Video Blog - The Time I Met Dizzy Gillespie
This long overdue telling of a story I’ve referred to a few times.
I was eleven when the story this took place, by the way, not twelve or thirteen like I said. I know this because when I dug out the autograph, I saw he’d dated it ‘82. I think that’s funny also how he thought he should write something in French.
OK, you. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.
Weekend song tomorrow and then something else on Sunday. Wrap up warm and see you back here on Monday. Have a great weekend.
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November 16th, 2007 at 8:52 am
My Beloved, when asked when almost any long-ago event took place, almost always replies “twelve, thirteen”. It’s become a joke, this default age that was so very eventful. Interesting to note it’s not unique to him. (I can’t compare from my own experience because I moved home pretty much every year, so I always have a geographical context that helps to date memories.)
Cool story, anyway.
November 16th, 2007 at 4:49 pm
Why can’t I stay here?
November 16th, 2007 at 11:03 pm
“Twelve, thirteen” might be a catch-all age for childhood in men. Maybe because they are generic, unformative years.
Ed - dunno. It was just something to say as I put the metaphorical blogging chairs on the table and swept up before the weekend.
November 18th, 2007 at 1:02 am
I like how you lop in the bit about ice cream and describing it as an “ice-cream free day.” That day was very memorable, apparently.