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    Remembrance of Dingbats
    Remembrance of Dingbats
    Remembrance of Dingbats
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    Remembrance of Dingbats

    By Kali Amanda Browne

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    About this ebook

    This collection includes four e-books that serialize memories in different ways.

    One Night with B.B. is my memory of seeing B.B. King performing live at The Blue Note in the Village back in 1997.

    Life, Dreams and Magical Landscapes was a collection of journal entries made for a decade from 1997-2007.

    Putting May to Rest is presented as a short story and fictionalized, but it is entirely based on a true story – and all the details are absolutely true.

    La Chancleta combines a story I was told by a former coworker and something I overheard on the bus, and it stands for so much of growing up Latina.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAmapola Press
    Release dateDec 10, 2014
    ISBN9781502288608
    Remembrance of Dingbats
    Author

    Kali Amanda Browne

    Kali Amanda Browne was born in New York City; grew up in Puerto Rico; and she came of age and currently resides in Brooklyn, NY. Above all, she tries to laugh even at adversity. She is a writer, food enthusiast, devoted daughter, nerd, pagan, wild woman...

    Read more from Kali Amanda Browne

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      Book preview

      Remembrance of Dingbats - Kali Amanda Browne

      Preface

      Many memoirs in the recent past have been taken to task for exaggerating details or promoting half-truths. I find the very idea hilarious! Memories are half-truths – they are nothing but one version of an event. Even if you were there to witness it, your version might contradict someone else’s version and, if viewed clinically, it will be nuanced enough to escape the harsh truth.

      Years ago, one man told a story of his childhood – a moment so special it stayed with him and shaped his feelings in so many ways. His brother corrected him by enumerating the reasons this couldn’t have happened the way he remembered – for one thing, at the time he cited one of the starring characters was dead. The memory was so vivid in the other one’s mind he could clearly see it, almost touch and taste it.

      Does that make him a liar?

      It’s his memory. It’s his fiction, personalized to meet his needs.

      This collection includes four e-books that serialize the memoirs in different ways.

      One Night with B.B. is my memory of seeing B.B. King performing live at The Blue Note in the Village back in 1997.

      Life, Dreams and Magical Landscapes was a collection of journal entries made for a decade from 1997-2007.

      Putting May to Rest is presented as a short story and fictionalized, but it is entirely based on a true story – and all the details are absolutely true.

      La Chancleta is fictionalized but it combines a story I was told by a former coworker and something I overheard on the bus, and it stands for so much of growing up Latina.

      Is it just another exhibitionist tendency displayed by my generation? They’re just words, as I wrote them a long, long time ago. I’m not lying absolutely naked on these pages as much as you suppose. These are nothing more than memories, and memories of memories, presented in different ways that seemed palatable when I chose to put them down for later consumption.

      Whether it is life imitating art or life being stranger than fiction, it is what I remember. This is my story and I am sticking to it.

      Kali Amanda Browne

      Brooklyn, NY

      Table of Contents

      Preface

      One Night with B.B.

      LIFE, DREAMS AND MAGICAL LANDSCAPES

      To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!

      The Trunk

      Little Ants

      Lovers' Quarrel

      Paranoia

      Time

      Of him...

      Primal Rain

      Xavier: Denial is Good

      Fools in Love

      Visitation at dawn

      The Palm Tree

      Part I: Meeting Don Carlos

      Part II – The Next Generation

      A Zombie Jamboree in Vancouver

      Haunted Kitty

      Visiting God

      Acts of God

      Sunset on Blueberry Pond

      Over the Rainbow

      Ambassador Emeritus

      PUTTING MAY TO REST

      The Beginning of the End

      Death Comes Calling

      Meeting Destiny

      Oh, Give Me a Home Where the Pink Bunnies Roam…

      Elvis and Me

      The Dirty Back Story

      The Horror! The Horror!

      Tears and Dim Sum

      La Chancleta

      About the Author

      One Night with B.B.

      I howled at the Moon last night.

      I did.

      It was clear, crisp and cool; it was almost 2 o'clock in the morning. The Moon was bright as bright can be, and so full and enormous it was virtually impossible to ignore her!

      I first wrote those words on January 12, 1998.

      I was in my old hunting grounds, standing on the corner of West Third Street and Sixth Avenue -- in the very heart of Greenwich Village. I’d just come out of the Blue Note, perhaps the oldest and most legendary of New York City's jazz clubs.

      The night and the city seemed electrified and alive!

      It was probably just me. I was fresh from experiencing almost two hours of pure awesomeness: B.B. King live and in a small stage. He was so close I could almost touch him; but that’s getting ahead of the story.

      I never thought I'd be able to see B.B. playing live. Understand that by live my dream was a small club. I could easily see him in any local arena. Some artists should be seen in a small setting. My dream was B.B. in a tiny, dark room.

      Yet, there I was with Mom and some other 100 or so avid fans -- packed in like sardines but happy as clams! It was a very friendly atmosphere, which isn't something you see every day in New York.

      The Blue Note is a very small room. It is dark and looks like a tiny cave. Not my favorite jazz club because I found it a little claustrophobic, but under the circumstances it felt cozy. I have a feeling it had more to do with the company than the room itself.

      But then, at $65 a pop you'd think you could get a half-way civilized crowd, right? (Oh well, there's my Noo Yawk cynicism back!) No matter, that night as I howled at the Moon I loved the city and all of humanity.

      As for the howling, I’d not forgotten where I was standing. There was a relatively loud crowd of youngsters ready to get rowdy at a moment's notice just feet away. Two cars over and across the street, two policemen sat in their squad car watching the action (and me howling at the Moon).

      I felt invincible and put out my evening bag, letting it hang from my little finger at arm's length. Then I said, Go ahead, mug me. I dare you. Here's my purse, full of money. La la la.

      Mom started laughing. It was pretty funny. I actually didn't say any of it loud enough for the hooligans to hear. I did it mostly for Mom's benefit, strictly for our Big City morbid entertainment.

      The howling and my taunting the punks were not the highlight of our night. I think there were four distinctly great moments for me that evening.

      The first great moment came when The Man entered the room, and I realized, Wow, I'm in the same room with B.B. King and Lucille! This is so cool.

      It was a very small room with the tables set almost on top of each other, and his jacket swept across the side of our table as he passed by. Awesome brush with fame: literally and figuratively.

      The tickets had come courtesy of a friend who’d won them on a radio contest. We were on the guest list and this made it all very sweet indeed -- because at the time there was absolutely no way I could afford it; not on a temp’s salary.

      Every song B.B. played and sang was an event in itself. The moment he joined us in the room, the excitement was explosive. We all settled into a groove after he mounted the stage and calmed us down a bit. The man certainly knows how to handle a crowd.

      At one point, he was sitting along side his bass player and playing a very soulful melody of backwoods blues. It was halfway through the set and this was the second moment of greatness.

      This woman walked up on stage, crouched next to B.B. and started speaking to him. She was what our friend George used to refer to as a hot mess.

      She was pushing a lived-in 50 (and I mean hard living), and wearing a wholly inappropriate red dress which unfortunately accentuated some of her many past sins, too much makeup, too much jewelry, and a blood alcohol level that could kill a Shetland pony.

      Mr. King played with his eyes closed, picking at Lucille straight from the soul. It took several minutes until he opened one eye, and took a quick look at the cougar for about 15 seconds. He closed the eye again, and continued to play.

      There was a bit of confusion. If she was a guest vocalist only the first few tables under the stage could hear her.

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