#imagine being bruce springsteen. someone stops you outside of a toilet

[varpusvaras]

It has been way over a decade since this happened, so some details are a little blurry, but I still have to tell this story here too:

So, my dad's colleague was on a trip with their friends, who were a couple. Now, the wife of this couple was a huge U2 fan, and the highlight of this trip was going to a U2 concert. Later that night, after the concert, they went to a restaurant, and who do they see there at another table? Bono. The wife wants so badly to go and ask for an autograph, but in a typical Finnish fashion, she doesn't want to be a bother because surely Bono just wants to enjoy his night and not be surrounded by fans all the time, so she doesn't go.

Then, she notices that someone from Bono's table gets up and goes to the men's restroom, so she also gets up and goes to wait outside the men's room, until the guy comes out. She then stops him and goes excuse me, I saw that you were at the same table as Bono, would it be in any way possible that you could ask for an autograph from him for me? (because apparently it is much less mortifying to bother someone else you don't know than to bother the guy directly, I guess).

The man apparently kinda stands there for a moment, just looking at her, before he asks, sounding just a tad bit confused, if he heard her right. You want me to go and ask Bono for an autograph for you?

Yes, she says. She's being very polite about it. If you would be so kind. That would be great.

The man says yes, sure, I'll see what I can do about it.

They then part ways and go back to their own tables and continue the night, and some time later, they notice that Bono and the rest of the people who had been at that table have left.

Oh well, the wife thinks. No can do, maybe he just forgot or something or just didn't want to do it. It's okay.

They finish up their meal and ask for the bill. The waiter tells them that their meal has already been paid for, and then tells that they were left with two notes.

The waiter gives them the notes. They are both autographs. One of them says Bono.

And the other says Bruce Springsteen.

[letterstoocean]

my ocean, 

more of the story, 

They were sitting on the floor with a blank canvas in front of them.  

On one side of the canvas was a bottle of blue ink and a new bamboo brush.

On the other side, a bottle of red ink with its own brush.

The scene waited for them.

He sat behind her with his arms and legs wrapped around her with his head resting on her left shoulder, occasionally kissing her neck whenever the moment caught him.

With each kiss she would sigh and lean back into him until eventually he had all of her weight on him and it felt like she was weightless.  

Like she was flying.

He felt so alive as he was wrapped around her that she actually felt safe.

“Safe.” she sighed and rubbed her nose against his cheek as he kissed her again.

He whispered, “ready?”

She said nothing. But turned and looked at him.

Safe.

Enjoying the flight, he kissed her lips.

When the heat began to rise in her she sat up, grabbed the brush and red ink and wrote:

You might have to teach me how to love again.

You might have to show me how….

She set the brush down, she leaned back into him and he wrapped arms and legs around her again and waited for his words.

Safe......

A thousand breaths, heartbeats and kisses later, he grabbed the brush, black ink and wrote:

I will touch your tender heart with patient, distant fingertips until you are ready for more...

He sat in front of her and she wrapped her legs and arms around him, squeezed tight and rested her head on his right shoulder.

She stared at the canvass as she felt his heartbeat underneath her hands.  

The sweat that began to trickle down his back, his patience,  the  simple fact that  she was holding him and he was leaning back into her like it was meant to be, like it fit.....

The release inside of her was sudden, instant and overwhelming and caught her by surprised.

The feeling welcomed, she squeezed him tighter and stared at the canvas.

“I can't, yet.” she said, “you.”

He leaned back, kissed her on the head and crawled to the canvas, her hands running over his back causing goose bumps on her skin.

She shivers and sighs..

Safe.

He grabbed the red ink and brush:

Seeing, feeling and hearing the unattainable woman inside of you is what calls me.

The woman that never exists because she is always changing.

An incredibly beautiful, powerful goddess that most people fear.

That is what I hear, see and feel when I touch, taste and need you....

He sets the brush down.  

She grabs his hips and pulls him back to her, arms and legs wrapping him she squeezes and doesn't let go.

He leans back even more. Giving her all of his weight.

Safe....

There is a reason why it is called work…

My first job was de-tasseling corn.  Sun up to sundown.  Rain, heat, both at the same time, none of it  stopped junior high and high school kids from walking the mile long fields pulling out the tassels of seed corn.  

The fields all had to be pulled before the tassels opened, but couldn’t be pulled until they were a certain size. That was a very very small window, hence the long days.

Pop told me it was hurry up and wait work.  “You watched the corn grow.  You waited.  You waited.  You waited.  And then, awww shit, hurry up, pull those tassels before it is too late!”

The corn was wet from dew in the morning and would cut your hands.  The bugs were ridiculous and you walked field after field no matter the weather, doing the same repetitious thing you had been doing for many many hours.

Why would any one do this mind-boggling painful and boring job?  For the age, the money was good; especially in the eighties.  And only young kids could be conned into doing it.

The first day I got up at five am., was greeted by Pop with a cup of coffee, a big breakfast and a packed lunch of three bologna and cheese sandwiches, beanie weenies and a mountain dew.

As I strapped the lunch on to my back, hopped on my moped, the rain began.  Just a couple of drops, but the dark clouds said there was going to be more.  A lot more.

Pop stood in the doorway, looked up at the sky, and vanished into the house. He came back and handed me a couple of giant black trash can bags.  He told me to cut a hole in the top and drape it over me like a poncho.  

“Trust me.  It’ll help.”  He ruffled my hair and gave me a “good luck,”  and I was off high hopes of all the money I was going to make.

When I arrived, I was shown how to pull the tassel out of the corn and then me and twenty other eighth graders were let loose in the fields.  

I lost my left shoe in the mud. My hands and face were bleeding from the wet corn that sliced them up like razor blades.  My jeans and boots weighed about five pounds each from the mud and right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the rain stopped and then the bugs and the heat came. The blood on my face and hands called every mosquito for miles to feast on the free Christophe buffet.  That was the first hour.

We stopped for lunch, ate under the roof of a barn as the rain came down again and then was sent back to it.  No pity. No empathy. No sympathy.  The grown ups had done the same job when they were kids,  they survived, so would we.

With my moral left somewhere in the mud and the sun  setting, I rode home. Covered in mud, mosquito bites, cuts on my hands, face and arms, and my spirit broken, I began to cry

Pop pretended not to notice the tears as I pulled in to car park.  

Garden hose in his hand he nodded towards Old Man Maple.  “Strip em down house, hang em on the nail in the tree.”  I did as he said, too tired to even worry about the neighbors seeing me naked.

“Tub is ready for ya, haus.”

As I sat in the tub, I stared at my bloody hands and thought there was no way I could go back and do it all again the next day. But I wouldn't be able to face pop or anyone for that fact if I quit.

Pop walked in the bathroom, handed me a can of Mountain Dew, sat down on the toilet seat and smiled.  

“There’s a reason why they call it work, haus.  If you enjoyed it, they would call it masturbating.”

There were three rites of passage every boy did in Pops eyes. You were born a yard ape. You were a yard ape until some time during your puberty.

At some point, each boy was different,  you somehow earned your man card during puberty and you became Haus. You were becoming man.

And then, again it varied from person to person,  you eventually became chief. You were a man.  Equal in his eyes.  You could always digress, or never reach chiefdom. Everything depended on your character and your worth.

As I sat in the bathtub, tired sore and bloody, I realized that was the first time he called me Haus.

I smiled and even laughed a little. I really was hoping he would tell me I wouldn’t have to go back.

“Get some sleep, it will be easier tomorrow.”

It didn’t get easier, I just got tougher.  That and Pop kept repeating, “There is a reason why they call it work, haus.” inside my head.

That summer, Bruce Springsteen's’ Born in the USA album came out.   I immediately fell in love with the album.  “Born down in a dead mans town, the first kick I took was when I hit the ground…..”  If there ever was a song that felt good singing in Indiana heat, buried face deep in flesh cutting bug infested corn fields,  that song was it.  Sang it, over and over again.  

Four weeks went by and the job was done.  I was rewarded with a three hundred dollar paycheck and a “hope to see you and your stories next year.”

I spent all three hundred on four tickets to Bruce Springsteen’s. His album came out that summer, and I fell in love.  Sometimes music just comes along at the perfect moment in life, and it connects with everything. Springsteen's album did that.  And I was hooked.  Couldn’t get enough of him.

When pop found out that I spent all my money on concert tickets, I thought for sure he was going to beat the crap out of me with his one arm. I was sure in that instant I was going to go from “haus” to a “damn idiot yard ape” and stay that way forever. But he just stared for a while; smiled, and told me he hoped I enjoyed “Bob Stringbean and his Sneeze Feet Band”

Over the years I have had some good jobs and I have had some not so good jobs.  Through all of them, because someone else was telling me what to do, I would not want to do it.  All of us are like that.  “Each and every one of us has at one time taking a deep sigh, looked at some one and said, “well, I guess I better go to work.”

Now ask yourself, when was the last time you looked around,  took a deep breath,  sighed and said, “Well, I guess I better go masturbate.”

Pop was right.

There is a reason why they call it work.

I learned an awful lot that summer and I still look back on that concert with great joy. I don’t believe I would have enjoyed it nearly as much if I hadn’t worked my fingers to bloody scabs. And I don’t think I could have made it without Pop constantly telling me from a sideways glance, “There is a reason why they call it work, haus.”  

On a Friday night, in between The Dukes of Hazard and Dallas, Pop got up off the couch(sit up, sit on the edge, trademark groan, shuffle of feet for balance and another groan to grow on) and looked outside.

“I think its Christmas tonight, Haus.”  Pop walked into the den and I heard the loud click of the porch light.

The August summer night was suddenly illuminated with red, blue and green lights.  I walked up and stood beside Pop as he gazed out at the new holiday.  With a serious face he went back to the television as the theme to Dallas began.  “Some of the bulbs are burned out, Haus.  Can you change them?”

I wondered why the Christmas lights were up and just how long had they been like that but went to the garage like he asked.  I rummaged until I found the spare bulbs and replaced the bad ones, laughing as I did.  

Most people who leave their Christmas lights up year round really don’t care if they work or not; just too lazy to do it.  But in the case of Pop I imagine the last Christmas he really had before I came back was held in the memory of those lights being up. This was Pops rationale at its finest.   Don’t worry about taking the lights down, but dammit they all better work.

About a month later we were working in the garden.  The Cranberry beans were ready to be picked.  Pop preferred to pull up the entire plant, put them in the back of the station wagon and sit in the yard and shuck them.  The neighborhood always came over and helped.  Each person keeping the red ones in a bowl by their chair. The one with the most reds won; the prize decided by Pop.   One year it was a bottle of Old Spice.  The next it was a bowl of buckeyes. The year after that it was a coon skinned cap he bought from Buck Rettiker (another story for another time)

Pop sat on the tractor waiting for me to fill the wagon up which would then be transferred to the station wagon.  He lit a Raleigh non-filter, looked up at the sky, took a deep drag and nodded in approval.

“Yep, just as I thought.  Haus, run up to the house and turn the porch lights on.  It’s Christmas.”

I did as he said; then returned to finish the row of beans.

That night we all sat around the pile of beans playing the red game.  The kids trying to stay in their seats instead of wanting to go play, the adults doing what adults do when they get in a group; talk about different times.

Thelma Hood came out of her house; slowly crossed the street and told me to go in her house and bring the box over sitting by her door.  Thelma didn’t leave her house much.  She would make the trip out to the fenced in lot where her German shepherd Lady was, petted her, fed her, and then returned to her house.  Seeing her cross the street was a Christmas miracle in itself.

Thelma was eighty to hundred years old.  I never knew. Her husband had owned the local gas station slash car dealership and had made a nice home for him and his family.  So Thelma really didn’t have to work but for years she had a beauty parlor in her basement. Her clientele were woman about a hundred to a thousand years old. All of them had white hair when they walked into Thelma’s house. Two hours later they would leave with Blue.  Robin once told me there was a ghost in the basement and whenever the ladies saw it their hair turned blue from fright. I believed him and wouldn’t go in the basement for years.  Eventually she was too old to turn hair blue and spent her time enjoying her TV shows.

I came back with the box and Thelma told me to put it in the middle of the circle.

“Carvin, I missed the last Christmas.  The one in August, but I was prepared for this one.  Merry Christmas everyone.”

Thelma was famous for her popcorn balls that she passed out on Halloween.  Every kid went to her house first to make sure they got one; sometimes even changing costumes to get a second.  And it was the first thing you ate when you got home.  The popcorn balls in the box were covered in red, green, and blue sugar that melted in your mouth, Christmas popcorn balls.  She then pulled out a copy of Goodnight Moon and Shel Silversteins “Where the Sidewalk Ends” for each of us

We all thanked Thelma and asked her to stay but with a wave of her hand she returned to her house, “Can’t stay, Barnaby Jones is on.”

Pop smiled as he watched Thelma cross the street.  He looked around at every one eating their popcorn balls and reading their books and nodded in approval.

It was the best Christmas ever.

Pop sitting in his favorite chair staring out at the  three acre lot as all of the neighborhood leaves gathered to talk about the summer and how well the tree they came from grew.

Like most people his age and of his era Pop loved his yard and garden.  He loved working on both. The three acre yard was always kept golf course short and didn’t have a single bump in it. When he was younger, pop kept up with this task with the energy of a child on Christmas.  Even with only one arm and four fingers he usually worked harder than most people half his age.  

After the kids left for college or got married, and grandma left because of the severity of his alcoholism he began to whither, the cancer that he had been fighting for ten years began to win.  

So the neighborhood bought him one of the mower rakes that fit behind his simplicity tractor.  Basically it looked like one of those baby wagons you see people pulling behind their bikes nowadays.  Only this one had a long bristle brush at the base that flipped all the leaves into the basket.  Pop could then pull up to the leaf pile, reach back and pull on a rope that flipped the whole thing over dumping the leaves in a pile.

By the time he was finished with the yard there would be a pile of red, orange, and brown leaves that extended for half of the block.  He would leave them for a couple of days with a rake propped against Old Man Maple so that the neighborhood kids could play in them.  

He would then light one end of the pile and the ritual of summer would begin with the tell tale white smoke blowing over the neighborhood.

I was reading Stephen Kings Salems Lot when I heard pop sigh.

“I guess you’re too old to play in the leaves, huh?”

I wanted to reply that you are never too old to play in leaves, but I knew pop was more or less talking to himself and not really to me.

“I’m not gonna put the leaves in a pile this year, haus.” Pop said slowly standing.  Trademark groan, shuffle of feet for balance and another groan to grow on.

“Pop, if you’re too tired, I can do it.”  I said closing the book.

“Naw, I have an idea.”

“Okay, let me know if you need help.”

I went back to reading and forgot about Pop and the yard.  I reached for my mountain dew to find it empty.  I walked into the kitchen for another one when I looked out the kitchen window to see white smoke.

“Oh shit!” I ran outside, around the garage and there was pop sitting in the side yard, beneath his favorite tree drinking a choc-ola as the yard in front of him went up in flames.

“Should have thought of this years ago.  Helluva lot easier this way….love the smell of burning leaves.”  Pop said smiling with satisfaction as he lit a Raleigh non-filter cigarette.

The next door neighbors’ dogs began to howl as the fire truck turned pulled on to our block with its siren blaring. Trademark groan, shuffle of feet for balance and another groan to grow on and Pop was walking towards the fire truck as it pulled up and two men; one young, one old,  hopped out of the truck and started to pull the fire hose out of the back.

“Hey ya piss ants, don’t put that out!”  Pop yelled waving his ball cap to get their attention.

Paul Gerring and his son, Pecker, stood with the fire hose in their hands staring at pop with a strange look on their faces. Pecker looked at the ground trying not to get Pops full attention.

Peckers name was not Pecker.  It was Drew.  But during a game of kickball,  instead of going in the house to pee he chose the bush beneath the window that pop sat by and watched the world.  Pop poked his head out of the window, looked down at Drew peeing on the bush and laughed.  “No wonder you wanna hide behind a bush.  If I had a pecker that small I would hide too.”

All the kids died laughing as Drew zipped up and stepped away from the window.  “Hell, it’s even too damn small to shake. You dribbled down your Toughskins.”  Pop said laughing as he closed the window.  

After that, every time Pop saw Drew he would give him a whole hearted, “Hey, Pecker.  Hope its growing.”

And once Pop gave you a nickname, it stuck so Drew became Pecker.  

“ Carvin, did you start this fire?”

“Hell, yeah!  And unless you and Pecker there want to rake the rest of the yard, you’ll let it burn.  Shit far, there’s no danger. It’ll stop at the road.”

Paul stood for a minute.  Then, smiling, he shook his head and started to put the hose away.  “Why didn’t you call and tell us it was a control burn?”

“Well, if I knew what the fuck a control burn was, maybe I would of.”  Pop walked back to his chair and sat down, trademark shuffle, groan and then fall back  into the seat.  “Sit down, take a load and drop it.  You and Pecker want a Choc-ola?”

Paul began to walk back to the fire truck.  “That’s okay, Carvin.  Maybe next time.”

“Deal.” Pop said. “See ya next fall.  And don’t blare that damn siren next time.  Damn thing hurts the shrapnel in my spine.”

“I guess telling you to call us in advance would be like telling you not to call Drew, Pecker?”

“That’s using that education…” Pop said as he gave them a wave and went back to watching the yard burn……………. ,

river

[malemblogs]

Media Interviews

The final component of our ‘It’s not all Rock‘n’Roll’ module was in the form of a media interview, the preparation for this involved research into scenarios much like the ones we had been presented with, the scenarios we had involved an artist performing late, having BP as a sponsor for a countryside festival, drug use and dealing outside of a venue we manage and a crisis management scenario wherein my artist claimed the pope knew about alleged child abuse within the church. For example, my research into the timing scenario involved looking at different artists who had broken curfew by starting their performance late including the likes of Madonna, who took to the stage 30 minutes later than she had advertised and ended up playing 40 minutes after curfew in Wembley Stadium, she was fined £50,000 for every 15 minutes beyond curfew she played and ended up with a fine of £135,000, I also looked into how consumer rights and compensation work under circumstances such as these and came across a piece determining that this can be covered under the T&Cs when purchasing the ticket and I went with that approach, that I had premeditated this was a possibility.

Moving onto the second of the four scenarios, I spent a lot of time looking into BP and the environmental damages they have caused throughout the years, I also spent time researching what they have done to make up for the damages they have caused with cases such as the Deepwater Horizon oil spill in 2010, BP were fined $4 billion for this catastrophe and several company officials and employees have been charged. BP now have more extensive oil spill preparedness and response plans in place and are trying to reduce the amount of gas they burn, I took this as an opportunity for BP to show the general public that they are trying to make up for the mistakes made in the past as my festival was going to run off of as much renewable energy as possible and be very eco-conscious, all of which would be thanks to BP who were underwriting all the costs of the festival, which would hopefully help quell the concerns of the environmental groups.

The third scenario was drug use and dealing outside of my venue, this scenario focused on syringes as opposed to pills or other drugs so I looked into syringes found in public spaces as well as inside venues, finding information about syringes in clubs proved to be difficult as the common ‘club drugs’ are often pills or powders however I did find several articles outlining syringes found in public spaces such as toilets and in alleyways as well as cases where the public including children had been stabbed with these needles, in these cases the local councils advised the public to call them with the location the syringes were found so that they could remove them as opposed to the public trying to do it themselves, there are also towns and cities such as Brighton where they have installed a needle deposit units and drug centres so users can dispose of the syringes safely and stop having to inject in public places. I also looked into venues where drugs have been a problem such as the Ministry of Sound and Fabric, both venues have had turbulent histories when it comes to drugs, for example the Ministry of Sound had trouble keeping drugs out of the venue as the security working were involved with gangs and helped to get drugs into the venue, after a complete security overhaul they have been able to cut down on the amount of drugs entering and being sold in the venue. Fabric very famously had a young man die within the venue last year due to taking a pill he bought in the venue, this ultimately led to the closure of the club. Unfortunately, this isn’t something that can be prevented completely, but with extra security and security cameras surrounding venues, as well as police present you could cut down on the amount of drugs taken or dealt within a venue definitely. I suggested keeping staff trained on spotting someone who is under the influence of drugs and to be able to spot suspicious behaviour such as frequent bathroom trips, or a suspicious exchange between two parties.

The final scenario was crisis management, for this scenario I spent time looking into different artists who had said or done regrettable things on stage or on a public platform such as social media, and how they recovered from it, one case I was familiar with and looked at in more detail was the Dixie Chicks, who very famously slated President Bush live on stage in the UK, which absolutely ruined their careers for a long time, they famously didn’t apologise and stood by what they had to say, other cases I looked at included Sinead O’Connor who ripped of a photo of the pope live on TV in 1992, she also did not apologise and has since been quoted as saying she would do it again. As for social media the likes of Adele has to have her twitter monitored at all times as she is known to get drunk and post things, I looked at hoe each artists management dealt with their actions and how the fans of the artists reacted. My approach for this particular scenario was to be very apologetic and try to get the public to empathize with my artist, claiming this was a subject very close to his heart and in the heat of the moment after hearing of the alleged abuse he lost his cool, due to how furious he was that this had been happening, a feeling that I imagine the majority of the public would be able to relate to.

For each scenario myself and my classmates would questions one another to imitate the interview process, we would ask questions not scripted to make it feel as much like a real media interview as possible, I also had my flatmates help me with this, as they aren’t on my course they were able to get really into each scenario and ask me out of the box questions that really got me thinking and had me prepared for the unexpected.

As for my performance in the actual interview with my lecturer, I felt as though I presented myself well, I opted for a blouse and jeans instead of my casual clothing, however I was very nervous as speaking publicly isn’t something I am very comfortable with and occasionally when I’m nervous or flustered I’ll develop quite a bad stutter, so I was nervous that especially whilst being recorded I was going to forget everything I’d learned, however when I sat down my lecturer made me feel comfortable and ensured me if anything was going wrong or if I felt overwhelmed we could stop recording at any time. The scenario I was presented with was timing, this is one of two scenarios I wanted to get. I feel like I answered the first two questions decently though I know I struggled getting across my justifications for not compensating everyone who had to leave early, I had stated that because the concert was due to end at 11.30 if it had started when it was advertised to have started, that there would have been a number of punters who would have had to have left anyway, so those people would not be compensated under any circumstances, looking back I see why it didn’t come across well as it isn’t a great answer and doesn’t make much sense, however my argument was still that I would not be compensating all fans however we would take a look at each individual claim for compensation as it came and make decisions that way. I felt as though even though at times I wasn’t as confident in my answers, I stood my ground and didn’t waver, there were times my interviewer, especially with the extra questions, was trying to trip me up but I knew exactly what my stance was on the compensation and how I wanted to answer the questions, there were certain points I vaguely remembered but couldn’t remember specific details, and looking back over my research afterwards I fudged some of the numbers I quoted, however I tried not to falter and carry on with what I was saying. There were certain acts I forgot to mention when I was trying to back up my arguments such as Justin Bieber and Bruce Springsteen. However in the end I think I done a decent job when it came to thinking of answers on the spot and remaining calm. I had answers for all the questions that came my way and think I answered them in a professional manner.

 In terms of what I could have done to better prepare myself for the interview, more revision would have helped, while I felt I knew a lot of what I had looked over, as I was being questioned there were certain things that I didn’t know as thoroughly as I would have liked, I didn’t put too much effort into learning or researching points to make for each scenario as I should have over the Christmas holidays especially, and I feel like it showed in my interview. If I were to do this again I would prepare more thoroughly by looking at different cases for each scenario in more detail and spending more time looking at it from a manager’s perspective rather than just what I thought myself, as I know that how I feel about something isn’t necessarily how the public would also feel about it.  There were points I knew before I entered the room that just up and eft my brain as soon as I sat down and the camera turned on, I feel like more intense revision and testing would have helped that and I would have been able to better present my arguments. As for my presentation in the interview I feel as though while I was wearing a blouse and had my makeup done, my natural hair is very wavy and sometimes looks unkempt, so it might have helped to straighten my hair and to have it in a more professional updo, I also feel like wearing a blazer or cardigan would have helped to make it look more professional. However I am relatively happy with the outcome of my media interview.