August 1990
Just as the sun starts to fade for the evening, the first headlights start to pull up in the big field at the end of my street. I take a look out my back window and smile. It’s getting close to 8:00, time to get going. Hours of work went into washing and waxing my ragtop for tonight, but I wanted it to look just right. For tonight, I hoped, wouldn’t be just any night. A gentle buzz of nervous excitement was in the air, maybe it was just the noise from people who were already there, maybe it was just me.
As I pull the top down off my jeep, I can hear the laughter coming from the field. Yup, it was time to go party. Kicking on the four by four, I proceed to pull into the field. It’s still a little muddy from the rain last week, but mostly dry. There wasn’t nearly enough to destroy my earlier labors, so I was relieved. By the time I pulled up to a chorus of hellos the sun had already retired for the night, replaced by the orange glow of the harvest moon. It seems like more people showed up tonight than ever, perhaps because we all know that summer will be over soon, and we’re all going our separate ways. Some are off to work, others to colleges in strange places with names foreign to me. Me, I am not really sure where I am going, hell I don’t even know where I have been for the past 4 years.
But there’s no reason to worry about that tonight. Tonight there’s beer to be drank, and women to be loved, and sins to be committed. Tomorrow will come when it does. Wandering from car to car, I hear people talking about their dreams, where they’re going, what they want to do, and who they want in their backseat. I’m sure some of them will get it too.
Going over to the bed of Tommy's pickup, I climb in and crack open a beer. We talk for a while, about the same old shit, and what pretty girl is walking by. We ask each other where we went wrong, and how we screwed up, and how to fix it, but mostly we just tip back a few cold ones. Growing tired of this, I work my way back to my convertible and sit down on the hood, waiting. A few of my friends drop over for a quick chat on their way to someone else, but mostly I am alone. And I am okay with that. The amber glow of my radio, the stars in the sky and some one timer singing a song about love that’s gone wrong is my entire world right now. I grab another beer and feel the beginnings of intoxication set in, but that’s fine. I am not going anywhere until the last headlights have left to their own private pilgrimage. Leaning back on my windshield I look up at the sky and look up at the stars. The sky is so clear; it looks like I could see a billion stars tonight. The warm breeze blows through my hair, and another song plays on the radio. Amanda comes over to me and gives me companionship for a while.
“Counting stars again?” she asks, “ You always were a dreamer.”
With a gentle kiss on the cheek, she says goodbye, off to pursue her own dreams. And I am alone again. Alone with just the stars, the radio and my thoughts. And that is OK with me.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Summer 1995
“So then the taxidermist says, Lady I don’t ask questions, I just stuff ‘em”
This brilliant outburst, the punch line of a much less funny joke comes out of the back seat of my 4X4 followed by a chorus of overexcited stoner laughter. I might be a little more disgusted myself had I not been so stoned, I thought it as funny as everyone else. Mike was infamous for his little quips that would be looked at with massive confusion by anyone other than the most devout stoner. Aside from that we were voyaging to the stoner equivalent of the “Rocky Horror Picture show”, the annual midnight showing of the Alan Parker/ Pink Floyd Masterpiece “The Wall.” Of course cramming 6 people into a convertible Geo Tracker makes for an already amusing situation reminiscent of the 1960’s VW Beetle attempts at cramming as many people into a small space as possible. Add to that some choice bud, and a six pack of Zima (Pussy, I know, but there were three ladies present who refused to drink beer), and a fun time is about to be had by all. So as we pull into the theater, we notice an unusual prevalence of bacon present in the parking lot. Funny that every other year the midnight showing of The Wall was the choicest place to get a contact buzz if you were short on dope, that damn place was smokier than a seedy biker bar, but of course filled with less carcinogens. However I had a gut feeling that this year would be a little different. So we eighty-sixed the weed, and each of us with a Zima in tow headed in toward the movie.
Good thing we ditched the pot, cause the abundance of Smokey the Bear was even more present inside than out. I guess the local Law enforcement actually figured out what the movie was about, and decided to do a little preliminary investigating of their own. Either that or their confiscated weed supply was running a little low, and they were looking to score some. Now don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for cops, and I don’t want to sound like a bacon basher here. In fact, one of my best friends is a cop, and that’s the actual truth, not just something like what racist people say to hide their racism. However, I must admit that there are several members of the local law enforcement community who are not exactly on the up and up, so to say. And I, a time or two, have had my share of run ins with said local law enforcement, which was not a positive experience for myself and did not add to the credibility in my opinion of the occupation of Law Enforcement. Why don’t we just say there are good cops and bad cops and leave it at that. I would hate to stereotype in the dedicated members of the police department who were at my house in thirty seconds when my father almost choked to death.
As I was saying, there was an incredible police presence there, which made things quite uncomfortable, not like there was a strip search or anything, but you kind of didn’t want to look too stoned around all of these cops. Of course I look quite stoned even when I am sober, so I probably really looked stoned. After making our way into the place, we did our usual routine of buying medium cokes, and promptly emptying them out in the bathroom. Unfortunately this time, there was a Cop sitting in the john watching everyone. Damn I guess you can’t even spark up in the can. So we get to our seats, and there’s cops walking up and down the aisles! I mean this was too much like George Orwell 1984 big brother shit going on here. And one major problem arose upon filling our theater cups with the Zima. What the hell are we gonna do with the bottles? I mean shit, it was tough enough filling the cups with cops breathing down your neck, almost like a high school teacher trying to keep you from cheating, now what the hell do we do with six empty Zima bottles. With all the cops outside, hell there’s probably a roadblock waiting for us to leave. So no dice on taking these things out with us. A brilliant idea flashes in my head, roll the bottles down under the seats.
“Don’t you think the cops will hear the noise from the bottles rolling on the concrete”, Mike asked me, a little confused.
“Not if you wait until the movie starts and the music is crankin.” I responded with a grin.
So the lights fade, and the music begins, building to a loud crescendo, as I tap Mike in the shoulder, hold up the bottle and send it rolling down to the front of the theater. Mike taps Jaime on the shoulder and does the same with his bottle. The music builds to a fever pitch, as "...In The Flesh" is coming toward it's climax, and Jaime holds up his bottle and prepares to send it rolling down the aisle, while Mike and I are frantically waving at him and saying stop. Jaime lets the bottle go just as the music stops, and the theater is immersed in dead silence, followed by…
…Tink…tink chink…tink…tink…chink…
A slight chuckle permeates through the theater, while the Cop/Ushers wander around frantically trying to figure out where that noise was coming from.
….ca chink…tink..tink…tink….
Jesus how far was this thing going to roll?
…Tink Tink CRASH!…
At this point the whole theater is pretty much cracking up, and Jaime’s face is so red it’s like a beacon in the dark theater. Of course being stoned out of our minds, the rest of us are laughing so hard, we practically fell out of the seats. One of the friendly neighborhood peace officers comes over to see what the ruckus is about.
“Could you describe the ruckus?” I quote.
“Alright, What seems to be so funny here?” The officer quips.
Mike chimes in, “so the taxidermist says, Officer I don’t ask questions, I just stuff em”
“So then the taxidermist says, Lady I don’t ask questions, I just stuff ‘em”
This brilliant outburst, the punch line of a much less funny joke comes out of the back seat of my 4X4 followed by a chorus of overexcited stoner laughter. I might be a little more disgusted myself had I not been so stoned, I thought it as funny as everyone else. Mike was infamous for his little quips that would be looked at with massive confusion by anyone other than the most devout stoner. Aside from that we were voyaging to the stoner equivalent of the “Rocky Horror Picture show”, the annual midnight showing of the Alan Parker/ Pink Floyd Masterpiece “The Wall.” Of course cramming 6 people into a convertible Geo Tracker makes for an already amusing situation reminiscent of the 1960’s VW Beetle attempts at cramming as many people into a small space as possible. Add to that some choice bud, and a six pack of Zima (Pussy, I know, but there were three ladies present who refused to drink beer), and a fun time is about to be had by all. So as we pull into the theater, we notice an unusual prevalence of bacon present in the parking lot. Funny that every other year the midnight showing of The Wall was the choicest place to get a contact buzz if you were short on dope, that damn place was smokier than a seedy biker bar, but of course filled with less carcinogens. However I had a gut feeling that this year would be a little different. So we eighty-sixed the weed, and each of us with a Zima in tow headed in toward the movie.
Good thing we ditched the pot, cause the abundance of Smokey the Bear was even more present inside than out. I guess the local Law enforcement actually figured out what the movie was about, and decided to do a little preliminary investigating of their own. Either that or their confiscated weed supply was running a little low, and they were looking to score some. Now don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for cops, and I don’t want to sound like a bacon basher here. In fact, one of my best friends is a cop, and that’s the actual truth, not just something like what racist people say to hide their racism. However, I must admit that there are several members of the local law enforcement community who are not exactly on the up and up, so to say. And I, a time or two, have had my share of run ins with said local law enforcement, which was not a positive experience for myself and did not add to the credibility in my opinion of the occupation of Law Enforcement. Why don’t we just say there are good cops and bad cops and leave it at that. I would hate to stereotype in the dedicated members of the police department who were at my house in thirty seconds when my father almost choked to death.
As I was saying, there was an incredible police presence there, which made things quite uncomfortable, not like there was a strip search or anything, but you kind of didn’t want to look too stoned around all of these cops. Of course I look quite stoned even when I am sober, so I probably really looked stoned. After making our way into the place, we did our usual routine of buying medium cokes, and promptly emptying them out in the bathroom. Unfortunately this time, there was a Cop sitting in the john watching everyone. Damn I guess you can’t even spark up in the can. So we get to our seats, and there’s cops walking up and down the aisles! I mean this was too much like George Orwell 1984 big brother shit going on here. And one major problem arose upon filling our theater cups with the Zima. What the hell are we gonna do with the bottles? I mean shit, it was tough enough filling the cups with cops breathing down your neck, almost like a high school teacher trying to keep you from cheating, now what the hell do we do with six empty Zima bottles. With all the cops outside, hell there’s probably a roadblock waiting for us to leave. So no dice on taking these things out with us. A brilliant idea flashes in my head, roll the bottles down under the seats.
“Don’t you think the cops will hear the noise from the bottles rolling on the concrete”, Mike asked me, a little confused.
“Not if you wait until the movie starts and the music is crankin.” I responded with a grin.
So the lights fade, and the music begins, building to a loud crescendo, as I tap Mike in the shoulder, hold up the bottle and send it rolling down to the front of the theater. Mike taps Jaime on the shoulder and does the same with his bottle. The music builds to a fever pitch, as "...In The Flesh" is coming toward it's climax, and Jaime holds up his bottle and prepares to send it rolling down the aisle, while Mike and I are frantically waving at him and saying stop. Jaime lets the bottle go just as the music stops, and the theater is immersed in dead silence, followed by…
…Tink…tink chink…tink…tink…chink…
A slight chuckle permeates through the theater, while the Cop/Ushers wander around frantically trying to figure out where that noise was coming from.
….ca chink…tink..tink…tink….
Jesus how far was this thing going to roll?
…Tink Tink CRASH!…
At this point the whole theater is pretty much cracking up, and Jaime’s face is so red it’s like a beacon in the dark theater. Of course being stoned out of our minds, the rest of us are laughing so hard, we practically fell out of the seats. One of the friendly neighborhood peace officers comes over to see what the ruckus is about.
“Could you describe the ruckus?” I quote.
“Alright, What seems to be so funny here?” The officer quips.
Mike chimes in, “so the taxidermist says, Officer I don’t ask questions, I just stuff em”
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Friday, August 06, 2004
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
In reference to last post: From Sun-Times.com
Derek Frigo, 37, rock guitarist
June 9, 2004
BY RUMMANA HUSSAIN Staff Reporter Advertisement
Years before he gained fame as the ax man for the Chicago-based psychedelic glam band Enuff Z'Nuff, Derek Frigo's songwriter father, Johnny, offered him advice:
"Don't ever take a puff on a cigarette, because once you do, it's going to haunt you for the rest of your life."
But the "by the book" hedonistic lifestyle of an MTV star, soaked in chemical dependent debauchery, enraptured the young musician and lingered well after his career peaked in 1990.
Mr. Frigo, the longtime Enuff Z' Nuff guitarist, died of an apparent drug overdose May 28 outside a friend's apartment in Los Angeles. He was 37.
Just seven months ago, Mr. Frigo sent a desperate paean on the dangers of addiction to his father, vowing sobriety. The lanky, brown-haired hockey aficionado blamed drugs for destroying relationships, his career and "the most valuable years" of his life.
"Dear drugs and alcohol. . . . You have managed to keep me in your grasp far too long. . . . But you have not managed to blind me from the light of God, a higher power or my family, which shine much brighter than you," Mr. Frigo wrote. "From this day on, this light will stay on, so your darkness cannot enter my being anymore. Drugs and alcohol, I have to say goodbye to you forever."
Although he grew up with the jazz virtuoso Johnny Frigo, who penned "The Chicago Cubs Song'' ("Hey, Hey, Holy Mackerel") and a singer-actress mother, Brittney Browne, Mr. Frigo was determined to pursue a career in plastic surgery. However, after watching Kris Kristofferson in "A Star Is Born," his interests changed and soon he mastered the "hammer-on" and "banshee wailing" techniques of his hero Eddie Van Halen, boastfully pounding out the licks with the same zealous intensity of the 1980s guitar god.
Mr. Frigo, a former North Sider, secured "LeMans," his first album on a major record label, when he was only 19. A few years later, he joined Enuff Z'Nuff, whose debut self-titled album scored the hit singles "New Thing" and "Fly High Michelle."
"No major labels were willing to sign us up until Derek played with us," said Chip Z'Nuff, the Blue Island native who founded the band. "He was such a great guitar player. He's totally irreplaceable."
The band enjoyed marginal success and gained noted fans like Howard Stern and David Letterman. Enuff Z'Nuff was named the "hot new band" of 1991 by Rolling Stone magazine. Critics often noted the Aqua Net doused hair and lipsticked pouts the quartet adopted during the height of their popularity in the 1990s belied their unique "Beatlesque" sound.
Mr. Frigo admired his father's musical expertise, showing him off to the likes of Jon Bon Jovi. He even invited Johnny Frigo -- 50 years his senior -- to play violin on one of band's albums, and had the then tuxedo-clad 73-year-old play at the band's show at the Park West in 1990, so the two could perform together.
"I love my dad's music, even though some of it is a bit corny. I steal licks from him all the time," Mr. Frigo told a local newspaper at the time.
Mr. Frigo was currently playing guitar with local Los Angeles bands and was helping former Stone Temple Pilots members with their new material, according to friends. He officially left Enuff Z'Nuff in 1992, but played on the band's upcoming album "?" and was planning to join its members on their upcoming tour of Japan and Europe.
"He was a gentle, sweet-loving guy. He was courteous to grownups," Johnny Frigo said.
Mr. Frigo is also survived by his stepbrother, Rick Frigo.
A memorial service is scheduled for June 16 at the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine Temple, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades, Calif.
Derek Frigo, 37, rock guitarist
June 9, 2004
BY RUMMANA HUSSAIN Staff Reporter Advertisement
Years before he gained fame as the ax man for the Chicago-based psychedelic glam band Enuff Z'Nuff, Derek Frigo's songwriter father, Johnny, offered him advice:
"Don't ever take a puff on a cigarette, because once you do, it's going to haunt you for the rest of your life."
But the "by the book" hedonistic lifestyle of an MTV star, soaked in chemical dependent debauchery, enraptured the young musician and lingered well after his career peaked in 1990.
Mr. Frigo, the longtime Enuff Z' Nuff guitarist, died of an apparent drug overdose May 28 outside a friend's apartment in Los Angeles. He was 37.
Just seven months ago, Mr. Frigo sent a desperate paean on the dangers of addiction to his father, vowing sobriety. The lanky, brown-haired hockey aficionado blamed drugs for destroying relationships, his career and "the most valuable years" of his life.
"Dear drugs and alcohol. . . . You have managed to keep me in your grasp far too long. . . . But you have not managed to blind me from the light of God, a higher power or my family, which shine much brighter than you," Mr. Frigo wrote. "From this day on, this light will stay on, so your darkness cannot enter my being anymore. Drugs and alcohol, I have to say goodbye to you forever."
Although he grew up with the jazz virtuoso Johnny Frigo, who penned "The Chicago Cubs Song'' ("Hey, Hey, Holy Mackerel") and a singer-actress mother, Brittney Browne, Mr. Frigo was determined to pursue a career in plastic surgery. However, after watching Kris Kristofferson in "A Star Is Born," his interests changed and soon he mastered the "hammer-on" and "banshee wailing" techniques of his hero Eddie Van Halen, boastfully pounding out the licks with the same zealous intensity of the 1980s guitar god.
Mr. Frigo, a former North Sider, secured "LeMans," his first album on a major record label, when he was only 19. A few years later, he joined Enuff Z'Nuff, whose debut self-titled album scored the hit singles "New Thing" and "Fly High Michelle."
"No major labels were willing to sign us up until Derek played with us," said Chip Z'Nuff, the Blue Island native who founded the band. "He was such a great guitar player. He's totally irreplaceable."
The band enjoyed marginal success and gained noted fans like Howard Stern and David Letterman. Enuff Z'Nuff was named the "hot new band" of 1991 by Rolling Stone magazine. Critics often noted the Aqua Net doused hair and lipsticked pouts the quartet adopted during the height of their popularity in the 1990s belied their unique "Beatlesque" sound.
Mr. Frigo admired his father's musical expertise, showing him off to the likes of Jon Bon Jovi. He even invited Johnny Frigo -- 50 years his senior -- to play violin on one of band's albums, and had the then tuxedo-clad 73-year-old play at the band's show at the Park West in 1990, so the two could perform together.
"I love my dad's music, even though some of it is a bit corny. I steal licks from him all the time," Mr. Frigo told a local newspaper at the time.
Mr. Frigo was currently playing guitar with local Los Angeles bands and was helping former Stone Temple Pilots members with their new material, according to friends. He officially left Enuff Z'Nuff in 1992, but played on the band's upcoming album "?" and was planning to join its members on their upcoming tour of Japan and Europe.
"He was a gentle, sweet-loving guy. He was courteous to grownups," Johnny Frigo said.
Mr. Frigo is also survived by his stepbrother, Rick Frigo.
A memorial service is scheduled for June 16 at the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine Temple, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades, Calif.
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