October 22, 2007
I’m visiting family in the small town where I grew up outside of Philadelphia. I take a taxi down town to meet a friend for dinner, but the taxi lets me off in the wrong part of town.
I find myself on the top of a hill overlooking what I would describe as a long and winding road. As I desperately try to flag down another cab, I begin screaming at the drivers that won’t stop to pick me up, and I am almost run over more than once.
I notice three college age men standing on the sidewalk waiting for a bus. I recognize one of them as someone I knew many years ago. As we start to chat, we see Miss Tina Turner walking down the hill on the other side of the street. She’s all done up in a short, shiny, flesh colored dress.
“Tina! Tina,” we start to shout. She looks over at us, waves, gives us a big smile, and, in her faux British accent, says, “Hello!”
“We love you,” I scream.
“What’s love got to do with it,” she asks.
“I love that song you did with Herbie,” I continue. You should record a whole album with him. Where are you going?”
“I’m on my way to my concert. You should come see me.”
“I can’t, I don’t have the money, and I’ve already seen you three times in my lifetime. Maybe when you come to New York. When will you be in New York?”
“I just played New York. We’re on our way to Lucerne after this.”
She continues on her way down the hill. The college boys and I sing very loudly in Tina’s general direction, “WHAT’S LOVE GOT TO DO, GOT TO DO WITH IT.” She turns around to wave once more before she goes.
A cab finally stops to pick me up and a middle aged married couple tries to steal it from me. We decide to share the taxi, but there doesn’t seem to be a driver. The car speeds down the hill, then up a ramp and onto a red wooden structure that looks sort of like a roller coaster. A voice from a loud speaker tells us that since this bridge is now privately owned by a corporation, “only Frank Sinatra music will be played on this bridge, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
I’m back on the sidewalk and I’ve caught up with Tina just outside of the stadium where she is to perform. Like a pied piper, she has gathered a crowd along the way, including back up dancers, reporters, and fans.
While being interviewed live by the local Fox affiliate, one of Tina’s male dancers suggests she sing a song. The dancers and I harmonize in the background as Tina sings, but as I am closest to the microphone, it is mostly my humming that is heard. The reporter is decidedly unhappy.
After the camera turns off, Tina’s smile disappears. She is calm but angry as she addresses the dancer who suggested the song.
“Don’t you ever put me in that position again.”
He has an attitude with a capital “A”. “Please. Don’t put your insecurities on me.”
I walk into the stadium with the crowd, find a seat, and wait for the concert to begin.
I’m visiting family in the small town where I grew up outside of Philadelphia. I take a taxi down town to meet a friend for dinner, but the taxi lets me off in the wrong part of town.
I find myself on the top of a hill overlooking what I would describe as a long and winding road. As I desperately try to flag down another cab, I begin screaming at the drivers that won’t stop to pick me up, and I am almost run over more than once.
I notice three college age men standing on the sidewalk waiting for a bus. I recognize one of them as someone I knew many years ago. As we start to chat, we see Miss Tina Turner walking down the hill on the other side of the street. She’s all done up in a short, shiny, flesh colored dress.
“Tina! Tina,” we start to shout. She looks over at us, waves, gives us a big smile, and, in her faux British accent, says, “Hello!”
“We love you,” I scream.
“What’s love got to do with it,” she asks.
“I love that song you did with Herbie,” I continue. You should record a whole album with him. Where are you going?”
“I’m on my way to my concert. You should come see me.”
“I can’t, I don’t have the money, and I’ve already seen you three times in my lifetime. Maybe when you come to New York. When will you be in New York?”
“I just played New York. We’re on our way to Lucerne after this.”
She continues on her way down the hill. The college boys and I sing very loudly in Tina’s general direction, “WHAT’S LOVE GOT TO DO, GOT TO DO WITH IT.” She turns around to wave once more before she goes.
A cab finally stops to pick me up and a middle aged married couple tries to steal it from me. We decide to share the taxi, but there doesn’t seem to be a driver. The car speeds down the hill, then up a ramp and onto a red wooden structure that looks sort of like a roller coaster. A voice from a loud speaker tells us that since this bridge is now privately owned by a corporation, “only Frank Sinatra music will be played on this bridge, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
I’m back on the sidewalk and I’ve caught up with Tina just outside of the stadium where she is to perform. Like a pied piper, she has gathered a crowd along the way, including back up dancers, reporters, and fans.
While being interviewed live by the local Fox affiliate, one of Tina’s male dancers suggests she sing a song. The dancers and I harmonize in the background as Tina sings, but as I am closest to the microphone, it is mostly my humming that is heard. The reporter is decidedly unhappy.
After the camera turns off, Tina’s smile disappears. She is calm but angry as she addresses the dancer who suggested the song.
“Don’t you ever put me in that position again.”
He has an attitude with a capital “A”. “Please. Don’t put your insecurities on me.”
I walk into the stadium with the crowd, find a seat, and wait for the concert to begin.
1 comment:
jimmy haha .. your dreams are nuts.
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