I'm way late coming in with this, but I shared your post with my friend, the country rocker Marshall Chapman. At her last on line performance (she has one every Saturday afternoon) she told about visiting Austin some years ago and staying at what she was told was that city's oldest motel. She found it charming, comfortable, and affordable. A few years later she went back to Austin and decided to stay at the same place. Checking in, she saw on the form in bold print: "NO REFUNDS AFTER TEN MINUTES." She decided to try a different place. She liked your piece about the Hair Metal Ramada, and had this response:
"Thx, Claude.
Reminds me of a Hunter S Thompson quote:
'The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs.
My dear Mr. Truscott - Enjoyed the stories as always. I was dismayed, though, by your reference to the folks caught up in the bust as illegals. Merriam-Webster notes that this usage is sometimes disparaging and offensive. I've learned to say they're undocumented. Somebody had to tell me so I hope you'll receive this in the spirit of shared knowledge. Take care.
Well, how do I riff on this one? I could tell a New Orleans story; it's complicated, but good, and involves someone, like you, the grandson of a famous WWII general. I'll save that, though, and note how your description of your hangover the morning after the night of the bird calls reminded me of the time, during my first year as a New York City resident, living on the Upper East Side, when I bought a copy of Cheap Thrills, by Janis Joplin with Big Brother and the Holding Company. I got it at a store on 86th Street and, on my way back to 83rd, where I lived, I saw a liquor store. "What could be more appropriate?" I thought, as I bought a pint of Southern Comfort. Later, listening to Janis as I was taking slugs from the flask, I was moved to call J., a law school classmate on whom I had a hopeless crush, and who was living in San Francisco. Janis was still blasting through my speakers, and she said, "Claude, I can tell you're drunk, and you must be at a party or something, as there's loud music playing, so I'm hanging up." I redialed, and this time a man answered. "Can I speak to J., please?" He said, "No, we're just going out."
The feeling I had the next morning, besides mortification, was, as I described it to my roommate, "As if someone had come in during the night and done brain surgery on me with a dull hatchet."
When Al Haig was NATO Commander 74-79, he visited HQ Central Army Group in Mannheim-Seckenheim near Heidelberg, where I lived in the old city.
I asked a Major in his his party what his job was. He showed me a plastic cigarette lighter...said his boss was always losing lighters, had a pocket full on TDY trips.
I'm way late coming in with this, but I shared your post with my friend, the country rocker Marshall Chapman. At her last on line performance (she has one every Saturday afternoon) she told about visiting Austin some years ago and staying at what she was told was that city's oldest motel. She found it charming, comfortable, and affordable. A few years later she went back to Austin and decided to stay at the same place. Checking in, she saw on the form in bold print: "NO REFUNDS AFTER TEN MINUTES." She decided to try a different place. She liked your piece about the Hair Metal Ramada, and had this response:
"Thx, Claude.
Reminds me of a Hunter S Thompson quote:
'The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs.
There's also a negative side.'"
My dear Mr. Truscott - Enjoyed the stories as always. I was dismayed, though, by your reference to the folks caught up in the bust as illegals. Merriam-Webster notes that this usage is sometimes disparaging and offensive. I've learned to say they're undocumented. Somebody had to tell me so I hope you'll receive this in the spirit of shared knowledge. Take care.
Well, how do I riff on this one? I could tell a New Orleans story; it's complicated, but good, and involves someone, like you, the grandson of a famous WWII general. I'll save that, though, and note how your description of your hangover the morning after the night of the bird calls reminded me of the time, during my first year as a New York City resident, living on the Upper East Side, when I bought a copy of Cheap Thrills, by Janis Joplin with Big Brother and the Holding Company. I got it at a store on 86th Street and, on my way back to 83rd, where I lived, I saw a liquor store. "What could be more appropriate?" I thought, as I bought a pint of Southern Comfort. Later, listening to Janis as I was taking slugs from the flask, I was moved to call J., a law school classmate on whom I had a hopeless crush, and who was living in San Francisco. Janis was still blasting through my speakers, and she said, "Claude, I can tell you're drunk, and you must be at a party or something, as there's loud music playing, so I'm hanging up." I redialed, and this time a man answered. "Can I speak to J., please?" He said, "No, we're just going out."
The feeling I had the next morning, besides mortification, was, as I described it to my roommate, "As if someone had come in during the night and done brain surgery on me with a dull hatchet."
Great yarn!! Thanks!
When Al Haig was NATO Commander 74-79, he visited HQ Central Army Group in Mannheim-Seckenheim near Heidelberg, where I lived in the old city.
I asked a Major in his his party what his job was. He showed me a plastic cigarette lighter...said his boss was always losing lighters, had a pocket full on TDY trips.