard powder.
We'll cover it and have an appetizer while everything cooks.
I was inspired to cook at home tonight after reading Britta's latest Justice Girl post at her blog. She had a photo of popcorn dusted with chili powder, so I thought I'd try that myself and here it is!
And of course whenever you have popcorn, you have to have a beer or four. And look, a lone bottle of tea has snuck into my refrigerator. How did that happen?
And now a little intermission time as we enjoy the beer and popcorn.
Okay, back to the dinner. The muffins are properly cheesed off.
And the burger is all done. I've melted a slice of Velveeta on top of it. This is going to be one cheesy burger!
Okay, time to put it all together. The burger's on the muffin and a dollop of mustard is added, much to Kari and Britta's delight!
And it's topped off with the bacon and onion mixture.
And here's the meal with some of the chili powder popcorn as a side dish.
That is a tasty burger! And now for the movie portion, just click here and you can watch the entire movie, "Captured" for free. Enjoy and see you tomorrow after dark.
Live from New York, it’s Cheeseburger Saturday Night! Starring Ray’s Candy Store and a street party in front of the Mars Bar! And now, ladies and gentlemen, from the East Village in New York City, Ray’s Candy Store!
And it's off we go into the night. There's a protest/party starting out at the BMW Guggenheim Lab thingy and then ending up at the Mars Bar for a street party. The BMW portion was too early for me, but I thought I'd stop by Ray's and get a cheeseburger and then wander over to the Mars Bar for the street party/protest. The man organizing this party/protest is longtime NYC activist, John Penley. Last Halloween John was organizing an event for Halloween and we traded comments on EV Grieve and he promised me a kiss! The event didn't happen though, so I didn't get to receive my kiss. Tonight I'll see if John will make good on that promise.
It's sprinkling a little outside, but it's not that bad and it's brought the heat down.
And here we are at Ray's, time for Cheeseburger Saturday night to begin!
There's a line inside which I always like to see at Ray's.
And here's the man himself, Ray flanked by two of his pretty co-workers.
Ray recently became an American citizen, here's a photo of the legendary day. Congratulations, Ray!
They were out of cheeseburger ingredients for the night, so I opted for a hot sausage with mustard and carmelized onions.
It was delicious!
I also got one of Ray's classic vanilla milkshakes. And now it's all gone. Burp. Okay, off to the street party at Mars Bar.
Hey, where is everybody?
Oh, here they are!
And here's the man who put it all together, John Penley. The group gave the BMW Guggenheimer's a run for their money and I was sorry I missed it. But at least I made it to this portion.
A sign is hoisted in front of Mars Bar.
"Gentrification is class war! Fight back!" The message for the evening.
LES Jewels had a poem he had just written earlier in the evening.
It was a great poem and read with heartfelt conviction. Nice job, LES Jewels!
Ace photographer Bob Arihood was on the scene documenting everything. I look forward to his take on the evening which should be forthcoming this week.
Perfectly summed up. I've asked many people what the point of this whole BMW Guggenheim Lab thing is, and no one seems to know. I haven't gone yet, but it seems like one big circle jerk to me.
And the wine is brought out, let the party begin!
A corkscrew was brought out and the uncorking of the wine begins.
Here's everyone milling around.
Hey John, how about that kiss?
This photo by Bob Arihood just may be the highlight of this blog so far! It'll be hard to top this moment! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
As some of you know, there was a problem with the comments section here the last couple of days and it was driving me fucking nuts. I pestered the shit out of the support staff at Squarespace and they’re probably kicking themselves that I picked them as a host. People's comments weren’t showing up and it was stressing the shit out of me, I had visions of everyone abandoning this blog. Well, the support people at Squarespace are great and they did find a bug and patched it and most people seem to be able to comment again. Jaws can’t and I’m not sure about Biff, but we’ll see what happens tomorrow. (Update: Jaws is posting again and I bet Biff will be able too as well. Finally! I had a two day massive obsession fest over this.) The end of my work night sucked too and all I want to do is have a beer or seven and chill the fuck out. Now where should I go to chill out? Hmmm...
Okay, it's off into the night we go.
Okay, I've been staring at this ad in the subway station for about eleven minutes now. What the fuck is this? I mean I know it's an ad for Jello pudding, but what does the hell? "You never forget a Pudding Face?" What does that even mean? And why did they capitalize the words, "Pudding Face?" Why would I ever eat pudding again after seeing this monstrosity of an ad? The answer is simple, I won't! What the fuck is a Pudding Face?
Oh shit...it's a whole campaign. I got a feeling this could haunt me in the future. I thought it was bad when Bill Cosby was their spokesman. Pudding Face? Fuck.
Boy, I'm really not having a good streak of luck lately. I thought I'd go to the Chillmaster's and chill out with him and some of his classic soul music, but his window is shut down and it's not even midnight! I'm going to have to give him shit about this at the next Chillmaster Dance Party.
I decided to get a bag of beer and just wander around the East Village and take some photos.
Okay, the first beer is bagged and ready to go. I put a straw in it to give it a more soda-like look in case I encounter a cop. Kind of pathetic, I know.
And here we go for a leisurely stroll around the Lower East Side.
Wow, that's a fully loaded psychic window.
These three pretty ladies were chilling on their stoop, so I thought I'd stop and say hi.
I asked them their names and they are (from left): Luninisa, Georgia Peach and Poison Puss. They were really nice and they know of the Chillmaster. They read about him on EV Grieve and said they'd stop by the next Chillmaster Dance Party on the 14th of this month.
Like a magnet I was pulled to the now shuttered Mars Bar.
Shit, Terry's art got tagged.
Mike Grey's tribut to Hank got blacked out last week and now it's been retouched somewhat.
A note to Myriam on the sidewalk.
I'm going to try and get some shots of the inside from the window up here.
The bar's gone, but some of the graffitti and empties remain.
Sad.
According to the DOH, there's over 17,000 fruit flies in that blue cup alone! Danger, danger!
Some people were nice enough to stop and take a photo of Gumby and I toasting the Mars Bar.
A photo of the photo takers. Thanks!
Here comes the wrecking ball!
Thanks for the memories Mars Bar! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
------------------------------------- Bonus Photo By Bobby Williams! Bobby takes shots for EV Grieve’s blog and snapped one of the Chillmaster the other day. He sent me the original and here it is. Thanks Bobby and keep up the great work!
Something was buggy with the comments here yesterday, both Gene and csp told me they left comments, but I never got them. And last night I tried commenting back and it wouldn’t take my comment. It looked like it took it, but it didn’t show up, I realized right away because my comments aren’t moderated. Next to the red type where it says, “Post A New Comment” it said: (Unable to Post Comment.) I talked to Squarespace about this and it’s something that’s never happened. One of their support staff says if it does happen to try clearing out your cache. When it happened to me, I quit and restarted my browser and then my comment went through. I apologize if your comment was lost yesterday and hopefully it was just a bug that’s worked itself out.
Last night I was going to go and wander around Columbus Circle but it was pouring rain, so I went home and wrote my Johnnie Johnson story. Tonight it’s nice out, so it’s off to Columbus Circle we go!
Here we are at Penn Station, I think you know what's coming next...
The dreaded escalator ride. At first allis well, no one's pushing or shoving, but then...
This big fat slob has to ruin it all. He was pushing and shoving everyone out of the way. I was standing as far to the right as you can and still got pushed. And the stairway two inches away was almost empty. Asshole!
The good news is that as soon as I get to my platform the train is pulling up. I love it when that happens!
And here we are, the stairway to Columbus Circle.
A woman texting outside...what's everyone texting about? I don't do it.
Columbus Circle park is right across the street here.
I think the no smoking rule in the parks is ridiculous. They charge 13 bucks a pack for cigarettes here and then you can't smoke them anywhere.
A shot of the perimeter of the park.
Here's a shitty shot of the statue in the middle of the park. I really need to learn how to work this camera one of these days.
Colorful lit-up fountains spray around the entire circle of the park.
It's really pretty and creates a nice mist when you're standing close by.
But this nimrod chooses to ignore the surroundings and is texting wth someone instead.
More texting from this woman.
And yet another person hypnotized by their texting device.
What the fuck is everyone texting about? Is there something going on i don't know about? Because I just want to everyone to shut the fuck up.
But I guess that's not going to happen.
SHUT UP!
This guy has the right idea. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
First off, let me explain about the comments section. I had some troll posting comments the day I went to Chinatown and did the whole post in Chinese. He commented that I and a lot of commenters were racists. Okay, here’s the story: The Chinese blog happened because I went to Chinatown to take random pictures and I thought the pictures weren’t that great and that the post would be a bit of a dud. Then I thought about doing the whole thing in Chinese using a Google tranlsator. Everybody thought it was fun till the troll showed up. He claimed I was racist and signed off as “Marty = KKK.” (I know that the KKK are a hate group of idiotic white guys, but I didn’t know they were famous for targeting Asians. Also anyone who knows me knows I am about as far from a racist as one can be.) Then he left a couple more. Each one more stupid than the last. Last night he sent in a comment and it read: “Call me: 212-243-6197” and once again signed off as “Marty = KKK.” The number he posted was my landline phone number. I guess he thought I’d get crank calls. The only problem that this loser didn’t realize is that I shut my landline down over a half a year ago. But it shows he took the trouble and time to find my phone number. I think he’s got way too much time on his hands and he appears to be obsessed with me. So now I have the comments moderator turned on in my blog. But I will be checking it though the day and night and your comment will appear in the order it shows up. I hope you all continue to comment, the comments section here sometimes takes on a life of its own and it adds another dimension to the blog. And once again I thank those of you who comment and all of you who read this blog, I really do appreciate it. Okay, enough of that!
It’s been raining off and on all night and I don’t really feel like going anywhere but home, so that’s the destination tonight. I’m in the mood to write something, so I thought I’d write about the day I met Johnnie Johnson,Chuck Berry’s original piano player. I’ve written about it before, but I like to write stories over and over and most of the people reading this blog have probably never read it. I’ll take some pictures on the way home and write up the tale of my afternoon with Johnnie Johnson at a Blues Festival in Peoria, Illinois.
It was pouring down rain on my way home, so I couldn't take any pictures. Instead, I'm posting two photos that Crazy Eddie took on our night out at Percy's. Thanks Crazy Eddie, they're insaaaaane!
Here's a picture of a can opener that Crazy Eddie has from the '60's. It's an official Madison Square Garden can opener his brother got when he was selling beer there. You could inflict some damage with that thing!
----------------------- Johnnie Johnson In the late 1980s, the documentary/concert film, “Hail! Hail! Rock ‘n’ Roll” came out, first as feature film and later as a VHS tape. It was a film celebrating Chuck Berry’s 60th birthday and his contribution to rock ‘n’ roll. It was directed by Taylor Hackford and included an all star band featuring, Chuck Leavell, Joey Spaminato, Bobby Keys, Steve Jordan, Robert Cray and Keith Richards as the musical director.
There were guest appearances from artists ranging from Eric Clapton. to Etta James, to Julian Lennon. to Linda Rondstadt and many more. It also reunited Chuck Berry with Johnnie Johnson, his original piano player who played on most of the early hits. This is the man that many people feel is responsible not only for the signature “badadadadadada” riff that starts out so many of Chuck Berry’s songs, but also for the music for most of those early songs as well.
In the film, many musicians discuss how all of Chuck’s songs aren’t written in chords that most people play on the guitar, they’re written in piano chords. “Johnnie’s chords” as Keith Richards says within the film.
Johnnie Johnson is even asked in the film about Chuck’s music and he says, “We just supplied him with music that fit his lyrics.”
I remember watching that scene in the film and thinking about all the money he threw down the drain. I mean can you imagine the royalties from a song like “Rock and Roll Music?” There’s royalties from Chuck Berry’s version, but throw in royalties from The Beatles and The Beach Boys covers and that’s a pretty nice little payday. Now multiply that by dozens of Chuck Berry’s songs who have been covered by countless bands and you’re talking a small fortune. And Johnnie Johnson just kind of threw it away without knowing any better.
When they made that film, Johnnie was driving a bus to supplement his income. Chuck Berry was using part of his fortune to install hidden cameras in the women’s bathrooms of a restaurant he owned to secretly film them as they did their business. The world spins in strange ways sometimes.
In 1990 I was publishing and editing my magazine POP, a quirky local People magazine in my hometown of Peoria, IL. I had been doing it for a year and found out it was easy to get backstage at concerts and events by saying I was the editor. Even if I didn’t get a picture or a story, nine times out of ten there’d be free beer and food and if I was really lucky, Eddie Van Halen would be nowhere near the backstage area.
Every year in the summer, Peoria hosts a Blues Festival on the river front and this year was no exception. I saw an ad in the paper and surveyed those who were on the bill and one named jumped out at me: Johnnie Johnson. I decided I’d go and see if I could interview him. It was held on a sunny, warm Saturday and using my POP editor’s status I was allowed into the “backstage area.” It wasn’t really a backstage, because it was outside, more of a roped off makeshift picnic area in a back parking lot, complete with wooden picnic tables and benches. They had grills going and kegs of beer for the musicians and the lucky ones who got to enter the roped in V.I.P. area. I went and got a beer and looked around and there seated at a faded yellow wooden picnic table eating fried chicken off a red paper plate was Johnnie Johnson.
He had a round, brown moon face with sleepy, half opened eyes. He was wearing a short sleeve black sports shirt that looked like it would rip apart at the seams any minute from the sheer force of his mammoth gut. His pants were also black and his head was adorned a black and white yachting cap with a gold seal on the brim.
I sauntered over and said, “Excuse me, you’re Johnnie Johnson, right?”
He didn’t look up from the chicken breast he was eating and just grunted. And not really in my direction. In fact to this day, I don’t know if he was trying to communicate with me or if he was just burping.
“My name’s Marty Wombacher and I’m the editor of a local magazine called POP magazine,” I continued in energetic tones. This didn’t impress him and it was obvious he was more intrigued by the chicken than by yours truly. I tried again.
“Listen, I’m a big fan and would love to interview you. I won’t take up a lot of your time,” I explained.
He just kept eating his chicken and didn’t really acknowledge my presence. It was really starting to feel uncomfortable.
“You’re just about done with that chicken, can I get you some more?” I asked grabbing at straws to get his attention.
And it worked, he slowly looked up from what was left of his chicken breast and said, “You goin’ for food?”
“Yeah,” I shot back, “can I get you anything?”
“I’ll take some more chicken,” he lethargically said and then threw the bones from the chicken breast on the red paper plate in front of him.
I grabbed the plate and said, “I’ll get you a fresh plate.”
“Thanks, can you get me a beer too?” He added.
“Why not, it’s free,” I threw out.
“It’s one hell of a spread,” he replied in a slow, lazy drawl.
“Yeah, right,” I said as I made my way to the food tables.
As I walked towards the food tables I looked at the musicians and backstage people lounging around on picnic tables and on the grass, eating food that was bussed in from Brown’s Chicken restaurant and being kept warm on grills.
I thought to myself, “This really isn’t one hell of a spread,” and wondered what Chuck Berry was doing that day. He sure as shit wasn’t eating warmed over fried chicken at a well-worn picnic table in downtown Peoria.
I got the beer and the food—fried chicken, corn, mashed potatoes and a biscuit—and returned to the table. Johnnie was sitting at the yellow wooden table just staring out into space.
“Here you go,” I shouted out as I put the plate in front of the piano man.
Johnnie looked down at the plate and said, “You got me two pieces.”
“You looked hungry so I got you an extra piece,” I told him as I slid a beer in his direction.
“This is one hell of a spread,” he once again proclaimed as he started in on a chicken breast.
“Listen, as I said, I’m an editor of a local magazine and I would love to interview you and take your picture,” I told him.
He barely looked up from his chicken and mumbled, “Nah, I don’t do that shit.”
At least he didn’t mince words.
“Alright,” I said in surrendering tones, “okay if I sit here?”
I took the grunt he let out as a yes and I sat down and took a swig of beer from the standard red, 16 ounce, plastic keg cup I had gotten for myself.
“I watched, ‘Hail! Hail! Rock ‘n’ Roll’ a while ago,” I told Johnnie who was back to chewing on the chicken breast. I noticed some of his teeth were missing. “What was that like, being part of that film?” I asked.
He put the chicken breast on the plate, looked up at me with his half-opened eyes and slowly and deliberately said, “Oh man, did they have one hell of a spread there! Chicken, fish, roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, chocolate cake...every single day! I’ve never seen spreads like the one’s that catering service put out for us.”
“Yeah, it sounds great,” I replied, slightly amused with his obsession with ‘spreads,’ “but what was it like working with Chuck Berry again? And Keith Richards? He seemed like a big fan of yours in the film,” I added.
Johnnie picked up the chicken breast again, shook his head back and forth and said, “Shit, those two. One minute you’d think they were going to kill each other and the next you’d think they were going to start fucking like two horny kids. Crazy-ass, motherfuckers.”
And then he went back to work on his chicken breast.
“You know, it came out in the movie that it was you that wrote the music for a lot of his songs and that it was you that came up with that signature Chuck Berry riff. Keith Richards said you drift naturally into that riff on the piano. I remember he said, ‘Without Johnnie, all you got is a bunch of words on paper, no song.’ Is that true?” I asked him. He slowly looked at me and said, “I don’t think about that stuff.”
“Yeah, but you should get royalties, that’s a shitload of money,” I spat out.
He put the chicken breast on the plate and said, “Oh man, I don’t like to think about that.” And then he slowly got up and walked away.
I watched the big piano player get smaller as he walked away from me and felt depressed. I went to a bar in downtown Peoria and started drinking beer. After a few beers I ordered a cheeseburger and onion rings. When the bartender placed them in front of me, I said, “This is one hell of a spread,” and burst out laughing. She looked at me like I was nuts. Eventually Johnnie must’ve thought about it, or maybe a lawyer did and in November of 2000 he sued Chuck Berry. The lawsuit said he deserved co-writer status and royalties for dozen’s of songs that Chuck Berry claimed to have written alone. Some soulless judge dismissed it saying that too many years had passed since the songs were written. Hell, hell, rock ‘n’ roll. In 2001, he was inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, with Keith Richards leading the campaign to get him in there. In April of 2005, Johnnie Johnson died in his hometown of St. Louis. I truly hope that after the funeral someone put on one hell of a spread for the man who brought so many rock ‘n’ roll songs to life with his fingers and his piano. Johnnie be good and rest in peace.
Okay, I’ve whined in the past about my job and goddammit here I go again, I had a horrible fucking night at work. Tons of “super rush” jobs, pressure, stress, the heartbreak of psoriasis, doom, gloom, a field of screaming babies, tarantulas with bad toupees, lions, tigers and Dick Butkus in a bathtub of warm Aunt Jemima syrup. I’m here to tell you, this was one bad night. It’s over now though and I’m home drinking beer. And “Big Boobs Dating" is following me on Twitter, so I’ve got that going for me. It’s a little after three in the morning and I’ve been trying to think of something to do for tomorrow’s post. Actually, make that today’s post. Well, I was going through my files and found a scan of one of my most fun freelance articles I ever did. I thought I’d post that and some of the pictures that weren’t used and that’ll be today’s MAD.
The photographer’s name is Liz Sullivan and she was great to work with. Totally fearless. When you do stuff like this, you really have to put things and people around you out of your head and just focus on getting the shot you want and she was great at this. The manager in Victoria’s Secret was screaming at us and I just kept posing with underwear and Liz kept shooting. Then they called the cops on us, so we figured that would be a good time to leave, fast! We didn’t get kicked out of the OTB, but the guys inside weren’t too thrilled to have us in there and after about ten minutes we decided we had had enough. The whole day was a total blast and it was a snap to write. My only regret is they changed the lead line. I was told to write it from the point of view of someone who hates Christmas, but is going to try to go out and enjoy it in spite of himself. So my lead line was: “When it comes to Christmas, I’m ho-ho-hopeless.” Okay, it’s not Billy Shakespeare, but hey, I thought it was pretty good. The line was changed to: “I ho-ho-hate Christmas.” Oh well, that’s life in the freelance world and that’s why I don’t do it much these days.
Subway Santa doesn't need no stinking MetroCard!
Ho, ho, ho! Mary Crimble!
Keying, "I heart Rudolf" in the subway window.
Talking with people and seeing if they were good little boys and girls all year.
And a beer to start the story off.
On the escalator at Victoria's Secret before they called the cops on us.
The hostess at the Lace strip club. She was thrilled that she was going to be in the NY Post and told me to come back with the paper when it was published and we'd party at the strip club. Then the NY Post didn't publish this photo. Thanks, NY Post!
And here we are at Hooters. Walking away from the table I remember saying to the waitress, "Those guys seem like real lunkheads." And she shot back, "Complete and total lunkheads!" Welcome to Hooters!
Here I am with the entire Hooters staff.
This was our last stop, the Off Track Betting Parlor. They weren't too thrilled with us in there.
Shortly after this photo was taken we were met with a chorus of, "Fuck you, Santa, get out of here!" A bunch of Grinches in there, I tell you!
Back at Langan's bar...
Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Five Christmas Albums
A Christmas Gift For You By Phil Spector
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