post partum thanks giving

Back in the city after the rush of Thanksgiving spent with the old extended family has worn off, I'm left with the usual yearly overwhelming "thank God I live in New York" sentiment, counterbalanced by the disquieting notion that this particular trip might actually have been my last tango in Syracuse...my folks are moving out to California, all my childhood friends are long dispersed in search of greener pastures. And the Salt City at night seemed darker, colder, more inhospitable and Dennis Hopperesque than ever (Edward Hopperesque too)...still, I did manage to retrieve a few photos of my happy-go-lucky ill-spent youth, which I will eventually get transferred from the original slides and post a few here for your general amusement, or scorn (by the way, go back two blogs and check the new photos from Switzerland that webmistress Tanya put up yesterday). There were some good 'uns my sister Bonnie unearthed from the depths, long since forgotten tableaux that would have stayed that way 'cept for my sister's patient dredging them up out of the scrap(book)heap, 2000 shots or so by Dad's estimation which Bonnie assiduously went through, choosing the best with her practiced painterly eye and sorting them out by sibling--I have 3--2 older sisters, Laurie and Bonnie, and 1 younger brother, Stewart--'twas all the rage back in the 50's for middle class Jewish housewives to bestow Scottish names on their offspring, or so I have it on the authority of my mother Adele Lucas (nee Goldman). Hoot mon, Bozo! (One of my favorite highschool trips was spent chuckling my way through a read of one of the Bozo books concerning that most excellent of japester's exploits traveling round the world, wherein each turn of the page was keyed into an acted-out playlet/narrative on an accompanying LP that came with the book...me and my boy Alden Bock the teenage tennis champ of Nottingham Highschool (who played best on grass) laughed profoundly when our man Bozo alighted via rocketship or somesuch other of Larry Harmon's vehicular contrivances to find himself suddenly in sunny Scotland, greeted to the sonorous drone of the bagpipes (remember Rufus Harley?) by a stage Scotsman in kilts with a hearty, "Hoot mon, Bozo!" Scotland has always been one of my absolute favorite places to play, The Magic Band had a particularly good gig in Edinburgh at the Liquid Room last January and we really rocked them in Glasgow this summer...Glasgow was also quite honestly the scene of one of the worst gigs of my career, which occurred during my 1991 solo tour of the UK, one of the few times I have actually been stiffed by a promoter...I will draw a discretionary veil over that particular story right now as it's time for bed.

See you on the flip-side.

xxGary