God...

Ive been so bad. I haven't had any desire to write. I don't know. I'm sorry.

Ok, So. Lowdown:

I was feeling good in Baltimore. I had a positive vibe... you know, "there's a natural mystic flowing through the air." My room was incredible, which I might have mentioned. Ok, so next morning I woke up, did my morning things, practiced, meditated, ear training... ate the other half of my gyro. The good stuff.

Painted my face, gathered my things and tipped the house maid because I had never done it before. I left two dollars on my bed. Green and vulnerable.

Walked over to Peabody, the weather was forgiving. Windy, but sunny.

As soon as I walked in, the main entrance hall was flooded with Somebodys wanting to be Peabodys with there flashy mallet bags and black leather jackets. I took one look at that and asked where the nearest library was. No way I was walking into that mess. Check please! Yeah, I tried to avoid the cut-throat intimidation as much as possible. There were over 50 people auditioning for the spot!! So I spent some time in the library researching Akira Miyoshi to see what I could gather before my interview with Big Bob. Found an electric piano in the back room, and worked on that for a bit, rehearsing my marimba music. When I got thirsty I walked over to the cafe, bought a tea, and stared out the window. Trying to imagine myself as a current student asking current student questions:

"How much did I practice today."
"When is Bob coming back?"
"Would I ever be sitting at this window asking these questions?"

When it came time to shine, I walked back into the main lobby and checked in at the percussion table.

"Hi, Ashley Tini, audition 3:00"
"Hi, how are you--wait didn't we talk on Facebook?"
"Oh Yeah, Hi How are you---gee Facebook."

I still get embarrassed by online encounters. I was a bit of a smart ass, I was in a playful mood, forgive me.

They sent me to take my Ear Training exam. Upstairs on the 100th floor.
I sat outside the door and awaited my doom. There was a nervous younger boy sitting on the floor by my feet, across was his supportive mother.

"Hey, auditioning today?"
"Yeah."
"Whats your instrument"
"Percussion."
"Oh! (mother chimes in) Honey, that's you!"
"Oh wow, nice, how did you do?"
"Oh I did good. How about you?
"Mine is at 3:00"
exactly what i tried to avoid:
"So, what are you playing?"
"Oh..uhh...a timpani solo, two snare drum solos, marimba."
"Oh, No, I mean...like.. what are you playing..?
"Oh...uh... you know..like---
"NEXT!!"
(Yes. thank god.)We'll good luck!
"Thanks you too."

After I aced that quiz, I returned to the percussion table. Oh hey Ashley, they are going on lunch break, so we'll set you up with a practice room, and we'll call you when we're ready.

They threw me in sauna with an old xylophone, two tom-toms, and some hanging gongs.
I went through what I could on the xylophone, and settled to just rolling on the tom-tom while sitting Indian style on the floor. Took a nap in between.

Ok Ash, now we move you to the bigger practice room. Yay.

Yay, this one had timpani, and a nice marimba. Went through everything a few times and tried to avoid the flailing mallets in the next room at 220 bpm. Went to pee, and as i returned, they called my name.

Ashley, you can set up now.

So, I set up... and waited for Big Bob.

After about 10 minutes, he walked in with his colleuge with the biggest Big Bob grin I've ever seen. I walked right up to him, repertoire in hand and introduced myself.

"Hello, I'm Ashley nice to meet you."
"Hi I'm Bob Van Sice and this is my colleague David Skidmore, pleased to meet you."
After a few seconds...
"So, you're Jon Greeney's student?! I feel old. I Love Jon Greeney, he's one of my favorite pet students. And you studied with Patty, correct?!
"Yes, and Yes." (big dopey smiles all around)
Fabulous. Well, Lets start with marimba then.

I played a very slow, very musical Bach Cello Suite.

The says..
"The sincerity in which you play the marimba is just astounding."
"Wow, thankyou."
"Just beatutiful." Lets go to the Miyoshi piece

Played that. ehhh it was ok

"Great, Can we try it a bit faster? Moderato. One, Two, Ready, And...

Eh... missed notes here and there, but slightly better musically.

"Ok great. So, Please tell me you can sight read."
"I can sight read."
"Great, can you read this for me?"

I couldn't sight read. Blew it.

"Ok. Well, lets go to Timpani."

Then I interject...

"Mr. Van Sice, I understand that you have many auditions today, but I did prepare one more Bach piece, if I could just play that for you, I'd feel more confident about my marimba playing. If that's ok with you."

"Oh, well I already know what your marimba playing sounds like, no doubt there but yes we'll see after the Timpani.

Played timpani, ehh was ok imitated him and did ok.

"You may play your other Bach."

Played my Bach, and Nailed it.

"...So, Whats your story?, my goodness.Gorgeous playing."

I told him my story and he was flabbergasted

Well Ashley its such a pleasure meeting you I'll now leave you to my friend David Skidmore, my snare drum expert.

"Great thankyou nice meeting you."

(Bob turns to walk out and as he's at the door David turns and asks me

"Excuse me, but can I ask, What Sticks are you using?"

I reply surprised and coyly

"Oh I made these."

Bob turns from the exit and asks:

"You MADE your Sticks?"

Then Bob and David continue to awe my cocobolo hand turned gorgeous works of art, asking typical questions in shock and excitment. Bob then turns to me and says:

"Boy, you aren't your average bear are you? Svet doesn't even know where his sticks are, and here you're making your own sticks! My goodness Thank you very much.

I was completely baffled as to how this situation was unraveling. I finished out the audition with Skidmore and ran out of there like a comet across an August sky.

The girl sitting at the percussion desk asked about the audition and then mentioned that she knew Patty and also auditioned at Curtis while she was a senior. (Surprised, i asked how did you know I studied with Patty?)Being a foreigner she thought I asked how did she KNOW Patty and she presumed to tell me the short story.

Thinking to myself, I guess Bob mentioned it to her as he left. I guess he was very impressed with me.

On my way to the airport, I called Bill and told him the entire story. He was equally excited!! I just couldn't believe that in everyone's doubt, I had a glimmer of hope with Bob at Peabody. I should be finding out soon so, I'll let you know


yes!

Within five minutes I called

Yeah...

It went well. Really well. Warm and fuzzy well. Unfortunately, still recovering and now that I came home from a hard days work, I'm left exhausted and unwilling to write. All I can say is that I was memorable, and quite possibly charming.

Fill you in later.

PS: Die Antwoord

Here comes a special girl!

Alright! so here I am staying at the Biltmore Suites in Baltimore. Peabody audition tomorrow. Feelin good, feelin good.

Sitting in my 20's art deco style room on a king size mattress, rollers in my hair and a personal kitchen in the next room. It would almost be too convincing if I had an ash tray next to my bed and a long cigarette filter in my mouth.

Baltimore is sooo smaaaalll. My gosh. I walked around town in less than 20 minutes. After taking the ghetto light rail from the airport (which warmed my heart, thank god for black people) No seriously, I haven't seen a brotha since I left Philly. Its all Country Crock out there. After settling in my room, calling my boyfriend who was nothing but boring, I decided to go out and venture for some long awaited grub. Peabody was only two blocks away so I passed by in a matter of seconds walking as if I were already a current student. Yano, fast with no regard. Then I wandered into a used bookstore and chatted up the gentleman behind the desk. He was rather friendly and well prepared to help me with whatever conversation I wanted to have...like every other person I met that evening. Like, The record store guy who gave me a food voucher for all the swanky restaurants. I used it for the Mediterranean food place just up the street. and...like, the Turkish guy working there that gave me big teeth and a discount on my takeout. yay.

On the way home I called my buddy Mike Parker, who has now relocated to Hawaii. He was sitting on his beach sunbathing nude while reading an academic study on The Music of Thailand. "Oh Deekus, I was thinking of you while reading about these here xylophones." Its always a treat to talk to MP. He's always excited about something. and truthfully, that's an important contact to have especially when you want to visit.. or when you're down in the dumps for getting a quasi-rejection email from the first school you auditioned as you're about to play for HIS teacher tomorrow afternoon and--what the fuck! University of Miami, those fuckers and suck it! I didn't want to go there anyway. I'm not mad, really, I'm not. Just irritated. buh.

Anyway, so here I am. Collecting myself before the big day tomorrow. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, I must be nuts. But, all in all I feel pretty prepared. Pretty fantastic, as Quyen would say.

To continue with the creme filling..yeah, I never made it to Texas.

A month before my scheduled departure, I managed to get in contact with one of Bob Van Sice's (lets just call him Big Bob for now on)..eh ehm... Big Bob's former students who had recently graduated from Yale School of music. He was a serious fucker and was making his way up the solo marimba ladder--real fast. I mentioned I had been living with a serious Bach connoisseur and have great ambitions to eventually study with Big Bob, or one of his students. So, on account of my ambitious email, he invited me to Miami to play for him, check out the school, and see the prospects of my getting in to study. In other words, he wanted to see how "good" I was. At that point, he was in the process of moving his shit from NYC down to Miami to take Ney Rosauro's position as head of the percussion department. As soon as I could, I jumped on a plane and got my ass down to Miami.

To make that story short. I played and I scared the shit out of him... he told me that I have a lot of work to do. He recommended I contact and study with his good friend in Cleveland, and in the meantime fly to Miami for monthly/bimonthly lessons, which he would not charge me since I'd be traveling by air. I said thank you for the 4 hour lesson, and headed back to Ohio.

He called his buddy in Cleveland and said

"Dudey, she cant play the snare drum, you gotta help her! I can't do anything with that!"
"Alright. Whatever dude, bring her to me."
"She's got potential though, if she works real hard, she might be able to get in."

and as you can see, from the note up top, I didn't. 6 months later.

Better get crackin!

It won't stop snowing here.

Its February and I've been in Ohio since June 1st. Honestly, I had plans to high-tail out of here months ago. Poetic, ironic whatever you may think, it defintely been a wild ride.

On Thursday, wait...Tomorrow I'll be flying to Baltimore to audition (on Thursday) for Robert Van Sice at the Peabody Conservatory. Yeah, the big leagues. Never saw this coming. I'm staying in a sweet Victorian suite on Center st. I'll let you know how it goes. (uh yes, I'm nervous!)

So, where were we? Oh yes. Packed my bags and ran off to Columbus, Ohio. Ok, I planned to stay with Bill for three weeks, then relocate to Iowa City to live with my then boyfriend interest, Adam. He was an artist and former student of Bill's back in the West Philadelphia days. We managed to correspond through email and phone while in the midst of being mind-fucked by Bill's personal writings and ideas. "Yano Ash, why don't you talk to Adam. He was one of my best students in the house. I'm sure he'd be able to help you with anything you needed."

Yeah, he was like a tutor, and you know how tutors go. We hit it off quite well. :)
I enrolled at the University of Iowa and planned to take summer courses that would eventually matriculate into the fall semester. Unfortunately, I never made it to Iowa.

After my second week with Bill, a letter came in the mail stating that I had been accepted to The University of North Texas.

"What the fuck? I never remembered applyi--Oh shit. Yeah. That day I worked at the record shop... to fill in for Jon. I was applying to schools out of boredom."

While living in Philly, I was thoroughly obsessed with West African music. I played with an Ewe drumming ensemble that met every week, if not every few days. Playing with the sophistication and devotion we had, I wouldn't have asked for anything else. Our teacher, and best friend was a fabulous at what he did. So, I tried to find schools that would also offer a similar experience. Coincidentally, I found it at an SEM (Society of Ethnomusicology) conference at Wesleyan University.

There I was performing with one of the Big Cheeses in Ewe music. First of all, he was Ewe, second, he was fucking royalty in Ghana. Yano, A high priest with 10 wives and babies all over the world. Yeah, one of those. He invited me to come study with him at the University of North Texas, they also had one of the best percussion programs in the country.

So I applied, working one day at a record shop. I got in.

After receiving the big news, I knew I had to re-work the things in my life a little bit. I figured, there wasn't much for me in Iowa, anyway. Things didn't go so hot with Adam, and the percussion program they had was "okay." I said fuck it, I'm going to Texas!

Within a few weeks I had an apartment lined up and a sweet roommate with similar interests living right on campus. and boy, was it cheeeeeap! like, $200 or something. Yeeha! I mean, I didn't have a school to go to for the fall because I gave Temple the bird, and farted away any chances of getting into Stonybrook. Why not? I planned to leave in August.

Unfortunately, I never made it to Texas.

This is how I got here...

What I haven’t mentioned is that I actually don’t live anywhere near my parents, hence the disconnection from the chaos last night. I’ve been living in Columbus, Ohio since June 1st, 2009. I’m on a mission. A long ass mission. Let me explain. Yeah, I should have written about this sooner.

In the fall of 2008, I started seeing a special guy. He was a bit older than I was and a bit smarter than I was…well, it seemed intriguing at the time. He was a musician living in a DIY arts community in West Philadelphia.

From 2005-2009ish, there was a bustling scene of musicians in the West and South Philadelphia area. During that time many distinguished and talented artists moved to the area to part take in the festivities. New forms of music were being discovered; everyone had a band and self proclaimed composers, dancers, and poets ran amuck. Yeah, anyone could just grab an ax and blow, man. There were enough abandoned warehouses and cheap rooms to keep everybody happy. So this was the norm for a while….and yes, I was also a member of the club.

The only problem was that I was still living in South Jersey with my mom. So, I found myself constantly driving over the bridge into town to mingle and associate with this community. Sometimes, I’d drive over the bridge, pay the toll, and park, just to sit at a goddamn coffee shop. Maybe talk to a few people. Yeah, I was young, probably 18 or 19. But there was so much going on! and for me, being a percussionist and avant garde improvising marimba player, my name came through the area quite well.

Around the peak of my improvising career I met the special guy. He was a jazz drummer that graduated from the University of The Arts trying to make his way and pay through the jazz world. Oh wait, actually Temple. He transferred and graduated from Temple for Philosophy.

Anyway, out of boredom, he had assembled a group of Klezmer/Balkan brass fanatics to meet him on his porch to read through some charts he printed off a website. This eventually became the West Philadelphia Orchestra. They would become the staple and theme for the West Philadelphia DIY arts district.

I mean, don’t get me wrong it was a blast when it all started. They would play free concerts and community centers, protests, outdoor festivals and no pair of feet could resist the beat.

So, one evening after strolling around town my a few friends, we found ourselves at a free benefit featuring the WPO. Afterwards, I saw the short, premature looking band leader packing up his drum kit while the rest of the band ran off to drink and mingle. I said hello, and introduced myself as “Deekus, the local percussionist/marimbist who is totally interesting in playing with you guys in you need an extra percussionist here or there. I used to play dombek, but I can’t play snare so don’t ask… yadda yadda.”
He knew who I was, and mentioned his interest in the marimba when he used to try and play Bach. He once had ambition for the Curtis institute of Music, but he never followed through.
“If only I could play the marimba, I would have gotten in!” ( a bit on the arrogant side, but nonetheless, passionate.)

We agreed to meet up to “jam” and decided to find each other on Myspace. After that “jam” and a few other encounters we began screwing around, dating or whenever I found him available. I was intrigued by his independence and bookish qualities. He was very much affected by American poetry and classical music, Mile high novels and philosophic ideas. Which I’m sure he felt was superior to anything I knew or was interested in at the time. He made a career out of constantly challenging my ideas of art, music and relationships. This went on and off again for two years.

After I fell head over heels crazy for this bum, I convinced my overprotective mother to allow me to move to West Philly. I stayed in a room on 45th and Larchwood. It was more of a sublet which only lasted a few months. When that wore out, I upgraded to a sweet situation on 48th and Larchwood, where I’d be living with my female musical mentor Katt Hernandez. She was a beast on the violin, and an improvising goddess who could transform a room at the touch of a bow. It was great to live with such an inspiration and at such a great price!! Yeeha!

Yeah, back to the boy. So, as our relationship progressed, I began hearing about this professor with whom he lived with for a year or so while he attending the University of The Arts. He was a Curtis graduate and professor of Art Aesthetics and Philosophy (at Uarts), who seemed to carry a mile high ego and transformative effect of his students. As the story goes; Every year or so, he would ask a few of his brightest students to live with him in his three-story Victorian on 49th and Kingessing. He would charge very little for rent as long as the students participated in “The House”. This situation would forever he called “The House.”

The House was Bill’s creation and hopes of communicating what would be to him the blood and guts and true meaning of art and music to the select few of students he shared his knowledge. More or less, it was a pretty normal situation. The students would attend their classes regularly, do their homework, and trek home for a well prepared meal and elitist comradery. Everyone had their night to cook, and after dinner they’d read poetry, discuss politics, philosophy, art, sex, whatever seemed important at the time. This was most important to Bill because he got insight into how younger people think, and the students received personal attention and Bill’s long term best self interest. The House was also adorned with his personal art collection. Paintings, drawings, sculpture, furniture; every corner was just as exquisite and bursting with artistic meaning and potential.

The boy lived here for a little over one year. Every now and then he would mention Bill, but it was always in such admiration. It was someone who had bestowed the last golden gift of high western culture that sadly, I could never fathom. I began to see the connection between him and this mentor godhead figure and would be forever curious as to how this person would be in the world today.

In the meantime, I was trying to figure out how to make a significant musician out of myself. The improvising scene was beginning to die out, as I was finding the marimba more and more of a challenge. Being a sub for the WPO was becoming less fun, I began throwing myself in other musical arrangements. Any type of ethnic music was up for grabs and easy for a percussionist. Brazilian, African, Cuban, Klezmer, Avant Garde, Jazz, Bluegrass, etc. The only pickle was that yes, there was much to choose from, but you usually wound up playing with the same group of musicians if you specialized in a certain genre. The boy and I were regulars in almost every group. I’ll admit, I learned a lot, but it was always political and frustrating when we were in our “off stage”. He was a flirt and enjoyed seeing me pining over him as much as possible. Uhh it kills me to think about what a twerp I was! Twerp!

So, one week the boy decides to pay his old mentor a visit. A 7 hour drive out to Columbus, Ohio with his former “House”-mate, Adam. While staying in the big OH, he send a mass email explaining how wonderful of a place he’s in, the beautiful Japanese room he sleeps in, and the incredible garden just beyond the glass panel doors next to his futon. At the bottom of the email he leaves Bill’s website. With intrigue and curiosity I dove in to find a website devoted to Japanese gardening, Aesthetics, and his personal writings about Art and Education. Ironically, these papers seemed to hit at the core of what I’ve been searching for artistically and educationally! Hah.

Being the ambitious turd that I am, and completely baffled by what I read, I emailed the nutty professor. To my surprise he was astounded! Eager! and willing! to talk to me about my prospects and interest in attending a serious music conservatory. And of course, being a Curtis graduate, he had his biased opinions.

Coincidently, when I was a junior in high school I was taking lessons with a jazz vibraphone player named Tony Miceli who also taught at the University of the Arts. For a few years I followed him around like a roadie, attending all of his gigs and lectures. This would have the most impact on my career, up to the day when he would invite me to his master classes at Curtis. What little experience I had musically, I felt like a snowbody next to these Curtis Jerks, but it was something about the school that just took my breath away. Perhaps it was the Art Deco exterior and Victorian interior that gave me the chills, or the ambitious students’s who’s talent bellowed throughout the practice rooms, or perhaps its the fact that these students attend for free because of their artistic merit. Aiya!

I still remember the smell of the school…like dusty brandy. Anyway, the single most important musical event happened moment later in the percussion studio downstairs. An incoming freshman was asked to perform for Tony, he asked her to play anything she wanted, whatever! it didn’t matter to him. She went over to the marimba, and….all I remembered was how my body went numb, and I had to leave because the tears were rolling down my face. It was the single most significant musical experience of my life, and this would forever be my standard for marimba playing. If I could do that to an audience, I could die and go to heaven.

I told this story to Bill, and he invited me out to Ohio to see his house, and offer me music lessons. The boy had found out about our contact and flipped. He didn’t want me contacted Bill, and found this to be a big problem for our relationship. To make a long story short, I cut off ties with Bill until the boy and I broke up.

Around that time I began preparing for auditions. After years of neglecting the incredible once in a lifetime musical experience above; I was finally inspired to go for that conservatory dream. I convinced that talented incoming freshmen who was now a graduate to help me prepare and get into a decent school. She recommended a few places, but knew of my limited experience, and worked with me as much as possible. When Bill found out about my auditions, he immediately asked me to come out and take a lesson with him. He guaranteed it would change my entire perspective on western music and make a drastic improvement to my playing. Of course I was excited, but I wouldn’t be able to make it out until after my auditions were finished.

My auditions were planned at only two schools. Stonybrook University and Temple University. Patty chose Stonybrook because one of her teacher’s former students is on faculty there. In her last year at Curtis, they hired THE top percussion expert; Robert Van Sice, who currently holds position at the Peabody Conservatory, and the Yale School of Music. Yeah, the big leagues. Places that a classically trained percussionist of only 6 months would never step foot into. Nonetheless, she picked impressing repertoire a bit out of my ability in hopes of squeezing me in a spot at Stonybrook.

The Stonybrook audition was a disaster and I failed the music theory exam (having never taken a theory class in my life). What a bummer. And get this… for Temple…. Ironically, I played well and got in. They even called me twice trying to convince me to come…I would have if they paid me enough, but Patty told me to avoid Temple at all costs.


I visited Bill in March, which happened to be only a few weeks after my auditions. I still remember him picking me up from the airport. I was a bit nervous, and my parents thought I was nuts; visiting an old man in Ohio with whom I’ve only talked to through email and telephone. He was so excited to see me! We went out to a local Japanese restaurant and talked about how ironic it was to be having lunch together. Ultimately, the little time spent there changed my life. We managed to get hold of a marimba and have a lesson at a local private college. I remember walking in thinking, “Man, he’s gonna love my Bach.”

Hah! Just the opposite. He beat the shit out of me musically, psychologically, physically. He was yelling, jumping, cussing, spiting, singing—I had never seen such a reaction from someone his age. It was amazing. Afterward, I smiled and thanked him, knowing it was the beginning a long friendship, and new beginning.

After I returned home, I knew I had to get back to Ohio. This man had something I wanted, and I was willing to do whatever it takes to understand it. Two months of fighting my parents, quitting my job, friends and living situation at home; I planned to stay with Bill for three weeks starting June 1st. In that time, he would teach me everything he knew about art, music, and being in the world. I’d stay in the famous Japanese room, and work in the garden.

On May 30th Adam (Bill’s former student and my then current boyfriend interest) and I packed my marimba, books, and suitcase full of clothes and drove out to Ohio early in the morning.

Those three weeks have been up for quite sometime, now.

The start of it all...

I've been forever contemplating how I'll record whats been happening in my life over the last few years. The rapid change, new identities, and new residencies are just the icing on the cake. I think its something worth sharing. In hopes that it could give me light into what I should know, already know, or will know a few more years down the road when I check back at these writings. More or less, it will hopefully help me feel a lot less lonely.

So...what got my ass on blogger.com? Tonight, my father is in jail.

Yeah. The person I've never quite understood, or have been able to sustain a healthy Father-Daughter relationship with scored himself a $35,000 bail and an ungrateful future.

"Oh Johnny, hes a great guy until he starts drinking."

To get the image: 45 year old, high school educated, Italian born, South Philadelphian, Two kids, two divorces, extremely traditional with a heart of gold.

The Evening:

Months earlier, he had acquired a pair a tickets to a Kid Rock concert hosted at the Borgata. With reservations at an excellent Japanese restaurant in hopes of being escorted by his current "lucky lady." At the last minute he invited my mom (first wife. the second one only last 6 months. She was a whack-job anyway.)

Drving down together he called around 4 in the afternoon

"Hey Ash! I'm with you're mother! Happy Valentines day! We're going to see Kid Rock at the Borgata! I've got reservations at a great Japanese restaurant for dinner! Should be good, should be good!"
"Great, Dad have a blast."
"Yeeeah, maybe I'll hit up the casinos and win ya 10 grand! Hehehe"
"Suurrre. Ok Love ya, byee."

Around 11pm:

Its a call from my mother, and she's in tears

She tells me my father apparently was drunk on arrival, at dinner downed two bottles of sake, chased with a few more martini's at the casino and a few more at the concert. He was dancing, bumping into people abruptly and having a great time. It wasn't until he lit up his cigarette in the concert auditorium, and yano... being the "life of the party" he was spotted immediately. The Security guard kindly walked up and asked him to get rid of it and that it was illegal. Dad replies:
"I'm not doing nuthin!"
He then asks again, stating that if he didn't comply, it would escalate into something physical.
Dad's brilliance:
"I paid my 200 ollas, I'm gonna enjoy myself."

Moments later, 3 huge guards begin escorting my father. Being a drunken South Philly Italian with pride, he fights back. My mother, who had kept a decent job of concealing herself from any association notices the brawl and scrambles over to try and rectify the situation. One guard is now on top of my father, while the other two have his arms and legs. Now my Dad begins to choke, and Mom goes ballistic. She jumps the guard and begins defending the embarrassment. At this point the concert crowd is cheering "Get him outta here, throw the bum out!" Two more guards join in and manage to take the party into the lobby. Meanwhile, My father breaks loose and head butts himself into the nearest threat; this one happens to be a police officer. It pretty much ended after that. As my father is handcuffed he looks at my mom and says, "if you tell my fatha I'm gonna kill you."

So that's most of the juice. My mother calls me a half and hour later spills the story in tears as she drives all the way back to Philadelphia, completely embarrassed and in shock. She has work at 9am, and feels that my father should deal with his own shit. She called his brother who called his sister who called his father...yano as quick as news travels in South Philly. His Dad (my grandpa) will deal with his $35,000 bail and current unknown amount of jail-time.

I wrote about this event because for the first time, I feel as if I have no connection to the man behind bars. I'll write more about this paradigm shift in the next entry.

Is his job completely terminated if he doesn't get jail time? Probably. Dammit.