Thursday, April 28, 2005
Forgot to pass this along:
Once in the darkest days of the Reagan Years, Wonder Woman (with whom I go back quite some ways, come to think of it) and I were seated in a pizzeria on Bleecker Street in the West Village, feeding the inner man. Our table was next to a picture window facing a cross street, might have been 10th or Christopher. I think Matt Umanov Guitars was across the street.
Up the side street, a limousine crept. It stopped at a red light, right next to us.
The door of the limo crashed open, and out leaped Joe Jackson and two smokin'-hot babes. Joe was wearing a white ice-cream suit and a straw skimmer.
The three of them danced around the limo, hollering and generally whooping it up. Joe twirled first one, then the other of the two babes. Waving the skimmer in the air, he did a manic buck-and-wing down the sidewalk.
The light turned green, and the three of them, alerted by the driver, leaped back into the limo and sped off into the night, leaving WW and I rolling on the pizzeria floor.
It was the Eighties. Joe had "Night and Day" under his belt, and no doubt a fine headful of Bolivian Marching Powder in his brain.
Can't say just the tiniest touch of green didn't glow around the Jingo phiz.