Tony Williams Lifetime Tribute Band at Blue Note (January 28th).
Jack Bruce (bass); Vernon Reid (guitar); John Medeski (Hammond B3); Cindy Blackman (drums):
w/ Cindy Blackman (a/k/a Mrs. Carlos Santana) at Blue Note. Smoking hot in every way!!!
By coincidence, the last time I wrote a real post was also the last time President Obama addressed the nation. At least in prime time.
Things have cooled out a bit since then--for example members of Congress sat side-by-side tonight in a spirit of symbolic unity. So I suppose that’s a start. Some are probably packing heat; but, its a start.
Long Intermission is never going to be a political blog; but like any American, I have my opinions 'bout President Obama. Some are positive, some not so much; but the best thing you can say about him is that he was genuinely elected; which makes him genuinely Commander-in-Chief in my eyes. Whereas the last guy we had...
Whoops!--shouldn’t bring that up. Bad etiquette these days. Time to let the past go and shake the old Etch-A-Sketch I guess.
Course last post I made some comments about Sarah Palin which some regarded as...not my finest moment. Whether they’re correct in regards to the content I can’t say (reviews have been mixed); but I for one think the writing was pretty good. For example, when I say Sarah Palin’s a retard-breeding cunt I’d like to see slowly die of pussy rot; that makes sense to my writer/investigator’s instincts.
What does this Sarah Palin do?
She breeds retards.
Where do these retards come from?
Her cunt.
What would I like to see her do?
Slowly die of pussy rot.
Do you see the simple ideological thread behind those statements? One idea rhythmically leads to the next with seamless, thematic consistency. Almost like when Paul Simon says:
And I see losing love is like a window in your heart,
Everybody sees your blown apart,
Everybody sees the wind blow,
But apparently there are readers out there who don't recognize the shared genius of Paul Simon and me.
‘Cause last Friday I was down near Coney Island when I got a phone call. A text actually from an unknown name and number. Carla Nash. I’d been waiting on several important calls so perhaps I didn’t discriminate like I’d normally do. A problem I’ve experienced of late; but I’ll have to cover the other incident in a later post.
Anyway, I got this text from an unknown number, but the sun was so bright that its glare reflected off the phone’s display shield. I ducked under the shade of an awning in the 30 degree cold, put on my glasses (‘cause I’m old now), and peered into the phone’s small screen to investigate the text from Carla Nash. Only...
Reader, are you familiar with the name Carla Nash? I wasn’t, although to my surprise I knew her story. If I wanted to shock you I’d have posted her picture; but instead (since I like you) I’ll just mention that’s she’s the woman who got her face ripped-off by a chimpanzee. You can Google her picture if you're so inclined, and I can assure you that the most disturbing one you find was the one displayed on my phone. Ugghhh!!!!!! An image that left me rattled all day--and even now as I envision it.
Well reader, I’m an investigator. I mean by profession, so eventually I got to the bottom of it. And when I called the guy it was short and to the point.
“Hey man, its Lodo. Pretty sure you remember me.”
“Ya got my picture, eh?” (laughs)
“Yeah I did. That’s some pretty sick shit man.”
“I got more if you want ‘em.” (laughs again). “I’ve got all kinds of that stuff.”
-Silence on both ends-
“Why’d you send that?” I asked him. “What’s the message I should take from that?”
“I don’t know. My sister thought I should send it.”
“...Your sister?”
“Yeah Lodo, you never met her?”
“How would I have met her? I’ve only talked to you two times.”
“...Hmm. Suppose that’s true. Anyway, she’s got Downs Syndrome, but she's pretty smart. Sh...”
“She’s got Downs syndrome?”
“Yeah Lodo. Guess you didn’t know that.”
“...No I didn’t. Is that why you sent that pic? ‘Cause no offense, but there’s a hint of violence I could take from that. Aggression maybe.”
“Take it how you want to. You can go to hell for all I care.”
“...Yeah well,...I don’t see how texting pics like that is gonna keep you out.” 
Lodo Grdzak at Graceland (about a million years ago):
* NOTE: I'm sure all pics of President Obama are copyrighted.
**NOTE: Pics used in support of this post (with the exception of those that feature myself or my trip to Graceland) are included simply to enhance the narrative. I have no knowledge or realtion to the blonde girl with Downs Syndrome.
***NOTE: Lyrics lifted from Paul Simon's Graceland are subject to about a billion copyrights.
5 Points (Long Island City):
Soho/Tribeca:
Brooklyn (think near Dumbo Area):
Bushwick (Brooklyn):
Brooklyn (can't remember where):
Lower East Side:
5 Pointz (Long Island City):
West Village:
Legend of The Bronx Big Pun:
Boricua!
* NOTE: All pics taken by Lodo Grdzak with the exception of 2006 Miss Universe Zuleyka Rivera (I don't know who took that pic, but you can bet its copyrighted). All rights reserved on my pics (for whatever that's worth). Thanks for reading!
There comes a point in any debate or argument where the adult knows when to walk away or simply shut the fuck up. Where its understood that--whether the other party’s right or wrong, further discussion is only going to exacerbate the differences and perhaps an intermission should be taken to cool things down.
Course you have to want things to cool down. Political pundits, media personalities, and even certain Presidential candidates such as the old Pat Buchanan thrive off conflict and aggression. That’s where they shine. Like Robert Duvalle in The Apostle or (in the most extreme case) Adolph Hitler, they always have to be in re-building or war mode. The bureaucratic machinations of peacetime leadership are beyond their abilities--they don’t actually want to govern. They want to lead. Where to they don’t really care so long as they’re at the helm; but with these types it’s usually a road to nowhere or flamed-out glory. At everybody else’s expense.
Pat Buchanan’s role in politics has since been usurped by Sarah Palin. We all know she’s been in the news lately (always will be ‘til after 2012), and of course that’s right where Sarah likes it. Sure she’ll complain that her name shouldn’t be affixed to the actions of others, but I guess she’s never heard the phrase “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” Oh no, Sarah’s going on TV! And while she held her tongue for awhile, the brownshirts that follow and sponsor her need their red meat.
And we know Mama Grizzlies like lots of meat.
Palin’s a retard-breeding cunt I’d like to see slowly die of pussy rot; but in deference to the wishes of my country’s Commander-in Chief I won’t say anything mean about her. I only bring her up since she came to mind today.
I had to interview a school bus driver who’d been involved in a minor accident. Nothing worth explanation here, but after the interview he offered to drive me back to the train. Usually I’d just walk; but it was 29 degrees today, so I accepted.
Well, this guy proceeded to drive me to the train, and like all professional drivers, he loves to talk. Talk, and talk, and talk. First it was about his kids (of which I have no interest), then it was about life as as school bus driver (ditto); then it was about how he used to be a limo driver. He had a decent story about one of his clients I may bite for a later post; but...My God!
This guy had a habit I’ve observed in certain personality types where he’d repeat the same thing a million times. Over and over again, to the point where I wanted to stick a pencil in his head. For example, he proceeded to explain to me in his thick Russian accent:
“You see Mr. Grdzak, you and I are same. We can’t work in office. Boss all the time watching, watching, watching. Where’s this thing? Where’s that thing? It drives you nuts--no? Now, when you drive a limo, you don’t have that. If I want to work 3 hours, I work 3 hours. If I want to work 20 hours, I work 20 hours. You know what I mean? I’m my own boss.”
“Right,” I responded.
“I mean, maybe I’m very motivated, I want to work lot of hours--no problem! I work! I drive! ...On the other hand, if weather’s not so good. I don’t feel I want to drive today, I don’t go in. It’s no problem.”
“Right. I like that.”
“Sure! You know, you go into the office, you drop your keys into the box ‘Okay boss, put me on the list to drive.’ And if you don’t want to drive, you don’t put the keys in. It’s that easy.”
“Got ya.”
And I did get it reader. In fact, dumbass that I am, I had it after the first time. Wasn’t exactly rocket science. But this guy had more to flesh-out.
“Like now Mr. Grdzak, January’s good time to take vacation. Not so many people at the resorts. Its cheaper, so I’d like to go. But you see, now I work for school so I have to wait till the kids take the time. Back when I used to drive the limousine I could ju..”
“You could just go when you wanted,” I said, finishing his sentence in hopes that he’d see I understood.
“Correct! I could go when I wanted. I was my own boss. But now I have to wait until the school is out. I can’t make my own schedule. Used to be, if I was sick or...”
On and on this guy went, every possible scenario he was gonna explain. If he had to take the wife to the doctor he didn’t have to work; but if he wanted extra money for Christmas he could work overtime. Course on Christmas its nice to stay home; but then again, maybe you want to work since there’s not so many drivers...
After awhile his voice became white noise as I rolled my eyes and suddenly recalled my old boss and mentor--Alex. The guy who got me started in investigations and who taught me the business (R.I.P Alex!).
Alex was a complete obsessive-compulsive and a total degenerate gambler. One of these guys who did everything a certain way. Perhaps it was what made him such a great investigator--his amazing eye for detail and his systematic, linear train-of-thought. But the guy could be maddening in a similar manner as this Russian driver.
Alex usually called me with his questions around 1:00 AM, since that’s when he’d get home from the track. On the occasion that came to mind today, we’d investigated an automobile accident out in Queens.
Had it occurred in Manhattan it would have been easy since the city’s structured on a simple grid; but in Queens the directions get complicated since there’s 46th Street, 46th Avenue, 46th Road. Plus the streets run in odd patterns. So its complicated, and in this case the police officer who responded must have got confused. He wrote down the wrong directions on his report; which unfortunately, I’d used as a guide when I secured our driver’s statement. So all the directions I’d reported to our client were wrong.
As my Russian driver prattled on en route to the train, I couldn’t help but recall Alex’s phone call of about 15 years ago.
“Lodo, you awake? It’s Alex.”
“...Yeah. (heavy yawn). “...What’s up?”
“Lodo, I’m looking at this report you wrote about that accident in Queens, and we’ve got a problem.”
“...Really? What’s that?” I asked as I tried to rub the sleep out my eyes.
“Well Lodo, you say our driver was going south on Broadway, but that’s not right. As I look at my map, he must have been going north. The cop probably wrote it down wrong.”
“...Uh, okay.”
(laughs). “Well, yeah--okay. Except that you’ve got him going south. That needs to be changed. He was going north.”
“Oh. Uh,...okay. Well, I guess I’ll have to change that.”
“Yeah, we need to change that. I mean,..I’m looking down a little lower on the first page; and again, you’re statement reads, '...I was facing south on Broadway, approaching the light.' But that’s wrong. He was going north.”
“I see. ‘Cause the directions are backward.”
“Exactly!...Here’s another spot on page 2, he says “..when I suddenly saw a car come from the east.' But that’s not right. It should say he came from the west.”
“Right. Okay. ‘Cause the directions are wrong.”
“They’re all wrong! Look at page 3, where he talks about the parked car. That must have been on the east side--not west side beca...”
“Right. got you. “Cause the cop got the directions wrong.”
“He screwed it all up. Page 4 too. Look. He says...”
Alright reader--I got it! The directions were wrong! Shut the fuck up already. But on and on he went--12 pages worth of my report.
Course I’d never tell Alex to shut the fuck up. Better to just keep quiet ‘til the morning; just like I wouldn’t tell this Russian idiot who drove me to the A train to shut up.
"You know, if I wanted to take a week’s vacation I took a week. I could take two if I want--it doesn’t matter. Who’s gonna tell me no?”
Jesus. I don’t know how long the guy would’ve stayed on that subject if I hadn’t mentioned that I’d been to Russia. That got him to switch gears and talk about Moscow and St. Petersburg. And then finally Vladimir Putin. Putin got him excited.
“Now you see Putin, he’s no angel. But what do you want? He’s politician. Strong leader. We like that in Russia--strong leader. Here in America you like...different kind of President. But in Russia, we like guys like Putin. In Russia, we’d like the woman you have. ...Palin. She’s...”
Oh no.
“...strong leader. No bullshit. I like her. Sh...”
“Hey, you know what? I have to get off here.”
“What? We’re not at the train yet?”
“I know but...we just um...passed a street I need to go to.”
“What? I thought you needed the A train?”
“I did, but,..uh, I have another case I can work. I didn’t realize we were so close to it. Really, its no problem. I can get out here.”
“Right here? Really?” he asked as though genuinely disappointed.
“Really. I appreciate the ride.”
The guy reluctantly pulled over and let me out. I swung my backpack over my shoulders and was about to close the door when he asked me.
“Isn’t it cold out there? I could drive you to the train.”
“Naw,” I answered as I pulled my gloves on over my hands, “I don't mind the cold. Sometimes I need a little air."
