Last night I went to bed at 10pm, got up once during the night, finally waking/getting up at 6:30.
I watched some news of Hurricane Milton and it looks like
things aren’t as bad as they could have been.
I received a couple emails from my reader in Tampa which I
posted to my blog. Good to hear that he’s okay.
I checked Cine Colombia but there isn’t anything new I want
to see. Interesting that It Ends with Us (6.5) has been playing here
since August 15th.
I left the apt at 9:15, replaced the missing peanut in the
crook of the same tree and took a seat in Los Portenos. I continued my
endgame study while having a latte. I saw a red squirrel but he was aways away
from my tree.
Teresa called at 11:15 as I was leaving and asked me to stop
in Ara and buy a specific brand of rice. No problem and the short line
went quickly with 2 cashiers available.
I completed my Cook County ballot online. Now I have to
print and mail it.
I left the apt at 2:15 and walked to the mall. I ran into
Marta, Wilson’s girlfriend, as I was entering Exito and we exchanged
hellos. I printed my election pages in Auros for 6 mil. (I don’t know
why they would include 3 empty pages.) My pages included an “envelope” so I
asked if they can print envelopes but was told, “no”. I’m going to have to ask
Nebraskja for advice.
I withdrew 2,000,000 pesos and recycled a pill bottle.
As I entered the mall I saw these stickers on the floor:
At the bottom of the escalator, I found this IKEA guy ready
to give directions:
I went up to Linea Estetica where I bought another
container of Cetaphil skin cream for 105,000 pesos.
I continued down the hall and found this entrance to Ikea:
The place is a huge maze, with something like 20 stations to
walk through. I finally found the cafeteria which was certainly different.
There was a line so I decided not to stay there for coffee. I had to walk
through a few more stations to the exit. When I came out I had no idea where I
was – some basement level. I did find this interesting sign outside a store:
I took the escalator up and came out on the 2nd
floor across the aisle from where I entered.
I went to Urbania where I had a latte while continuing
with my endgame book. I had seen a number of people today wearing Colombia
jerseys so I assumed there was a match today.
Some years ago, I met a gringo named Bob Burford (with his
son Carlos) who had just moved here. He wasn’t interested in starting a friendship – I think because I didn’t have his interest in music but I came across this post today on Facebook (long
post ahead) that my readers might find interesting:
“It was toward the end of 1969
when I left The Washington Post and went to Las Vegas. I really didn’t have
much of an idea what I was getting myself into. It was with some trepidation
since I had heard that in Vegas they’ll chew you up and spit you out without so
much as a second thought. Contrast that with my existence in Washington, D.C. I
thoroughly enjoyed the people I worked with at the Washington Post. I was
fortunate enough to get to study with the renowned guitarist Charlie Byrd who,
in turn, introduced me to legendary Maestro John Marlow at American University,
after whom the John Marlow Society is named.
If you’re going to work as a
musician in Vegas, you damn sure better be straight with the union. At least
that’s the way it was then. All of the shows had live music at that time. That
all changed rather quickly, however, when all of the venues started using
canned music.
So, at the top of my to-do list
was get transferred in to the union. I climbed the stairs to the second floor
where all of the offices were. The receptionist’s desk was at the head of the
stairs. Her phone rang just as I approached her desk. She answered the phone
and motioned for me to take a seat. I sat there listening to her end of the
conversation. The guy on the other end of the line was needing a guitarist and
she’s telling him that there’s no fewer than 200 guitarists in the city who are
looking for work. But, because they can’t read, there were no jobs for them.
I’m thinking to myself, hey!!!!
I’m a guitarist. I can read. I need a job. Apparently she heard me because she
introduced the caller to me. The guy was Al Ramsey, a local contractor whose
function was to furnish musicians for shows in three of the clubs. I think it
were three, but it could have been more.
The way it works: A headliner
comes into town and typically brings with him his piano player who doubles as
the arranger and conductor. He may or may not bring a bassist or a drummer.
Very seldom do they bring a guitarist. Everyone else in the band are local guys
working for Al Ramsey. Tourists watching the show assume all 25 guys on the
stage are great pals with the headliner and tour all over the globe with him.
It makes for some interesting interactions with the public wandering around the
casino during the break between shows. But I digress.
On the phone talking with Al
Ramsey, he’s telling me that to work as a guitarist for him I have to play
everything that has strings on it. Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but
not that far off. “You play jazz guitar?” he asked. “I do.” “Can you play folk
guitar?” “I can.” “Mandolin?” “Not a problem.” “How about a banjo. Can you play
a banjo?” “I can.” I lied. The truth is in my entire life I have never been in
the same room with a mandolin or banjo, must less touched or played one.
He really got locked in on the
banjo bit. He stressed to me that he would be using me a lot on banjo. And he
continued on and on with that. Finally, he told me to be at the big room (Blue
Room? I can’t recall) at the Tropicana the next morning at 9:30. He didn’t tell
me any of the particulars, like who I’ll be playing with, who I’m supposed to
see, what kind of job it is. After my conversation with him on the phone, I was
fully prepared to go buy a zither if that’s what the job called for.
I concluded, based on his
obsession with a banjo, that the job was going to be a banjo. So I went to a
store that rented instruments and rented a banjo. Vegas has a couple of
outfitters who can fix you up with virtually anything you might need to put on a
show. While I was there I met Lionel Hampton. He had just arrived in Vegas from
New Orleans and somehow the trunk containing his wardrobe got lost. So he was
in the store to get everything he was going to need for his gig.
I spent the rest of the that
day and all night long working on my banjo chops. I didn’t get so much as a
nap. I was fairly confident that I could bluff my way through whatever I was
going to be dealing with. So I packed up the banjo in its case and headed for
the Tropicana. The musicians’ entrance was on the side of the building and
opens up into the big room on the side of the theater seating. I walked in,
banjo in hand, and found myself standing in the midst of The Four Freshmen and
Si Zentner. Well, hell! I knew I wouldn’t be playing a banjo with The Four
Freshmen. And there’s no chance in hell that Si Zentner will be using a
banjo.
(Si is a fixture from the big band
era lasting through the 1950s. He’s a trombone player and is noted for having a
really high-energy band. Lots of brass. You’ve heard him but you probably don’t
know it. This gig at the Tropicana was his grand coming-out event with all new
charts after a seven-year hiatus.)
So The Four Freshmen and Si were
standing there looking back and forth between me, the banjo, and each other.
The looks on their faces formed a collective question mark,like WTF??? I
quickly introduced myself and explained that I had borrowed the banjo from a
friend and didn’t feel all that comfortable leaving it in the car. Then I
hustled out to get my guitar and amp.
We played the 9:00, 11:00 and 1:00
o’clock shows, alternating with The Four Freshmen who played the 10:00, 12:00
and 2:00 o’clock shows.
After the Freshmen’s last show
everyone hung around to celebrate the their 21st anniversary. Twenty-one years
before (1948) they had their first job (Pittsburgh maybe?). And got fired. The
booze backstage was flowing freely, ankle deep. After I reached a point that I
thought I should probably go home, it was already dawn and I had to make a
rehearsal in less than five hours.
On the way home I stopped at a
Chevron station for gas. The guy wiped the dew off the windows, checked the oil
and battery, etc. That was common at that time. I gave him my credit card and
he dashed into the station. Meanwhile, I have the driver’s door open and I’m
pushing out the little breezy window when the guy in the white Chevron uniform
returned and stepped between the pumps, a little clipboard in hand, along with
my credit card attached. Before handing it to me, he slammed the car door shut
– a seemingly innocuous event that actually flipped my life upside down. My
left hand wound up between the frame and the car door. The first knuckle on the
middle finger of my left hand was flattened and about twice as wide as its
neighboring knuckles.
Notes:
Telephone answering service at
that time was manned by actual human beings. Answering devices did not yet
exist. So, every day Al’s people would call and leave a message telling me the
where and when of my schedule the following morning. Every morning there was a
rehearsal somewhere with someone. The purpose was to tape the rehearsal and
give the tape and the job to a guitarist who couldn’t read but had big ears.
Then he would give me a cut of his earnings. You probably wonder what happens
if there’s a change in the show and the guitarist can’t read? That’s a fair
question, but unrealistic. There is no such thing in Vegas as a surprise,
notwithstanding the various video clips suggesting otherwise. When there’s a
celebrity in the audience who’s recognized from the stage and is invited,
seemingly impromptu, to come up on stage and sit in, there’s nothing
spontaneous about it. It was well rehearsed that morning.
The strangest job I had in Vegas
was actually two jobs in one. Vikki Carr was doing a show at one of the casinos
(maybe the Sands?) I was playing three sets at the Tropicana. Between sets I
would run down to the Sands and play real mellow, dreamy stretch chords for
Vikki’s introduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, The Sands Hotel and Casino takes
great pride in introducing to you the one and only Miss Vikki Carr!” or
something like that. While that was going on I was playing some chords for her.
I was on the set for a total of seven minutes. That’s when the first
opportunity to get off the set came.
For what it’s worth, Vikki Carr
was of Mexican heritage and without a doubt one of the most absolutely
beautiful ladies I can recall ever seeing. She exuded class and beauty.
Every evening I would call my
answering service and retrieve my messages. One evening I made the call and
could tell something wasn’t right. It was a feeling; something didn’t feel
right. What came out of the manager’s mouth explained everything. The previous
evening when I called for my messages, they somehow managed to overlook one.
And they knew that was a colossal screw-up. It was, without any doubt, the most
important message I could ever possibly get. The message was to be at rehearsal
the next morning to rehearse the Frank Sinatra show. Sinatra almost always
brought with him a guitarist, Al Viola or Tony Mottola. This was that rare
occasion when he was going to use one of Al Ramsey’s Vegas guitarists.
In case you may be wondering, Al
always called three guitarists for every gig. The two guitarists I was hooked
up with were named Dennis and Denny. Sounds kinda odd, but that’s the way it
worked out for all of us. As it turned out, to play the three sets of a show in
one night was kinda rare. Between the three of us, we covered all three sets.
For instance, I may play the first set and take a pass on the second and third
sets to free me up to go play another better paying gig.
As far as I know, Al Ramsey never
ever needed a banjo player. I was never required to play anything other than my
archtop jazz guitar. So, don’t ask me. I have no idea what all that banjo crap
was all about.
Nothing about living in Vegas is
normal. The guy in the menswear department at Sears has a fistful of speed in
his jacket pocket which he hands out fairly freely.
Al Ramsey became the director of
entertainment at Caesar’s Palace.
I left Vegas and headed for San
Francisco and the San Francisco Chronicle. That was at a time when the news
business was honorable and ethical. Unlike the hacks we have today, the people
who called themselves journalists were actually journalists who subscribed and
adhered to the responsibilities and ethics of the profession. There were giants
in the business who were revered household names.”
I left at 4:15 and checked out the pumpkins in Exito.
I saw a lot of people watching the soccer match on a large screen TV. Colombia
was losing 1-0 and it was in the 89th minute so it was almost over.
Last week they removed the rain protection for people
waiting for taxis and today they moved the taxi station near the middle
entrance/exit (no longer used) for Exito. It’s actually a better
location as now they can use the previous pickup location for people catching
rides.
I gave Teresa a brief summary of my IKEA experience but informed
her if she wanted to check it out, she would have to do it without me. I’m not waiting
hours while she goes through every nook and cranny.
I watched President O’Bama’s speech in Pennsylvania.
FUNNY
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