storeeze

“Two photo ops, dinner at the house and Ron Carter at the Bistro. Be here by 5:30.” I was late; we raced to the rarefied atmosphere of the Beaux-Arts at  St. Louis U. A lady with a charming smile handed me a brochure. Richard found me at the Pinot Grigio and round cheeses. “Can't take you anywhere!” Was it my blazer-baseball cap ensemble? I finished the tasty stuff and drifted into the Michael Eastman Retrospective. Large photos, curiously dead (no people), an architectural feel. A cactus resembling a building ornament. A horse with human countenance. (Why the long face?) I asked Richard, “What about the sheep?” “We don’t have time for the sheep.”  Across town and two flights of steps for 70 Years of Martin Schweig at Webster U. Richard was all-in for Schweig. I tabbed Eastman.  Richard’s house was next, pineapple chicken in the crock pot; stretching on the sofa to Paul Butterfield; Sibelius after dinner to think it over. The Bistro doesn't proclaim MAGNIFICENT or H...

12:00 Noon. Fasting since last night. Swallowed two laxative tabs with eight ounces of water.  People always mean well. They wag their tails and shake their heads, “Don't go skating.” Toss my skates into the trunk. Strange gurgling from my abdominal region. 4:34 PM. The fast-lax was negatory. Toss back two more. Pick up the phone and call Richard. “What’s the big deal?” He laughs, “Just you wait!” Doc Klucka has to catch a mid-morning flight. I’ll have to report to hospital at 5:30 AM. I get to eat three hours sooner! Ten ounces Gatorade & forty grams of powdered antifreeze down the hatch. Ten more ounces. Forty more grams. 6:55 PM. And another one gone and another one gone and another one down the hatch. A call to the expert. Richard laughs manically, “No one escapes! Resistance is futile!” More bubbling. Pressure at both ends. Burps and hiccups. Running behind. No number two yet. Time to chug-a-lug number four, the yucky-tasty one. They’re not getting any better. So...