It happens when they change something.

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Gwen Loved Leonard Cohen and It Almost Killed Me

Leonard Cohen has passed away. 

The New York Times called him, “...an unlikely and reluctant pop star, if in fact he ever was one.”

For the record?   I tried. I really tried.
You see... 

Years ago, I dated a girl named Gwen. Gwen adored Leonard Cohen. She was determined to help me get into  his music, so she asked me over to her apartment for what she said would be a very special night.

Gwen lived in a second floor walkup just off Downer Ave., walking distance from UWM.  I found her in the bedroom rummaging thru the perpetual pile of clothes and filled up sketch books strewn about on the floor. Upon finding my old brown corduroy bell bottomed Levis she said, “Here, wear these!" (I wondered where those were).  For the record she was wearing her hippy-earth-mother dress - the one she made from a McCalls pattern. 

I changed and walked into the tiny kitchen in time to see her dumping a can of Chock Full 'O Nuts coffee into her coffee urn. As it brewed, she asked me to get the bottle of Amaretto from the cupboard.  I knew it was going to be some kind of special night because there was a lentil stew simmering in the crock pot (hell, the entire building knew it!)  Gwen turned off the lights, lit the few candles she had stuck in Mateus bottles and we sat down on throw pillows strewn around her living room floor. 
For the next three hours we ate bowls of thick lentil stew, drank cups of black coffee with Amaretto and listened to Leonard Cohen on the Lear Jet 8 track stereo, (for the record, it was MY tape deck!)  Over and over again he droned on.  “It’s like having our own NBC!”, she giggled, “Nothing But Cohen!” 

Three and one half hours later, I ran screaming from her apartment - I couldn’t take it any longer!  I got back to my place, put on a pair of  earphones and listened to Abbey Road, flushing the sounds of Leonard Cohen out of my head!  Adding injury to insult, I didn't sleep for two days on account of  that damn black coffee. Good thing too, because that lentil stew combined with the Amaretto wreaked total havoc on my lower GI system!  

It was three weeks later that I happened to walk past Gwen's building one evening coming back from the UWM law library and stopped dead in my tracks!  The smell of lentil stew hung like a fog below her apartment window.  In my head I could picture some poor schlep sitting on the floor on her throw pillows, pretending to like Leonard Cohen’s god awful drone, while all the while hoping that Gwen would let him touch her perfect body with more than just his mind.  I shuddered and hurried by. 

A few years later the inevitable happened -- I bumped into Gwen in Lake Park. She had her  new, Leonard-loving hubby in tow.  We chatted for a few awkward minutes, exchanging pleasantries.  I managed to snap this photo just after asking her if it would be OK if I stopped by to pick up my eight track player.  

Gotta say this for Gwen, she looked great in a romper and never took a bad picture.

Gwen flips me off while wearing a romper

Guys and Dolls

First rehearsal with the orchestra. That's me in the white shirt! I was asked to sit in the back corner because, as the Musical Director said,  You might scare the band.

Good view of the theatre from the spot light booth.

Rehearsal

Listening as Sister Sarah preaches to the crowd in Runyonland. The stage hands forgot to make this cheezy sign til literally the last minute...Can you tell?!   PS: It's glued onto a Home Depot stir stick.

Telling Sarah I know she's in love with Sky. The wardrobe madame messed up and sewed Sergeant stripes on my coat, instead of Lindsey's -- and then I refused to wear the stewardess cap!  And then she 'forgot' to lower my coat sleeves. #doesn'thappenonBroadway

Arvide Abernathy; Leader of the Save A Soul Mission chorus

Adding harmony to Sit Down You're Rocking The Boat.

Sky Masterson trying to BS Arivde

Maybe a little too much rouge on the schnoz??  I was going for the "Drunk Irish" look

Singing, Follow The Fold

Crap Shooters Dance

Sarah and Arvide: Blue sailor suit and brown shoes?  It's OK, I'm from Milwaukee!

Singing, More I Cannot Wish You.  Funny story; When the sound guy forgot to turn off Lindsey's mic, my voice had reverb like Darth Vader

Adelaide and the Hot Box chorus girls, Take Back Your Mink

Adelaide belts out her lament... a bad, bad, cold!

Giving Sky Masterson and the Mugs my advice.  You can see them checking their coat sleeves! (my shirt, brought from the casa, is 36". Costume coat sleeve is 32". baahahahaha!)

Thank you and drive safely!

I felt bad for Nancy. She took bows with me. She was an innocent victim. She knew the audience applause was muted as a final criticism for my short sleeves and wearing brown shoes. You can see me hunching over, trying to make it less obvious.  

And the K is silent

Verne baby!

Usually, Vern Lundquist isn’t a complete idiot. 

But when March Madness games are played in Louisville, Kentucky, Verne and his son, Jim Nantz fall all over themselves as they try to outdo themselves with what they have decided are the correct pronunciations of this city.

Louisville's beautiful water front

Let me take you back.

This all began with the rise of Severiaño Ballesteros Sota.  In the Catalan language, (the language of the Catalanos) Sota translates to ‘valet’ or ‘knave’ which is how CBS treated Severiaño in his early days on the PGA Tour when God Forbid! he outplayed the PGA’s golden boy, Tom Watson.  Neither Lundquist, nor Nantz could pronounce Severiaño, so they shortened his name to Seve Knave – and all the other TV announcers followed suit.

 

Seve Knave

So along comes Severiaño’s progeny, José María Olazábal Manterola.  Most Americans were happy and content to just call him Jose Maria Ola´zah-bel.  It was comfortable and in the hushed tones around the greens it sounded like Lundquist was saying, “Jose y Maria ‘zat Taco Bell”.  BUT… insiders say things changed. 

It was April 1989 when Nick Faldo won The Masters and finished the Butler Cabin

Ola-thaw-bull at the Grey Bar Hotel

interview, that Faldo dragged Nantz into Augusta National’s Trophy Room and started pouring shots of Stolichnaya into him. This was payback for Nantz’s habit of passive-aggressive dogging Faldo’s play on the air. Henry Longhurst recalls that, “Nick’s plan was to get Nantz hammered, load him into a cart and roll the bugger out deep in the woods around Amen Corner. He thought it’d be like that scene from Deliverance, but Nick came up with a better plan!”   

Nantz: "Here's looking at you Ola-Thaw Bulll"

Faldo had been joined by some of the other Guinness fueled Euros and together they convinced a now totally wasted Nantz, that the correct pronunciation of Olazábal was Ola-thaw-bull.

Have you ever been to Spain?  Just try saying that to some golf nuts in a seaside bar in Marbella!  But the joke continues to this day – in the USA!

Which brings me back to Verne Lundquist and Louisville.

We all know that the only time it’s perfectly acceptable to pronounce Louisville as “Louie´-ville” is when you’re making fun of Rick Pitino, or the basketball/football team.  At all other times, simply say Loo-a-vul . Simple.

BUT…listen very carefully to Lundquist and Nantz as they dig deep to pronounce it, “Lull-egh-vull”.  Seriously!  Listen to them murder it. It’s hysterical!

I say it’s the ghost of Seve Knave coming back to haunt them. It’s madness I tell you – Madness!!