Wikipedia calls them a “rock supergroup”. Well, I guess they were but funny – I never thought of them that way. I mean, they definitely were all that but to me they were just a bunch of guys – friends, actually – who got together for a very short period of time, recorded some terrific songs and made it all look incredibly easy and fun.
I bet you think you know who I’m talking about and I wouldn’t blame you but you’d only be one-fifth correct … not very good odds so don’t put all your money on “THAT” supergroup from Liverpool because you’d lose.
No, the group I’m talking about was the American/British combo of (in alphabetical order) Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Jeff Lynn, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty, otherwise known as TheTraveling Wilburys. Getting a group together was something George Harrison wanted to do for a long time; the idea finally started to gel when George and Jeff Lynne were chatting it up one night. Some of the best ideas come from two good friends having a nice sit down.
Now, I’m only partially serious when I ask this but I’ve learned never to discount any possibility. If you haven’t heard of The Traveling Wilburys, is there a chance you’ve been in a coma since 1988? Maybe you hadn’t been born yet. Well, the age defense doesn’t really hold water, now does it? We’d have very little going on it our noggins if that were true. No matter our age, something we can all do is broaden our horizons by embracing the new along with the old.
But I digress.
So, if these five guys formed what’s being called a “rock supergroup”, what happened to it after just three short years? The answer is simple: life. And, of course, death. After Roy Orbison died in December 1988, the Wilburys continued as a quartet and released a second album in 1990 which won the Grammy for “Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group”.
Due to the guys busy solo careers, the group began taking a different direction. The remaining foursome stayed friends and performed on/contributed to each other’s albums until George Harrison’s death in 2001. Today there are only two of the original five still with us – Bob Dylan and Jeff Lynn.
Now that you know about TheTraveling Wilburys, allow me to tell you about the song I’ve chosen for today. “End of the Line” was the final track on their October ’88 debut album; a video followed in December ’88 and a second single was issued in January ’89. Set in a moving passenger car pulled by a steam locomotive, the video features all five members of the group as well as a session musician playing the brushes. Since Roy Orbison died after recording his vocals – but before the video was shot– an image of his guitar sitting in a rocking chair and a photo of him are shown when his vocals are heard (a rather nice touch and a first class act by George Harrison).
Here now, possibly for the first time for a couple of you, are TheTraveling Wilburys performing their hit song, “End of the Line”. I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
How’d you like the song? Not a bad little group, eh?
Thanks for being with me today. I’ve got a train to catch.
Greetings and welcome back to another edition of Name That Tune.
I’ve got five clues for you to read and ponder; let’s see if you can guess the name of the song and the artist(s) who made it a hit.
Get those musical thinking caps on and let’s have at it! Here we go:
This song from 1965 tells the story of a very short lived extramarital affair. It’s been insinuated that the song is about a man hooking up with a prostitute but it’s actually about a one night stand that ended very poorly.
This track features a sitar which marked the first appearance of the Indian stringed instrument on a Western rock recording.
The song, recorded by a prominent U.K. quartet, helped elevate Indian classical music, particularly Ravi Shankar, to mainstream popularity in the West.
The name of today’s song is an ironic reference to the cheap pine paneling which was in vogue in London at that time. The lyrics also suggest the woman’s house in which the affair took place was sparsely furnished with just one bed and no chairs!
One member of the group who recorded the song had this to say: “The guy woke up to find the bird had flown, leaving him alone, and he felt the burning need to have some sort of final destructive revenge.”
There you have all the clues; do you think you know the name of the song and the group? Which clue did it for you? Let’s scroll down beyond the spinning record to find out the answer.
Did you guess “Norwegian Wood” by The Beatles? If you did, you are correct. Let’s listen to that iconic and very interesting song right now.
George Harrison learned to play the sitar in India with Ravi Shankar as his teacher. He mastered the instrument in a relatively short period of time; his proficient playing is obvious in this recording.
I wonder how many of you knew the full title of this song is “Norwegian Wood” (This Bird Has Flown). This is one of those songs that has spurred many a debate and continues to do so 58 years after its release.
Thanks for tuning in to this week’s edition of Name That Tune. I hope you enjoyed the post and the video.
Stay tuned tomorrow when Pete will bring us another great cover in Breaktime Whodunnit.
Marla, from Marla’s World, has created a writing challenge. The challenge is for multiple authors to write a single story. She will choose a story that she has written, or that another author has submitted for this challenge, and she will nominate the next person to continue writing it. Once that person has added their section, they will nominate the next author. It will continue like this until the story is complete.
He woke up slowly, stretching out his fatigued muscles as if he hadn’t just spent all day yesterday using them. He laid in the bed staring at the unique shape of the ceiling. He had always loved this house – the architecture made him feel at home and at peace.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand up, but his calf immediately cramped. It wasn’t a bad cramp, but it was enough for him to flash-back to the competition yesterday between his brother and him. Once a year they met up at this place, the last place they had seen their grandmother, and they created a competition that their entire family would participate in.
Because it was in memory of their beloved grandmother, Tutu Lulu, they had decided that it had to take place on the ocean, as that was her favorite place on the planet since she was a young girl. She had taught them Aloha ʻĀina, or to love and appreciate nature, especially the crashing waves. Therefore, this competition involved the ocean.
They would compete against each other in various “events” such as surfing, speed-snorkeling (which was something they had created as children), and shallow-water scuba diving. The whole family truly enjoyed it, and everyone turned up.
Yesterday had been so much fun, except when Kai, his older brother, and he nearly came to blows in front of the whole family.
Kai accused him of cheating in their speed snorkeling event. He’d won it for the first time ever and wasn’t going to back down to Kai’s arrogance.
The claim was made that he had grabbed onto big brother’s ankle which was ridiculous. But Kai produced evidence in the form of red and purple finger marks above his foot.
A shouting match turned into a shoving match and if his brawny uncles hadn’t intervened, who knows what would have happened.
It was decided to break for their picnic lunch before entering the water for a more relaxed shallow scuba diving experience.
The two avoided each other until day’s end. Stars twinkled and the moon looked larger than ever on the horizon when Kai approached his little brother beside the bonfire on the beach.
Looking at his hands as one finger traced the rim of his sweating beer, Kai whispered to him,
“I heard her, Noa. She spoke to me clear as day.” Kai had taken Tutu Lulu’s disappearance the hardest. She had named him after the sea and had been her sidekick longer than he. He hadn’t really recovered from their loss.
“I’m sorry. But when you, someone, grabbed me Tutu Lulu spoke to me.”
‘She told me that difficult times were ahead and you and I would have to put aside our differences and work together.’
‘Do you think it was Tutu Lulu who grabbed your ankle to attract your attention then?’ Kai ran his damp fingers through his hair.
‘I don’t know, but it makes sense. The finger marks are beginning to fade but looking more closely, they couldn’t be yours as they’re too small.’
The two brothers sat side by side on the sand. There was three years between them, but Noa was the bigger of the two though in the shadows cast by the fire, it was hard to tell one from the other. ‘She always seemed to prefer you. She’s never come to me, not even in my dreams. Did she say anything else?’
‘I doubt it as we started to fight and the uncles intervened. I wonder what she meant?’
Now it was the following morning and yesterday’s events were still preying on Kai’s mind. The competition was over and everyone would be returning to their own homes after the traditional family meal in the huge kitchen. As always, it was a joyous affair, but suddenly their laughter and banter was shattered by the sound of rockets…
Fandango, from This, That, and the Other, continued with
“What the hell is that?” Kai said. He and Noa ran outside, followed by the rest of the family.
One of the uncles looked at the rockets streaking across the sky. “Oh Jesus,” he said in disbelief, “those are anti-ballistic missiles and they’re coming from the direction of Pearl Harbor. Someone go into the house and turn on the television.
Everyone gathered in the living room and silently watched the shocking news that satellites had detected a half dozen missiles launched from North Korea headed toward the Hawaiian island of Oahu. Tensions between the U.S. and North Korea had escalated over the past few months, but no one anticipated that North Korea would actually go so far as to launch potentially nuclear armed missiles at Hawaii.
The solemn newscaster tried to reassure viewers. “Military leaders are confident that our anti-ballistic missiles will intercept and destroy the incoming North Korean missiles well before they get close to Hawaii,” he said.
“And if not,” Noa said, “bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.”
The adolescent and teen years for Noa and Kai were not easy ones. Being half Hawaiian and half Korean, they were constantly teased by the other kids in school. It was their large, loving family that kept them grounded and focused.
The ocean is what saved them and stories at the feet of their beloved Tutu Lulu. Among those special times, Noa and Kai will never forget the days their grandfathers and other elder members of their family recounted the day Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese.
The brothers would often play “war” down on the beach; they spent so much time in the water, their mother teased them about eventually growing fins. As the boys became older, their attention was drawn to exciting careers that would allow them to continue their relationship with the water … that was their calling to become Navy SEALs.
Now, with the television droning on in the background about North Korea possibly launching anti-ballistic missiles at Oahu, Noa and Kai knew exactly what they had to do.
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Good news! My friend Pete at Mister Bump UK has been tagged by me and will continue passing the baton.
“Hey, lady! Wait up!” the young man yelled. “You dropped your purse!”
He bounded down the steps calling after her. Finally, she turned around to see what the commotion was all about. Upon seeing the woman’s face, the young man stopped short. She wasn’t an old lady at all but a rather attractive woman in her mid-thirties. The teen was at a loss for words.
“That’s my purse!” declared the woman. “What are you doing with my purse?” Her voice was raised now and took on an accusatory tone. “You snatched it, didn’t you?”
“No! Honest, I would never” the teen stammered. “I found your purse at the top of the steps. I ran all this way to return it to you. See, take a look; one strap is coming loose; you must have dropped it and didn’t even notice with all those bags you’re carrying.”
“Oh, my goodness! Thank you” she replied. “You can never be too careful these days.” The woman reached into one of her shopping bags and handed the teen a bottle of water. “Please let me give you some money for returning my purse.”
The young man gratefully took a long swig from his bottle. Just then he was grabbed from behind. A chloroform-soaked rag covered his mouth; he was quickly dragged to a van and tossed in the back while the woman casually walked away.
“Not bad. That’s four today. That last one was a cutie. He’ll fetch us a pretty penny” she laughed.
Orlando Hightower – or “Keys” as he was known by everyone – was probably the hottest black jazz and rag pianist since the legendary Scott Joplin. He was the real deal, on top of his game at the tender age of 17. The world was his oyster.
Times were dangerous in Harlem, New York. The year was 1923 – the United States’ era of Prohibition and racial segregation.
Orlando was born with fingers wiggling and toes tapping. He had an innate talent to play whatever popped into his head and danced out of his hands. Once he heard a tune it was carved into his memory. He created songs on his grandmother’s rickety upright as easily as someone writing a shopping list.
When Orlando was 12 his mother got a job as chief housekeeper for the Gale Family. Orlando would tag along with her, making himself useful and staying out of trouble. Mrs. Hightower kept him on a short leash knowing how easy it was for young boys to get caught up in the allure of unsavory activities. She always said Orlando was destined to be a man of noble position. A life of crime only led to the destruction of morals; once that happened you had nothing in your future except misery and a jail cell.
Moe Gale was co-owner of the world-famous Savoy Club and an extremely wealthy man. Orlando would entertain himself for hours at the Gale’s baby grand by penning original songs. One of his favorite things to do was write pieces in the pentatonic scale using only the black keys of the piano. Orlando’s talent did not go unnoticed by Moe and he was determined to have him play at The Savoy.
Unlike many clubs, The Savoy had a no-discrimination policy; people of every race were welcome. Moe implored Mrs. Hightower at least once a week to allow Orlando to play at the club and her answer never changed: “When he’s old enough.” Moe would always ask when that would be but Orlando’s mother just shrugged saying “When I know, you’ll know. For now just let him be a boy.”
After almost five years of Moe pleading with Mrs. Hightower, she finally relented and gave permission for Orlando to play at the club – on a trial basis. Moe was ecstatic; he knew a sure thing when he heard one. Moe became Orlando’s manager and kept him on the straight and narrow.
Orlando started at The Savoy as pianist with the large house band and his skills were quickly noticed by the clientele. Soon he became a member of the jazz quartet and shortly after was featured as accompanist for some of the biggest singers of the day.
Finally the night arrived for the debut of Orlando’s solo performance and his career took off like a starship. Mrs. Hightower sat at the best table in the house, her face beaming with pride as she watched her son play. But the thing that brought her incredible joy was the marquee out front –
“Appearing Nightly At The Savoy: The Incomparable ‘Keys’ Hightower!”
Mrs. Hightower could now rest easy knowing her job was done. Orlando had turned into an accomplished, successful and noble gentleman of high character. He made his mother proud.
“Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and recorded by B.J. Thomas for the 1969 film “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”.
Based loosely on fact, the film tells the story of Wild West outlaws “Butch Cassidy” (Paul Newman) and his partner, the “Sundance Kid” (Robert Redford). The duo are on the run from a US posse after a string of train robberies. The pair, along with Sundance’s lover, Etta Place (played by Katharine Ross), flee to Bolivia to escape the posse.
Here’s the lilting and uplifting voice of B. J. Thomas singing “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head”:
Robert Redford and Paul Newman made a great team; their good looks and charismatic personalities were perfect for these types of “partners-in-crime” movies.
Here’s your question of the day:
What other wonderfully entertaining movie with exceptional music, including Scott Joplin’s ragtime compositions, costarred Paul Newman and Robert Redford astwo card-playing grifters?
The answer is given on the bottom of the page.
Nick is back tomorrow Breaking Boundaries; something tells me it’s going to be an exceptional post. Don’t forget to stop by and check it out.
That’s a wrap, kids. Join me next week for another installment of At The Movies.
Francesco glanced down from his perch 60 stories above the streets of New York City; that translated into roughly 900 feet in the air. As he ate lunch, he talked casually to his companion, Giuseppe, who sat across from him on a ledge about four feet away. Francesco lit a Camel cigarette, tossed the box of matches to Giuseppe and both men lounged on their beds of steel. Francesco took a long drag on his cigarette, keeping his eyes open to maintain his balance on the 18-inch-wide metal plank. A whistle blew, its shrill notes informing the men that lunchtime was over.
Giuseppe pitched the matches back to Francesco. They rose to their feet, now old pros at this daily death-defying ballet they performed. When they first arrived in America, they learned very quickly that the jobs of police officers, firemen or train engineers were not meant for them; those positions were reserved for the Irish and English immigrants. The Italians and others who didn’t speak English were forced into manual labor – jobs in construction or sanitation where grunting and nodding were the main forms of communication. They took pride in their work, the resulting cathedrals and skyscrapers testaments to their skill and determination.
An errant gust of wind made its presence known; it swirled around the men’s feet and scooped up the wrappings from lunch, tossing the papers about before they slowly drifted out of sight. Both men held on to a nearby vertical beam, silently waiting until the wind stilled.
Looking below at the large wind flag, the men saw that it was white; it was safe to continue working. A yellow flag meant to exercise extreme caution while red indicated dangerous weather conditions. The crew worked through many different elements, but if a red flag was up, no one climbed the beams.
There were no harnesses to prevent a catastrophic fall, no safety nets should someone slip … nothing to protect the men, to save them. All they had to help them scale the beams were ropes dangling from above, good balance and guts.
Calmness restored, the men strapped on their tool belts containing welder’s gloves, hammers and tongs. A pulley system was used to hoist beams and buckets filled with iron rivets in white hot coals. Using their tongs, the men removed the rivets one by one from the coals, inserted them into holes in the beams and hammered them into place. After every hole was filled, the men climbed up to the next level and repeated the process.
When the end-of-work whistle blew, Giuseppe reached for the rope to begin the long, slow descent to solid ground. A slight misjudgment caused him to lose his footing and he slid off the beam like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Francesco yelled out in horror “No, Giuseppe, no!!” as he tried in vain to grab his friend’s arm. The crew watched in stunned disbelief as Giuseppe fell headlong to the sidewalk far below, his screams echoing throughout the canyon of steel.
Francesco slumped over, his head in his hands, silently weeping as a single mournful thought invaded his mind: he didn’t even know Giuseppe’s last name.
This is Americana. This is New York. This is jazz, baby. This is Gershwin!
The New York Philharmonic with Leonard Bernstein conducting and playing the piano.
This is a masterpiece!
It is my honor to present a musical portrait of early-20th-century New York City. Here is the genius of George Gershwin and “Rhapsody in Blue”.
Now here’s something you don’t see every day – the maestro himself playing his composition “I’ve Got Rhythm”. I can’t think of a more fitting piece for The Rhythm Section!
I am in awe and words fail me, which is a rarity.
If you are not familiar with Gershwin, I recommend you read about the man, his vast repertoire and his very short life. Sometimes I wonder what more he would have accomplished had he lived longer. This is the music that will last for generations after we are gone.
There is no question of the day but I’d love to know what you thought of George Gershwin’s music.
Well, I’m not sure how next week’s In The Groove is going to compare to this, but I’ll try my best to come up with something great. Meet me here again, won’t you?
Deb’s up tomorrow with another location to visit on her magical musical mystery tour. Stop by and check it out.
In this special edition of At The Movies, I am showcasing the film “Sands of Iwo Jima“, a 1949 WWII movie starring John Wayne as Marine Sgt. John Stryker.
Despised by his own men for his rough attitude and exhausting training regimen, Marine Sgt. Stryker is a hard-nosed soldier who will accept nothing but excellence from those in his command. As the war in the Pacific progresses, though, the young marines begin to respect Stryker’s hard-edged outlook on war and his brutal training methods, as it has helped them prepare for the harsh realities of the battlefield. They’ll need all of Stryker’s battle tactics if they want to survive what will end up being one of the bloodiest engagements of the war: the Battle of Iwo Jima.
Among the widely recognized tunes featured in the movie is the beloved “Marines’ Hymn” composed by Jacques Offenbach in…
In this special edition of At The Movies, I am showcasing the film “Sands of Iwo Jima“, a 1949 WWII movie starring John Wayne as Marine Sgt. John Stryker.
Despised by his own men for his rough attitude and exhausting training regimen, Marine Sgt. Stryker is a hard-nosed soldier who will accept nothing but excellence from those in his command. As the war in the Pacific progresses, though, the young marines begin to respect Stryker’s hard-edged outlook on war and his brutal training methods, as it has helped them prepare for the harsh realities of the battlefield. They’ll need all of Stryker’s battle tactics if they want to survive what will end up being one of the bloodiest engagements of the war: the Battle of Iwo Jima.
Among the widely recognized tunes featured in the movie is the beloved “Marines’ Hymn” composed by Jacques Offenbach in 1867; you may know it better by the name “From the Halls of Montezuma”. No matter what you choose to call it, this is one great patriotic tune!
Here is “The Marines’ Hymn” performed by the United States Marine Corps Marching Band.
Now for a short video clip from the movie “Sands of Iwo Jima“:
To all who observe Memorial Day, I wish you a very happy holiday. In our hearts and minds this day are all the brave men and women who gave their lives in military service. Lest we forget.
Thanks for joining me today for this special installment of At The Movies. Stay safe, my friends, and take care of yourselves!
There is a place somewhere called Paris And I’m going there on vacation today; A city where every useless worry or care is Forgotten and carelessly tossed away.
I don’t need to see the Eiffel Tower Or pray at Cathédrale Notre-Dame. I’d happily pick a delicate wildflower Or caress a charming man’s arm.
I’d love to stroll through Pére Lachaise, Have a chat at the grave of Jim Morrison. I’d play him some tunes like Jimi’s “Purple Haze’’, Just dishing the dirt with that sexy rapscallion.
You won’t catch me near the Seine for dinner; Much too highbrow and touristy for me. Seat me at a bar with the saint or the sinner; We’ll close the place down at quarter past three.
Mona Lisa is enigmatic in a gilt frame so fine But the thought of the Louvre is a total bore. I’d rather be laughing in a park drinking wine Or sharing a smoke on a bench with a whore.
I’ve got nothing to hide; it’s far from a secret: When it comes to Parisian men I’m a big flirt. The playboys in the square whisper “Come, be my pet” And I purr “Oui, oui, mon cheri! Who will it hurt?”
There is a place somewhere called Paris And I’m going there on vacation today. I’ll give life a sultry lingering French kiss; When I’m in Paris I like to do things my way.
Boundary: a line which marks the limits of an area; a dividing line.
Often boundaries serve a purpose, sometimes they are waiting to be transcended.
Every Friday, here at The Rhythm Section, we will explore the ocean of music using the latter as our lodestar: breaking of a boundary.
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If you thought we are going to be all zen here at Breaking Boundaries… well, you have another thing coming!
Amps are red hot from overdrive, loudspeakers are vibrating like CERN particles before collision… and… I am pissed off!
Because of the way music industry promotes “emptys” in glamorous wraps and leaves “fulls” desperately seeking a place under the sun. To be honest, yeah… that is the way we have built our societies in general; but I digress.
I told you, last time we met, we are heading south to Palestine for some Hard Rock action. You bet your…
Giving an old dog a new bone for Sadje’s photo prompt challenge. Woof!
Image credit; Grin @ Unsplash
“You mangy son on a bitch, get your ass off my lawn! Go on … get the hell outta here!”
That was Old Man Jenkins. He and his wife Harriet live next door to us and the source of his rage was none other than our pet French bulldog, Jacques. My husband Ted would run out of the house, apologizing profusely.
“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins! Jacques a handful but he’s just playing. He’s really lovable once you get to know him. Just look at that grin.”
“Get to know him!? Are you freaking nuts, Peterson? That bastard just crapped on my fruit trees!”
“Think of it as fertilizer, Mr. Jenkins” Ted suggested sheepishly and dragged Jacques away.
“FERTILIZER!?! I think you mean just plain shit!
“Hush now, Aaron!” chastised Harriet. “Using such language … why, there’s children next door!”
“Don’t hush me, Margaret! That damn dog’s a menace! If you can’t control your frigging mutt, Peterson, I’m gonna call the cops. Or maybe I’ll just put a bullet between his beady little eyes.”
And the kids started crying.
“Now, Mr. Jenkins, please don’t say things like that. You’re scaring my kids.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad! You solve this problem or I will … permanently!”
Ted brought Jacques back inside, promising the kids everything was going to be ok, that Old Man Jenkins was just sputtering angry syllables he didn’t really mean.
The next few days we kept Jacques on a short leash. Old Man Jenkins seemed to calm down and busied himself with his fruit trees.
On Saturday morning Harriet Jenkins approached me in the grocery store. “Thank you, Alice, for keeping Jacques out of our yard. Now Aaron can care for his beloved fruit trees in peace. In fact, he’s been so preoccupied he hasn’t noticed the family of critters living in our wood pile. They’re just so darling, I even named them – Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar!”
And off she went, chuckling suspiciously.
Sitting down to dinner later that day, we suddenly heard Old Man Jenkins yelling at the top of his lungs. We never heard him scream like that before so we knew it had to be something awful. Please … not Jacques! We raced outside, stopping dead in our tracks: there stood Old Man Jenkins, pricked by at least 100 porcupine quills.
So that was the “family of darling critters” Harriet was referring to!
“Excellent aim, my little darlings!” exclaimed Harriet. “Guess they know a prick when they see one, Aaron!”
Anna Mae Bullock passed away yesterday at her home following a long illness. She was 83 years old. That’s the name on her birth certificate but we know her better by her stage name … Tina Turner.
From a dysfunctional family with an abusive father to a dysfunctional marriage with an abusive husband, Tina didn’t just survive – she thrived.
Tina Turner’s career spanned more than half a century, earning her widespread recognition and numerous awards. She started her music career in the mid 50s as a featured singer with Ike Turner’s Kings of Rhythm, first recording in 1958 under the name ‘Little Ann’. Her introduction to the public as Tina Turner began in the early 60s with Ike as a member of the Ike & Tina Turner Revue. Success followed in her solo career with a string of notable hits including “River Deep – Mountain High“, “Proud Mary“, “We Don’t Need Another Hero” and many more.
I could go on talking about Tina Turner, her life and her many accomplishments, but why? You can find out anything you want to know online. Instead, I’m going to let this trailer from the 2021 movie “Tina” tell the rest.
This next video is one of Tina’s most well-known; the song was also featured in the movie, Tina.
My original plan was to post a song from a movie in honor of Memorial Day. When I heard about the passing of the great Tina Turner, a legend in the music world, it was a no-brainer for me to post this little homage to her instead.
Thank you, Tina, for sharing your incredible talents with the world and bringing so much joy into the lives of people everywhere. May you now rest easy.
There’s no question of the day. If you’d like to share your comments about Tina Turner, please do so. All videos are welcome as well.
Thanks for joining me today At The Movies. I’ll catch you over the holiday weekend with a special Memorial Day post and video.
Stay tuned tomorrow for Nick with another installment of Breaking Boundaries; I have no idea what the man’s got planned this week!
Promenaders strolled down the sun-streaked boardwalk of Atlantic City, New Jersey; ladies twirled their parasols while gents tipped their straw hats and stroked their handlebar mustaches as they passed each other for it was Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end of summer, a perfect day with sunshine, blue skies and laughing children!
Margaret Wilson and her boy Sam came from Philadelphia for the fresh sea air, to gaze in awe at the hotels built like fairytale palaces along the seafront and to admire the piers dripping with neon lights, the most famous of which was the Steel Pier, known for its dance bands, water circus and other such attractions; in fact, it was revealed that the renowned composer John Philip Sousa and his band would be performing that very afternoon.
There were barkers selling salt water taffy and cotton candy, minstrel shows, fairgrounds and the famous Diving Horse, specially trained to charge up a 60 foot ramp to a platform atop the Steel Pier where a woman clad in a smattering of sequins leapt onto its back just before it plunged off the pier; horse and rider flew through the air, hitting the water to the applause of delighted throngs waiting below.
But one didn’t have to venture far from the boardwalk to sample less wholesome activities in venues like the Paradise Club where tourists could watch nearly naked women dance to jazz music and, if they wanted something not just risqué but illegal, they could visit the gambling dens and brothels catering to every taste; there was the criminal element, too, with occasional holdups and shoot-outs.
However today was a holiday and the children laughed gleefully as they rode the giant carousel on horses painted pink, yellow, white and green, even the smallest tyke straining to reach the brass ring while their parents strolled in their most fashionable clothes and made small talk; with the start of school the furthest thing from their minds, nothing could spoil a day like today.
Suddenly the cacophony of gun shots rang out and people screamed and scattered as gun-wielding robbers ran from a pawn shop, jumped into a waiting car and took off, bullets flying wildly; a momentary silence overtook the Boardwalk only to be shattered by a piercing wail that rose to the heavens and everyone turned to see Margaret Wilson cradling the body of little Sam, shot in the heart by a stray bullet (in his jacket pocket a folded essay, now stained with innocent blood, entitled “How I Spent My Summer Vacation”); the police arrived, removed mother and child and the band played on.
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences – no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is CAROUSEL. 🎠
A couple of months ago I was driving north on Weaver Street in Larchmont for a meeting with my publisher in White Plains. Up ahead traffic was stopped in both directions for a funeral procession just leaving Sacred Heart Church. This gave me the opportunity to admire a rather old and impressive Victorian-style house on my left which was situated on a corner lot. The front of the house faced an intersecting street while the side of the house was parallel to Weaver Street. I was impressed by the tall arborvitae along the side of the house; the bushes acted as a natural barrier between the house and Weaver Street. They also camouflaged the rather spartan-looking stockade fence which ran from the corner down the entire length of the house.
I sat in the car listening to the radio and patiently waiting for the traffic to move and that’s when I saw her – a little golden child. She was alone, weaving her way in and out of the arborvitae, and I smiled as she skipped from one tree to the other. She looked to be about 8 or 9 years old with long blonde braids that bounced with every hop, skip and jump she took. I wondered why she was home from school; it wasn’t a holiday and she certainly didn’t look sick but there could be many answers to that question.
There were certain things about this golden child that intrigued me. It was rather chilly with a brisk wind but she wore no coat. Her clothes looked fresh and clean but were definitely old-fashioned. Her below-the-knee jumper-style dress was pink, brown and white plaid; she wore a plain white shirt underneath and ribbed white tights. On her feet were brown lace-up boots which rose above her ankles; her braids were tied with a ribbon that matched her plaid jumper. She reminded me of one of the girls from photos of the turn of the century.
I rolled down the car window to listen for the girl talking or laughing as she ran among the trees but all was quiet. Then I suddenly lost sight of her; she probably ducked into the backyard of the house via a gate in the fence. The last car in the funeral procession exited the churchyard and the stalled traffic began its slow crawl up Weaver Street. As my car inched closer to the house, I looked for the golden child but didn’t see her. Being a curious sort, I quickly turned left onto the intersecting street and parked my car in front of the house; I needed to get a closer look at the fence.
I got out of my car and took a little walk around the arborvitae, examining the fence. To my surprise, there were no gates or openings of any kind. What’s more, the fence continued beyond the line of arborvitae and butted up against the fence of the neighboring house. The only way the girl could have gained access to the backyard of her house was by walking down along the path of arborvitae to the intersecting side street, close to where my car was now parked, and around to the other side of the fence.
There was no reasonable explanation for the disappearance of the little girl. One minute she was there; the next she was gone. She certainly did not walk down to the corner of the property; I had an excellent vantage point and would have seen her. There’s no way she could have escaped my line of vision … unless I never saw her at all. Was this child a figment of my imagination? Were my tired eyes playing tricks again?
As I walked back to my car, a young woman called out from the house. “Can I help you?” she asked. I walked halfway up the front path and replied that I was just looking for something and didn’t mean to intrude on her property or her privacy. I gave her a little wave and started walking back to my car when I heard the woman say something that made me stop cold in my tracks.
“You were looking for the little girl, weren’t you? You’re not the first to have spotted her.”
As you can imagine, dear readers, her comment gave me pause and I was eager to learn more.
“Yes, I was. I saw her from my car. Can you tell me something about her?”
“I can” the woman replied. “I’d be happy to tell you what I know if you’d care to join me for a cup of tea. It’s chilly out here and I’d enjoy the company.”
I hesitated for a second – not because I was afraid of walking into a stranger’s house but because my publisher was waiting for me. The urge to know more won out and I accepted the woman’s invitation. I stepped inside the house which turned out to be as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. I followed the woman into the kitchen; as she went about preparing tea, I called Gabi, my publisher, and rescheduled our appointment for the following day.
The woman joined me at the table and introduced herself as Denise Gallagher. We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes and I told Denise I was an author. Before she began her story, I asked if she’d mind if I recorded our conversation; she readily agreed. This is what she told me:
“In the late 1920s there was nothing here except trees and an occasional house; they were very few and far between. Not even Weaver Street was here. In the early 30s construction began on Weaver Street, or Route 125 as it’s referred to on the map.
In 1938 this beautiful house was built; a young couple and their three children moved in. Weaver Street was still very new and traffic was extremely light. It’s been said back then a whole hour would pass without a single car going by – hard to believe in this day and age, isn’t it?
Well, one day the kids who lived here – a little girl aged 9 and her 7-year-old twin brothers were outside playing in the yard while their parents unpacked boxes in the new house. There weren’t any fences and those arborvitae hadn’t even been planted yet. Anyway, the kids were playing and their ball got away from them. The little girl chased after it and without a second thought, ran right onto Weaver Street just as a car was coming around the bend. The driver tried to stop but it was too late and the car struck the little girl. She died right out there in the middle of the street.
Can you imagine how awful that must have been for that poor family? The parents must have been wracked with guilt over their preoccupation with unpacking. I’ve got young children of my own and the thought of something happening to one of them is just too much to bear. Well, the family couldn’t stand living here after that and they moved away. People say that child you saw today is actually that little girl’s ghost and she’s looking for her ball.”
I sat there in stunned silence while Denise nonchalantly sipped her tea; I guess she’d told the story so many times, it had lost a lot of its impact for her. Not for me; while I had a feeling that’s where her story was going, it still came as a shock to me. We sat together for a little while longer and I told Denise I had to get going. I thanked her for the tea and her time, grabbed my phone and headed home.
As soon as I got home, I settled myself at my computer to write down everything Denise told me. I clicked the playback button on the record app on my phone and could hear only static. Damn that free app! I knew I should have checked if it was working before recording Denise’s story! Well, I’ve got a pretty good memory and I quickly typed out as much as I could remember of her amazing story.
The next day as I was on my way to see my publisher, I decided to make a stop at a nursery on Weaver Street where I bought some flowers as a ‘thank you’ for Denise. When I arrived at the house there was a man mowing the lawn. I smiled at him and continued up the path and rang the bell. I waited for a minute, rang again and decided no one was home. I wrote a little note on the card that came with the flowers and left them at the door for Denise.
The man who was mowing asked me if I was there to look at the house. I said I didn’t understand what he meant and that’s when he told me the house has been empty and on the market for months. I stared at him in disbelief as he drove off on his mower. How could this house be empty and for sale? I was just here yesterday drinking tea in the kitchen. Utterly perplexed, I walked back to my car and sat inside for a few minutes thinking about what the man told me. Was I losing my mind? Gabi was going say what she always says: “You’re working too hard, my friend. Time for that long overdue vacation”. I don’t know; maybe she was right.
After my head cleared a bit, I started the car and turned onto Weaver Street on my way to White Plains. I was feeling uncharacteristically cold and blasted the heat. When I arrived at Gabi’s, her eyebrows rose at one glance at me. “What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“You have no idea” I replied and began to recount the episodes of the last 24 hours. Gabi knew me long and well enough not to question the veracity of my story and suggested we do a little research. We began by Googling ‘pedestrian accident on Route 125 1938’. Surprisingly, we found very few involving people on the street during that time period. Gabi asked me if I remembered the house address.
I paused for only a second. “Yes. It’s on Briar Way in Larchmont.”
“Do you know the house number?” asked Gabi.
I sipped my coffee, thinking; then it came to me. “Yes, number 1! I remember seeing it this morning as I rang the doorbell.”
“Good! Let’s try that” replied Gabi as she typed in the house address. “Well, here’s the real estate listing from this morning and here’s another listing. What? Wait a minute. Come take a look at this.” As she scrolled down the screen, we saw one listing after another for the house, each one separated by only a couple of years. “This house has been bought and sold ten times more often than any other. Something’s going on to make people leave so soon after settling in.”
“That’s it, Gabi! That’s our answer! Every couple of years the family from 1938 makes their presence known. Apparently the people living there at the time are literally ‘spooked’ away. It’s a veritable ‘ghost house’, Gabs!” I was excited by our discovery yet strangely saddened, too. I couldn’t help wondering why the family kept returning. Could they possibly be looking for the little golden child? Maybe when the little girl was spotted running through the arborvitae she wasn’t hunting for her ball; she was searching for her family!
After my meeting with Gabi, I got back in my car and headed home to Larchmont. As I approached the intersection of Weaver Street and Briar Way, I slowed down hoping to see something, anything. All was still and quiet.
I continued driving toward my house. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of the golden child running happily between the arborvitae but this time she was not alone. Running toward her and laughing gaily was a young woman with a handsome man and two small boys. The woman was Denise, the lady who drank tea with me just yesterday.
My eyes filled with tears at the sight of a family reconciled. I will never be able to shake that image from my mind.
Let’s face facts. If you’re in a rock band, chances are excellent a number of commandments are gonna get broken. That is exactly what led to the writing of our next tune.
Once upon a time, George Harrison and Eric Clapton were best friends, practically brothers. George was married and very much in love with his wife and she with him. So, what’s the problem? Eric was also very much in love with George’s wife. He couldn’t help it; by all accounts, she was very desirable. She, however, resisted the worn out phrases and longing gazes of Eric … but only just for so long. He wore her resistance down until, in spite of her love for the handsome George, she fell in love with Eric, left George and married Eric. George, realizing they were only human and he himself was no saint, forgave Eric and his wife (what a guy!). More than that, George and Eric remained best friends for the rest of George’s life, with the two men referring to each other as “husband-in-law”. The two continued to perform together frequently until George’s passing in 2001. It was all so very civilized. The end.
Sounds like this could be one of my stories!
Written and released in 1970 by composer/guitarist/singer Eric Clapton, “Layla” is the title track on the Derek and the Dominos album “Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs”. George and Eric’s wife was the inspiration for the song which is considered one of rock music’s definitive love songs.
This is one of those times I could not find a good quality recording of Derek and the Dominos. Instead I chose this version – Eric Clapton performing with Phil Collins and others at Live Aid in the John F. Kennedy Stadium, Philadelphia USA on July 13, 1985. The event was organized to raise funds for the Ethiopian famine disaster. I hope you enjoy “Layla”.
What a great tune and you can see why Clapton is regarded as one of the best guitar players in the world. I’ll never forget seeing Clapton with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker; they were Cream. They didn’t set off pyrotechnics, smash their instruments, sport big hair or perform acrobatics on stage. They came out, laid down some mean guitar riffs and sang some awesome songs. No need for more than that.
Here’s the question of the day:
In my intro to the video, I never referred to George’s wife by name. A model and actress in the 60s and 70s, she is recognized today as an author, photographer and supporter of various charities. Can you identify this beautiful blonde who stole the hearts of both George Harrison and Eric Clapton? FYI it is not “Layla”!
The answer appears below. If you don’t know the answer, no worries; perhaps you’d like to share one of your favorite George Harrison or Eric Clapton songs (videos always welcome).
Today’s post was a little bit longer than usual so thanks for sticking around. Join me next week In The Groove for another great tune.
One day while on vacation in Montauk, we watched as a woman emerged from her hotel room. She told her young son she was going for a walk by the ocean and to stay with the other kids by the pool. We said we’d keep an eye on the boy and she murmured her thanks. The boy watched his mother walk down the beach until she disappeared behind a sand dune.
Some time later, the boy jumped up yelling “Where’s my mom?! I can’t see my mom!” The boy became frantic and ran toward the beach. Families followed, scouring the area with binoculars. Lifeguards, police and the Coast Guard were called and searched until dark when the hunt was postponed until morning. Jeff and Nina Morgan, the hotel owners, comforted the boy and watched him overnight.
At dawn the search began again. In the afternoon, the woman’s clothes were found about a mile away, neatly folded and almost completely buried in the sand. Beachgoers and boaters were questioned and a helicopter surveyed the ocean with no luck. The mission was halted. When the police talked to the boy, he tearfully explained that his dad was gone and his mom was very sad. We all had the same dreadful thought: suicide.
The boy told the police his name and address; a few phone calls were made, unanswered questions resolved. The father had abused his wife and son, beating the boy terribly. To save her son, the mother attacked the father, hitting him over the head with a fireplace poker, killing him. The boy said his mother cried for the healing waters of Montauk. He had no relatives and after petitioning the courts, the Morgans were granted custody.
The disappearance of the woman was a ghastly experience for everyone yet most of us returned to the hotel the following summer, I think in part to check on the boy. We learned his name was Tobias but the Morgans called him Toby.
We were delighted to see he was physically thriving under the loving care of his adopted family but the emotional scars were deep. And every day Toby would walk down the beach to where the water meets the sand and stare off at the footprints in the distance.
Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head! Such a lovely couple although the mister’s bow tie is a bit starchy.
I remember them as a kid. Do you? Back then they were the real deal – or perhaps I should say “the raw deal”.
Our moms always scolded us about playing with our food and then Hasbro messed with our heads by telling us to do just that. No wonder so many Baby Boomers are now in therapy!
Oh, the irony!
These days The Pot Heads are made entirely of plastic. I admit they’re much less messy but where’s the charm, the appeal, the joie de vie?
Such sweet memories but troubling ones, as well. Whenever we played with the real Potato Heads, there was always a side of mash with dinner that night. When I finally made the awful connection that I was eating my playmates, it was too late.
Oh, the humanity!
RIP, Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head. You gave your all for a tasty cause! 🥔
Tom Bouchard dropped two quarters into the public phone slot and dialed the number he’d scrawled on a scrap of paper. The call was answered on the third ring. “This is Andre Loubeau at Tite Frette in Gatineau. We’re closed now but will reopen at 10 AM. Please call back then.”
Tom chuckled. His old friend Jean-Luc may have changed his name to Andre but his voice was the same – a voice he would never forget. Now Tom finally had a lead to his former business partner who embezzled all the company’s money and pinned the crime on him. Tom lost everything – his wife, his home, his livelihood – and languished in jail for almost a dozen years.
At last Tom had the clue he was searching for! He felt he was due a little celebration for his persistence – some pleasant company at the bar with his old friend Johnnie Walker Red. Sipping his drink, Tom could almost smell the sweet scent of retribution and feel his hands around Jean-Luc’s neck.
Driving home from the bar, his mind racing with thoughts of Jean-Luc pleading for mercy, Tom sped past the sign which read “ROAD CLOSED”. Turning the steering wheel sharply, his car plowed through a fence, bounced off rocks, rolled down a steep hill and landed upside down in a ravine before it burst into flames.
Poor Tom. Just when things were starting to look up. Karma’s a bitch.
Excuse me for asking a very personal questionbut are you practicing the Rhythm Method?
No? Well, what are you waiting for?!
Boogie on over to The Rhythm Section and join me, The Sicilian Storyteller in New York, Mr. Bump in the U.K., DA Whittam in Australia and Spira inHellas where we present seven different music categories and offer up great videos. Every day brings something new, enjoyable, interesting and informative for everyone. There are even a couple of music trivia questions thrown in for a bit of a fun challenge!
If you’re already following us, that’s great! If not, we’d love to have you join us. It’s easy; just click on the link below and you’ll be instantly transported to a new musical dimension.
We hope to see you there!A splendid time is guaranteed for all! 🎶
The scent of her Arpège reached my office before she did. The snappy click-click-click of what could only be stiletto heels making contact with the marble floor echoed throughout the hall. I pictured a shapely calf in fishnets.
The door to my office opened and snapped closed and I realized beads of sweat had formed under the brim of my fedora. My curiosity was not the only thing to be aroused. I played nonchalant and didn’t immediately look up while my index fingers did a slow foxtrot across my trusty Underwood.
“One minute. Just gotta finish this up” I said while staring at the paper in my typewriter. She did not respond and I sensed her walking to the other side of the room to look out the window. This gave me the opportunity to size up my unannounced visitor. I kept pecking away at the keys, pretending to be typing, while taking in the view.
Just as I thought, this dame was some looker; she could have been Lana Turner’s twin! My eyes traveled down to her shoes. Small feet nestled in black open-toed heels. A trim ankle leading up to a gorgeous pair of gams in black fishnets. A pencil-straight skirt of grey wool hugged a shapely rear, heightening my currently aroused state. A wide belt around her black jacket was cinched tightly, accentuating her tiny waist. She wore black leather gloves giving her an edgy, almost dangerous look in contrast to the graceful form of her long porcelain neck. Her profile was elegant: a regal chin, a delicate nose, high cheekbones. Her hair was her crowning glory – light blonde with a few pins holding the top in place while the bottom fell loosely around her shoulders.
I imagined what it would be like to remove the pins from her hair and run my fingers through those golden locks. I wanted to hold her face in my hands and kiss her mouth, her chin, her neck. I sat back in my chair and pushed my hat high on my forehead. I was a million miles away.
When she turned to face me, it was only then that I realized I had stopped typing. I wondered how long she knew I had been staring at her. She struck me as the type of dame accustomed to having men stare at her. Slowly she walked to my desk, her eyes never leaving mine. I removed my hat and gingerly placed it over my crotch. She glanced at my hat, gave a small throaty chuckle, then looked at me with hooded eyes, her burgundy-colored lips slightly parted.
She ran her finger seductively around the top of the crystal whiskey decanter on my desk. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked with a voice like blue velvet. I motioned for her to help herself and she poured a drink. She took a sip and slowly began to open her purse. I instinctively pressed my arm against my Colt .45; it was secure in the shoulder holster under my left arm. To my relief, she withdrew a silver cigarette case; it would have been a shame if I had to end the night abruptly. She selected a Pall Mall and held it to her lips.
“Light me” was all she said. I reached up, lit her cigarette, then lit one for myself. We smoked in silence for a minute, then she spoke again.
“We need to have a talk, Mr. Logan, a very discreet discussion about my husband and his secretary. Are you interested?”
“Oh, yes. I’m very interested. Let’s talk over a couple of thick steaks and a bottle of bourbon.”
She took a long drag on her cigarette. “I know the perfect place, Mr. Logan. Follow me.” She turned and headed for the door, her body swaying like an unhurried wave lapping the shore.
“Baby, I’d follow you into the jaws of hell” I thought to myself as I grabbed my hat and switched off the light.
In 1967, a romantic comedy-drama film directed by Mike Nichols made its debut. The film tells the story of 21-year-old Benjamin Braddock, played by Dustin Hoffman, a recent college graduate with no well-defined aim in life. Benjamin is seduced by an older woman named Mrs. Robinson, portrayed by Anne Bancroft, but then falls for her daughter Elaine, played by Katherine Ross.
The film is “The Graduate”, a critical and commercial success, and the eternally beloved song written for the movie by Simon & Garfunkel is “Mrs. Robinson”. It’s difficult to name a duo today with the rich, sweet tones of Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. The movie grossed $104.9 million, making it the highest-grossing film of 1967. I can still hear Benjamin saying (hopefully) “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me ….. aren’t you?”
Here now are the incomparable Simon & Garfunkel performing their hit, “Mrs. Robinson”.
Like I said – rich sweet tones from the duo and a very cool guitar by Paul Simon. Still a great song!
Now for the question of the day; this is a conceptual question so there is no right or wrong answer.
Of all the songs written and recorded by Simon & Garfunkel, which one is your favorite? Please share your answers and if you’d like, post a video.
Don’t forget to tune in tomorrow to see what Nick has planned for us in Breaking Boundaries. It’s bound to be great!
Time now to head on out. Catch you next week right here At The Movies.
Misky whispered in my ear, “Uber story”. Here’s one from three years ago. 🚗
Finding himself suddenly unemployed, Omar anguished over supporting his family – not just his wife and kids but his parents back in Somalia. One would think having a biomedical engineering degree would open many doors for him but the job search proved more difficult than Omar imagined. His wife Waris was trained as a midwife and she was willing to go back to work but Omar was too proud to allow her to be the only breadwinner in the family. He would find work if it was the last thing he did. Waris encouraged him to look outside his comfort zone; it was then that he saw the ad in Craig’s List:
Drive With Uber – Be Your Own Boss. For information call 888-555-BOSS
Omar called the number; a man with a strange accent anwered. “UberBoss” was all he said.
“Um, yes” replied Omar haltingly. “I’m calling about the ad.”
“Email your phone number and driver’s license to uberboss@hotmail.com. We’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it? Don’t I need to take a test or something?” Omar asked.
“Look, buddy. You want the job or do you want to play 20 questions?” the man replied sarcastically.
“Yes, I’m interested, but what is the pay, please?” inquired Omar.
The man sighed impatiently. “$25 an hour; UberBoss gets 20% commission.”
Omar was stunned. “That seems a bit exorbitant!”
“That’s the going rate, buddy. Take it or leave it” was the gruff response.
Considering he currently had no income, Omar accepted.
“Ok, buddy. Someone will call you.” Click. Within the hour Omar received his first assignment.
♟ ♟ ♟ ♟ ♟ ♟
A woman was waiting for Omar; she wore a burka and only her eyes were visible. She signaled Omar to roll down the window, handed him a thick envelope and quickly walked away without saying a word. Taped to the envelope was a key and instructions which read: “100 Hester Street, Locker #57. Unlock padlock, remove backpack, leave envelope and key, snap padlock shut.”
The destination was a YMCA. Upon entering the building, Omar spotted a hallway with a row of lockers. He found #57, opened the padlock, removed the backpack, placed the envelope and key inside the locker and snapped the lock shut.
The backpack had a tag with an address, locker number and key attached; this had to be his next destination. It turned out to be a bus depot and the locker contained a thick envelope just like the one the woman had given him earlier. Omar determined he had to remove the envelope and replace it with the backpack from the previous locker. He tossed in the key and secured the lock.
This routine continued for six hours at which point Omar received a text from UberBoss requesting his PayPal address. He was advised that his work was finished for the day and he would get a new assignment in the morning. Omar complied and shortly after he received another text, this time from PayPal informing him of a new deposit in his account.
The days were tiring and monotonous. Omar’s ass was sore from driving all around town and he didn’t speak to a single person all day. Being an Uber driver was not what he thought it would be; he was just some tool in a game of hide and seek. But he’d been at it for three weeks and had accumulated more money in his PayPal account than he had in a long time.
Omar was getting very curious about the contents of the envelopes and backpacks but they were tightly sealed – except for today. Noticing a small tear in the envelope, Omar used his pocket knife to finesse the opening just a bit. Peeking inside he saw stacks of neatly bound $100 bills and the hooded eyes of Benjamin Franklin staring back at him.
Omar considered his next move for about five seconds. He drove to the address on the envelope, ripped off the key and shoved the envelope under the front seat of his car. Driving to his destination he located the locker, grabbed the backpack and snapped the lock. Whatever was in these packs had to be very valuable.
As he sped home Omar knew he was taking a huge risk but it was worth it for Waris and his family. He laughed excitedly at the prospect of financial freedom and the more he laughed the faster he drove. The sound of screaming sirens brought Omar back to reality; a police car was chasing him. He was forced off the road and commanded to step out of the car. While looking through the car the police found the envelope full of money. They also found a backpack crammed with bricks of cocaine.
Omar’s world came crashing down around him and he desperately proclaimed his innocence, to no avail. He was handcuffed and hauled away on the spot. Omar never saw the video text that came from UberBoss: “Big mistake, Buddy! Say bye bye.”
At the same moment back at Omar’s house a frantic Waris was tearfully staring down the barrel of the UberBoss’s gun.
Welcome back to In The Groove. Today I’ve got a hot little number for you – not just the song but the singer as well.
Take the #1 female singer in the country music scene and give her a crossover country rock song to sing and you’ve got “Before He Cheats”, a song which tells the story of a woman taking her anger and revenge out on her cheating lover.
Here is Carrie Underwood singing “Before He Cheats” from her 2005 debut album.
Hell hath no fury like Carrie Underwood swinging a Louisville Slugger!
So here’s my question of the day:
Carrie Underwood got her big break by winning the American version of a highly televised international reality talent show franchise originally hosted in the U.S. by Ryan Seacrest and judged by Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson. What is the name of the show that propelled Carrie Underwood into the world of mega-stardom?
To see if you got the answer right, check the bottom of the page.
Thanks for hanging out with me here In The Groove. Have a great day; let’s meet up again next week.
On a whim my husband and I decided to ride our bicycles to Tarrytown. The village was not far – a little over four miles. We would stop for dinner at one of the charming cafes.
It was a cool Spring evening; we were comfortably warm in cozy sweaters. Horses grazed contentedly in the fields. A pond reflected the soft glow of the moon and an owl hooted shyly as we passed beneath his tree.
Tarrytown appeared as we rounded a bend in the road, a welcoming light from a café in the distance. We leaned our bicycles against the fence of a nearby church and walked to a romantic-looking bistro. After a delightful meal we happily strolled to the church to retrieve our bicycles for the ride home.
This was without a doubt the most perfect evening we’d ever had!
Without warning the sky started turning black and the wind began blowing. Arriving at the church we were shocked to discover our bikes were gone; we had no choice but to walk home. Suddenly thunder and lightning crackled in the foreboding sky and heavy rain began pouring down on us. We trudged on, swearing with every step we took.
We were drenched, our shoes covered in mud. Exhausted, we argued bitterly about who forgot to bring the bicycle locks. We cursed and screamed vile accusations. Everything turned into an abysmal disaster and we stopped talking altogether.
This was without a doubt the worst night we’d ever had!
Mon Dieu! What is this? A Cease and Desist Order or I am to leave Montréal!
So now it is MY problem that the statues in Montréal are so inviting? They are just the right size and height for me to … how do you say? … do my business.
Well, pardonne moi! With tasty petite scraps of poutine, tourtières, pâté chinois, fèves au lard, cretons and the like readily available, what is a pijon to do?
And where do they expect me to go? New York? Sacré bleu! I’ve heard the pigeons there are like flying rats!
Oh no, no, no! This will never do! And what’s worse, I have to go home and tell my wife!
The Elephant's Trunk 