A little tale and a quiz for all you Bonamaniacs

To celebrate my 100th post, please permit me a little indulgence. The following is a literary doodle that passed the time while I enjoyed the sun in Portugal earlier this month. It contains 50 titles from Joe’s current studio and live albums, some of which may include punctuation and therefore less obvious.

The story line just evolved without any plan so I’m not sure what a psychologist would make of it, although I’ve got a good idea! 

Any similarity to or connection with events, places or persons past, present or future is entirely coincidental.

I hope it brings a smile to your face and you have fun finding the titles.

Phil

“One of these days I’m going to be famous”, said Jim. Jim’s Mom replied as most busy mothers do when they are half listening, “I’m sure you will, dear, now eat your rice pudding. Oh, and there’s a small piece of jellyroll from Dad’s leftovers if you’d like it later.”

Just then Jim’s Dad appeared and asked “has anyone seen my ball peen hammer, I can’t find it anywhere?” In chorus Jim and his Mom replied “No, I haven’t seen it.” Jim immediately felt his conscience pricking as his unwritten rule not to tell an untruth was no longer unbroken with this lie no. 1. He had earlier used the hammer to tap home the nut which had worked loose on his prized ’56 Strat’. Jim knew how possessive his Dad was about his tools so he needed to figure out a way to sneak under the radar and return it to the toolbox without anyone noticing. Jim’s Mom implored him to go and help his Dad to look for the hammer as she turned back to the kitchen sink laughing as she said “I’ve got to clean the dishes, I know where I belong.”

As Jim crossed the yard, steppin’ out of the shadows into the afternoon sun he looked down the valley to the river, the colour and shape of which reminded him of a silver ribbon as it wended its way through the fields and around the bend in the distance toward Richmond. Overhead a solitary seagull circled feasting on the insects that had been drawn up by the rising thermal. He stood there for a few moments immersed in the serenity of the view when he heard a mumbling word in his ear, “woke up dreaming did ya, Jim”. It was old Jack who helped Jim’s Dad on his delivery round. Old Jack was not a man of many words illustrated by a mumbled “penny for ‘em, son” to Jim as he turned to smile at old Jack.

“I see Penny s’mornin’, she was asking around for you. Said she ain’t seen you in ages.” Penny was smitten with Jim but it wasn’t what you’d call real love. No, it was another kind of love, what used to be called puppy love, although Penny would dispute it. “Thanks for the warning, Jack”, said Jim, who was more interested in music than girls, but too late, Penny appeared at the five bar gate, climbing onto the bottom bar to peer over the top. Jim could see that this was trouble waiting to pounce with its claws extended and he was trapped in the yard with no escape. “So, it’s like that is it, Jim?” said Penny. “You disappear for days, never say goodbye; I’m always waiting for you and you’re never waiting for me. You can pack it up right now, Jim.” Jim could do without this pain and sorrow as he had other things on his mind, so chose capitulation rather than confrontation. “I’m sorry, it’s my mistake”, he heard himself saying. “I don’t believe you” Penny retorted in a high pitched squeal. Oh dear, this isn’t going to work, thought Jim. He heard the words in his head, but before he could stop himself he said “it’s just that you’re always there whenever I turn round, you walk in my shadows.” That lit Penny’s blue touch-paper and she became incandescent with rage as she spat out the words “when you’re not here I miss you, hate you when you are. We’re finished.” With that she jumped down from the gate and ran down the road crying. Jim felt a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he turned to old Jack, who had been listening to Penny’s tirade from a safe distance, and said “phew, I’ll be glad when I don’t live anywhere near her.” Old Jack had seen and heard it all before. “Now you can sing about the blues first hand. Hell, you can even write a song about it – how about “Penny Blues””, he chuckled. “Very amusing” said Jim, who failed to see the funny side of old Jack’s wit. “Aw come on”, said old Jack, “if heartaches were nickels, or should that be Pennies, I wouldn’t still be a delivery man”, he callously chortled as he made another attempt at a joke to make light of the situation.

Jim had had enough and went back inside forgetting why he had left the house a few minutes earlier. “What’s wrong”, asked Jim’s Mom as he headed for the basement rec room to seek solace in his music. “Penny”, answered Jim. “She had to cry today of all days”. It was Penny’s birthday tomorrow and he had planned to surprise her with a trip to a club in town. “Penny’s a different person when she dances, trouble is she isn’t always dancing”, said Jim. His Mom smiled at him and said “there’s plenty more fish in the sea”, which just made Jim cringe as he hated such trite patronising clichés, but he knew his Mom meant well and was only trying to cheer him up. When everyone else lets you down, mother love is always there. “Don’t let it get you down, Jim”, said his Mom. Tomorrow’s a new day; yesterday and today will soon fade”.

One week later Jim was on the road again, travellin’ south through junction 61 on his way to yet another gig. Although playing guitar had always been his life, sometimes he wished the U.S.  wasn’t so damned big, especially when the long distance blues kicked in after a few days on the tour bus with so many roads all looking the same. Still, the expressions on the faces of his loyal fans when he took to the stage easily made up for the boredom of the endless miles on the road. Jim gazed into the distance at yet at yet another mountain. Time to strum a few chords he thought as he reached for his solid top acoustic and played a refrain from a Django Reinhardt tune he’d heard recently on the radio. After a few minutes of being immersed in his playing he relaxed and the interminable travelling didn’t seem quite so bad, especially at sunset when the sun goes down and the western sky is on fire. Looking out of the windows the inky black night soon becomes filled with millions of stars as the light pollution of the conurbations is left behind.

As the tour bus pulled into town Jim passed the site of the small hall he had played the year before. It was no more, having been torn down to make way for the 11th Wall Mart store on the east side. World domination was clearly their intention. The hoarding surrounding the site had been used as a blank canvas by the local graffiti artists and, buried in a colourful montage; the words ‘faux mantini’ caught his eye. He wondered what a mantini is, or was, as he’d never seen a real one, let alone a fake one. The bus stopped briefly at the junction of 53rd and 3rd and Jim jumped down onto the sidewalk calling out to his manager that he was going to stretch his legs and would be at the 4 o’clock soundcheck.

Turning the corner Jim almost bumped into the doorman of a swanky hotel dressed in a maroon frockcoat and top hat. The doorman looked down disapprovingly at Jim’s denims, but assuming he could be one of the wealthy rock stars that often stay at the hotel and not there by accident, opened the door. What the hell, thought Jim, let’s see how the other half live and he stepped over the threshold. The interior of the hotel looked like a film set for a Merchant Ivory movie with dark mahogany everywhere. A waiter appeared from the darkness and beckoned Jim toward the lounge where afternoon tea was being served. “Tea for one, sir”, asked the obsequious flunky. Jim entered the lounge and, drawn by the light, sat by the window. He hadn’t looked at the menu, so was taken aback when the waiter ejaculated “Assam, Darjeeling, Ceylon or green tea or would sir like an herbal or fruit tea?” As Jim didn’t drink tea often he didn’t immediately know what to answer, but as he knew most tea comes from India, chose Assam. His school geography lessons hadn’t taught him much about the world beyond the land of the free, but he knew that much. When Jim had finished his cucumber sandwiches and some of those little icing covered cakes that are so sweet they find every cavity you didn’t know you had, the waiter delivered the bill on a small silver dish. Jim reached for his wallet. “Oh my God”, he whispered under his breath when he realised he’d left it on the bus. It was at that moment he heard his Dad’s voice in his head saying “always keep your wallet in sight, son; don’t learn the hard way”. Hang on he thought, I’ll just see if there’s anything amongst the dirt in my pocket. Rummaging around he pricked his finger on the open clasp of a badge that bore the legend ‘Always on the Road’. After sucking the blood from his punctured finger for a few seconds, he delved deeper and amongst the fluff found a button, one dime, two nickels and a quarter. That won’t get me very far, thought Jim. Then he remembered the small hip pocket where he kept a $20 bill for emergencies. Although it had been through the wash a few times, it was recognisable as one of Uncle Sam’s IOUs and Jim handed it to the waiter who peered at it suspiciously but took it anyway. Deciding not to wait for his change, Jim made a beeline for the door without looking back. It was already 3.45pm and he needed to get to the venue or he’d be in trouble. On his way through the hotel’s lobby he saw a payphone and remembered his promise to call home when he had arrived. It was great to hear his Mom’s voice and when she said Jim’s Dad had no idea how it got there, but that his hammer had reappeared in his toolbox, he breathed a sigh of relief.