Wildwood Daze – Spring of 1980 – The Union Jacks – Part 2

Look at Chaz in his black outfit, with his ’79 Black Ibanez Iceman, rocking out for the kids. Baby steps.

 

We get our first gig at Margaret Mace Elementary and Middle School. We’re going to play for the kids in middle school. 12, 13, 14 year old kids.

Jim went to this school, and knows the faculty. He was good student, but my dear friend is an older man in high school now. He’s in Wildwood High now with me and Mark the bassist.

Incidentally I will add this side note. My Uncle Jack was valedictorian from the first graduating class of Margaret Mace. My father told me he never cracked a book. Just a brilliant charming dude.

Love him forever.

I wish I were his son. Just neglect me and let me play rock and be in the music industry.

I think family genetics get mixed up but great creativity came from pain and oppression so I’m fine with where I came from.

All the best art comes from the oppressed. Under Jack I may have just ended up a privileged asshole so I’m fine with where my soul landed.

I’m terrified to do our first show. But it’s a bunch of young kids in an auditorium. I can’t eat before the show for fear of throwing up. No one in the band knows about my severe anxiety problem.

They’re ready to rock these kids and take this band for a test drive.

I’m terrified, but we’ve rehearsed everything and have our whole set list ready. Brian would write out the set list and tape it to the floor in front of every one of us so we knew what was going to happen. I always felt comfort in that, so thank you Bri.

If I just could get through the first song I’d be fine. We got this. We always opened with Freeway Jam, I think by Jeff Beck. It was just a cool song we could run licks on and warm up to get the audience going.

It’s funny because almost every blues act does the same thing. They come out and jam for a bit and then get into their real shit with singing and hits. We did the same thing as a fledgling band automatically. It just worked for us so we could warm up and get to the songs.

We hit our groove, and Brian is always the constant professional showman we need to carry us forth.

He’s just great. He is clearly the leader of this band and we let him have the reigns. He carries us through our show with tight drumming and great vocals and showmanship.

Brian is clearly the leader of this band, but he can’t do it without me, the creative songwriter, cute, rock star one, Jim, the sizzling lead guitarist, and Mark, his flexible tone deaf puppet, carrying the rhythm.

It’s Brian’s band and it’s always been Brian’s band, but today he’s a little outnumbered. The audience has me and Jim rocking out on our guitars in the front.

Thats who the audience adores.

I’m just trying to hold it together and hit all of the right notes.

However, I’ve brought several guitar picks with me and I am throwing them out to the kids in the audience.

I’ve lived this exact scenario as a kid. If there was some rock band playing and I could be a part of it, I would attach myself to that in a second. I knew that even though I was playing rock at a middle school I had to go full on rock star. Because that’s what I wanted to be.

I bought tons of guitar picks before the show and threw dozens into the crowd knowing the result. The kids went crazy. Brian picked up on this and tossed drumsticks into the audience and they fought over them.

Back in 1979-1980 the song by JJ. Cale that became a hit by Eric Clapton had become a hit. It was all over the radio. It was called Cocaine.

Huge hit. We covered the song because it was wildly popular that year. People loved it.

Should we have played Cocaine to a bunch of 13-year-old kids? Probably not. We didn’t even think about it at the time. It was just a hit. But to play that for a bunch of kids in middle school, we probably should have deleted from the set list.

I can tell you that we did the chorus…. “She don’t like, She don’t like, She don’t like…..

The kids would shout: COCAINE!

We had know idea.

Union Jacks were already a dangerous band. (We were just playing what was popular on the radio. (Should we have reviewed the set list before playing in front of a bunch of kids….yea probably)

We’re nearing the end of our set. (The kids are going wild) The Vice Pincipal walks onstage and tells us we’re done.

Brand new young lead guitarist Jim and former alum literally pushed him off the stage…

“We’re not done yet.”

He launches into “My Generation” by the The Who, which to me is my favorite song Jim ever performed with our band. It just seemed so arrogant. It just seemed to embody my best friend.

We close out the show and I think maybe Jim busted up his Strat for show.

We never fucked around with our equiptment but because I spent $500 of my busboy money on my sweet guitar I always treated like my best girl. But Jim beat his Strat into the bass drum that day. It was a pot CBS Strat so I knew that bolt on neck would hold and could be fixed.

 

We promise to meet up later to review and revel.

By the end of the show I had a headache from not eating/not puking/anxiety/ I walked home and sat at the kitchen table with my mom.

“How was the show?”

“I should probably eat something.”

“PBJ rock star?”

“That would be lovely, mom. I think we did good but we may have played some songs that not everybody liked.”

“Well you have to expect that in rock and roll. You think Elvis cared?”

I knew my mom cried when Elvis died, but in that moment I knew my mom, even though she wouldn’t go to my shows, was proud of me.

She got it.

She just was so afraid of watching me fail.

I didn’t care. I was just happy I didn’t puke on stage because of my anxiety.

I did it. I made it.

Knock at the door. Mark and Brain are there.

One Bufferin and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich later…

“Hey guys. Thanks for bring my gear home.

Mark: “I feel like a fuckin roadie.”

Chaz: Welcome to real rock and roll. We just played a real gig and rocked the fuck out. I know it was to a bunch of kids, but we’ve got something here an got paid! ”

Mark: “Some kids recorded the whole concert on tape recorders.”

Chaz: ” Really? We have to hear them!”

Brian: “Yea. We have more gigs coming up.”

Chaz: “Cool man. We’re going to the top!”

Brian: “Oh, these are for you. Looks like you’re pretty popular.”

He hands me a stack of slips of paper with girls names and phone numbers on them.

IT’S STARTING….

I have finally arrived.

I read them all and can’t believe that after all of this time of being a loser this is happening now.

A bunch of 11, 12 and 13 year old girls want to meet me.

I throw them all in the wastebasket in my bedroom.

Because all of these lovelies are minors. Sadly this is something that will haunt me my entire life.

 

 

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5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

1. He withholds compliments.

5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

So if woman looks attractive while putting on jewelry, she wants her husband to tell her. If a man is amazed at his wife’s ability to multi-task, he needs to let her know. If a woman whips-up the most incredible shrimp linguini, her husband should suggest she open a restaurant.

It’s no surprise that when a woman’s heart is weighed down, “a kind word cheers it up”(Proverbs 12:25).

2. He has no pictures of his wife–anywhere.

5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

I once visited my husband at work and saw something beautiful: Me! There I was, sitting on his desk—inside a little frame for all to see. I felt honored and cherished, and if I’m honest, a little flirty: Can’t get enough of me when you’re not home, eh, big guy?

So if a man is serious about affirming his wife 24/7 and is looking for ways to “publicly declare her praise” (Proverbs 31:31), he should frame a photo of her—his favorite one with the flower in her hair—and put it in a place of prominence. Even a quick switch-out of his phone’s wallpaper will do the trick. And taking down all girly posters in the garage goes without saying.

3. He gawks frequently.

5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

For every married man who does a double-take at the beach or repeatedly glances at the hottie on aisle five, there’s a married woman who feels undesirable and inadequate. Eventually she’ll believe she’s not good enough. And with a steady diet of checking-out the ladies, her husband will come to believe that about her as well.

Since gawking at women in public can easily lead to gawking in private, a man must check himself before a marital affair or addiction to porn ruins his life—“for anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery in his heart” (Matthew 5:28).

4. He never gives her gifts.

5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

I’ll never forget how pretty I felt the day my husband bought me a blouse he picked out all by himself. Why? Because he thought I’d look good in it. I then pictured him shopping, saying to himself, “I want to see her in this.” The entire gesture made him attractive to me and made me feel attractive; it was a win-win.

But the best gift a man can give to his relationally-wired wife is himself. And talk about a win-win, for it’ll free her to become generous in return (Proverbs 11:25). Poet Kahil Gibran once wrote: “You give but little when you give of your possessions; it is when you give of yourself that you truly live.”

5. He constantly looks at his phone.

5 Ways Husbands Make Their Wives Feel Ugly Without Saying A Thing

The days of sitting together—on a couch, at a restaurant, in the car—without the lure of a phone, beckoning to be checked every 18 seconds, are long gone. But when a man makes the first move and puts his phone down, making eye contact like it was their very first date, his woman is sure to feel seen and heard—the very opposite of ugly.

1 Peter 3:7 says a man is to live with his wife “according to knowledge,” which means to know her, and the only way that can happen is to limit distractions.

 

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Ambria – Chapter 17 – Atlantic City – Part 5

“I’m in a place in my life where there’s only some key things I need in my life. “

After last night’s mad sex and boozing, Ambria passed out. It was obvious she drank too much, but we’re adults and in a safe location so who cares. The sex was intense. But unlike me, Ambria isn’t as sexually powerful as myself. She fell asleep. I was still wide awake from all of the fun activity.

I was sipping my drink, and realized I hadn’t eaten in over eight hours. So I grabbed the keys and quietly left the room. I hopped in the elevator and went downstairs.

The Ritz Carlton is right on the boardwalk. It’s Fourth of July weekend. The town is in full swing. This is sin city!

I don’t want to gamble, but I really want to do something I shouldn’t after all that booze at 11pm at night. I don’t live like this. But I did what I knew I shouldn’t do. I walked into Tony Luke’s and ordered a big old cheese steak and fries.

I’m sure you all assumed I did something much worse, but I never eat like that anymore. I love a good breakfast, I dig a modest late lunch, and then a very light supper at dusk.

I know what could happen, but I’ve been drinking, I’m hungry after getting my freak on for the last few hours, and I want a fucking cheese steak!

I go back up to the room and obviously, my girl is deeply asleep. The cheese steak and fries is sooo good. It’s just what I need. Oh, that and the large Diet Coke to wash it all down.

After I stuff my head I’m so satisfied. It’s been an electric day and night. I crawl into bed and pass out within a few minutes.

Here’s why I shouldn’t have done that.

  1. My body knows its own schedule in regard to diet. It’s pretty consistent.
  2. I’ve been drinking oceans of booze with Ambria tonight. We didn’t quit drinking early. We boozed for hours. Despite the alcohol the sex wasn’t affected at all. (That I know of. Everything was fully functional and it was hot.)
  3. I just ate a pile of greasy proteins and carbohydrates.
  4. And now I’m passing out.
  5. When you’re boozed up you pass out, but don’t really get a solid nights sleep. Part of that time you’re unconscious, your body is busy still processing the alcohol in your system.
  6. Now you’ve added a whole food digestion event into this nocturnal slumber. You’re probably going to feel much worse tomorrow morning.

 

The next morning I felt like shit. It’s rare I ever feel hungover anymore because I always drink a lot of water when I’m out drinking. But that drinking is usually a happy hour that consiste of two cocktails in two hours and then home. Or, a few glasses of wine and then home.

It’s not oceans of hard liquor and then greasy food tossed in on top of it all. That just turns into rocket fuel.

The best thing to do is moderation, hydration and then solid sleep. The next morning a good breakfast with fruit and protiens and vegtables will bring you forward through your day.

Ambria is already up and getting dressed. She seems fine. I feel like I’ve been thrown into a dumpster. I know I’ll feel better later but probably not until well after 3pm.

I jump into the shower and that helps. When I’m finished, I pack up and we head out of the room. Ambria says something about some breakfast place she likes to hit when she’s in town and asks if I want to do that.

Normally I’d be down for a new breakfast spot but right now I just feel too sick. The Irish flu is upon me.

I tell her I’d just like to get on the road and hit up a Wawa and get some crackers, a banana, some water and ginger ale.

Ambria seems annoyed, but I’m really not feeling well and I’m kinda done with being here today. Had I felt better, I would have done whatever she wanted, but i just wasn’t feeling it anymore. I just wanted to feel better.

I’m set in my ways at my age, and even though I am very flexible and affable, I’ve been with the same girl for the last 48 hours and I’m done. I want to be back in Philly. It’s the fourth of July today, and I don’t have to be in work until tomorrow, so I just need my solitude and recovery.

I’ll be fine by late afternoon.

Ambria and I have been dating for a few months. We just had cataclysmic sex. It was her idea. I did what I was supposed to do. I performed accordingly. The vodka/urethra incident was painful, but I get a story out of it. I am in a place in my life where there’s only some key things I need in my life.

The good thing was, it was a nice day. A clear day helps clear ones head. We stop at Wawa and I get the things to help cure my self inflicted illness. Ambria picks up a couple of items and we’re back on the road.

As time passes the conversations are fine, and there’s no traffic which is great.

We get back to Philly in about 2 hours and I’m happy to home and off for the rest of the day.

Ambria pulls up about a block from my house, I kiss her and tell her what a wonderful time I’ve had and thank her for making my 4th of July extraordinary.  I grab my bag and get out of the Jeep. I wave bye and tell her we’ll text and probably meet up again next Monday. (Our usual date day because we’re both off)

Ambria drives off and I walk up to my house. Once in I unpack and sit down at my desk and open my laptop. I do some writing, and just feel relieved it’s over.

The whole weekend has been a challenge. (You may be thinking… a chalenge? You just got taken to the shore and ate, drank and fucked away at the Ritz Carlton!)

But I run my life a certain way now. I like to work. I have a set schedule, and if I hang out with someone I know exactly how that’s going to be. Where, when, and for how long. There was a lot of unknows here, travel, strage place, pressuer to perform, and retched excess.

I don’t do that anymore, but I’m glad it’s behind me and Ambria and I can move on from here. I kind of want to get back to the dating part of our relationship.

We’ll see what happens now.

Either way, I have Cherie so I’m in a position  of power here.

 

 

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