RUDIMENTS 969.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 969

(comedy night on fright lane)

You know how sometimes

a reporter is said to have a

nose for news; possessing

that quality of knowing that

what is before them right

then does somehow throw

off an odor worth investigating.

so as to lead into something

else? Snooping and disclosure?

That doesn't really get said

these days any longer, now

that internet and other forums

just swarm over most events,

newsworthy or not, and turn

them into fodder for the mobs

of jeering fools tuned in. But,

back in the old days, there

really was that quality of

what I've just mentioned, There

were 'agents' working for stars

and those wishing to be so,

who would plant stories, and

push them - placements into

newspaper gossip columns and

cocktail rumor mills were a

big deal. That's all gone now too

and that entire old, felt-covered

world has been buried with the

last stiff who went down with

a typewriter in the casket. But

at one time it really was a deal

to learn that Sherman Billingsley

(owner of The Stork Club)

was offered a few million bucks

by Ethel Merman to leave his

wife and kids and run off with

her. Scandal of scandals, that!

That part of the world has died

down now, and that stuff is all

done - I think, as all the varied

parts of the world progressed, it

probably happened everywhere.

What was over for Billingsley in

the nineteen forties was probably,

in the nineties just happening

in some small, weird-ass African

country somewhere - same sort

of deal; in some fancy Accra dive

some Afro-journalist was probably

sitting around writing down all

the local scandal of their scene,

as he saw it - 'M'Bata Ogarke was

seen with Accra starlet Homaza

Watata at El Botundo's last night,

snuggling up to each other!'

Like personal development'and

societal growth everywhere, it's

all going on around the world

in different stages, and all at

once.

-

I've found that if you treat

everything as if it's some big

dumb event, it ends up that

nothing is important at all

because is actually isn't. A

person just ends up making fun

of it all. That was one of the things

that once drew me to comedy,

or the performed irony of

comedy - as performed when all

you're really doing is pointing

out the foibles and foolishness

other people - the ones all around

you. Most of the indoor venues

one would go to, in NYC, were

so loud you couldn't think anyway,

but at least the comedy clubs were

silent to the extent that they let

the guy on stage talk - since that

was the reason they were there,

the audience. And if I had anything

to do with it they were there to to

get their comeuppance due. The

older, business types, with younger

girls - office girls or secretaries, I

always figured, they were the worst.

Back in those days most everyone

dressed really ugly anyway, so it

was easy to spot the disparities of

good taste and oafish lust. Office

lust? Expense account list? One

thing always about mid and lower

level business types is the way they

dress and carry themselves. Back

then, a lot of these guys, without even

thinking twice about it, were wearing

clothes, I think called 'doubleknit,'

which was a 1970's fake fabric of

woven chemical strands and the

most outlandishly stupid colors

and patterns. The pants it seemed

almost stood up by themselves.

Jackets and pastel shirts, and

really bad ties - all that was carried

upon middle-aged, misshapen

office-bodies that would just

make you laugh. A real 1970's,

ghoulish laugh. You just know

this creep had some over-annuated

barnyard hen at home, with probably

3 kids already, and with a fake excuse

about the 'office' deadlines, and the

piled-up work. Instead of going

home this Popeye of the fantasy

world is out picking pockets

with some half-framed bimbo in

a 9-inch skirt and heels she

probably got at K-Mart. Her

clothing apparently battled the

same enemy (and lost) that his did.

So, they come in, they always come

in. He's teaching her to drink,

almost pretending he's her daddy.

It's apparent a hundred tables away

- so, ignore that? No way; go right

at them. 'OK, grandpa! why don't

you warm her up? The frankfurters

here are real good I'm told! What

is it she's drinking? Isn't that the

same glass I saw you put those

drops in? Oh, yeah, that's right,

health supplements. Hey, you know

why old men become astronauts

and go to the moon? That's right,

sweetie, they can't get it up

themselves. They need that

free-float outer-space stuff. Now

why don't you just stand up and

tell that nice man goodbye -

and I'll fill you in on a secret.

He was here last Weds. with

your Mom! Oh, yeah, she's a

gasser too. She came in with

him, and was carrying an

astronaut suit! For later, I guess.

Hey, gramps, she work in your

office? Yeah, yeah, I know,

but do you?'

-

Anyway, that's how you got

them started; in ten minutes

they're way into it all and the

greasy crowd is laughing too.

The owner, he's happy because

people are buying drinks. New

York's weird like that - The

Village Gate, I went there a long

time ago, to see something, a sort

of Negro Blues/Musical Revue,

called 'Ma Rainey's Black Bottom.'

It was OK, it was funny, it was

live, and lively too. I think it was

like 15 bucks each at the door,

and then we get in there and it

says there's also a 3-drink minimum,

per person. By that time, you're

already in and it's too late, so you

figure, OK, three beers won't kill

me. Then you see they're $8.50

each and the girl you brought in

only drinks that mixed vodka

and cranberry stuff and those

are $11.95 each. And all that's

just for the drinks. Wow, if I wasn't

prepared for carrying wads of cash,

when I had them, this all could

have ended me up, easily, in jail...

or washing dishes. I never knew

if they really did that, but it was

always in cartoons and old skits

and things about the guy who

can't pay for his dinner getting

thrown into the rear and having

to wash dishes for like 19 days.

I figured, instead, maybe I could

just go backstage, get some

blackface on, and do comedy

for a half hour, get them rolling

in the aisles and buying a ton

of crap and then I'd be square,

and then I'd be invited back too!

-

And then I get up and head for

the bathroom, and damn there's

a guy in there shooting up, and

he's all spaced and he falls over

and this freaking needle's still

in his arm. So I go out the back

door, for air, leaving him to die

or puke or recover, and half the

kitchen staff is out there too,

getting high, smoking up the

courtyard. Jeez! Ma Rainey's

Black and Blue Bottom's more

like it, this place is giving me a

real beating. My friend Dave is

back at the table with the girl I'd

brought, so I tell him about the

guy in the rest room, and he gets

up to go see. Later he told me

he just wanted to see what he

could steal. The guy was still

there, and he hand-rolled him

over looking for a wallet, but

there was none, and he wasn't

sure about purity of the shit

the guy had, obviously, so he

didn't take that either. By that

time, the break was over and

the show had started again so

we kept quiet. But I never

knew what happened, or how

it ended up.

-

The whole Ma Rainey show

rolled on but I felt it had gotten

away from any true premise of

old blues and even if Ma Rainey

and just turned into musical and

floor show antics. Everyone on the

stage was all jumping and happy,

all of a sudden, not bluesy or sad

at all. The Ma Rainey lady was

pretty huge, with breasts the size

of states and a rump to park a boat

at too, but maybe that was some

character presentation that was

true to life? I wondered how

downtrodden slaves and

house-keeps and all could ever

have gotten so fat? Slavery had

always confused me. Mama's

little pickaninny? You keep someone

as 'property,' in paltry conditions

of enforced slavery, and then you

entrust them with your helpless

2-week old infants for care?

And they say infant mortality

was high? Ever here of a

disgruntled revenge?