January 31, 20
This latest Bloggo if you care to follow a long is part of a lengthier blabber broken or pared down some may say, into two days for you. Sorry for the cliff hanger but this little story is somewhat of a long won to be just a one day affair.
If you get sick, can’t come back tomorrow or the day after, be pre-paired I may skip a day. Maybe you already realise that writing all this stuff ain’t easy; especially when one considers a daily consistency has been the norm for almost a month now. Mist spelling is not the hardest part; coming back everyday is…
In any case after a good amount of stories have been entered, most of which have begun before this blog began I’ll return to mmy little cubby hole and prepare a few more. You didn’t think I did this on a daily basis, one at a time, did you? Right, OK then the story begins when in 1986 this experience began:
One late evening, living in New York City, taking the time to relax for no other reasons than quietly, I took a long, hard look at the flag of the United States. It was the very end of the day on the fourth of July; about 11:45 p.m., on the occasion of America’s 110th birthday; the 100th birthday/anniversary of the Statue of Liberty. That’s right I was there watching you guise on those streets.
The year was 1986, and the whole day had been a gloriously loud and wonder filled experience. One that I shall relate to you as it's written into this Book of MMemories; in this case it’s the Blog. Don’t forget how to spell I tell mmyself.
I had spent the 4th with friends, relatives and a newly acquired 3D camera, roaming around the Battery Park area; Wall Street, South Ferry and most of the NYC downtown environs. I looked for scenes to snap for the scrapbook, and for the family’s history pages. God knows we have no history this side of the sea.
The whole area had been bathed and decorated in Red, White & Blue everything. We had spent the whole day in the wondrously crazy, spectacularly crowded, at times very loud, in a friends see of a mmelodiously mmusical, and very tasty mouth-fills, wide spectrum of this multi-coloured celebration during America's best chest bursting birthday. Hold on a second, I’ve got to take a breadth…. OK.
I was really enjoying the amazingly gargantuan festivities. Besides other accomplishmeants on this large scale, mmy hometown, NYC, is well known for producing celebrations and whirled feat's such as these. The tall ship parade which I had the opportunity of witnessing earlier in the day as it sailed in its entirety under the Verrazanno Narrows bridge, and continued regally through the New York harbor, was crowded with everything ships, boats, and all that wood floats. (I must think about changing these long ascent tense is.)< got that?
Every size and every shape known to man seemed to congeal for this won day in New York's harbor. Tall ships being one of mmy favourite images, this was more than an awesome sight to behold. It’s amazing viewing people standing at attention on the very top of the little wood things that hold billowing sails.
Although a confirmed terra firma lubber ever since childhood, the shapes, sounds, and smells of the Bounty full see always x-sighted mmy inert most fan to seas. I imagine because this celebration was a once in a century extravagance, what was readily available to purchase in the weigh of anything one could think of, defies description in total. One couldn’t begin to taste everything in site.
Food of every shape, size, colour, taste and nationality was set out for purchase, by venders that one would say matched that same description, except for taste of course. I shall confess that I due eat meat and most things that feel edible. But…
Fowl mostly, among other things well cooked, so it doesn't smell or taste as it's titled. During this wide-open binge, I was set on a course to devour as much as any normal human digest sieve system could hold. Hopefully taste wasn’t waist.
Huggin' the bowl not being a flavor wit exercise, I held back at points so as not to feel too upset during the process of trying to taste everything I've never scene before… without spilling the beans so to speak; and no I didn’t eat any beans.
Needle less to say, at times the ayes are bigger then the belly and as we were having sum serious fun and deed, the need to re: strain one's self came to mmind more than fourty seven times. The hands grabbed and the mouth flabbed.
The daze activities culminated for us on one of the Staten Island Ferries that a cousin (who worked for the NYC Transportation Authority) had invited us to join her and her come patriots in what she said would be a sir prize experience.
She didn't and wouldn't no matter how hard we pried, tell us about what would happen beforehand. We found out much later what that happening would be. Earlier, our ship of fools had been guided in and moored at the pier entrance to Governors Island. The ferry backed in but in its case still appeared forward. Those of you who have scene or have ridden the S.I. Ferry know what I mean.
It was only later on, under cover of darkness, that we noticed the presence of several barges full of barrages, one of which was stationed about 50 feet directly in front of us. As I remember, when we continued to gleefully wish our freedom loving country a happy birthday, we almost had our heads blown to pieces; our ears shattered as we witnessed the 15 huge assembled barges of multitudinous, colorful, mostly loud and timed to the mmusic perfection, bombs & fireworks. Now I can relate to Frances Scott Key trying to sing through all that thunder.
As we stood on the deck of this stubby floating, ugly orange-red, city-owned and operated ferry-turned party boat, we couldn't imagine how amazing this view, not to mention the sound, was going to be to our surprise and enjoy meant.
Without a doubt in mmy whole doubt full life of living in lots of places and seeking out these celebrations; all kinds of festivals for the masses, this was by far the most spectacular event I had ever witnessed. ' HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU - ESS -SAY, ' was the crowd plea's in chants for the day. One would think that after all this, the end of the festivities had drawn to a close, but….hold on hear.
Upon mmy arrival home to Staten Island, in the community known as Eltingville (the home of the largest garbage dump in the whirled), I quickly noticed that mmy usually quiet, and serene neighborhood was exploding all around mme.
The sounds of unbelievably loud fireworks, the likes of which seemed such as those Francis Scott Key (remember him?) must have heard when he wrote our national anthem while Fort Sumpter was being bombarded and attacked, was hard to ignore. There's no way anyone could sleep through this; no way jack.
Because of explosions coming from every which way, I couldn't tell who was doing what, and where. The sound was deafening at times. Rather than trying to fall asleep from exhaustion due to the daze nonstop activities, I decided to extend, therefore adding to the noise with the boys and girls while joining war sounds of mmy fellow compatriots. Where they acquired hand grenades? Wow!!
Without hesitation, I dutifully ran inside the house. Being a percussionist for most of this life, I searched for the biggest bass drum in mmy possession of such in stir meants. This baby was part of a basic 15 piece drummset; a vintage 1932 Slingerland original, 26 inch diameter giant, of which I had two. These well cared for wooden monstrosities had plastic heads; knot part of the originals of course.
I had replaced the cowhide heads for the convenience of playing with modern equipment. Needless to say, either can make the sound of a happy, well fed Howitzer cannon when hit with a hard mallet and a heavy hand pulled back in proportions for the dainty sound or not so subtle tones produced by either hand…or feat ‘fore that madder.
In mmy haste to join the late hour glee club before the jubilant sounds of the night ebbed, I retrieved this improvised mmelodious device and quickly dashed for the door to the backyard to join the melee. Remember it was well after dark.
With great skepticism, I stood suspended in thought under a tree for a moment. I gazed in astonishment in all dire wreck shuns, but mostly up towards the heave ins; just in case a misguided bottle rocket would find it's mark onto an uncovered bald spotted target of a bull's I. I listened to see if there were some sort of rhythmical pattern to those bursts of the leery I'mm. Nope, no mmusicians.
I soon realized of course, that no such thing was occurring in this neighborhood of anything goes. I proceeded with merry a band drummeant, to pound the hell out of this monstrosity as hard and as long as I could while at the same time, yelling at the top of mmy lungs, ' Happy Century Birthday USA - Happy Century Birthday USA!' Hey, who would think mme crazy with all their stuff going on? Anyone who hadn’t joined the festivities one would imagine.
MMy neighbors must have thought mmy senses had finally left mme, or for that madder, I was like them; nuts and rightly so purr haps. I was one might say, a little off mmy rock its by that time, and truly admit it, but I figured, what the heck. Although they needed no help, I joined the crowd anyway and with as much gusto as one could muster under the same sir come stances. We were loud.
To Be Continued tomorrow:
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