Yesterday's little proclamation really did need to get out there, so here's my Flashback, a day late.
In 1985 we were young, living and working in Toronto. I was pouring coffee at The Second Cup in the Toronto Eaton Centre. Scott worked (in the older white building behind this new location) upstairs from a computer store, downstairs from a practice studio that was home to some of Toronto's better known indie musicians. I believe
Lisa Dal Bello worked up there, Alfie
Zappacosta, and
Jane Sibbery too if I remember right (no guarantees there.) But the one I remember best was my first actual Brush With Greatness/Brush With Death. I remember it like it was yesterday...
I was walking up the back stairs to Scott's office, turned on a landing and was almost run over/pushed down the stairs by this crazy blond musician who looked like he was late for his mission to SAVE THE WORLD. Probably he was, actually, but I could have been killed! But I wasn't, and it's a good thing because, gee, imagine the irony.
Bruce Cockburn, no doubt checking to see if his
rocket launcher had been delivered, or something.
Fast forward several years. Scott and I, and another couple are emerging from The Improv on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles. Bunch of comedians I'd never heard of (some guy named Tom Arnold? Not funny), Rodney Dangerfield in the audience (I can't stand Rodney Dangerfield) and some other wiseguy. Show's over, we wander out to the sidewalk and there's this brown Porsche 944 parked at the curb. Wiseguy comedian races out, jumps in his car pulls a u-turn and speeds off like he was late for his mission to TAKE OVER THE WORLD. Practically knocks me into the street. Melrose Avenue! At 11:00 at night! I could have been killed! But I wasn't. Jerry Seinfeld, folks. Tried to kill me, I swear.
My few other brushes with death have mostly involved those I *thought* loved me. And stairs. I'm bad on stairs. In fact, just yesterday the cat pushed me down the stairs. "Who me?" Yes you, evil beast, I can see that killer look in your eyes but once again I have cheated death. Ha! And I have the big ol' bruised butt to show for it. But I won't share - seriously, everyone will be happier that way. Except maybe Bruce, Jerry, and Mr. Bean over there.
In 1985 we were young, living and working in Toronto. I was pouring coffee at The Second Cup in the Toronto Eaton Centre. Scott worked (in the older white building behind this new location) upstairs from a computer store, downstairs from a practice studio that was home to some of Toronto's better known indie musicians. I believe Lisa Dal Bello worked up there, Alfie Zappacosta, and Jane Sibbery too if I remember right (no guarantees there.) But the one I remember best was my first actual Brush With Greatness/Brush With Death. I remember it like it was yesterday...
I was walking up the back stairs to Scott's office, turned on a landing and was almost run over/pushed down the stairs by this crazy blond musician who looked like he was late for his mission to SAVE THE WORLD. Probably he was, actually, but I could have been killed! But I wasn't, and it's a good thing because, gee, imagine the irony. Bruce Cockburn, no doubt checking to see if his rocket launcher had been delivered, or something.
Fast forward several years. Scott and I, and another couple are emerging from The Improv on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles. Bunch of comedians I'd never heard of (some guy named Tom Arnold? Not funny), Rodney Dangerfield in the audience (I can't stand Rodney Dangerfield) and some other wiseguy. Show's over, we wander out to the sidewalk and there's this brown Porsche 944 parked at the curb. Wiseguy comedian races out, jumps in his car pulls a u-turn and speeds off like he was late for his mission to TAKE OVER THE WORLD. Practically knocks me into the street. Melrose Avenue! At 11:00 at night! I could have been killed! But I wasn't. Jerry Seinfeld, folks. Tried to kill me, I swear.
My few other brushes with death have mostly involved those I *thought* loved me. And stairs. I'm bad on stairs. In fact, just yesterday the cat pushed me down the stairs. "Who me?" Yes you, evil beast, I can see that killer look in your eyes but once again I have cheated death. Ha! And I have the big ol' bruised butt to show for it. But I won't share - seriously, everyone will be happier that way. Except maybe Bruce, Jerry, and Mr. Bean over there.
1 comment:
Goodness! Glad you were spared all your close calls.
I now have a one-story house, I don't pay attention well enough to have stairs in my home!
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