Apr

C'est What

My Peeples,

Below is one of the chapters of a memoir i've been working on (more off then on) for like four years. Let me know what you think. Remember, feel no way about being painfully honest. I needs the true feedback. Hopefully, I'll have a lil sumpthin' sumpthin', how you say, FRESH for you come this weekend.

Peace,

lil tommy tee

LOST IN MUSIC

"NOBODY LOVES ME BUT MY MOTHER (and she could be lying too)" … B.B. King:

They say that you only remember the good times of childhood; that all the bad shit -- childhood traumas, humiliations, rejections, loneliness, yada-yada -- is either hazy or buried waay deep. My problem has always been that I remember just as much good as bad shit. I remember my father's love, his tickling bear hugs, handshakes and humor, but I remember his distance, disappointment, sadness and anger towards me as well. I remember my Moms' love, encouragement, comfort and unshakeable faith in my specialness.

I remember the indescribable joy of spending summers at Popski's mother's house in Elizabeth. The wonderful way she spoiled me; giving me enuff money to buy all the comic books I wanted, drinking breakfast coffee with the grownups, wrestling with my cousin Douglas who nicknamed me "Brush"; sitting at the pinochle table every Saturday night with Gramma Rose, her live-in boyfriend Uncle George, his son Robert and Aunt Margie. To Gramma Rose, I was "Jerry" not Tom or Scooter.

And I remember the taunting old man next door who called me "Rabbit 'cause your ears are as big as Bugs Bunny's", that night when the KKK burned a cross on the front lawn and the time Gramma Rose told me with a startling meanness that Aunt Ethel who lived upstairs from us in Vauxhall was not my 'real' aunt but simply a family friend named Miz Cotton and the way that forever fucked up the way I related to her, her husband and her daughter Norma who was my Aunt and Godmother.

Most of all, I remember when my Moms said I could no longer spend the summer at Gramma Rose's 'cause she was trying to make me into her child; that Rose always resented my mother 'cause she took Popski away from her control and that by spoiling me so much she was going to make me as dependent on her as Aunt Margie and Douglas were. Moms won that war, but I paid dearly.

I remember the love my sisters had for me, the way they looked up to me and tried to emulate me; how special they made me feel. But I also remember how the other kids made the name "Scooter" a running joke, the taunts of 'four eyes", "cornball", "retarded". How Bevie and Michelle got invited to parties that I was never invited to and how I had to lie to them that I knew, but didn't 'feel' like going 'cause if they knew the real reasons they wouldn't go and I didn't want them to be outcasts like I was. I remember how I was teased throughout junior high about crying out 'Save my comic books!" when our apartment was on fire. I remember that I had an ulcer at the age of 15 and homely Dr. Smith telling me she went through the same thing when she was my age and that I was better than all of them as she was in her day.

I remember how the kids told my first girlfriend Rashida that going out with me was so uncool that she would lose all her friends. I remember the hurt and betrayal I felt when Rashida started going out with my best friend Russell who was deemed 'cool' enuff 'cause he played guitar in a local band And I remember when I had my first high school house party and the euphoric self-satisfaction and empowerment I got when I turned away all the Vauxhall kids who'd made my brief life a living hell.

I remember how music somehow always made things better. When I was lost in the music, I found hope, freedom, joy, magic; I found me. WNJR, WABC, WWRL were my flashlights that chased away the darkness, Sonny Taylor, Dan Ingram, Frankie Crocker, Murray The K were my Obi Wan Kanobies, James Brown, the Temptations, the Miracles, the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, Joe Bataan were my Guardian Angels. From the second grade until my senior year, Russell Johnson was the only one who felt the same way and was as lost in music as I was. When he committed suicide, the music and my life stopped.

"WHEN ONE DOOR CLOSE, ANOTHER IS OPEN"… Bob Marley

Link to This | Back to top

Mar

25

C'est What

"Spread a lil goobie dust around your head/Wake up in the mawnin' find yo' own self dead/I said, 'You shouldn't say that/Well what you want me to say THIS time, Baby?/Ah, ah, ah i don't know..." ... "I Don't Know', Buddy Guy and Jr. Wells

Death, death, deat. EvryWhar.... Actually, two deaths got to me last week and they both went down in my ex-town; Larry "Bud" melman and Vinylmania. Now, I don't mean thagt larry Bud's death plunged me into a deep blue funk...it didn't. But (of cousrse that ain't his realo name) i loved that guy -- his dweebish glasses, bigol' head, that grin that was like almost, I don't know, demented? But kinda groovy-cool too. That Penguinesque body with the too-tight jacket and almost-high water pants. Loved the guy 'cause he was always clearly having a ball while being totally flabbergasted at being a show biz "icon". He was laffing at himself laffing at us laffing at the whole absurdity of his totally not being a 'real' honest-to-god STAR but really he was. Kinda-sorta. does that make at least an iota of sense or are all these meds I'm taking giving me a too-inflated sense of my being oh-so-on-top-of-a Page-Six-state-of-mind/grace? Anyways....

Vinylmania on Carmine Street GONE. And with it goes not only a New York City that really don't exist anymore -- the dance til the break-a-dawn club culture one -- but also one of the lasgt places in NYC that was A REAL RECORD STORE. A place that had that SMELL (a heady mixture of shrinkwrap, cardboard 12" jackets, PVC, static de-remover fluid, dudt), that had people working behind the counter who knew THE SHIT (what usedta be the jams way back in the day, wall the other vital jams between then and now and the jams that was gonna be the shit next Sunday morning). And the crew of regulars who were always comin' by talkin' shit and giving off the bonhommie and camaraderie of the serious Party People. And Chartlie and Debbie Grappone, the Keeprs of the Faith, Moms and Pops, Brother and Sister. They kept Vinylmania open since the '70s and kept it on point to the mission. No matter if you hadn't been to the City since the Garage or Shelter or Loft or World or whatever closed, no matter if you hadn't been to a club for some 20 years until a friend brought you to Club Love on a hummer just last Sunday, no matter if you ain't heard a house remix since "Jack Your Body" or had no idea that Body & Soul packed up five years ago or YOU JUST DIDN'T DANCE NO MORE, you could take solace and comfort and feel-goodiveness to know that once you stepped through that door, TIME HAD MUTHAFUCKIN' STOPPED and all was well and the walls werte humming and thrumming and the voices were shouting over the din and the brother with the locks (please forgive me 'cause his name is escaping me right now, but much love and respect to you) was spinning the DOPEST SHIT non-stop. Vinylmania and the few remaining Xanadu's like it left in America was our clubhouse, our library, our university with vinyl walls, our...HOME. I'll miss y'all. And thank you for JUST BEING.

Other Obituary News:

On Saturday, March 24th, my sister Michelle went over to the DCMetro Car Auction to see about getting me a ride.j Waaal,we almost got a '99 Nissan Maxima, but I stopped my bidding at $2500 (didn't matter anyway, 'cause the guy wanted, like $3200). Still, We were talking about tracking him down afterwards and offering him $3000. So, a buncha other cars were going by in this boringly long procession -- Jeep Laredo-Caddy-Taurus-Tercel-Caddy-Chrysler-Chrysler-van. Just as I was getting too cold to stay, aLEXUS this way came. A '97 Lexus ES-V6, emerald green, moonroof, 6-CD changer, fully-loaded, gansta-tint side windows, idling, uh, purring quiet-soothing like a cat-in-your-lap. Opening bid was "$5000-can-I-hear-4500-4500-4200-3300-can-I-hear-2000-two-thousand-dollars!" Wha? "Scooter-Scooter, put your hand up!!" I did, cat acknowledged me. Then shit got SERIOUS. It was all a blur. Every few seconds, Michelle would nudge me and i'd shoot up the peace sign. $2300, $2800, $30-$3200. Can I hear $3500? $30-30-30-3500, Going once, going twice, SOLD to the gentlemen over there! Maaaan, it was Price Is Right Fever! I was in a fog. Then I heard Michelle calling me from at the other end of the tunnel (actually, she was right next to me blowing out my right eardrum, "Scooter, SCOOTER, YOU GOT IT! IT'S YOURS!!!" YEAH BABY, I GOTS ME A MUTHAFUCKIN' L.E.X.U.S.!!! Dazed and cornfused, I plunk down the $500 deposit via debit card. This coming Tuesday i lay down the rest of the dosh and get my temp plates. I drive the car way out to East Geeblip, MD to get the full diagnostic and Saturday morning I go for inspection and permanent plates. Later on, I plan to hit Rock Creek Park (DC to MD) with the moonroof back and Rico's Man From Wareika CD (just purchased from CD Universe) on blast for the inagural cruise. I haven't driven my own car since I moved to NYC back in '90. It's been waaaay too long. And that's the last death Ima talk about today: The Death of (My)Being Stranded...

Peace and Love Every time,

lil tommy tee

Link to This | Back to top

Mar

25

C'est What

"Spread a lil goobie dust around your head/Wake up in the mawnin' find yo' own self dead/I said, 'You shouldn't say that/Well what you want me to say THIS time, Baby?/Ah, ah, ah i don't know..." ... "I Don't Know', Buddy Guy and Jr. Wells

Death, death, deat. EvryWhar.... Actually, two deaths got to me last week and they both went down in my ex-town; Larry "Bud" melman and Vinylmania. Now, I don't mean thagt larry Bud's death plunged me into a deep blue funk...it didn't. But (of cousrse that ain't his realo name) i loved that guy -- his dweebish glasses, bigol' head, that grin that was like almost, I don't know, demented? But kinda groovy-cool too. That Penguinesque body with the too-tight jacket and almost-high water pants. Loved the guy 'cause he was always clearly having a ball while being totally flabbergasted at being a show biz "icon". He was laffing at himself laffing at us laffing at the whole absurdity of his totally not being a 'real' honest-to-god STAR but really he was. Kinda-sorta. does that make at least an iota of sense or are all these meds I'm taking giving me a too-inflated sense of my being oh-so-on-top-of-a Page-Six-state-of-mind/grace? Anyways....

Vinylmania on Carmine Street GONE. And with it goes not only a New York City that really don't exist anymore -- the dance til the break-a-dawn club culture one -- but also one of the lasgt places in NYC that was A REAL RECORD STORE. A place that had that SMELL (a heady mixture of shrinkwrap, cardboard 12" jackets, PVC, static de-remover fluid, dudt), that had people working behind the counter who knew THE SHIT (what usedta be the jams way back in the day, wall the other vital jams between then and now and the jams that was gonna be the shit next Sunday morning). And the crew of regulars who were always comin' by talkin' shit and giving off the bonhommie and camaraderie of the serious Party People. And Chartlie and Debbie Grappone, the Keeprs of the Faith, Moms and Pops, Brother and Sister. They kept Vinylmania open since the '70s and kept it on point to the mission. No matter if you hadn't been to the City since the Garage or Shelter or Loft or World or whatever closed, no matter if you hadn't been to a club for some 20 years until a friend brought you to Club Love on a hummer just last Sunday, no matter if you ain't heard a house remix since "Jack Your Body" or had no idea that Body & Soul packed up five years ago or YOU JUST DIDN'T DANCE NO MORE, you could take solace and comfort and feel-goodiveness to know that once you stepped through that door, TIME HAD MUTHAFUCKIN' STOPPED and all was well and the walls werte humming and thrumming and the voices were shouting over the din and the brother with the locks (please forgive me 'cause his name is escaping me right now, but much love and respect to you) was spinning the DOPEST SHIT non-stop. Vinylmania and the few remaining Xanadu's like it left in America was our clubhouse, our library, our university with vinyl walls, our...HOME. I'll miss y'all. And thank you for JUST BEING.

Other Obituary News:

On Saturday, March 24th, my sister Michelle went over to the DCMetro Car Auction to see about getting me a ride.j Waaal,we almost got a '99 Nissan Maxima, but I stopped my bidding at $2500 (didn't matter anyway, 'cause the guy wanted, like $3200). Still, We were talking about tracking him down afterwards and offering him $3000. So, a buncha other cars were going by in this boringly long procession -- Jeep Laredo-Caddy-Taurus-Tercel-Caddy-Chrysler-Chrysler-van. Just as I was getting too cold to stay, aLEXUS this way came. A '97 Lexus ES-V6, emerald green, moonroof, 6-CD changer, fully-loaded, gansta-tint side windows, idling, uh, purring quiet-soothing like a cat-in-your-lap. Opening bid was "$5000-can-I-hear-4500-4500-4200-3300-can-I-hear-2000-two-thousand-dollars!" Wha? "Scooter-Scooter, put your hand up!!" I did, cat acknowledged me. Then shit got SERIOUS. It was all a blur. Every few seconds, Michelle would nudge me and i'd shoot up the peace sign. $2300, $2800, $30-$3200. Can I hear $3500? $30-30-30-3500, Going once, going twice, SOLD to the gentlemen over there! Maaaan, it was Price Is Right Fever! I was in a fog. Then I heard Michelle calling me from at the other end of the tunnel (actually, she was right next to me blowing out my right eardrum, "Scooter, SCOOTER, YOU GOT IT! IT'S YOURS!!!" YEAH BABY, I GOTS ME A MUTHAFUCKIN' L.E.X.U.S.!!! Dazed and cornfused, I plunk down the $500 deposit via debit card. This coming Tuesday i lay down the rest of the dosh and get my temp plates. I drive the car way out to East Geeblip, MD to get the full diagnostic and Saturday morning I go for inspection and permanent plates. Later on, I plan to hit Rock Creek Park (DC to MD) with the moonroof back and Rico's Man From Wareika CD (just purchased from CD Universe) on blast for the inagural cruise. I haven't driven my own car since I moved to NYC back in '90. It's been waaaay too long. And that's the last death Ima talk about today: The Death of (My)Being Stranded...

Peace and Love Every time,

lil tommy tee

Link to This | Back to top

Mar

13

The Clone Ranger Speaks

To all the Sailors, Goddesses and Ships at Sea who mean Everything to me,

Thank you, thank you for your blessings, prayers, candles and lights in the windows. Know that I feel y'all, that without y'all I would not be half as strong as I am right here right now. Accortding to Brian Bacchus AKA The Big Kahuna, (countless) inquiring minds want to know how I've been holding up; want to know what's rumor and what's real. So before I go anutha futha, please give him a metaphysical high five for setting me up with this forum. Without his getting on my case and then making it impossible for me to cop out, well t'wouldn't be this here blog. OK, time to get down...

Since my soul sanctifying benefit back on 9/11 I've been on what folk who suffer from various cancer call the"rollercoaster." Let's see, every three months, I took a shot of lupron (hormonal-based) and a day-to-day regimen of another hormonal-based pill called casadex. In October, my PSA count (prostate cancer index) had dropped from "333" to "1.54"(anything from "0" to "2" is considerd safe). However, a week after my next lupron shot on January 5, 2007, my blood work revealed my PSA had climbed back up to "142". Also, tests revealed I had lesions on my liver AND I had a numbness and sharp pain (so painful I had to get around my apt. on a walker) in my right hip-outside-calf-third-toe/right-foot. The lesions meant that the lupron was no longer effective so i had tio begin a chemo infusion every three weeks. As for the numbness, an expanded disc in my loower spin (the result of a bike accident 30 years before) was pressing against a nerve. The result was I had to take two vicodin -- a wicked narcotic -- every four hours. SO, for the whole month of January, I was drugged out and apt. bound.

OK, I went to Denver in mid-February for a week to visit Travis -- my best friend of 46 years -- and his wife Pat. Travis has non-Hodgkins lymphoma (which thankfully, he's caight in time) and he chilled me out as to chemo and etc., 'cause he's been there done that very recently. SO Denver really helped. When I returned to DC, my radiology oncologist at Lombardi Clinic put me on a 14-day radiation regimen to correct the numbness. I also had to stop chemo 'cause together, the two treatments are fatally toxic.

Anyways, today was my last radiation session. The numbnes is mostly gone and I have to do some physical therapy 'cause my right leg muscles are a tad dweak. I bresume chemo at the end of the month. Good news: my PSA last week dropped to 42, my hormone-pumped weight of 183 is now down to a svelte 168 and I STILL have a helluva appetite, no nausea, no pain, no lethargy. Oh yeah, my lust for life and laughter remains unstoppable.

C'est What

C'est What

C'est What

The Clone Ranger Speaks

Comments

Archives