Looks a little like Aiko at the Fashion Institute:
at Smalls Jazz Club:
w/ Dave Holland (left) at Birdland: 
Kimiko spoke real good English:
Osaka, Japan (population roughly 3 million people):
I really wanted to talk with those girls, but I couldn’t. They spoke Japanese and I only know English. (Stupid American who doesn’t speak languages!). Aside from their names, I learned they were from Osaka, Japan in town for a fashion seminar. They were gonna be here eight days (of which two had already passed); and they wanted to see more music before they left.
To ascertain that information took over an hour; so either I’m a terrible investigator or those chicks spoke no english.
As my night ended, Nyoko produced a little booklet of a type I recognized. A club guide. She laid the glossy magazine open on the bar, playfully grabbed my hand, then guided my index finger across several of the ads. She wanted a recommendation.
I inspected the guide, but already knew the best show of the week was Dave Holland at Birdland. I turned the page and located Birdland’s logo.
“Here,” I said as I tapped the ad, “Dave Holland at Birdland.”
“Dave Holland?” she asked as she inspected his name printed in the guide. She read it aloud to herself, sounding out the letters. H-O-L-L-A-N-D.
“Definitely, “ I said. “I’m going to that for sure.” Here I tapped my chest.
“You?” Nyoko asked me.
I nodded.
“Definitely. Saturday night at Birdland. Dave Holland.”
Nyoko turned excitedly to Aiko. They spoke together in Japanese, but Aiko continued to smile in my direction.
I don’t recall much after that. Not about that night anyway. We couldn’t talk and they had their seminar. I never assumed there’d be any real story with those girls. Just the situation of that one night.
But there was a story. A real arc in fact. Saturday night came around; I went to see Dave Holland. Stood in line outside of Birdland and began to slowly shuffle in when who should approach with warm smiles but Nyoko, Aiko, and now a third girl. Kimiko. A mature woman probably as old as me. Rail thin, with jet black hair that she still wore long.
Kimiko was from the Fashion Institute--or whoever sponsored the seminar (it was a seminar at the Fashion Institute). She spoke good english, so now the girls and I could actually talk.
“You came!” I said with a laugh.
Hugs were exchanged, but before we could get settled I’d reached the door. I have a very specific table where I like to sit at Birdland and the show was sold out; so I was eager to snag it.
“Come on in with me,” I told the women, “we’ll sit together.”
Once inside, the hostess led us to my table. I sat next to Kimiko; while Aiko and Nyoko sat next to each other on their side. I asked a few desultory questions about their trip; but after a few minutes the girls began to look ‘round the room somewhat curiously. Nervously. Sort of like my dog Spiffy 'round dinner time when no one makes a move towards her dish.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Kimiko proceeded to translate my words, at which point the girls simultaneously answered. Their eyes shifted between Kimiko and me with a sort-of pensiveness.
“What?” I asked Kimiko.
“I think they thought you were going to be playing tonight. You know,...in the band. That’s what they’d told me.”
“What?!” I said with a loud laugh. “You mean they thought I was Dave Holland?”
Kimoko shook her her head and re-conferred with the girls.
“...Maybe not Dave Holland; but...you know. They thought you play in the band. That’s what they told me before we came. They say you told them that.”
Hmmm. This was strange news. I was somewhat shocked to silence. The women looked at me with disappointed faces and seemed to gauge my reaction. After a few moments I felt obligated to speak.
“...I don’t play for Dave Holland,” I answered.
Kimoko didn’t even bother to translate.
“We’ve figured that out now,” she said.
* NOTE: Due to the the length of this post I'm going to have to split it into another part. I'll work on Part 4 this week, but I'm gonna see Jeff Beck tonight--so my recovery time may be a day or so. Thanks for reading!!
** ADD'L. NOTE: Only pics # 2 and # 3 from the top are mine (all rights reserved--ha!). The rest may have their own copyrights.
Looks like Nyoko:
A lot like Aiko:
"Well, that's Chris Potter, and he's great. And that's Antonio Sanchez on drums, so... "
“Lodo,” she said again, this time towards her girlfriend to share in the conversation. The girlfriend smiled and nodded her head.
I couldn’t really communicate with these girls, but we sat together at the bar. The dark-haired girl was Nyoko. Her lighter-haired friend was Aiko. Aiko was the softer of the two. Gentler. But Nyoko knew more English and was more outgoing.
Every so often, we’d exchange a single line or two.
“These guys are good?” Nyoko asked before the set began.
“I don’t know,” I answered as I watched her sip her drink from its narrow, red cocktail straw. It was an odd band in that the headliner was the least famous one in the group.
“...I know that guy there (pointing toward the stage),..is Chris Potter. He’s great. And that guy there (I pointed again) is Antonio Sanchez. So you kno,...
Nyoko appeared to concentrate hard on my words. I tried to slow down and looked deep into her eyes to communicate.
“...So you know,..I have to believe they’re gonna be...”
I tried to gesture how great I assumed the band would be, but wasn’t really sure how to express it non-verbally. We got a good laugh out of my failure.
After the show I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Aiko.
“You take...?” she asked like a child as she gestured for me to take a picture of her and Nyoko. I took their picture. Showed it to them. Took a few more. I happen to take really good pictures.
After the last photo, the two girls nodded in approval. Nyoko gestured for a guy behind me to take a picture of her and I. Then Aiko jumped in for a few, so it was the three of us. We inspected the pics together on the camera’s small, digital screen. The girls giggled as we examined our expressions and faults. We had fun even without talking.
At some point, Aiko turned from the camera toward me. As though she wanted confirmation of something she’d seen in the display window. Her soft eyes absorbed my face, until she unexpectedly smiled and pushed the pad of her thumb into the cleft of my chin. Kind of...nudged it in there like girls will sometimes do and made a comment in Japanese that made Nyoko laugh hard.
I really wanted to talk with those girls. 
* NOTE: I'm going to have to split this post into at least one more part. I'll have Part 3 in a few days. Apologies y'all--but its the weekend. Thanks for reading!!
* *ADDL. NOTE: All pics included herein are used simply to enhance the narrative. Don't assume any of the girls (or anyone for that matter), is actually from the story.
My personal photos are # 3 and # 4 from the top. The rest are probably copyrighted by the professional photographers who took them. Don't get me in trouble now!
Spiffy about to bark:
w/ Ike (a/k/a Spike; a/k/a/ Spiko; a/k/a/ Iko). About 20 years ago:
"Tina went on to live the brief, tortured life of a one-eyed German-Shepherd." 
"Have you ever seen a 2.5 month old dog look at a person this way?"
Spiffy (right); Jake (left); Rules (center). "...Spiffy can walk a good 10 yards on her hind legs like a person..."
I’m not a native New Yorker; I moved here ten years ago when I was already over 30. Before that I lived in a lot of places: Detroit; Denver; south Jersey; Denver (again!); and now Brooklyn for the past decade.
New York’s home for me now, but I’ve spent a lot of important years outside the city and could easily leave for the right opportunity. I tried living in Denver twice, but it never worked-out. The climate’s too dry and I could never find a steady job. In fact, Denver has a rather odd economy. I made more money out there as a hotel bellman than I ever did as an investigator. Go figure.
I kind of got sour on Denver the 2nd time I lived there, but now that I live in New York I appreciate Colorado a lot more. All my people live there now; and they have huge public parks; majestic scenery; medical marijuana; mountain biking and skiing.
And everyone has a dog.
I had three dogs when I lived in Denver--Ike, Tina, and Spiffy. We don’t talk much about Ike and Tina since Ike chomped Tina’s eye out of her head (one of several transgressions) and eventually had to be put to sleep.
Tina went on to live the brief, tortured life you might expect from a one-eyed, in-bred German Shepherd.
But then there was Spiffy--the only one of the three that I actually chose as a puppy. And of course she’s the greatest dog of all time.
I got Spiffy from a puppy rescue. They’d found her all the way down in Conejos, Colorado and trucked her up to Denver for adoption. When I found her that August morning she was enclosed in a large, chain-link pen with about 30 other puppies. A large, handwritten sign was posted that read BLACK DOGS. Other pens were marked HEINZ 57’s; SHEPHERDS AND HUSKIES; and SMALL DOGS.
I locked-on to Spiffy right away as she napped near the front of the pen with her silky head between her two paws. She was without doubt the cutest pup I’ve ever seen; and after about 20 minutes of bonding I took her home.
Spiffy was my dog.
When I adopted Spiffy I had to pay $125.00 for her. “That’s a lot of money for a pound pup,” my dad told me; but it included a coupon to get her fixed.
When I took Spiffy to the veterinarian, he did a whole check-up. Looked in her eyes. Shined a light into her floppy ears. Checked her teeth.
“What d’ya think doc?” I asked him liked a worried parent. “She look okay?”
“This pup?” he asked with a wide smile as he stared at Spiffy like an artist inspects his creation “You don’t have to worry about this one,” he said as his heavy hand smacked the top of her head rather clumsily for a doctor. "This is gonna be a good one.”
And with that Spiffy wiggled-off the table, down to the floor.
Spiffy’s always running away from people. She’s a lot like me in that respect. Aloof, even with the one’s she loves. My guess is that she’s about 50% Border Collie; 40% Lab; 5% Chow; and...something else in there as well. It’s the Chow that makes her stand-offish, but she’s got a definite dominate streak. She won’t roll on her side unless you force her; and God forbid another dog should try to steal her frisbee or ball! Regardless of the dog’s size, that’s gonna lead to a throw-down in the octagon. Spiffy’s foolish that way.
But Spiffy’s the smartest dog I’ve ever met. She knows at least a hundred words: hungry; ball; bone; leash; collar; car; park; stick; speak; sit; lie-down; roll-over; outside; inside; upstairs; downstairs; frisbee; kiss; fetch; wait. I could go on and on. She was house-trained after one accident and can walk a good 10 yards on her hind legs like a person (which I’d encourage if it didn’t completely spook me out). Just look at her picture as a puppy (above). The way she stares at me with intelligent expectancy. Have you ever seen a 2.5 month old dog look at a person that way? Please.
When I adopted Spiffy I was unemployed, so we spent every purposeless day of those first 8-9 months together. We’d start the day at the coffeeshop; then get high and play fetch at the park before driving up to the mountains. She was my best girlfriend, until I got my job offer here in New York.
My original plan was to come back for Spiffy once I got settled. I always assumed we’d be together again. But now I live in a rent-stabilized apartment, which is way cheap. And they don’t allow dogs. So I left Spiffy with my friend Rules and her huge backyard; and it turned out to be a win-win for everybody. For ten years.
I still see Spiffy two weeks a year. In fact, I just got back from my most recent visit, so she’s really been on my mind. (heavy sigh). How many really good dogs do you get in a lifetime? Special dogs. Two? Maybe three? Three sounds like a lot to me. In my endless pursuit of music, new experience, bright lights, and international pussy, I really screwed-up where Spiffy’s concerned. I see that now. If I trusted my boss a little more I’d take a chance and lease a new apartment. With a yard.
But that’s a pretty big if right now.
Besides, Spiffy’s old now. She’s happy in Denver and lived there her whole life. I can’t just take her for my own purposes. I’ll have to get a new dog when the time comes. And that one won’t be the same.
How could it be? 
"In my endless pursuit of music, new experience, and international pussy..." 
* NOTE: All pics taken by Lodo Grdzak. All rights reserved.
Vintage (right) w/ Pam (but not The Anderson):
Brooklyn: 
Brooklyn:
West Village:
Brooklyn:
Back in the days of my old blog, I'd have got real upset if I didn't complete a post. But now that I'm on long intermission I take things a bit easier. Besides, as I read it now, Lulu Winds Me Up stands well enough on its own w/out a Part 2.
Course my multi-part post was gonna cover a lot broader thematic territory. Its subject-matter was lifted from the roadtrip conversations I had with Vintage as we drove with Lulu down to Pennsylvania. Revolutions, the loss of love, dried-up old towns, the lack of honesty in modern relations. We really covered it all. And our conclusion? That people suck (of course). And dogs are great.
Of course.
The post was gonna conclude with a conversation that actually took place between Vintage and a woman that we bumped into at a New Jersey rest stop. She'd watched silently as Vintage walked Lulu thru the front door of the Starbucks, but eventually her apparent outrage willed her to comment with derision:
"That's a dog you know--not a person."
To which Vintage replied with a step forward,
"I know, that's why I love her bitch."
Anyway, if not for my vacation, Lulu Winds Me Up would have been one of the ten greatest blog posts ever written; as opposed to just one of any of a thousand others. So apologies to anyone who got invested. But nothing was gonna keep me from this vacation; and now I just got back. So new posts will have to wait.
In the meantime, I've posted a few pics and a clip (below) that readers of Stays Put might recognize. See you in a few days y'all!
* NOTE: All pics taken by Lodo Grdzak. All rights reserved. (5) Boroughs of NYC.
