…

There was this belief I held very close, that I would find a smoky, with nicotine brown stained ceiling, outside light streaming though the dust in the air (but falling on all the wrong spots), in the basement, jazz bar… …I would sit across a little round (some would call it a cocktail) table, with a votive like candle in the center, flickering, across from the woman of my dreams… …I’d be sipping on a something and something and she’d be sipping on her something and something (maybe we’d have vodka and waters that Sunday afternoon) and we’d be listening to a little quartet, playing something like this, amongst other (cool) jazz bits… …we’d occasionally watch the band, but we would be looking, locked, into each other’s gaze for most of the time we spent there, silent, but speaking volumes… …that could be what this video is all about…
There was this belief I held very close, that I would find a smoky, with nicotine brown stained ceiling, outside light streaming though the dust in the air (but falling on all the wrong spots), in the basement, jazz bar… …I would sit across a little round (some would call it a cocktail) table, with a votive like candle in the center, flickering, across from the woman of my dreams… …I’d be sipping on a something and something and she’d be sipping on her something and something (maybe we’d have vodka and waters that Sunday afternoon) and we’d be listening to a little quartet, playing something like this, amongst other (cool) jazz bits… …we’d occasionally watch the band, but we would be looking, locked, into each other’s gaze for most of the time we spent there, silent, but speaking volumes… …that could be what this video is all about…

First there was LW, last was FH. In between those two, there were, in order, LA, JM, CK, WB, JB, MV, MP, RB, MC, EM and MG. That would add up to a baker’s dozen, over the space of some thirty-five (or more) years. That’s all I know, all I can remember, not that I could forget, now could I? You know why they call thirteen a baker’s dozen? Courtesy of the internet:

“The oldest known source and most probable origin for the expression “baker’s dozen” dates to the 13th century in one of the earliest English statutes, instituted during the reign of Henry III (1216-1272), called the Assize of Bread and Ale. Bakers who were found to have shortchanged customers could be liable to severe punishment. To guard against the punishment of losing a hand to an axe, a baker would give 13 for the price of 12, to be certain of not being known as a cheat. Specifically, the practice of baking 13 items for an intended dozen was to prevent “short measure”, on the basis that one of the 13 could be lost, eaten, burnt, or ruined in some way, leaving the baker with the original legal dozen. The practice can be seen in the guild codes of the Worshipful Company of Bakers in London.”

Guess I was just covering myself…or perhaps not.

Read some articles recently concerning the topic of concussions. I’ve had five, the first coming when I was eleven years old and got creamed in a hockey game; had temporary amnesia and everything. My mother wanted me to walk around with a helmet on as a precaution. My father said no, I’d look like “a retard”. When I was sixteen I had my second, after getting my ass beat by a girlfriend’s all too recent ex-boyfriend. Apparently she talked about me all the time while they were together. They broke up, because she said she did not want to have sex with him. He said they broke up because of me. I never had sex with her either; we broke up so she could go back to him (probably to save my life). My next concussion came that same year when I committed what my football coach said was the hardest hit he had ever seen in twenty years of playing and coaching football. I really wanted to keep playing; he told me to sit down when I couldn’t tell him what day it was and who were our opponents. Number four showed up about two years later when I got upended and landed on the back of my head in a basketball game. Last game of my high school career and I missed most of it because I couldn’t stop the music playing in my head (“Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting”, good ol’ Elton John). The fifth rendition of shaking my brain like Jell-O™ came when I fainted at a movie theatre. It was at the “first date” with the girl who eventually would become my second wife. No music this time – just double vision for three weeks. When I asked the CATSCAN technician if she saw anything, she replied: “I didn’t see anything at all.” That would explain a lot.

Anyway, when I die my intent now is to surrender my brain for additional research and see if what they see (or for that matter, don’t see) can be helpful. Have to admit I’m disappointed that I will not get to watch – who knows what they will find.

Oh and I might have had a sixth concussion about a year ago, when I got smoked playing volleyball. Not too sure, but I did have a headache for three days and kept waking up humming a particular tune… how’s it go…

Don’t give us none of your aggravation
We had it with your discipline
Saturday night’s alright for fighting
Get a little action in

Get about as oiled as a diesel train
Gonna set this dance alight
‘Cause Saturday night’s the night I like
Saturday night’s alright, alright, alright

Oops.

That’s enough, don’t you think?