Hopefully this is but the beginning of a very prolific blogging career that will culminate with my accepting the Pulitzer, Nobel or some other prestigious award for my work towards the betterment of humanity. I'm pretty sure this is how Dr. King got his start so I'm in good company.
First, a brief note about the title. For those that don't know, my father is quite literally the King of the storied burg of Dundalk. As lead guitarist and falsetto singer for the very popular local Top 40 band Gazze, he made a name for himself and his family through a marathon-like playing schedule of weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, festivals, crab feasts, bull roasts and more. This fame yielded many great things for me and my sister, including, but not limited to, free french fries and Cokes from local vendors.
In addition, my dear sister and I were given almost reverential treatment by the citizens of Dundalk during the annual Heritage Fair, the town’s yearly Independence Day celebration. Gazze would begin playing at the main stage every Sunday beginning at 12 noon and waves of people would begin filing in as soon as the gates were opened in an attempt to get prime spots for their lawn chairs in the shade. As “band kids” we had been there for hours, wandering the craft tent and getting the first fresh-squeezed lemonades of the day.
At 3 p.m., Gazze would surrender the stage to Zim Zemerel (spelling? Like any of you guys would know) and his weird teen orchestra or some shit like that. After the show, we would always retire to Squire’s for a kingly meal of pizza with everything and cheeseburger subs. My father, being a local celebrity, would order “the usual” and actually have the waitress know what the hell he meant. It was very impressive to a ten-year-old boy looking for a hero.
But I digress. This is but a small taste of the preferential treatment that turned me into the lordly snob you all know and love today. Growing up in Columbia didn’t hurt either.
P.S. Its my hope to actually write about stuff that people will care about so take this entry with a grain of salt. Consider my blog cherry popped.
Remember when the computers were down at Squire's and we waited like two hours? You were going to stand on the chair, look in the camera and say, "Tell that fat bitch of a waitress to bring me my cheeseburger sub!"
ReplyDeleteAhhhh memories.
Those were good times.
ReplyDelete