Apart from actually having magical
powers like Samantha Stevens in “Bewitched,” the Internet is
pretty witching too because of it's supernatural ability to find
people. The other day I came across a girl I knew when I was a teen
who was damned important to me (ie: we raped one another's virginity
away) and Patricia Kennealy, the first female rock critic out of the
'60's and pagan wife of Jim Morrison from The Doors.
Keneally is depicted in the movie “The
Doors” as this pagan/witch/rock-groupie writer who was into Celtic
rituals, blood drinking, general mayhem and finally a published
author. I wasn't looking for her directly but tripped across her blog
and thought, “Jesus...this is the closest I've ever came to
Morrison!”
As I read it I sat here realizing my
blog is pedestrian and boring as hell compared to hers.
Pawnticket: “Today I'll bore you with
a rant about how I hate several past math teachers and sadly, to this
day, how I carry a grudge. (These little entries I write let slip
through aspects of my personality I should best perhaps leave hidden.
You think I don't know that this happens?). That and I'll tell you
how to make a pasta sauce.”
Keneally's Blog: “After a concert in
San Francisco, Jim and I slipped down to Golden Gate park, sniffed
some akyl nitrite and fucked like a couple of retarded gorillas. The
next morning I interviewed Linda Ronstadt from the Stone Ponies...Oh,
the check from Rolling Stone magazine finally came in.”
*Attaining that Kind of Glory*
The closest I came to any stardom was
usually from the audience pit. There's a line that separates the
fabulously famous from the wretched mob in the audience you know,
it's called a riot fence. At book signings or autograph giveaways the
dais and desk will separate you and it was at that kind of venue
where I met Joan Jett, Warren Zevon and John Lennon's son, Julian. I
met them for all of 40 seconds and had to move on as the line was
pushing up from behind.
“Move along plebe! Your few seconds
to genuflect in front of her Highness is OVER!”
What's amazing about this kind of
success and stardom is always how it always has a lifespan. People
meet, they jell well together, they produce something, hit it and
ride the wave as long as the dynamics of the group are allowed to
grow and mature. But there always comes a point when it must die. A
Jumping the Shark moment will occur and trying to keep it on life
support just becomes sad looking.
Jumping the Shark? That's an old
Hollywood term for when a TV series has run it's course. A popular
show that's riding high will have been said to “be over” when the
writers really are grasping for straws to enliven the show and keep
it going. The old show, “Happy Day's” had a scene where the
Cunninghams and Fonzi go to Hollywood and Fonzi, jumps over a shark
on water skis. What makes it even cheesier is that he's still wearing
that leather jacket. In retrospect, this moment signaled the death
knell of the show.
Anyway...
A scant few of us attain that kind of
glory like in rock bands, movies or sports, where you are foisted to
Godhood. But, if you think back on your own lives, there were some
moments you were God, for a while at least.
I can point to several times when I did
attain it. It was at the ages of 12, 14, 22, 23, 25, 33, 45ish. Those
times in my life where when everything I managed to touch, turned to
gold. Those times lasted anywhere from a few months to a year. But
like everything else, time moves you along and trying to rest on
those laurels won't do. You can't control nor corral it, you just let
it happen and enjoy the ride for however long it's going to last.
Let's see, at 12 I can remember
reaching that height in my sixth grade class career as being the best
and it was proven out by a national test. I've written about that
story before. At 14, I was wild and free w/o any parental
supervision, growing up as fast as I could. In my early 20's, I was
with a gang at RIC where due to all the differing personalities
bouncing off one another, it managed to broaden our very own and
mine. Later in life there were times where I had “made it”
according to the Machiavellian definition of Life, as my Dad put it.
So there were moments where I was King for a bit, even though it was
a much smaller stage than the one Jimi Hendrix was on.
And that's OK, because I did manage to
be a King for a while.
You too must've have moments in your
life when all you could do was bat them out of the park without so
much as even trying to.
OK, fine, this blog ain't Keneally's
but she was struck by that rare lightning that put her on a larger
stage. A stage is a stage and we all act on one.
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