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A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything

Jupiter And Mars

That kid he bombs around the lot in my Caddie and I’ve got my heart in my throat just tossing him the keys but he never misses so what the hell. He’s dressed like he’s waiting for an organ grinder, not me, but the missus think’s he’s some kinda handsome and what’s the harm in that. Young man should be handsome and see some hubba hubba wife now and then so he knows why he’s groping that neighborhood girl in the back of a jalopy for.

Jesus she steps out like a queen. The monkey missing his tin cup holds the door and she puts out one leg with the seam running up the back and he’s transfixed like he’s a gimp at Lourdes and she’s coming down from a cloud. She’s got a halo of perfume and radiation from the silk and glitters a bit on the fingers. We go in and the Caddie gets a workout.

There’s the maitre d and he knows me and there’s no fuss except the fussing over a guy likes. The wife inspects the ceiling and Rocco says his little prayer of a tip and massages me a bit. He inspects the long memorized seating plan like it’s a lost scroll instead of his reason for being. “I might just have something near the floor ’cause I know missus, well, she can dance is what I’m sayin’.”

The coat check girl is the homely one, and even she could start a knifefight on any corner in Naples just by walking past. The girl who takes you to the table could get the Pope to reconsider.

There’s too many onions but they’re sweet. The wood pressed into a little quilt reveals itself as you make your way to the bottom of the bowl. Bread in a basket, O and V in the cruets, two ashtrays. Chianti, Franco; ten bucks and it’s the best Chianti in the world, with the cock right there on the stripe like back home. The stuffy guys, the dentists with Yankee names come in here and order sangiovese for their stringy wives to ooh and aah over and pay twenty ’cause they don’t know no better.

The dentist Yankees drift by on the dance floor and you can see them eying the real woman you got, pushing the limits of her dress every which place — Bam! Boop! Bap! — and he’s got the skinny sorority girl who moves around like a giraffe in a straightjacket and you know right off that she moves like that everywhere. That’s why he can’t stop robbing a peek at the missus when he can; they always sneak out of the house in their mind in here, the white bread. They couldn’t handle a woman like I got anyway. They should stick to the ingenues who reach for the diazepam instead of the kitchen knives when you piss her off.

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

(Reader and commenter Misterarthur sent me that video, for the Hammond. Guys from Detroit know Hammond)

11 Responses

  1. That's good stuff dude. Stirs memories of the Patio Lounge, in D.C.
    50's, Oscar Peterson, George Shearing, Stan Getz ,etc. No rap.

  2. Your post reminds me of what might have followed 'It's All Over Now Baby Blue', if Dylan had been literate, and hadn't become jaded so quickly and slipped completely into posing the enigma by 1966. Poetic and beautifully stark, and it doesn't matter if you sing like an angel or like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  3. Glad you liked it. If anyone else does, I recommend "Goodfellas" by the same group. Similar Italo-American standards. Fab musicians enjoying playing music that's close to their hearts – and probably music they grew up hearing in their homes.

  4. Ah yes, diazepam and Italians. Reminds me of a small pharma company I worked with about 15 years ago. We were working on an FDA submission of a formulation of diazepam that was injected in the "other end" for fast absorption for seizure relief. I suggested they call it Innuendo. Oddly, they didn't take my suggestion.

  5. Wow – that brought back a lot of memories. When I was eight, my Dad started me on piano lessons – strictly a classical education, but evenings were reserved for jazz. First song I ever learned to play with some skill was "Fly me to the moon". At one point, he purchased a B3 with Leslie and I played FMTTM on that.

    Later on, my friend Dick Erikson of Re-Tunes purchased a Hammond B3 for his open mike nights – played that for an evening – what a sound – nothing like it.

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