(no subject)
Ever have a visceral reaction to a song that brings back a pleura of memories? Walking to work, I was struck that a series of songs that reminded me of Dr Joe aka Jesus. He was a college buddy of one of my good friend's husband. Such was our almost weekly companionship that the one time I did something untold and out of character for myself, it was immortalized by a song that his garage band would sing at the low rent dives. *blush* But I was one of the guys and I loved that group for that. I was the some what spunky sidekick and they would tease me endlessly about the smallest things. They viewed me somewhere between the tongue clucking schoolmarm and the little sister they had to keep out of trouble.
Regardless, a couple of songs today reminded me that Dr Joe had a "tell". Where I tend to wear my emotions where folks could see them, my friend would wear a laid back mask upon his face most of the time. He would neatly tie his hair back and his glasses would be placed properly on the bridge of his nose and he would plod through daily life with a responsible steady gait. And occasionally, in his soft spoken voice, would make quiet observations about what was transpiring in front of him. Then, There, was, the, other person... Of which he received his nickname. (But that is a story of another day, and for his college chums to tell). First, the glasses would slip just a bit. Really, it was just a smidge. After awhile, he would take his glasses off to clean them, and he would lay them on the table. Next, the hair would be unbound and he would shake his head like a dog as if to shake off the coat of civility. And then Dr Joe, would greatly resembled Jesus, would literally let his hair down.
I am sure Feargal & Ronan at Tir na Nog have much more colorful stories then I and are more familiar with this rendition of the less then quiet man, but I do carry a few stories myself. The time, I was to visit my nephew but knowing that I carried the aroma of my drunken misdeeds of the night before I was going to put off seeing him. The perfume of cigarette smoke and whiskey that clung to me like unwanted dusty cobwebs, were not the smells I wanted my nephew to associate with his beloved auntie. "But Mizdarkgirl, he will miss you and remember that. But if you go to visit him now, when he gets to Boston College like his dad, he will walk into MaryAnn's and say "Hmmmm... Smells like home & I don't why". He chucked one of his roommate's clean shirts at my head, told me to take a shower and called me a knuckle head.
Another famous Dr Joe story is him screaming "We got a man down! We got a cabbie down, we have a death cab!" in NOLA. The boy could never make it from the airport to the French Quarter without extreme oddness. That story involved him being delivered to his hotel by police car after he jumped to the front seat of a cab and steered the car to safety. The cabbie had passed out and they were very close to plunging to their death on Airport Blvd.
Another time, I was able to join the group in NOLA for Jazzfest, and what a group we made. Techies and engineers from Boston, firemen from New Jersey, bikers from around the country and the flotsam that such a group will collect. The hippie girl they found in the airport that slept in the closet after they thought they had evicted her from their hotel room, the guys who forgot the time & to visit Jazzfest for the sideshows that were happened on the side streets of the French Quarter, the sleepy girls who flirted madly with the Neville Brothers at Tippitina's and squealed when they winked, convincing folks that the blue tinted sunscreen reacted to the chemicals in their skin and they would stay that way all day, and that in fact your waterproof backpack did make an excellent cooler & you could beat the lines by loading it up with ice. In fact, it didn't matter who you were as long as you grabbed your cold beverages of choice and met under the Antone flag at the fairgrounds, then sat back and enjoyed the music. Yep, it is because of Dr Joe I saw John Lee Hooker live in concert more then a few times before he passed to the other side.
Or maybe it is just that swampy heat that made me think of Dr Joe. I am a little more laid back because I met him and I am still awful at poker. I have made a few wrong turns since I saw the gang intact but I have a few right ones too. And I still make all the wrong turns in Somerville.
I'll tip my next glass of whiskey to you brother, where ever your path may have led you. I'll leave this entry unlocked in the random chances you will happen across it, so that you know, in a quiet way, you made a difference and someone still smiles when they think of the misadventures of your youth.
Regardless, a couple of songs today reminded me that Dr Joe had a "tell". Where I tend to wear my emotions where folks could see them, my friend would wear a laid back mask upon his face most of the time. He would neatly tie his hair back and his glasses would be placed properly on the bridge of his nose and he would plod through daily life with a responsible steady gait. And occasionally, in his soft spoken voice, would make quiet observations about what was transpiring in front of him. Then, There, was, the, other person... Of which he received his nickname. (But that is a story of another day, and for his college chums to tell). First, the glasses would slip just a bit. Really, it was just a smidge. After awhile, he would take his glasses off to clean them, and he would lay them on the table. Next, the hair would be unbound and he would shake his head like a dog as if to shake off the coat of civility. And then Dr Joe, would greatly resembled Jesus, would literally let his hair down.
I am sure Feargal & Ronan at Tir na Nog have much more colorful stories then I and are more familiar with this rendition of the less then quiet man, but I do carry a few stories myself. The time, I was to visit my nephew but knowing that I carried the aroma of my drunken misdeeds of the night before I was going to put off seeing him. The perfume of cigarette smoke and whiskey that clung to me like unwanted dusty cobwebs, were not the smells I wanted my nephew to associate with his beloved auntie. "But Mizdarkgirl, he will miss you and remember that. But if you go to visit him now, when he gets to Boston College like his dad, he will walk into MaryAnn's and say "Hmmmm... Smells like home & I don't why". He chucked one of his roommate's clean shirts at my head, told me to take a shower and called me a knuckle head.
Another famous Dr Joe story is him screaming "We got a man down! We got a cabbie down, we have a death cab!" in NOLA. The boy could never make it from the airport to the French Quarter without extreme oddness. That story involved him being delivered to his hotel by police car after he jumped to the front seat of a cab and steered the car to safety. The cabbie had passed out and they were very close to plunging to their death on Airport Blvd.
Another time, I was able to join the group in NOLA for Jazzfest, and what a group we made. Techies and engineers from Boston, firemen from New Jersey, bikers from around the country and the flotsam that such a group will collect. The hippie girl they found in the airport that slept in the closet after they thought they had evicted her from their hotel room, the guys who forgot the time & to visit Jazzfest for the sideshows that were happened on the side streets of the French Quarter, the sleepy girls who flirted madly with the Neville Brothers at Tippitina's and squealed when they winked, convincing folks that the blue tinted sunscreen reacted to the chemicals in their skin and they would stay that way all day, and that in fact your waterproof backpack did make an excellent cooler & you could beat the lines by loading it up with ice. In fact, it didn't matter who you were as long as you grabbed your cold beverages of choice and met under the Antone flag at the fairgrounds, then sat back and enjoyed the music. Yep, it is because of Dr Joe I saw John Lee Hooker live in concert more then a few times before he passed to the other side.
Or maybe it is just that swampy heat that made me think of Dr Joe. I am a little more laid back because I met him and I am still awful at poker. I have made a few wrong turns since I saw the gang intact but I have a few right ones too. And I still make all the wrong turns in Somerville.
I'll tip my next glass of whiskey to you brother, where ever your path may have led you. I'll leave this entry unlocked in the random chances you will happen across it, so that you know, in a quiet way, you made a difference and someone still smiles when they think of the misadventures of your youth.