In honor of an old DEAR friend who has just “found” me through the Internet: Phil!!! I can’t even begin to describe the adventures I had with this person, how much he was in my life at one point – how insanely funny he is – and how COOL it is to be back in touch with him again. Our biggest adventure ever was performing at the Milwaukee Summer Fest (there was also that little matter of our run-in with the law) – and so here, in all its highly edited glory, is a Diary Friday of that experience.
I performed with Pat McCurdy at the Milwaukee Summer Fest. He hired me, and 3 friends (Ann Marie, Kenny, and Phil) to be his back-up group. We made up goofy dances and the like. We spent 4 days in Milwaukee, having various adventures.
It is, to date, maybe the most fun I have ever had in my entire life.
I’ve left out the snarky present-day comments that I usually do with Diary Friday, interjecting my judgment on who I was in the past. I still can’t snark about who I was in that 4 day period – my exhilaration, my commitment, my excitement … I was so ALIVE in those 4 days. No snarking about that!
I still tremble with laughter at some of these old jokes. “Please don’t ever leave me alone with Connie. Promise me.” “I promise.”
Phil’s daily bag-stress.
Oh, and I also just BURST into laughter right now when I remembered Pat interrupting my pre-show prayer.
We’re standing in a circle before the show, each saying a little prayer. We’re goofing on the Madonna prayer-circle she does before each show – but we’re kind of serious. It’s a bonding group experience – getting psyched to do the show. It comes my turn. We’re all standing in a circle, holding hands.
I’m like, “Dear God, help us to do really well tonight. We thank you for this opportun–”
Pat interrupts, he obviously hasn’t been listening to me at all: “Sheila, you are stacked.”
hahahahaha Guffawing right now!!
SUMMER Milwaukee Summer Fest
The inside of my head is a kaleidoscope. It feels like I have been gone for weeks. This has been an “epoch” in my life, as Anne of Green Gables would say. The shows were unbelievable. A fantasy. A dream come true. Literally thousands of people cheering. All of us bursting through the green curtains, the music pounding, the lights hot and bright, the screaming throngs, yes, throngs – what a RUSH. As Phil said after the first show, “This was huge. This was huge.” That’s the perfect word. The whole thing was huge.
Monday in Milwaukee:
The first night the show ended up being canceled. It had begun to rain. The sky was apocalyptic. Black and swirling and ominous with lightning forks. The sky was greenish as well. It was gorgeous, in a way, but we all resented it. Phil said, in regards to the sky being green, “That’s not right. That’s never right.” He’s such a sailor.
The images of our time swirl by me.
The 4 of us in the back of the van, wearing our freshly ironed Pat T-shirts (Ann did that at the hotel) and shorts (girls in black, boys in green) and as Pat was taking corners we were all falling into each other and propping each other up.
I announced, “We have no boundaries anymore.”
Pipe picked us up.
The 4 of us were insane, waiting for him down in the lobby. Pipe laughed at us. “You guys didn’t have to wait down here!”
I was jittery and nervous.
Every time Pipe would break suddenly or make a fast turn, Phil would yell out, “Hey! There’s dancers back here!”
We all had secret moments of bonding and excitement, through touching and eye contact. I love my fellow dancers. By the second show, we had leapfrogged to the point where we were all like brothers and sisters. It was great.
We went and picked up Mike. He was standing on the sidewalk outside of his apartment, holding his guitar, with 2 cowboy hats piled on his head -to give to me and Ann Marie for our line-dancing during “Imagine a Picture”. He remembered!
We then went to go get Pat. The rain hadn’t really started yet when we pulled up in front of Pat’s house – we were all feeling a little bit claustrophobic in the un-airconditioned van. We all got out. The sky was spectacular. The 4 of us hooked our feet up on this iron fence, holding onto the bars, and watched the sky as though it were a movie. The wind was enormous. The trees were all freaked out with the leaves turned upside down and grey. The air was thick and grey. The sky was angry and filled with incredible lightning. Everything was greenish. It was all so beautiful, but I couldn’t really succumb to the beauty because I wanted us to perform so badly. My insides were a total circus.
There were so many moments when I would step outside myself and the experience for a second, and look around at my beautiful fellow cast members, all of us in crisp white Pat T-shirts, and I would have to burst into laughter. Ann and I had our cowgirl hats on, and we went to a parked car to check out our reflections. We practiced our line dance on the sidewalk.
Then Pat came out of his house – we all piled into the van. Pat drove and Pipe climbed into the back with us dancers and we were off.
We sat in Parking Lot E for an hour. We were waiting for the word: show or no show. It poured tropically for that whole time. No A/C. No windows, except for the 2 in front and those had to be open only a crack because the rain was being blown in horizontal lines by the frigging funnel clouds all around us. The stuffiness was nearly unbearable. I kept thinking someone would call the ASPCA like they do with dogs trapped in cars at the beach.
“My tongue is swelling.” I said.
“I think it’s lightening up,” said Kenny, when the downpour reached its heaviest moment. He literally had to yell to be heard. We roared with laughter.
We could hear the crowd screaming for the BoDeans – they weren’t performing outside – so their show was on.
Ann finally declared, “I don’t care anymore!” and went outside. Now, it was only drizzling – the downpour had stopped. We all got out to breathe the cooler air.
Eventually, the show was canceled.
Meanwhile, Bob, Ann’s new boyfriend, way on the other side of the midway, was trying to scam his way over to the Miller Oasis by saying to various Summer Fest employees, “My girlfriend is performing tonight!” Is that the funniest thing?
Pipe dropped us all off at the hotel. Once we dancers were all alone with each other, we felt more comfortable expressing our open disappointment. We had all kept instinctively quiet in the van. We’re grateful to be involved at all, but once we were alone, we all were like: SHIT. And of course, by this point, it had cleared up and was now a beautiful cool night.
The boys drove back up to the farmhouse where they were staying. We all were slightly disheartened. We had reached such a fevered pitch getting ready beforehand in the motel room, all for naught.
Ann and I crashed in the lovely air-conditioning. We had basically moved in. Clothes hanging, hot rollers everywhere, makeup scattered. When Pat walked in on Wednesday, he glanced around and said, “You live here now.” The nesting instinct.
Oh, this is funny:
It is scary how in sync Ann and I are. More and more, we shriek things out in unison. Weird things, obscure things, out-of-nowhere things. She and I were meant to be friends. It had to happen. At one point in the van, we said an entire sentence in unison. There was a pause. Everyone is so used to this by now, but Phil couldn’t help but say, “You guys really do speak in unison more than anyone else I know.”
Tuesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I awoke. In unison. Of course.
It was early and we needed coffee so we went out in search of a Dunkin Donuts. It was already very hot. There was a whitish haze in the air. We ate at the D&D we finally found, and then drove back to the hotel room (our home).
Kenny had had this idea of getting T-shirts made up for all of us, Summer Fest/Pat McCurdy shirts. None of us could stop saying the words “I’m with Pat” the entire time. So we wanted the shirts to say “I’m with Pat” across the front. Ann and I decided to do a little research on our own so we got out our Milwaukee yellow pages and started making calls. We alternated. Comparison shopped. Asked a million questions. Ann took notes. We were all spread out on her bed, phone books, phone in between us, pad of paper, we were very business-like. We were also very into instant gratification, and it didn’t look like it was gonna happen.
“I want this now,” said Ann.
During all of this, Ann decided that she wanted to get a massage, so she started making calls regarding that and she found one right down the street. As she was discussing prices with this woman, I decided that I wanted to get one too. Ann basically told this woman our whole life story in order for us to get appointments that day. “You see, we’re only in town for a couple of days because we’re performing at Milwaukee Summer Fest-” (Ann rolled her eyes at me, and I burst into laughter.) So Edel, the masseuse, rearranged her schedule for us.
Ann said, “I am totally unembattled about this. I want a massage today.” Ann Marie makes things happen. Our appointments were later in the day so we decided to go have lunch at a Mexican restaurant that Ted recommended to me. I called the restaurant (Ann and I were all about the yellow pages this morning), got directions (which Ann and I later chose to ignore, somehow feeling that we knew the city better than the native who gave us the directions), and we set off.
It was a hot hazy day.
We shrieked along the freeway. It was so fun to be on a kind of vacation together. Summer! A whole day of nothingness! In Milwaukee! With this enormously exciting event in the evening.
We had the windows rolled down. Ann was driving fast, it was windy and loud – glorious! Then, suddenly, Ann rolled up my window and my fingers got crushed. Then followed a white-hot three seconds of total chaos. Poor Ann. Suddenly I started screaming at the top of my lungs in total panic, “OPEN THE WINDOW! OPEN THE WINDOW!” At first Ann thought I was joking since my screaming was so hyperbolic. For the one second that she thought I was joking, and the window didn’t go down, I then thought that the window was stuck, so then I really lost my mind. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” Then she rolled down the window – oh, I just BURST into laughter just now remembering this whole thing, the 2 of us screaming and crying – I was clutching my clawed hand, and then I burst into stormy primal tears. It was a physiologically-based cry, like sneezing or sleeping. It was a literal bursting into tears. I cried for 20 minutes.
Poor Ann felt so bad, and so she started crying, and there we were. Cruising down the freeway, both of us in tears.
She kept imploring, “Bend your fingers! Can you bend them?”
Just writing this down is making me laugh.
Once I began crying, I started crying about my whole life, and how clumsy I am (even though this was not a case of clumsiness). I could not stop crying once I started. Ann kept saying, with tears streaming down her face, “This wasn’t your fault!”
Well, my fingers are fine. They were a little bruised the next day but that was it.
Somehow, though, the crying released many of the stress toxins I had coursing through my veins. Out they came with my tears. It was a great stress-reducer. Also, once all the toxins were out, the crying stopped immediately.
It was like a huge clap of thunder. The pressure released, the sky was clear again, the air cool and fresh.
We had a lingering Mexican lunch that was very yummy and we both had 2 margaritas. We had a surly rude waitress. I sucked down my 2 drinks, limp as a dishrag from the crying, and then had a nice tequila buzz, and then Ann and I had a fascinating terrific discussion about religion. It was a GREAT talk.
We left the restaurant, emerged into the hot air, and drove off, singing along to “Close Every Door” from Joseph, at the tops of our lungs. Windows wide open. The weather was a sauna.
We went and had incredible massages.
The whole day was about toxin expulsion. Crying, tequila, huge conversation about religion, massage. We left Edel’s with oil on our skin, in these uplifted spacy states, like we had been roaming the Milky Way and were trying to relearn our bodies again.
We went back to A/C land. There was a busted soda machine in the lobby. Ann pressed the Coke button, she didn’t even put any money in, and it was like winning a slot machine. Cokes kept pouring out. We were laughing hysterically. We loaded ourselves down with so many cans that we could not open our door. Girls, take a step back. We got a bucket of ice and filled it with our free sodas.
Just as funny was the boys showing up at our door later on, we opened up the door to admit them, and there they were, beaming with glee and greed, each holding about 7 cans of soda. They thought they would surprise us. I swung open the door so that they could see the bucket overflowing with our soda cans.
The 4 of us were out of control. We really did have the comfort level of siblings with each other. We ruled the hotel from Room 230. We were filming a “backstage video” of our experience – so we moved furniture, we filmed in the lobby. We stole sodas.
We then had a quick run-through in the room. We definitely weren’t as insanely excited as we had been the night before. We were a tiny bit jaded because of the cancellation.
Pipe came to get us and called up from the parking lot. He could hear our raucous behavior from down below.
We all bustled about. We each had a bag filled with stuff for the show. Phil continuously lost track of his bag. “Where’s my bag? Where’s my bag?” “Have you seen my bag?” “No, I’m fine – just having my daily bag stress.” It got to the point where every time I heard the word “bag” come out of Phil’s mouth, I’d start to laugh.
Ann was in charge of all the hats in the show. She said, “Do you want me to own the hats?” “Own” the hats. She meant “own” in an emotional sense, as in “taking responsibility” – which is so damn funny.
We climbed into the van with a very different energy from the night before.
It was hazy and extraordinarily hot, but we were at least confident that a show would happen. Pipe was so cute, pointing out Milwaukee landmarks to us (we, who were blind in the back), telling us stories about buildings.
We arrived at the Fest and went to Lot E again. We all piled out again.
I was amazed by the overpass. It fascinated me so much that Pat eventually started to referring to it as “Sheila’s bridge”. Pat had tickets for all of us, and we clustered around him like children waiting for dad to dole out allowance. All of us in our matching outfits. GOOFY. We were little Pat McCurdy chicklets. Then we were off, walking briskly through the throngs, holding bags, guitars, hats. Excitement mounting. Every third person we passed hailed Pat. “Pat!” “Hey, there’s Pat!” “Pat, where you playing?” “Pat! Hi!”
Crowds and crowds of people. Hazy pink night. Neon beer signs everywhere. Sounds of music, sounds of screams from where Janet Jackson was performing. Everything was shimmery. And above it all was that magical prehistoric-looking overpass. Everything was so vital, so incredible. I’m ALIVE. It was one of those nights when I love everyone I see. It was so much fun, walking briskly through the Fest and its throngs with Pat.
We got to the Miller Oasis with its monolithic stage. Pat took us around to the back where there was a ramp going up into the backstage area, which was teeming with activity, security people on the edge, another band setting up, their entourage milling about.
This was funny: the name of the band preceding us was something along the lines of “Malatini”. As were were driving over, someone asked, “Who’s going before us?” and I said, “Mahi Mahi.” This was a big hit, and within about 10 minutes, it was assimilated into everyone’s vocabulary. Later, at the Fest, I overheard Pipe Jim say to someone, totally seriously, “Okay, so once Mahi Mahi finishes …”
None of us felt like exploring the Fest. We all felt the need to be in the immediate backstage area. There was so much to soak up! So many sensations! This was so big-time for us. In our own chaotic way, the 4 of us needed to focus. We needed to be all about the show. We had to wear Miller Oasis stickers. I loved having mine. We were all very into our stickers. Every moment was memorable, it was that kind of evening. Every image was a keeper. It was one of those rare times in life where I could totally observe my own life and think, “How cool! Look at how COOL my life is!” And yet I was still present in every moment. Vivid vivid VIVID. Technicolor. My eyes saw everything with microscopic clarity.
There were kegs of free beer backstage. There were 3 dressing rooms and the bands rotated. They were air conditioned and they had a terrible smell. The carpet was red and stained. Pat looked at the stain, glanced at me and said, “Musicians”, shaking his head.
I immediately began to set up all my stuff, hanging up my change of costume, laying out all the shit I’d need during the show. It was so funny because during our “backstage video” – we faked a fight between the 4 of us in the hotel room, we all began bickering and bitching at each other, and the entire time I kept packing up my bag, arranging my stuff on the bed, and Phil yelled at me, “Oh, the whole WORLD belongs to Sheila, right??” Hysterical. It became this big joke, and then there I was – totally taking over one corner of the dressing room with all my stuff.
Kenny gathered all of us players together and we went into the backstage area to discuss logistics. We talked through stuff, got familiar. I just love the images so much of the 4 of us in shorts and Pat McCurdy T-shirts and sneakers and red stickers, walking around, having quick little summit meetings.
“Okay, so during Drive in Reverse…”
“All right, then, so we’ll come on from this side for Groovy Thing…”
“Should I set up the cowboy hats here or–”
“Kenny, will you come on from this side for Mick, because…”
We wrote out the song list twice and taped them up where we could refer to them if we needed to during the frenzy of the show. There were all kinds of long-haired roadie types walking around and I was consummately in the way. I said, “Excuse me” 10 times. Ann and I loved to stand in the huge open “door” and watch the Summer Festers walk by, eating, drinking beer, looking up at us. With our Miller Oasis stickers. It gave us a nice important feeling.
We were all totally stressed, waiting for the show to begin. Pipe later called us all “jungle animals”, because we were all 4 of us pacing back and forth. Separately. In our own worlds.
The 4 of us and Pat stood in a circle before the show (like Madonna did with her dancers in “Truth or Dare”) to bond, and get psyched, and offer up wishes, one by one, to God. In the middle of my turn, in the middle of one of my sentences, Pat, who had been looking at me, totally interrupted my prayer and said, “Sheila, you are stacked.”
I am still laughing about that.
The show of course was magic. Dreams come true. Thousands of screaming people.
After the show, the 4 dancers stood in the dressing room, soaking wet with sweat, speaking all at the same time, drinking free beer, talking nonstop. It was a raging success for all of us. I think Pat was very relieved. We were all blithering and chattering, twitching with adrenaline.
The 4 of us went out with Pipe and Mike afterwards to a bar, where a bunch of their friends were. Phil and Kenny were really into partying, but I was not due to my increasing recording anxiety. The bar was very smoky so I started having a mild panic attack that I would wake up the next day with no voice.
Connie was at the bar. Basically, Ann Marie is deathly afraid of Connie. She confessed this to me. “Don’t ever leave me alone with Connie.” I promised.
Pipe came over to me and Ann and was so sweet, talking to us, being mellow, telling us stories, taking care of us. He’d make you soup at a low moment. He’d rub your feet. He’s a caretaker.
Kenny and Phil stayed on at the bar, and the rest of us left.
The night was unbelievably hot, and the air actually felt thick. We were all laughing about how Ann’s mom used to say to her kids, “Don’t hang” on nights such as this.
There we were, 1:30 in the morning, drowsing off to sleep in the back of the van as Pipe drove us through the deserted streets of Milwaukee.
The guys were going to crash in our room, and they promised us that they would be quiet.
And they were SO NOT QUIET when they came in. they were giggling like, literally, 8-year-old brothers. Ann and I had crawled into the same bed, and we fell fast asleep.
Wednesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I woke up, in unison, and LOVED the image of bare-chested straight-guys Kenny and Phil in bed together. The mood of hilarity began.
Kenny woke up and introduced a sleepy Phil as “Joe” and said that he had met “Joe” at “the Pabst stage.” We did some more filming of our backstage video, and then the boys drove up to spend the day at the farmhouse. Kenny’s sister from France was coming in that day with her husband and daughter. It was a very funny ruffled sleepy morning with the boys.
I was tightly coiled up – knowing that I was recording the duet with Pat later that day.
Mike and Ann made plans for the morning. He was in a tour guide mode. They went to go take a tour of a brewery, and then Pat came to pick me up, and we drove to the studio. I took one look at the recording booth and had a brief flash, “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.” But I instantly repressed the freak-out.
All I can say about the recording experience is that it was just perfect. I loved it so much. Once we were both in the booth, headphones on, I felt ready. No more fear. Before, I had clearly been showing some tension because Pat had taken me by the shoulders and shook me. Hard.
And then – we did the duet in one take. Live. So what will end up being on the CD will be us actually singing to each other – rather than him recording his part, and then me recording my part separately. We went through it once, together, just to get the feel for it – and then it ended up coming out perfectly.
We sat and listened to it afterwards for about 3 times. It was so weird. Hearing my voice floating through the recording studio.
By the time we left, for Pat to drive me back to the hotel, the sun rays were long and lazy. It was still really hot. We were tired, relieved, happy. When I walked back into Room 230, Ann was asleep in the room. The silence of the air-conditioned space surrounded me. It’s a strange thing, living in a motel. It’s hard to settle. Ann and I did as much as we could, filled the drawers with clothes, made our beds, but I guess it’s harder to settle down emotionally.
Stasis in darkness. Surreal. Time outside of time.
Then the insanity for that night’s show started up again.
Ann was having some kind of allergy attack which she fought as best she could.
We began our preparations again, waiting for the boys to arrive. It was a tiny bit rainy again. When the boys showed up – Kenny said something wonderful. He said to us, “You guys, let’s try to remember … even if tonight is canceled – let’s try to hold onto the fact that we at least got to do it once. And last night was so incredible. Let’s not forget that, no matter what.” He was right.
We had a mini-rehearsal in the room again. There was something so heartwarming about every moment. Phil doing “jazz hands”, and reminding all of us not to forget our “jazz hands”, is enough to carry me through many a darkened hour.
We all were high on each other, cracking each other up. Our windows were open for air circulation. We feared that Ann Marie was having a reaction to too much air-conditioning in her life. Pipe pulled into the parking lot. Room 230 faced front, right over the lot – we had just run through one of the big “dance numbers”. We had to laugh as we did it. We were just so ridiculous. And when we finished it, we all started clapping and screaming and cavorting, and this is when Pipe got out of the van. We heard a voice call up to us.
He said, “I heard the commotion and thought: ‘Gee, who could that be …'”
We are children. And off we went again, carrying bags and hats and various hair products.
The rain stopped.
There was the excitement, again, of getting our tickets and walking through the crowd, and gaping up at “Sheila’s bridge”. Jackie and Ken were coming!
We were all, by this point, so “over” the Miller Oasis thing. We put on our stickers, totally blase, stashed our stuff, and then scattered to the 4 winds to explore. Ann and I walked around, in our Pat T-shirts and stickers. We saw a lot of drunken scenes. The ground underfoot was slick and sticky with spilled beer. We saw a girl fall off a picnic table into a puddle of beer and then get dragged off by her 2 friends. We saw girls dancing on picnic tables wearing white bikini tops and shorts.
It was a gorgeous night, hazy but cool. The pressure of the day released.
Ann and I passed by one of those little fake recording studios. By this point, we had only 10 minutes til we were supposed to be back at the Oasis, so we totally pulled rank on the other people in line, flashing our stickers at the people working: “We’re performing in 20 minutes- can you squeeze us in fast?” They did. We put on headphones and literally shrieked our way through “Like a Virgin”. God. It really sounds AWFUL. Total impulse thing. Ann is such a great friend for adventures like that.
We all converged on the Mecca that was the Miller Oasis. Ann and I stood on the little cement stairwell balcony, sipping free beer, and watching the parade go by. We soaked up the attention we got just for being backstage.
The show, again, was beyond belief. Over 3000 people cheering for us. The sound they made was a literal ROAR.
After the show, Pat had to go do another show at one of the local clubs – so we all tagged along. We rode in the back of the equipment van. So fun. All of us drinking beer out of paper cups, holding Pat masks, laughing at all the groups we saw out of the back of the van, wearing Pat masks, strolling through the streets. It was as though a strange cult had come to town.
At the club, it was like we were stars. People flocked around us, bought us drinks. The 4 of us all sat at one table at the club, wearing our “I’m With Pat” T-shirts that Kenny had pro-actively gotten done. Kenny’s sister and her husband were there with us. We were this little enclave. I had on my black shorts, my fishnet stockings, my combat boots, my derby. Like Madonna’s girlie show or something.
Shots of liquor that tasted like Dentyne were bought for all of us. We were totally carousing.
Ann Marie ran into people who were clients of hers from her actual job – so WEIRD. So who knows that they think of her life now. People had this impression that this was what we did for a living, traveled around with Pat, wearing “Pat” uniforms.
Pat played Drive in Reverse during his show at the club, and the 4 of us stormed the stage to do our GOOFY dance. I was laughing so hard. We were the biggest geeks in the world. We had so much attention paid to us. We sat at our VIP table, pounding back beers, bouncing off the walls, reliving the shows, dancing with each other, giving each other love and affirmation about the amazing-ness of this entire experience.
Phil was taking pictures and burning all of our corneas.
I’ve read this SO many times (in my copy of your journals… how crazy), and I never get tired of it. Thanks for sharing again. I wonder what happened to that t-shirt?
Phil… hi, hi, hi!!! I *still* use the phrase bag-stress when I can’t find my purse. And a bastardized version of your famous “knock things over” dance survives at Pat shows to this day.
hahahaha Member when we got all mad about what has been done to the Groovy Thing? Didn’t you say something to me like, “They have sullied something that is beautiful and pure.” hahahahaha
Seriously – wasn’t that just the funnest week EVER??
I love the memory of you and me, on a Saturday night, rehearsing the jitterbug in my apartment – as Jim Simon looked on, laughing hysterically.
There are some blaring omissions from the brush with the law story. Kenny and I got âopen containerâ tickets. They were a hundred and ten bucks! Thatâs a lot of money for a beer soaked actor. We were much bummed. I think the statute of limitations is up now so I can safely reveal that as Ms. Thang was bringing us back to warp speed; Pepper stealthily hid a fat bag of weed deep in the seat of the little blue Honda, like way into the springs. Had officer friendly found that, this episode would have ended quite differently?
As Pepper hid the weed he simultaneously crushed his cup and worked it under the floor matt with his sandled feet thus saving himself an âopen containerâ ticket. I forgot if we ever divulged that little detail to you. If not sorry… didnât want you to worry, or stop driving!
I also remember Pepper repeating the words âdesignated driverâ over and over in various contexts, AT the officer: âSheâs our designated driver⦠She was designated to drive⦠Weâve been drinking a lot thatâs why sheâs the designated driverâ¦â. He said it all the way to the station.
It was a Saturday and they had to turn some lights on in the station to administer the test. Sheila blew a .00000.5 NOT A THING, but that it registered at all incensed our hero and she implored: âhow can there be any register at all? I havenât had a drink in monthsâ¦â pepper added âsheâs the designated driver!â the officer âmuttered probably mouthwashâ. That seemed to satisfy all of us.
Hugs to all
Hey there Annie, Whatcha doin? Hey there Annie, blog a viewin!
hahahahahaha I had forgotten about the weed and the fact that you all (but not Pepper) got tickets!!! I had blocked the weed out. It was too traumatizing. And I am laughing out loud about Pepper mindlessly repeating “designated driver” over and over and over.
And: //worked it under the floor matt with his sandled feet // hahahahahaha
God, Phil, so good to talk with you again!!
Ahoy Thar Maties!!!
Phil, thanks for the call alerting me to the wonderful Sheila Variations. Hi Sheila and Ann Marie!!!! I think of you both more than you know (Phil already knows he’s in my dreams every night). That was a special time some 13 years ago in Wisconsin — I had forgotten so many of those details and it was a gas to relive them again. I have that VHS tape of us backstage and on stage somewhere — I will dig around, find it, convert it to DVD and get you guys copies. Send me snail mail addresses. I love you all madly and safely!!!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Kenny
Kenny!!!!
Oh my God. The 4 of us are now reunited … ON MY BLOG.
Halleluia!!!
I think of you often, too, Kenny – and I saw you on ER (whenever that was) and felt like shouting out my window into the night: I KNOW THAT MAN!
Are you in LA still? Next time I come out there (my brother lives out there, I have a ton of friends and family out there) – we have to get together!!
And hell yes – let’s get that DVD edition of Milwaukee Summer Fest. I’ll do a shot by shot analysis of our brilliant backstage footage here on this blog.
SO COOL that you just commented!!!!
Pat McCurdy Back-up Dancers taking their act on the road … 13 years later!
Hi Kenny {waving frantically}!!! So good to hear from you. I have some still photos from that weekend, and so, Sheila if you *do* get a DVD from Kenny and analyze it online here, let me just apologize now to your reading public for my hair. It was very big. Try to love me through the judgment. :-)
Sheila, I’ll send you my snail mail separately, so if you email with Kenny, he has it too.
Chicago sends its love to all of you…
Ann Marie
AnnMarie- I adore the fact that you are feeling pre-judged regarding your hair of 13 years ago. Let me just state for the record: NO ONE (and I mean NO ONE) has the right to judge big hair. We have all done it. Perms. Teasing. Hairspray. Yeah- that’s right. We have all walked that “late- 80’s/early90’s skinny -jeans, big-hair and slouchy-socks” walk. (With a little PaulMitchell spray to make it last.)
DO.NOT. JUDGE.
(Ok, feel better???)
slouchy socks!!!!!! HA! Oh, the white-hot shame of recognition!
Also- I love the phrase, and I always will: “please love me through your judgment”. I can’t stop laughing.
It is SO important that if you DO judge … you also love THROUGH the judgment. Makes all the difference in the world.