Happy Birthday, Magic Dick!

Straight from his bio: “Born on May 13, 1945 in New London, Connecticut, Magic Dick arrived in post-war America to the Atomic Bomb, World Peace, Bebop and Rhythm & Blues.” Looks like his stars knew he was destined to be on the LRBC, doesn’t it? We're the bomb. We’re hippies gone wild with peace and love and all that. We’re loaded with bebop and rhythm & blues, among other things. And he can fill the legendary bill all by himself. When we were cruising the Caribbean, I asked him, “How are you enjoying your virgin voyage?” “Quite a bit. Are you a virgin, too?” “Not anymore. I’m one of the addicts. I think this is my fifth.” “So,” he paused, peering over his shades and letting some stage patter slip in, “what is it about this cruise that you enjoy so much?” “Well,” I replied, drawing on my inner Mae West, “I would ask how long you’ve got, but you’re a guy.” I could not resist adding, “And your name is Magic Dick.” He grinned and acknowledged that other parts of him are excellent as well. One evening after performing on the Pool Deck somewhere in the Pacific, Dick said that from the stage the crowd looked just like the poster – all dazzling dancers and joyful energy. “So,” I had to ask, tweaking just a tad, “what is it about this cruise…” We’ve always had magic on board. Maybe our stars will bring Magic on board, too.

A Mother's Day story about how I got on the Blues Cruise

From the “I suck at blogging, but at least I’m not a Spitzer” Department The biz gets bizzy. The dogs get their cuddle time. The garden lurks with that come-play-in-my-dirt leer. Nigel, the new old Benz, deserves his TLC. Terrific blues artists come through town and I’m helpless to stay away. And, well, criminy, after logging soooo many hours in front of the screen all week/months/years/decades, who wants to spend more time pounding the keyboard? Oh yeah…me. At least occasionally. Such as today: Mother’s Day. .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... A charming little story about how my Mother got me on the Blues Cruise My mom died. That’s not the charming part. My Blues Cruise-ing brother was her favorite child and he probably deserved to be. Me and the other one? Not so much. My mother and I were like oil and vinegar quaking in the cruet. She kicked me out at 21 and I’ve been grateful ever since. She had an operatic voice and loved to torment her kids with Madame Butterball. Our father was a natural athlete whose jitterbug cleared the dance floor. She had two left feet. They paid him not to sing. I dance like my mother and sing like my father. I coulda been Bernadette Peters. You can stop laughing, Universe. In her last several years, she made the move out West where my then-husband and I tended to her needs. Every so often, broski would get a call from his maniacal sister for a kvetchfest. I didn’t intend to guilt him, but that’s probably the way it was in his eyes and ears. Sorry, bro. But, hey, look where it got us. Mom was a Depression Era baby and a retired RN who, despite putting three kids through college, managed to leave something behind. Broski, all sweetness and guilt, whispers in my ear after the service, “Listen, I appreciate everything you did. I’d like you to have my share of the estate.” “Wow!” I chirp, somewhat shocked at the largesse, but not really. “Really? Well, all right! Then I’ll take you on a cruise.” And that’s how it happened. Charming. .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... Broski is an audiophile with a predilection toward jazz and blues. Thinking we might do well with a bunch of blues types (more denim, less dry clean), I Google two words: Blues and Cruise. Up pops the Web site. I call. “Hi there, just found you guys online and I’ve got some questions.” “You’re calling at the right time since we just opened our signup to nonveterans,” says LRBC. I ask about demographics: About 50/50 men to women. About 50/50 couples to singles. And an astonishingly high rate of return, a marketeer’s best test of success. I ask about seasickness. LRBC laughs. “What do you mean?” I must know, remembering that, as a kid, broski always got to ride shotgun because of alleged carsickness. “I hear about those stabilizers, but neither of us has cruised before.” “Well, seasickness is rarely the problem with our cruisers.” “Oh?” I inquire, getting a little tickly inside as I recognize when I’m being fed a line I’ll probably find delectable. “What is the problem then?” “Sleep deprivation.” (Let me digress. I’m chuckling now as I write this, because I am, after all, the “No Sleepinest Woman” and proud recipient of the Wang Dang Doodle Award, a hotly contested honor for the croozer with the least amount of sleep. Speaking of which, happy birthweek, Magic Dick.) “I see. Sounds great. I’ll call you right back.” With headset still on, I track down broski at the office, a full continent away. “Quick! Go to www.bluescruise.com and tell me what you think!” “Looks good….wow, outstanding lineup,” he says. “Yeah, let’s do it.” And that’s how we got on board. Our mom dies. He gives. We sail. And sail and sail and sail… I’ve shared this story about my mom and bro a few times and I still find it charming – as well as a fitting tribute on this day to a woman who loved to sing. .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... Whoa! Now, as it turns out, Mother has something to add… Literally seconds ago – I mean seconds! -- I was about to send this to both brothers so they could read it first. I open Outlook and – bam! – here comes an email from noncroozingbro. Everything’s timing in life and, apparently, in death. Seems it figures prominently in how some of us like to look for signs of life on the other side. Yes indeed, today is Mother’s Day. And it also happens to be the only day of the year that noncroozingbro gets his hair cut. For years, it’s been his traditional offering to his mother. The rest of the time, he’s David Crosby’s wiry twin. So, thanks, Mom! That little rush I get in the Piano Bar really is you! Glad to know you’re enjoying life over there, singing long into dawn. Have a great day today and every day. Oops, better edit that last line: I’ve shared this story about my mom and bro a few times and I still find it charming – and a fitting tribute on this day to a woman who loves to sing.