(Piacenza) Take 28: The Pin Downs

Take 28: The Pin Downs


Dear BABI-DOLL; am looking forward to you making your European Grand Tour, anon...and DO expect you to sojourn at "mio piccolini Albergo" (hotel), least ways, for a part of your Tour:

                                  35 euros a nite/125 a week/all amenities, incl. full bathroom fac, big screen TV-
                                  when my buddy TUNA actually hooks it up/GRANDE suite: the "Benedictine
                                  Suite" (Roman-esque arched "camera grande"), king-size beds/ full kitchen-
                                  ette/reception area - where "I" actually get to crash - plus the "fitness center":
                                  a functional BICYCLE - which if DON'T "sell off" soon...will BE there for
                                  your convenience IN the "Suite" (ride it around the room!) or outside - for
                                  your exclusive use -on the winding streets of Piacenza.... Laundry?
                                  Inter-net Cafe? Super-market? -throw a rock! -they're next door! Located
                                  right of center of Piacenza' Piazza Cavali- Central; 100 bars/restaurants/cafes
                                  are in walking distance!...:)

I must write quickly, Cheri, as I'm due "on stage" in 1/2 an hour at nearby LADY BAR where I host a Cabaret every Friday evening, a micro-cosm of Fellin-Las Vegas intensity and am HOPING - during your visit - you will "sit in", vocally, play BONGOS, strum a 6 String and add to the festive atmosphere that prevails there...in Spades! (Dahling? It rocks!)

Word has it that you have recently become (Facebook) "friends" with IL CONTE Paolo di B. della Piacenza!

I cannot commend him but in the highest regard. He is one of Italy's GRANDE CAVILIERI. His entourage/Court (guys & gals) here, also wish to enjoin their friendship and be of any assistance during your stay.

So, Sweetie-pie? Should you arrive SOONER than later - hopefully with your OTHER female PIN DOWNS music colleagues/illuminati....the present (winter) season  probably calls for THIGH HIGH "woolly" stockings - a "woolly" BRA for that matter! - , a "penchant" for "tutte bene vino" at 1/2 the USA prices...and, because I KNOW you make a great Curry? -don't sweat it; I got ALL the spices!


c 2011/dave delacroix/LORD BORGO/Piacenza/Italy

(Piacenza) Take 27: I Win the Nobel Prize

Take 27: I win the Nobel Prize

(for medicine)

It was dawn. I was washing my armpit (the left one) and I noticed, unbeknownst to me...during the night...an incredible CYST had appeared (in said location/left armpit/ obviously a Communist) and was there protruding with "gangbusters!" attitude and threatening to metamorphose into a veritable Mount Vesuvius!
(Hairy, too... Why does hair grow on Cysts?)

Anyway; so. So? -I immediately - quite nude - ran to my humble refrigerator and grabbed a canister of "Krauter-weed" spray and my trusty jar of "Harisma" (product of Tunisia) red hot chili peppers in tomato sauce, garlic, etc., which I ADMINISTERED, with a large spoon and spatchelor... to my most recently appeared ailment WHICH! -having liberally applied said-"Home made salve"...FOUND!...to my amazement? -said "hairy Cyst was in full retreat, dying by its own volition, waving - I guess? - the proverbial White Flag!

Cancer? Yup!. Got THAT one nailed down.

The Nobel Prize for Medicine?

Guess those folks up in FINLAND have yet still to be notified!


c 2011/dave delacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/italy

(Piacenza) Take 26: "Quo Vadis?"

Take 26: "Quo Vadis?"


Yo Amici! (friends) Having been of late, formally introduced to the Countessa PonteOlio-Olio at her "citta-della Castella" formal dance...in celebration of the 70th anniversary of when Ernest Hemmingway once - here - sojourned and sowed his wild oats, enjoyed some "fly-fishing", etc., I? -on being presented to the Countessa's father, "IL BARONE di PonteOlio-Olio" am subsequently officially engaged, soon to be married - to the Countessa... have 7 kids - which apparently takes about 7 years to accomplish - send the little blighters off to (schools:) Rodean or Eton, then Oxford or Cambridge (to complete their great British education/induction into formal Homosexuality) and ON their Gay return, whilst I? -being then, Lord Borgo (Il Conte di PonteOlio-Olio) grow fat on my estate's pastures, vineyards & tenant's rents...are THEN expected to get them (the 7 kids) suitably employed with such illustrious THIEVES as Lloyds Babk, Credit Lyonaise or the more humble, yet equally scavenger-mongering ilk of Barclays or Deutsche Bank....
...am, nevertheless, having second thoughts about putting the latter part of my life out to the particular pasture?

A fittingly prestigious ending, to an otherwise ignoble career; to be sure. Nice Castle, n'all. Italy, of course. It'll do.

The gal? (the Countessa, my intended) Pretty cute. Medium height. She's cool enough, though she IS quite obsessive about some obscure UK Indie band called Lloyd Cole & the Commotions!

The old man? THEE Barone/Count. A widower. He's a jovial old boy with a penchant for English Tweeds, Plus-4 pantalones, hunting dogs, shot guns...and has a kick-butt wine cellar; his Barolo's being my personal favorites.

Alas!... And "Salutte, mio amici!" I do NOT think this is where I am going, or indeed - call me an idiot! - where I WANT to go....and so, taking an early morning, discreet departure, I take my leave and proceed briskly from PonteOlio-Olio (castle and town) down the foothills towards the (river) Po valley plain. An expansive scene of gentle rusticity under a clear December bright sky.

"QUO VADIS?" tremors a voice from up on high, whilst I am trying to hitch a ride North to Piacenza.

"Quo vadis, dude?" I reply, then after taking a slug from a liberated bottle of the Barone's Barolo: "Quo vadis Rock & Roll!"

Salutte!


c 2011/dave delacroix/Lord Borgo/Piacenza/Italy/Somebody lend me $20!...:)

(Piacenza) Take 25: Fire Exit!

Take 25: Fire Exit!


Ya know you're running on low octane (fuel) when anything you write has a longer title than the actual, er...creative piece!
For example:

"Wot I did on mah holidays, including how...how I GOT UP, went down to the Drug Store, drank some Budweiser's with "bubba", tried to get into Mary-Lou's pants (no dice!), played some Dice, backside of the Drug Store (actually, the 7-11), got buzzed by the Cops, we ran for it, left my money behind, went on home (which had been burglarized whilst I was out), the Utility company, meanwhile, had shut off the power cos I hadn't paid the frickin' bill, it rained, and so, I went back to bed...SHIT! -I forgot to buy smokes!!!"

Creative piece?

"I'm looking for the Fire Exit!"

c 2011/dave delacroix/just received a whooping Utility bill!/Piacenza/Italy/Again? -merry bloody Xmas!

(Piacenza) Take 24: Wide-eyed.

Take 24: Wide-eyed.


The noble Art of Cooking is...well? It's just that! It IS an Art. Every dude I ever met prided himself - usually at at BBQ -  on being a great cook.
I too, also suffer from this illusion; ignorant, possibly, in ALL innocence: Wide-eyed.

But I DO like to cook, especially to treat and entertain my chums (culinary surprises, etc.). And it DOES take years to get past "food porn" and create epicurean beauty....

When I was 17?  (it was a very good year:) I finally figured out that "sunny-side-up" eggs...are NOT to be treated like Pasta...which is to say? -to ascertain their readiness, you DON'T fling them at the kitchen wall...and if they STICK? -they're done!
You end up with a yellow, greasy mess.

When I was 27? (It was a very good year:) I discovered that cooking rice ON the BBQ grill dosen't actually work.
Without a pan, of some sort, the blessed stuff just filters down through the grill, mingles with the charcoal, looks AND smells like shit, and when you serve a lump of rice-caked charcoal to your guests? -the un-grateful swines get downright uppity! (?)

When I was 37? (It was a very good year:) .... OK. It's SALSA-time!

1 can of crushed tomatoes
1 squeeze of lemon juice
A sprinkle of oregano
1/2 a chopped onion
A "glance" of Olive Oil
Mucho chopped HOT Red Chillis
Crushed Garlic clove
....Chuck it all in a pan, heat it up, then let cool....Then serve with Tortilla chips, Corona, Dos Equis, or Moretti beer (lots of).
It was?....A very good year.

I HAVE (possibly, you too?) once in a while, on my travels, gone hungry, begged from the church, gone Super-market "dumpster diving" and many, many times, literally SANG for my supper.
(Still DO, my friends)

But there is not a doubt in my mind?... There is something quite integrally wholesome about Working for one's sustenance.
Folks grab a bite at McDonald's or some fast-food joint without a second thought or care!

Tonight? I guarantee you. There are MILLIONS of folks...and very sad kids, Wide-Eyed with Hunger's stare.


c 2011/dave delacroix/Lord Borgo/Piacenza/Italy/Merry Christmas!

OUR MAN in EUROPE/davedelacroix/Part 23: The Winter of our dreams.

Part 23: The Winter of our dreams


Fellini bar, Italiano, suburban, patio scene, carnivale atmosphere; but not everything... is as it seems... Some young, TALL kid, who, perhaps once had "piano lessons" (he's a songwriter) seeing me jam some fundamental chord changes at HIS local bar/and there-after; saying "Hello", can only retort with; "DON'T talk to ME, fucker. You are full of shit, etc., etc.".

It was at the BAR LUPIN, on the Sabbath. And? - fortunately, due to my Religious observances - it's a night when I DON'T get into fisticuffs...or wake up with a blade in my lower abdomen.
(Stranger things - for THIS old boy - have been known to happen)

Still. It's a wake up call. You sweat, you bleed, ON STAGE; and not everyone is gonna like it; the drunks, the boyfriend's of the Girls who dig your muse...? The "wannabee Rock stars", social failures and the like...

I know where the girls go to; but just WHERE do these "SHELL of MEN"; to where, or HOW do they Meet their Maker?
Do they wear Soul-less "Nike" shoes....? A lame smile, perhaps? And? - to my MALE readers: Is it YOU?

Man casts his fellow Man
onto some rocky shore
for want of the sex
and getting more.

No brother, blood, no kin, no heart;
"fuck-blocker", worthless
and worthless heart
winds into a lonely room;

The Evil eye, the Green of Envy
Takes you down,
THEN ALL ALONE
Don't call, don't E-mail;
That Girl & I?....

We're real busy.


.......And so it goes....:)


c 2011/davedelacroix/piacenza/italy

OUR MAN in EUROPE/davedelacroix: Take 22: Cherish

Take 22: Cherish


That blessed song: "We Are the World (We are the Children)" sung by the biggest horde of Hollywood scallywags under the sun, still - alas - "broncos" around my morning (hangover) mind...like a sink filled with unwashed dishes.

I try to think of pretty things:

Margaret Thatcher in the Nude.
Queen Liz (the second) .....cutting off her own head.
A lifetime's guarrantee of DRUM tobacco.
An old comrade unexpectedly showing up with a bottle of single malt!

"We ARE the World!..."

Leastways? -I can dream. And I can think of Appollinaire, THE POET; and his great friend, Andre Salmon!

Oddly? Here in Piacenza....I ALSO have a great friend. His name is Andreas. We call him Torna (pronounced: TUNA!).
Why is he called Tuna? -because he's a BIG guy with a GRANDE heart! And? You mess with ME? HE will TUNE you.
(Old rockstars NEED protection)

(Ossie Osborne:) "Dave, what are you trying to say, man?"

It's ALL "tempo", Ossie. And you know it!
(I figure you've figured this piece out...by now)
And YES! WE ARE the People.

Salmon? Poor old (fish) Salmon gets born/spawned, fights his way down the brook...to the rushing river...and all things being equal, and the "creek don't rise" (?), he makes it to the sea.
And there? To swim and bask in the 7 seas till...one day, ailing but knowing his time has come...returns to thee place of birth, like DAVE, in Piacenza, full knowing....Time has won.

"GOTCH'A SUM TICK-TOCK!"

And - relax! - No reservations needed.


c 2011/davedelacroix/lord borgo/whimsical in Piacenza/Italy of course/Christmas (again!)

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix: Take 21: 22 & Eyes of Blue

Take 21: Twenty-two & Eyes of Blue

(Whilst cleaning up my desk/found this piece/should'a posted it last Summer/OOPS!/also? On SOME subjects? Ya gotta stand up and be counted...of which I feel it my duty...to do.)

A letter to my dear friend Eva:

Dear Sweetie-pie, my unique adventure continues: Hotel Dave/Casa di Amici, Piacenza, Italy, South of Switzerland where they make the Cuckoo Clocks...and hoard zillions of gold bullion stolen from Jewish and displaced people back in the old days.
Nice mountains, though. At the end of Summer the Swiss Shepherds (with their cows) parade from up on high and march down the mountain roads into the lower valleys and so into towns; Interlaken; places like that.

It's a monotonous, though quite splendid affair. Huge heffers (cows, I guess) dangle HUGE Cow bells around their necks that go: "Clank-a, clank-a, CLANK!" with every stride they make. (Hemmingway probably wrote about it, someplace) And the traffic must give way. The Swiss cops "police" the whole affair. The Shepherds? Not one of them over 25 years old! -they all wear "Kaftan" shirts worthy of ANY Grateful Dead concert gathering...and on the whole, appear quite joyous and pacific.

.....Perhaps the reality SHOULD be where the cows wear huge credit cards (Amex, Visa, Dinner's Club) from their satiated, sagging throats; the Shepherds? Pin striped Armani suits, Gucci shoes, Turnbull & Asser shirts/throw in some 10 gallon Texas Stetson hats, why don't cha?

I, of course, do NOT begrudge anyone's lot in life, for richer or for poorer, nor blame the children for the sins of their fathers. There are many beautiful people in the Alpine region... But I sure would like to crack open the vaults of some of those banks in Zurich and, if not run off with all the cash, leastways? -get a "gander" at some of their Accounting books! -that is, IF they, like 9MILLION people's lives...haven't been sent up in flames!...?

A big "Hi!" to your brother Max! Very BIG HUGS (and do it!) to your pappa, Reiner: He's "mein bruder". Salute to Count Axel von Phad who I often think of and whose friendship I cherish. Your Mother? Tell Gabi I will hug  - Big Time! - when next we meet! -dave

PS: Come visit.
PPS: Brings lots of Jakordia cigarette papers because DOWN HERE, in Italy - South of Switzerland - they cost the Earth!...:)


c 2011/davedelacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/italy/yup! -South of u know where: cuckoo! -cuckoo!...:)

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Take 20: The "DOH!" Identity!

Take 20: The "DOH!" Identity!

(An idea for a potentially MEGA-blockbuster movie with a Positive outlook!)

...Starring? LORD BORGO
(Kung Fu Anglo Saxon dude)

...One day?... OK. One day...Lord Borgo wakes up with NO memory, but? -the secret Micro-chip he discovers - whilst surrepticiously wiping his anus DOES in fact have a Bank of America credit card code - credit limit: $500 - inscribed, the PIN number, tattooed on the left side of his "test-tackles"!

So; instead of zooming off to Switzerland or Monte Carlo to connect with some hi-tech bank where they finger print you/anal laser beam-I.D. confirmations...Lord Borgo goes to the nearest ATM/Geldomat... and punches in the numbers!

AHAH!
(No dice)
Apparently, Lord Borgo (before the Alhzeimers kicked in) was something of a Party-Boy!

....At which point - in this potententially MEGA-blockbuster movie (with a positive outlook) Lord Borgo & the STORY of "The DOH! Identity" continues.....!
(Watch this space!)

In the NEXT installment of "The DOH! Identity"...Lord Borgo invents "something" close to a Micro-wave (he sets his kitchen on fire), enjoys Morretti - Italian - beer, chain smokes (a lot) and TRIES to discover just which college he actually went to back in the 1970's!!!!!....

c 2011/dave delacroix/hollywood? U steal this concept? I will piss in your soup!!!!!/piacenza/italy/any contract should include an expensive dental plan/& purleeze get that tattoo surgically removed from my "test-tackle"-at YOUR expense!

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Take 19: Come-Uppence!

Take 19:  Come-Uppence!

(for folks who ARE loyally following this book/blog: a Christmas carol...)

Artemis Blagovich-Smith (my own personal Stalker) having recently (see earlier blog-posts) married the "belladonna" of Piacenza,  the beautiful (bust-wise: full 10 score) Lenore...just got back from his 2 week honeymoon SPENT, I am informed, at his new "mother-in-law's" shanty house on the "via Roma", somewhere near the railway station...and is full of banter...and finds ME busking for "small change" on the  Corso Vittorio Emmanuelle II, the town's main pedestrian drag.

I try to get rid of him as the Civic Code here (in Piacenza) only allows for 30 minutes of playing "Good Golly Miss Molly!" so as not to piss off the shop keepers, residents and the tenants who inhabit the upper "pianos" (levels) of every business hereabouts.

However. All is in vain. And he?  (Artemis Blagovich-Smith) rails me with his usual grotesque & pornographic diatribe...regarding his wedding night nuptials...which include the repetitive expression of "double penetration"  (apparently his "Best Man" shared the "love nest") and again;  apparently, his ONLY romantic "panting" - to belladonna Lenore - consisted of: "Gimme some Dopamine, Baby!"

(Again) HOWEVER! -I glean from his jabber that this particular "Union of Love"  might be "On The Rocks!" -to quote old Poet-Bro, Sebastian Barker.

Il Belladonna Lenore (and Artemis's "Best Man") having buzzed off together to Turin (Torino); "To go see the Shroud?"...

Anyways; I'm already giving up on making a dime, busking on the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. It's cold and business is "lento". ( Molasses, baby!)  So wishing Artemis "Buono fortuna!" I make to skip off to the Circolo Recreativo (my private drinking club) to go get a "buzz" and chuckle the night away.

"I am the most BEAUTIFUL Man in the World, Dave!" -he hollers after me.

"You bet!" (Johnny Depp!) I laugh back.

Like  a "Magnificent Amberson", Artemis Blagovich-Smith looks like he finally got his "come-uppence"...and? -quite naturally, at such a point in people's lives;
there is no-one around to care.


c 2011/davedelacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/italy/a Christmas carol

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Take 18: October Song

 Take 18:   October Song

...As the forever, chirpy,  (USA) Comedienne "Mrs Hughes" points out... on the subject of getting, er...old, older, /menopause?... Her "hot flashes" are sooo bad she thinks SHE is personally responsible for Global Warming/THAT, and the fact, that Al Gore has been stalking her since last Christmas... So TOO from the Male gender point-of-view.....!

Your memory? (Where was I?)
Oh, yes. Your memory goes. No-one actually knows just where to.
(the Alien lunch box?)
...Forget about people's Names. If it's a Guy? - "Hey, buddy!"
A Girl? - "Hi, Sweetie-pie!"
(even if it's your Mother)
Your finger & toe nails assume you're already dead and go into growth Over-drive!
Teeth continue to rot (or disappear). Hair? (Ha-ha!) If you still have some (around your Dick) turns grey and (like Rats abandoning the sinking ship) continue to FLEE with every grooming; speaking of which? -"said Member" is also a long lost friend and a distant visual, er...cousin.
...You have to do a "crunch" (kneel down), stretch a very long arm, scale and traverse that abdominal mountain - the result of  "mucho" brewskies - just to LOCATE the little fucker!
The only time HE/IT really wants to say "Hello!" is 5 times a night whilst you are trying to get some "shut-eye"...due to your "enlarged" prostate
As for the REST of your miserable Life?... Like meeting Facebook friends in person? HE/IT doesn't want to know ya!
"Send me an E-Mail!" he says.
"Oh!" I reply. "So it's like that!?"
"Johnny Depp!" (You bet!)

And there's a POINT to this "October Song".... And I DID write it down somewhere...

I just CAN'T remember where I.....


c 2011/dave delacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/frickin xmas/italy/OVID in exile

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix: Take 18: Red Hot Chilli Peppers

Take 18: Red Hot Chilli Peppers


"...Do not go gently..." into THIS good Soup, for -BEHOLD! (Lord Borgo speaking) I have discovered - to the tune of: "All by Myself" - one of thee greatest potable products known to Man, courtesy of EYE-OH, the Arabian dude at my neighbourhood "Mescellania" (arab-kosher butcher/veg market), a spit from the Basilica St Sepulcro, Piacenza, Italy.
It's called HARISA: distilled (?) Tunisian hot red peppers (pulp) who markets it for 2 euros a'pop (in a jar) which makes ANY Curry "worthy", and any "worthy" into a Curry; least ways? -a Versuvio of a Chilli!

Let's hear what the Critics have to say:

CHRISTOPER WALKEN: "Well, ya kne-ow?" -corpse-like, "It's like; ya kne-ow?"

BRISKET & EBERT: "One and a Half thumbs UP!"

DONALD TRUMP: "It's fired! YOU'RE FIRED! I'm gonna buy shares!"

JOHNNY DEPP: (having tasted said product) "I think I need a new tattoo."

NICK NOLTE:  "AAAWWWW GODDAMMIT!" and then, as an after-thought: "AAAWWWW GODDAMMIT!"

AL  PACINO:  (re. the spice:) "Welcome to my leetle friend!... PWAH!!!!"

ROBERT de NIRO:  (positively glowing after having tasted said product:) "U lookin at ME!!? U lookin at ME?!!"

BARBARA STREISAND: (Sorry Babs. We don't have enough blog space!)

DAVID LETTERMAN: (Sorry Dave. Same thing. Talk to Babs.)

ANTHONY  "Tony"  BOUDAIN: "Once again!? It was like my HEAD exploded into FLAMES!?"

THE DALAI LAMA: "Almost as good as a FREE TIBET!....Where I once had a job!"

OSAMA BIN LARDEN: ......

...And the credits go on.


c 2011/davedelacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/italy/chowing on down

OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix: (Piacenza) Take 17: Barney Fife International! (The B.F.I.)

Take 17: Barney Fife International!  (The B.F.I)


I am  able to report that in the "city" of Piacenza, Italy, of course, there are 5 flavors of "Barney Fifes."

The big shots? The CARRABINERI who dress like Napoleon (Bonaparte), least ways, his Imperial Guard, in all their uniform splendor.
And, in fact? -splendid they look!

Next? The POLEZI. Very Gestapo. THEY, I guess, get to clean up ( any criminal mess) when the CARRABINERI have "told you off for pee-ing on ancient statues" and are busy filing triplet reports.
(to who?)

Then there's the "Citta" (city) cops (more storm troopers)...who if no-one is looking (the most honest of the lot!) will just kick your Ass for being a public nuisance.
(Jeeze, folks! I've seen it a million times!)

There then follows an ARMY of bureaucrats, Civic cops, Public Utility cops...and ALL of them (including the CARRABINERI), so I'm led to believe, are only allowed ONE actual bullet...which they must keep in their uniform/vest pocket...in case of emergencies:
                                                                            Mad Monks!
                                                                            Nun Agitators!
                                                                            Pilgrim Panderers!
                                                                            Rampant Paedophile Priests
being the latest (DOH!) social phenomena!

Belligerent American tourists, of course? No big deal. When you go on Safari - with ONE bullet - you DONT shoot the blessed Zebra. You're actually after a rhino, an elephant, or a lion!
 A kick in the ass? You behave and go on your way.

But back to the (local) cops.

The pistols they (the cops, hopefully not YOU)...they wear, incidentally, are standard Glock 9mm's which, in the words of Clint Eastwood (sorta-kinda) can/will "blow your head CLEAN OFF!" -which, however, comes with thee adviso (from the local cop):

(In Italian, for gods sake!): "Just gimme a MO, dude, whilst I load the frickin bullet!"....adding; "Meantime? My colleagues will beat the shit outta ya; though, regarding the ensuing blood on your clothes?...My Uncle Giuseppe has a Dry Cleaning business and will take care of your laundry at a discount price; just mention my name!..."



c 2011/davedelacroix/under house arrest with a case of Peroni beer/piacenza/vive italia!

(Piacenza) Take (sweet) 16: Through the Looking Glass

Take 16: Through the (brewski) looking glass

(dedicato: Steve Mross)


I have, in respect to my on-going situation (!) taken the strong/direct response/philosophy (other-wise known as Dr Phil) decided that despite all my cares and woes...the World actually does infact look better thru the bottom of a glass;
6 beers or a bottle of decent vino.

I have consulted with Aristotle, Socrates, Plato (his cousin), Plautius, even Tacitus! -and Cicero, god bless him; all quite dead, but they, nevertheless, fail to inform more than I know, nor inspire...
 ....Me
to require
that WE
should become
beguiled;
...that is? -with the collective Wisdom of the World.

If you want?...
I AM
at sea. Which
(all things being equal/unlikely/and "the creek dont rise")
is probably, Mucker!
-where were are ALL meant TO BE.

....Funny ol' World.... That girl, a palazzo or two, down here on the via Campagna?

I STILL can't get into her pants!
...And shame on me.


c 2011/davedelacroix/in prep for fri-sat local gigs/missing tommy & MAXINES/piacenza, Italy

(Piacenza) Take 15: Lifestyles of the Frizzante & Famous

Take:  15:  Lifestyles of the Frizzante & Famous


Well? (Here in Italia) Everyone gets up at some un-godly hour, like: 6, 7 or 8 in the morning... and "CIAO, BELLO's!!!", no doubt energized by 1/2 a dozen "Espresso's".

Oscar Wilde, incidentally, on the subject of rural English people, (you can) apply to the Italian/Piacenza community, (he: Oscar,) once pronounced:- "They arise too early because they have too much to do...and go to SLEEP too early, because they have nothing (to read?) to think about."
(Visit...and decide for yourselves)
Leastways, in Winter.

.....I'm TRYING here, to "fit in". ( Like OVID in exile) It's gonna take a coupl'a years, but, "oy yea!, oy yea!" -it'll happen.

So. Mornings? (Mattinas) are "normale", all a-bustle...until about 1.30pm when EVERYBODY goes to lunch, closes shop/businesses and gives YOU - the stranger - the "Royal finger!"....until about 3.30pm, and then ALL is - socially/commercially - resumed: "Ciao, bello!"

Around 7.30pm, "Things-a change." It's "knock-off " time. Go meet your pals. The local floosie. Suck on Campari & soda, vinos, birras or smoke a "fattie" (in your crib) & listen to your "vecchio" LPS; "Little Tony's" Greatest (?) Hits...or Gianni Nannini.

Bar scene? Excepting some notable venues that DO host live music and - WILL - stay open around the clock/until you leave... DUDE!? -everyone (by 11.00pm) , leastways-week-days, has gone to bed.

David Bowie once asked: "Is there Life on Mars?"
Dammit, Big D. We're STILL out to lunch on that one...


c 2011/davedelacroix/mulling on mars/with a 12 pack of Peroni Italiano beer/piacenza/italia/with the tombstone blues.

(Piacenza) Take: 14: ...for Cindy Bacon; In Memorium

Take 14: ...for Cindy Bacon: In Memorium

Jesus, girl! I feel like shit!
My bills are  ALL off the scale;
I got bar-tabs,
a potential assignation with Dr Mengele: the Dentist,
the TAX MAN is sniffing:
-probably on my trail;
... the weather, quite naturally,
in the river Po valley...during Winter -
really sucks!

To cap it all?
I just heard. You have passed away.

NOT FUNNY.

In your honour? -I am drinking a vino-rossi; Barbera-frizzante.
THIS stuff, mia amica? -you would like.
But I must drink it alone.
Alone, I say,
but knowing MANY compradres enjoin me in my grief.

Who will remember your golden blonde hair?
Who, giving a thought, to your Swallows-flight promise?
Who, thoughtless, but now with great despair?

It's "the leaving", doll.
Carole, Sergei, I  and ALL your Soldiers;
We have lost our Queen.
And so we bid farewell....and
solemnly grieve.

c 2011/dave

(Piacenza) Take 13: Sunset Boulevard

Take 13:  Sunset Boulevard


In this life of "Show-biz", entertaining,  (always writing)..
& indulging in ALL the vices of Rock & Roll...
on a less than an ARENA show scale -
and happier for it/"Small is beautiful" -
...and in my travels...
where in each new town I was/am, always considered,
 by the local-yokels, "the New guy",
much to my chagrin;
my past prestige
amongst these perpetual Philistines
meaning nothing:
these Philistine-Rock & Roll "wannanbees",
today,
having ALL become Lawyers,
Journalists
or Caretakers of the Public Convenience;
I, nevertheless, once did swim down a tributory of humanity
...and met a "tribute" Dude.
 (Yikes!...The Horror! The Horror!)

Not a "Tribute" BAND, but a Tribute Dude.
(Y'all getting this?)

This particular fella?
a John Denver look/sound-a-like,
greeting everyoneone with a "joi de vie",
nevertheless aging, but still on the ball,
who could/can sing "Rocky Mountain High"
or "Annie's Song" at the drop of a hat,
and IN these United States of America
is actually celebrated
for his duplicity!

(Hamlet): "When do we get to laugh? Or for that matter, the opposite?"

(Ophelia): "Shaddup and count the frickin money..... ya prick!"


Introducing: (Ozzie Osboune):

"Dave? What are you trying to say, man!?"


......Many years ago
(actually, last wednesday)
I had the honour of meeting William Forsythe.
A Hollywood Thespian.
He's a fine man.Same age as me:
21.
And I adore his dynamic, no less his acting skills.
Together, after a night of revelry in the Hollywood hills,
(last Wednesday)
satiated with all that Los Angelos/Angeleeze could offer,
we retired to a fellow Thespian's mansion,
lush with surrounding Palms,
the "de rigeue" flood-lit swimming pool and adjacent Cabanna,
fully stocked,
with which even a country like Eritrea
could forget it's troubles... (yawning)...

...the point being?
William (Forsythe)
- last Wednesday
- asked me...would I like to write songs,
re. a film project he had in mind
about THE STORY OF ELVIS?

....to which, for the life of me:
I don't recall,
I replied: "No."

(Y'all getting this?)


c 2011/daveedelacroix/lord borgo/got beer, got smokes/gotta pot roast for sunday/pissey weather/piacenza/italia

(Piacenza) Take 12: (12? -its such a funny age!) : NO MORE RICE KRISPIES!

Take 12: No more Rice Krispies

(a letter)

My dearest Paolo:  its 4 a.m. and am thunderously struck down with a "severe chill".
(pause).....
Outside of having Oscar Wilde who, incidentally, is the best room-mate any Writer can ever have...I will have to fore-go tomorrow's - actually,tonight's - banquet at the restaurant "Piano Terra"  in honour of Stefano's birthday and hope, in the slim chance of that Moroccan flower vendor popping by...I will forward a bouquet as a poor substitute.

Ill health (malatti) alas, is a pesky thing. It's visitations can be counted upon from time to time....and, at present: "ASHOO!"...it has come to stay.

Still? Am assured that Stefano (birthday boy), Sarah, U, Maxi, Alicia, Gigi, Francesca etal. will be in epicurean wonderland and have a jolly good time! And? I DO hope to see you all - on my recovery - at my "piccolini concertinis", friday at LADY BAR, Saturday at BAR INSOMNIA and Domenica (sunday) at BAR LUPIN!

Meantime? I leave you with a rather throaty version of (the Simpsons) CRUSTY THE CLOWN singing, to the tune of "Santa Lucia":  (Ahem!) "No more Rice Krispies!"

"ASHOO!!!!!"


c 2011/davedelacroix/lord borgo/am'a connected!/piacenza/italia

(Piacenza) Take 11: Mrs Robinson

Take 11:   Mrs Robinson

Lucretius, like Dr Johnson, was - as always -  correct...especially in his poem/exposition on Death....which...in point?...he wrote;

(...though a trifle long winded:)

(on the subject of Death?)

"Basically? -dont worry about it!"

An in THIS matter? -regarding our collective Fate? -perhaps we are ALL Communists?
So enjoy the Gig.

The bright side?

NO Dentists.

(Ahem!) ....I remember sitting at that big "whooped-dee-do!" in Holly-"what-sits-place", where the honoured guest, a certain "Gerontian", Jack Nicholson, was being feted for inspiring WE meer mortals to continue working like Slaves in the factory, coal mines & the veritable Super-market.
(of Life!)

The star, guest speaker, was one Dustin Hoffman...who -  like "Jack" -  had also inspired many a young Bravoe to crash a wedding party...but instead of stealing off with the bride-to-be, ran off with the bride-to-be's Mother-in-law who, apparently, always go under the psuedonym of "Mrs Robinson"....!?

(Where was I?)

Will some-one PUR-LEEZE tell the COEN BROTHERS that I actually exist....or, Johnny Depp, for that matter? (!)...and that ANY Film-script Contract should include a Dental plan?



c 2011/davedelacroix/hollywood fricks dont steal my ideas or dee devil is comin to get ya!/Piacenza

(Piacenza) Take (Number) 10: Unforgiven

Take 10:   Unforgiven

"Theres NO crying in Baseball!" -everyone knows that; unless, alone, in the locker room, having failed to hit that critical Home Run, theres no-one there to look into your eyes.

There was a time...when a free keg of beer would be provide for the after-game celebration OR ruination with which to drowned your sorrows.
These days? -Zero. Not counting the "franchaise" asshole waiting in the corridor for your autograph, casually yakking with the pensive dude who wants to sell you some "ludes".

In the unforgetable, forever haunting "grand-daddy" of ALL Western movies, Clint Eastwoods: "Unforgiven".... flamboyent English Dave... plays with emotional fire (in the form of/with) Little Bill... and is severely punished for his frivilous humanity. Yet it is clear. He DOES know Love or IS in touch with real emotions.
His nemisis, Little Bill? -sharing NO such elements of the human spirit; nevertheless, he too, finally succumbs to a flailing sense of love ("I was building my house"), too little, too late....at the hands of the grim reaper in the shape of Clint Eastwood.
He is executed.

Too right, my friends! There IS no crying in Baseball.
I think I,ll pour myself a Scotch!


c 2011/dec/dave delacroix/Lord Borgo/Piacenza/on the way to the "super-mercato to by some Morretti/Sunday, yup! -bloody foggy Sunday.

(Piacenza) Take 9: Domenico

Take 9: Domenico

So? Bambi-rella & Bambi-rella came by...
(cafe acquaintences)
...last Domenico (sunday) afternoon -whilst I was working on a new Curry receipe, which - incidentally - included HARISA (Morrocan) hot chilli pulp....And? - on greeting B & B at what I laughingly call "mio appartmento" which is on the Via Campagna in Piacenza....did "espy" a sly look from both their Sandro Botticelli dark eyes.

So? On que, I rapidy embraced these (2) divine, though slightly chubby "bella donnas";

(love, in the Ecconomy size)

...invited them down to (mia piccollini hotel/albergo: €35 - 1 nite)  "Benedicttine Suite"...where my dick was (in stereo) sucked quite raw...and cavorted a, la "menage a, trois";

...till the cows came home.

......

......

......

Funny old life.

OH! I almost forgot. The CURRY on the stove?

Like me: Burnt to a crisp!



c 2011/davedelacroix/Lord Borgo/all rights reserved/send money/I NEED a spatchelor/scissors, too!/Piacenza/sometime in Italy...

(Piacenza) Take 8: LA GRANDE FESTA!

Take 8: La Grande Festa!

Act 1: Moretti, Minestrone & Me...

Like the 3 Stooges?...Moretti (beer), Minnie whats-her-name? -and ME sit, once again...together.

We,re all outta Paprika & Curry powder-friends.
They went chasing off to Oregano... And as for Cumin?
...We dont mention her name.

Tarragon pops by, once n a while.
Marsala?
Always a great friend, though (of late?) rarely seen.

Lentils & Cannelini; visit...off & on.

Tumeric?
I cant get rid of her. She stains everything I own.
Still?
I have "amici" Onion & Garlic.
(I miss Ginger a whole lot! Cinnamon, too!)

....And so, socially? -I,m like YOU; life? - Ja-ja! - is a Stew.

But I DO have a clean whte table cloth...bearing a sparkling white platter & "almost" silver cutlery, plus! -soft lighting & mellow "Rat Pack" tra-la-la!

I take my seat with Vino Bianco/Rossi...bi-polar AND spend-thrift though she is (always cheap BUT in the Ecconmy size) ...and THEE "plat du jour";
(probably Minnestrone)

I guess i,m stuck with HER!

Still.
I gotta Moretti beer on standby. A "Mcdounes", 3 year old Scotch... stashed under the couch, somplace.
The Music in my head? The Poetry we must write?
And, yes: You, too.

So now? Why dont you join me in a (song) walking blues?

WHISKY BLIND MAN WALKIN BLUES:

"Whisky,ll make a blind man
Sing the blues.
Nobody,s gonna love you
Wthout no shoes.
I,m gonna get on back to Memphis
If I,m ever compass-senses;
Whisky,ll make blind man
Sing the blues.


Dont you ever talk NO reason
Baby-girl
Micro-manage, at the dentist
Leave me Cool
I need a haircut & a White cane
Not kisses full of Novocaine
Dont you EVER talk no reason
Baby-girl-


If you see me down in Paris
Say: "Bonjour!"
I gotta suitcase & a guitar
As a rule.
They dont teach this stuff in College;
Bring that apple to the teacher!
If you see me down in Paris?
Say, "Adieu"

(last verse)


Whsky,ll make a blind man;
Go South.
I got it, first hand,
Mouth to mouth.
Loves heaven has NO season,
Leastways? -wthout a reason;
Whisky, blind man?
...Sing the Blues"


(dedicato: Count Clay von Cabe, Viceroy of Akansas & Princess Sarah B. -hugs!...:)


c 2011/davedelacroix/Lord Borgo/Piacenza/Saturday/Sun shinning/giggng tonght/Bar Insomnia, via Cittadella, 10pm/be there or get gay/remember children? -always brush your teeth...otherwise you,ll end up looking like Delacroix; leastways? -Kieth Richards!

(Acts 2 & 3 will be posted tomorrow.)

(Piacenza) Take - lucky No. - 7: Kind Hearts & Coronets

Take 7:     Kind Hearts & Coronets

A very close friend, here in Piacenza, had his heart broken, leastways "shaken" recently.
A fast gals caprice...A brothers betrayal.

A friends "wisdom" at such a time is pretty much worthless. My comforting words? -acknowledged, yet nevertheless, no band-aid for such a wound.

My "Accountessa" (Carol, in Denver, Colorado) ever on the ball and ALWAYS positive, even in the darkest times...would...were she here to advise my heart broken friend, say:

"Carpe diem, Amico! See it as a NEW opportunity...for your LIFE: see it as an OPEN door!..."

 November, believe me, is infact - not April - the cruelest month (ask Guy Fawlkes);

So? October, Me, Kind Hearts & Coronets.....whisper;

                                          December comes anon, mon brave!
                                          with ALL its fireworks, bangles,
                                          promise, love & gifts!...:)


PS: You owe me €1.00. The cost of posting this message at the local Pakistani Inter-net cafe. And, yes! - it IS an inter-net CAFE. Daniel, the owner, actually HAS an Espresso coffee machine. and YES! -dont FORGET to come to my "piccolini concertina", (domani) tomorrow (sabatto), 10.00pm, at the CAFE INSOMNIA, via Cittadella, Piacenza.

PPS: Bring money!...:)

c 2011/nov/davedelacroix/lord borgo/italy of course/twix bloody marys & happy hour martinis/off to gig at LADY BAR, via mazzini, 19.30 hr./be there or be frickin square!...:)

(Piacenza) Take 6: The Seventh Seal

Take 6: The Seventh Seal (dedicated to Paolo Bossalini)

Its getting on for 2 years now since the close of the American chapter of my life...which I have spent in European travel, recording new songs and, on & off, shooting a miscellany of music video footage that, to date, has NOT added up to a "Pythagorean Hill of Beans!"
Or maybe? JUST that! -namely? -this blog/book: "Our man in Europe/Piacenza"...

These past THREE MONTHS - as U., dear blog/book reader are aware - has found me happily located/living IN Piacenza, Italy, fortunate to be surrounded by/amongst a most wonderful community of new, good friends and a whole new generation of music fans.

At my modest, local, weekly concerts...they collectively bounce/dance around, pass the "tip jar" and "en que", sing WORD for WORD, at the TOP of their voices ALL and any of my songs I get to strumming!

"Fire Exit!", "This Train", "Eleanora from Cremona", etc.

It IS at once, for this particular "Old Dog" an honor & a delight!

(See photos on theirs/my Facebook websites, why dont-cha?)

Alas, however, during these past 2 reasonably turbulent and extremely active years...a shadow in the sun has appeared all too frequently...in the form of the Grim Reaper...to cull the flock of several of my old American friends.
In point? Whilst they have NOT been dropping like flies, their number, nevertheless, has decreased significantly.

The great TOM WAITS is "on record" as saying: "most of my pals are either dead or not feeling very well.", whilst MINE? --those who continue to thrive? -there is growing alarm....And whilst it IS inevitable, should U. be blessed with a long life, you WILL witness many friends & familys demise...and it DOES leave you  (actually? Me) to ask: Why Megan? (36 yrs old), why Darren? (50). Robin? (32) Evo? (25), Screaming Jack? (40) Jackie? (37), many, leaving young children behind; and, of course, ones OLDER friends who still had a decade or 2 of life expectancy?.... Janet; mother of Robin (60), Kenny Ortega (Jazz bassist-genius, 59), Everet (Comedian, Actor, & stunt man for Rodney Danerfield: 58)...the latter, who once impressed upon me, re. Acting & Comedy: "TIMING is EVERYTHING, Dave!"

As FOR my "Time", I have - and hopefully will continue - to spend it traveling AND celebrating this journey through words & music.
Fact is? Ive never really stayed in one place long enough to gather roots... Or when I did, the Grim Reaper, hovering un-seen, and later? -after my departure? His Scythe descended!

Clearly, I have been dodging the proverbial "bullet" (or Scythe) with uncanny good fortune!...

And whilst (and DO "stay" with me, folks) I am no more or less superstitious than the next man? -when I get to know just about every bar-tenders name in the region...the notion to "move on" becomes a factor.

Like the Knight in Ingmar Bergmans movie, The Seventh Seal, a Chessboard trick was deftly played... And, perhaps? JUST perhaps, like Bergmans - neverthless doomed - Knight....one of my now deceased,  much loved/and loving friends... clung to Life for just a few seconds EXTRA to distract the Reaper from gathering THIS "Old Dogs" Soul unto him, too?

OK! SHOWTIME!!!!

"Im looking for the Fire Exit!"

c 2011/nov/davedelacroix/Lord Borgo/Piacenza/Italia.

OUR MAN in Piacenza: Take - dave brubeck - 5: "Eleanora from Cremona": un canzone per Irma Zanetti

Take 5: "Eleanora from Cremona": un canzone per Irma Zanetti

Caro Irma? It was so nice to see you again, yesterday (ieri), Wednesday (mercoledi?) when, - through working night & day on my new book - I thought it was FRIDAY (venerdi) and insisted you come TO my Friday night concert at Lady Chans, "LADY BAR" on the Via Mazzini (Piacenza) where I do a "piccolo concertina" EVERY friday (venerdi) night around 8pm...and thank you for assuming I had gone completely off my "rocker" & politely NOT correcting my obvious "time-lapse" and are waiting UNTIL (venerdi) friday...and then come WITH friends to my "piccolo concertina"!

(Ahem!)

Regardless?... "Ieri" (yesterday)....still thinking it WAS infact (venerdi) Friday...I dutifully showed up at Lady Chans LADY BAR, guitar in hand, played a "piccolo concertina" to the ever-present cool crowd & made a bunch of money and several new "amici" (friends) who insisted I play/perform a "tarantella"!

Thus? I wrote the following song (canzone), a "tarantella", on the spot and every one, along with "molto,tutte, bella vinos" had a fine old sing-song time!

Ergo? Dedicated to YOU, sweetie-pie? -here is the song: "Eleanora from Cremona"

...written on Lenudi (monday) or Sabatto (saturday) or whatever frickin (di giorgno) today actualy IS!

OK: "Eleanora from Cremona"

Eleanora from Cremona
She said she,d love me true,
Then she took me to Bologna
For minestrone soup!

Then we got the train to Roma
A dolce vita coup
Like Juliet, Verona
She had me by the noose!

(Everyone sing:) LA-La-La-La, etc., etc.

I wrote a postcard from Salerno
Mamma-mia e Amici (gasping for breath)...USA
Im stuck in old Calabria
Mia Amico,s gone away!

So I hitch hike to Brindisi
Shes nowhere to be found
Eleanora from Cremona
As gone to Napoli!

LA-la-La-La.La, etc., etc.

So I go to Viacenza
She,s (encore) nowhere to be found
I drink a beer in Piacenza
Get a hotel in Milan!

Dont you ever go to Torino
Cause Eleanora is living right THERE!
She broke my heart
And left me broke;
Eleanora!!!!!
(Buona Fortuna!)
Eleanora!!!!....from Cremona!!!!!

La-La-La-La, etc., etc.

OLE!

(Obviously, Irma? this is a song/canzone/tarantella that still needs a LEETLE bit of work!....)


c 2011/oct/our man in piacenza/dave delacroix/lord borgo/Hotel Dave/piacenza/italy/presently sober as a judge!/but things WILL change!...ole!

OUR MAN in PIACENZA: Take 4: "Bongiorgno Italia!"

Our man in Piacenza: Take 4: "Bongiorgno Italia!"

I love the sound of a "Skill.saw" in the morning! -grinding, crisp and shrill! TWO?...even better. THREE? -an orchestra! And the honking of traffic, Vespa scooter whines; the populace veritably SCREAMING: "Ciao, bello, Ciao!!! Plus the blessed No. 4 bus (kinda small; almost a VAN: "Wheres its mommy?") spluttering outside my (HOTEL DAVE/Casa di Amici/€35 -1 nite) "alberego" window every 20 frickin minutes...spewing carbon monoxide which mingles with my tobacco smoke, addressing the flavour of my morning coffee with the utmost rigour...and the BELLS of the basilica St. Sepulcro rattling my window panes ("The BELLS! The FRICKIN BELLS!")
Ya get the picture?

Paradise.

And such IS Piacenza. Such is Italy!

Encountering some Brit tourists, long ago in "romantic" Venice, they be-moaned the City,s Summer stench... And yet? I - for one - embrace it! You are experiencing HISTORY. How....IT WAS! Like the dust & damp you sense when visiting a Basilica or that musty taste of rennaisance tapestries that hypnotize you in a hundred citadel fortresses.

If you require peace and tranquility...go to some pacific atoll; do NOT come to the land of the Etruscans, the Romans, the Lombards! Its sensuality of sights and sounds, vinos & epicurean delights will drowned you.

Still? -in MY view (and I DO have "a room with a view") it will be....a happy demise.


c 2011/dave delacroix/LORD BORGO/Hotel Dave/€35 -1 nite/Casa di Amici/Our man in Piacenza.Italy

OUR MAN in PIACENZA: Take 3: Below the Salt

Our Man in Piacenza: Take 3: Below the Salt

Having just been robbed by - the very best - quartet of South American kids; 2 bandidos, 2 bella donnnas, who having shared my hospitality at the HOTEL DAVE/Casa (sic) di Amici; money missing from my bureau, poor olf "Albergo" having been obviously ransacked (I own nothing worth stealing) I commiserate with a bottle of Guternero (rossi) and several Morretti brewskis....and wonder just how, being fleeced, I will manage to pay the frickin rent!?

When U are life,s victim...its best to think of past times when U - occasionally - were/have, in the foiables of youth, like the South American quartet, been uncaringly predatorial.

Who?

Once? (twice!?)

...did U betray?

Whose trust did U tread upon....like broken glass?

Did U hurt them? And DO they still carry that scar?

What goes around, comes around. Religious text is filled with such metaphoric wisdom. It takes - perhaps - a life-time to understand: DO NO HARM!

In olden days - think renaisance - people dined/ate/feasted at long tables. SALT was a precious food preservative and high-end commodity.

U sit above it, at the top of the tables? -You,re "entitled"- Chow on down!

U sit BELOW it?....That venison U are munching on is probably spoiled.

To sit above it, however, takes more than personal prestige. It takes "the getting of Wisdom"....which - again, perhaps - is the carefully nurtured understanding that U have to BE KIND.

(Where was I?)

at this point, dave delacrtoix, a.k.a. LORD BORGO, satiated with vino Gutternero & several Moretti brewskis....falls off his sofa onto the HOTEL DAVE/€35 -1 nite/Casa di Amici,s marble floor...and needs an ambulence to take him to thee ol hospital... Concusion, I think.... And a kindly neighbor - TOONA - provides a stretcher, saying: (in Italian) "Hang on, Dave! I think its gonna be a bumpy ride!"

c 2011/dave delacroi8x/LORD BORGO/Hotel Dave (€35 -i nite)via Camapgna 89, Piacenza, Italy...of course/OUR MAN in Piacenza.

OUR MAN in PIACENZA: Take 2: Lord Borgo

OUR MAN in PIACENZA: Take 2: Lord Borgo

I - officially - have decided to change my name....

Before?

Dave Delacroix; Duke of Denver (Colorado, USA)

Now?....residing in the BORGO district of Piacenza (Italy, of course) I hereby DO - subject to ALL the rules, contracts, stipulations, mega-obscure paragraphs...over which many lawyers (small L) will debate/pontificate at exhorbitant amounts of money - SWEAT! - elevate myself to the Princely status of LORD BORGO.... And if the local ruling class..."in these parts"... have failed to recognize my OBVIOUS nobility or invite ME into their immediate fold?....It is no fault of mine.

(Ahem!) THEREFORE?.....(in future) please address all mail/post/correspondence to:

Lord Borgo (c/o davedelacroix@aol.com)

or?

LORD

or?

Dear Lord!

or?

My Sweet Lord...

or?

LAWDIE HOWDY DO-DAT!?

(Milli-grazie)


c. 2011/our man in piacenza/lord borgo/hotel dave-casa di amici (€35-1 nite)/via campagna 89, piacenza/booga-loo!

Our Man in Piacenza: Take !: Witchata Linesman...

Our Man in Piacenza, Take 1: WITCHATA LINESMAN

(Lights? Camera? Action!)

Sooooo?.....Atemis Blogovich-Smith, having trailed/stalked me to Piacenza, (Italy) makes (lol) the ONE fatal mistake and falls in love withe the "bello" Lenore; live, vivacious, a good cook (Italian: go figure) with a keen sense of fashion AND speaks bearable Esperanto (English).

Wedding bans are posted at the local "Super-Mercato" (King-Soopers) and at the Pakistani owned inter-net cafe - from where I write - ; beer mat/decal invitations are bandied about/customary for all bohemian affairs, a salute/nod/punt/ to "some semblance of Social merit" doobie-doo.....And, for the life of me?...I feel obligated to "show up" and lend some sober sense of Community spirit!.....(?)

Weddings...in Italia....are at once a solemn, yet festive affair. Ya gotta wear a (black) jacket and white - hopefully pressed - shirt.
....No one gives a crap about "pantaloons". They could be "Daktari" ZEBRA and no-one would give a shit

Still. Its a lengthy gig. All that "Candles" rigamarolle, chanting, an eternity of "Ave Marias"....and I would love to joke about it but its sooo repetitive, I swear; its JUST NOT FUNNY!

Then some ol gal....actually, some old skinny virgin who never TOOK the habit starts playing the frickin Cello (not half bad) and the HOLY DUDE in a lacey combo frock, worthy of Ives St Laurants worst nightmare, dispensing the (R.C.) obligaqtory ritual, amidst which, Artemis, and his bride to be, all decked out in Nike Splendour, flood-lit-centre stage:

"Artemis?" sayeth the frock-dude;

"Artemis? (You piece of shit) DO U take bella Lenore  as your beloved wife?"

"Johnny Depp!"

"Que!?"

"You bet! Shes rich!"

"Que?"

"Absolutely, man!.... C, mon! Lets get on with it!"

At which point some old fat gal up on high in the basilica gallery, accompanied by some aneamic gerontion with blood shot eyes and leprosy for a complexion ignites the ancient thunderous pipe organ, dispensing with "WE ARE DEVO" but goes straight to "Ave Maria" (like we have NOT been brain-washed enough (?).....!

Leastways? -Im told so, because at SOME point I,d lost interest in the whole affair and gone wandered out of the basilica across the street to a tavern....and HERE U must remember that wedding rituals fall dead centre between (bloody Mary) morning cocktails and (Dry Martini) Happy hours!......ahem....which is not only downright inconvenient but enough to piss off the Pope!......I think.

Artemis Blagovich-Smith?

Well; he got married.

Me?

I nodded to Jesus.....

....and like the Witchata Linesman?

                                                     I,m still on the Line.


c 2011/Our man in Piacenza/davedelaccroix/Hotel Dave, via Campagna 89, Piacenza, Italy/ wish U were here!...:)









          

Our Man in Europe: dave delacroix: Part 60: Mr Norris Changes Trains.

Part 60:   Mr Norris Changes Trains.


"This is the End; beautiful friend, the End..." (jim morrison)

A surprise for you? A surprise for me, also. This vignette of a blog-book was conceived as a Decameron of (100) wacky travel tales...and yet, from June 2010 thru now, July 2011, I find "the times they are a`changing" and, alas, my music/songwriting career - once more - is sucking me down the worm-hole of vocational exigency.

As for this blog-book? -It is a shadow of a living time. And YOU (blog-book reader) and I have been shoulder to shoulder throughout!

Regretably, 2 of your number have infact "passed on" and - faraway - I was unable to attend the funereals and mourn amongst mutual friends and loved ones... Yet, in lieu of, I actually WENT (where ever I was on hearing the sad news) TO CHURCH...and paid my respects...which were much expanded by the churchès grand pipe organs and the chanting of the faithful.

Tears flowed.

Of note, too, is that the bereaved`s FACEBOOK pages still stand and are now filled with the lamentations of friends, theitr parents, their children!... And to discover the departed`s last days, their final activities, their thoughts?...one has to scroll back page after page (of a myriad of condolences) until you can once more hear their voices... At which point, like a visit to Pompeii, your senses are beguiled.

There are, I believe, 500 million Facebook sites/people-postings, and I wonder of what percentage, like my 2 friends, belong to people who are no more?
There is, indeed, a cyber-space Cemetary, and perhaps a top corner-page, black angle stripe, should be posted as a testament to the person`s mortality status?

We are born. We grow. (we post on Facebook) We live. And death?... A black stretch Limo...in which ALL must one day ride...circles the block, the town, your Life...and is ALWAYS "on call".
(sort`a-kind`a)

I saw the Stalker (see part 39: Stalker) the other day: Artemis Blagovich-Smith. He was passing through Hildersheim/lower Saxony, where I`m presently engaged in recording the song: "This Train" (google on u-tube) and shooting yet more music videos.

He parked his uninvited ass at my patio table at the Cafe Ubersee.

"Hey Dave! You still kickin`?"

"Whadaya need, ya prick?" I said, tersely. -I think, however, I smiled.

He too; a sometime musician. Small concerts. An ocassional busker. Always looking like a million bucks; orders champagne.

"I missed your concert at the Summer of Love festival...?" he ventured.

"Too bad:" I said, getting ready to leave.

He asked: "How was it?"

"It rained."

I stood to leave, then having second thoughts, decided to linger... and ordered another beer.

...................

Going back to my dearly departed, I look at the "Stalker-roni" and question the Almighty`s wisdom in CULLING some of the nicest members of his flock SO EARLY, whilst permiting an interminally long life for cretins like Artemis...and the world`s tyrants, for that matter!...?

What gives? -O Great One!

Perhaps the answer/ wisdom is clear? For you must always, er...admire?...leastways "acknowledge" your Nemisis. They exist because YOU do.
Otherwise you relapse into Hate, which...as you know...is a toilet bowl that leads to no place good.

Yet even HE (Artemis), who I might (wishful thinking) never encounter again, and like my "dearly departed" friends...gone forever...this Blog-Book too, passes into Time`s tapestry; for now.

No doubt (or maybe NOT!) some future fresh-faced student of Literature/blogging will pick through it - as an exercise to pass the time of day - and try to identify the "illuminae" of whom I have written?

(Some, incidentally, are quite well known)

Future Editors, doubtless (lol), will have a "field day" with my use/abuses of the English language!

Meanwhile, until the next time? I leave you with a final morsel concerning a very disturbed young man...and a very distinguished lady, who is at present, preparing a bounty of food.

(Judith`s Special)


c 2011/july 7/our man in europe/dave delacroix/on the road to Nordhausen...to play a biker gig

Our Man in Europe: dave delacroix: Part 61: "Judith's Special".

Part 61:   "Judith's Special".


...Met a guy in Hieger, or Marburg, Munster; some place...I was jammin' on the street...who "kopt" me in some Deutsche bohemian pub...and invited me to tell him my tales of travel....which, free beer ensuing, I nevertheless gave him the "abreviated" version... to a stone cold stranger.

Infact, he was actually just desperate to talk, to spill his guts, to tell HIS story!... He was the epitome of unhappiness. Not just drunk, (we both were) but a deeply scared soul...of mega proportions.

Tall. Lean. A skull of a face. Blonde, going on ragged. 25 to 39 years of age. Affectedly demented, but wryly wise. HARD as nails. (Hans? Klaus? Wolfgang?)
From a good family, one supposed?

His Doctor (Sans Borders) parents had raised him in Iraq, Iran, and later? Afghanistan.

(Idiots?.... Thinking:  Girls?...Never trust a Doctor, ALWAYS marry a Dentist!)

...And he had - at first hand - seen the damage the "toys" of the Super Powers (in this case, Russia...and then the United States) had had on the people scratching out a living in the outlying villages/provinces of the afore-mentioned countries; the Butcher's bill of WAR...and to witness as a child...!?

When, finally, after 5 or 10 years, "Doc" Mom & Pop (and the now extremely traumatized child) eventually moved back to Germany...presumably to either save their son's fragile soul/finish his schooling in more sympathetic surrounds/regroup their sordid zealousness ...and plan their only son's yet future exposure to NEW horrors!!?...HE (the kid), hooked up with some equally severely deranged brat who...at a rail-road (bahnhof) station - I'm not making this up, folks - decided to throw himself in front of an express train, yet could NOT execute this madness without firstly ANOUNCING IT to my drinking buddy (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?) ....looking him DEAD in the eyes...then commiting his act of self destruction.

(think splashed, squashed, tomatoes)

.........

This (scared) young fella? -Now a Tree Surgeon by trade:

"I'd like to PLANT trees, Dave... But all I get asked to do is cut them down!?"
-he laments, whilst expressly advising me NOT to go a´roaming - as is my want - in the mid-East countries of his childhood.
"You`ll be kidnapped, gang banged, then skinned - literally - alive!"

 And this/my drinking buddy (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?) had on his maturity, circumnavigated - hitch-hiking - the globe... (in search of?) ...and had pretty much sailed the Seven Seas, to boot! -which in the course of, he had gathered / had many tales to tell....and that mostly, would be un-believed;

Marco Polo had the same problem...you may recall?

 This night? This week? I am a guest of a great landowner and civic figure in the German countryside, south of Hanover, where there is great merriment, music and eloquence of Life.

His guest house - at present - being under re-model? -he has me housed in a "marquee" of a House Tent comprising of six rooms with a fully stocked kitchenette, deck furniture, inter-net access, guitars and all the "mod cons" that if you WERE Lord & Lady "Muck" you`d expect on a trip that would make "camping" tolerable!
Also? -Situated thus, it does not escape me that my host had considered their residence`s garden locale, apart from the main house`s "goings on"... that I would have "creative space" to compose and write without disturbance.

Most gracious.

My HOST, my friend, a stella musician, incidentally, the HEAD of this ancient family, has an adorable older sister who, having taught English IN England, spending many year there...has great fun fixing me "olde Brit Cafe" style breakfast fare:

                                        Sausage & Chips

                                         Eggs on Toast

                                         Beans on Toast

                                         Lots`a ketchup!

                                         Sausage, chips, eggs, beans on toast!
                                         (Lots`a ketchup!)

....and as her name is Judith? -we call each breakfast plate... a "Judith`s Special".

"TWO JUDITH`S SPECIALS, LUV, AND A POT OF TEA!"

(Actually, I write this "in jeste" as Judith does in fact prepare many great, exotic meals; her culinary skills are quite brilliant; sprinkling Paprika AND Curry powder on quality wurst (huge sausages) I thought was beyond haute cusine and, indeed? -a stroke of Genius!...I`ll never gnaw on a naked sausage ever again!)

But BACK to my drinking buddy...who I met in Heiger, Marburg or Munster (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?), for... subject to his tragic aura and jaded kharma AND on-going trauma...I fear he will never experience, encounter OR attract the kind of "safe harbour" experiences OF Life that my own life - uncannily - regularly meets in my travels.

Alas, for most folks, he is too DARK a Messenger...but I convey his story, here...and someday in the future? -we will meet again... And? -because we in fact got along famously, talking of many interesting and lighter topics; it`ll be a Jamboree. A Jamboree!

I hope so.

We`ll make it....a "Judith`s Special!".


 c 2011/Monsoon June/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Lower Saxony/germany

Our Man in Europe: dave delacroix: Part 58: The After-life

Part 58:   The After-life


...It has occurred to me, ref. ze (my) "magnum opus": Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix...that should body & soul relieve me of their existence during these days of travel...that I should leave a cavalier (cavalli) note.

I know.
(It's a dark & stormy night, here...in high Germany)

1)  Please bury/burn me with a bottle of Selsin Blue Anti Scalp-itch shampoo, Aloe Vera, Cortisone cream, a LOT of suntan lotion, a pack of Drum tobacco, Marie cigarette papers, a pint of low-fat milk, a 6 pack of decent brew...and a bottle of Pernod!

2)  Matches or a lighter, doubtless, will NOT be a problem.

c 2011?rainy June/our man in europe/dave delacroix/borsum/germany

Our Man in Europe: Part 57: Scorpions

Part 57:  Scorpions


The frog & the Scorpion. Aesops fables, like the poetry of Pablo Neruda (one of 3 known literate people in the South American region, the others being Che Guverara`s cousin, Sergio Mendes, and the double act of Luigi & Luigi who do the best Gay Tango on the planet)) is obviously an easy read and as clear as day...like a

Mozart Aria,

a Pinot Grigio,

or Inter-net porn.

Sushi, in general, also comes to mind.

These are (ahem!) the best of times and the worst of times (depending on the Italian railway system, the Post Office, or whether the CIA is tapping your long distance phone calls)
Ask anyone!

"Everybody`s right!" -that`s what I always say.

And trying (once again) to get the perfect - pre-noon - Bloody Mary (or even an IL RENO!) in the pristine Gothic city square (platz) of Hildersheim, Germany CAN be a challenge, yet one must persevere, especially on the German calendar day AFTER "Himmel Phad" (a day of debauched drunkardness, thats origins escape me) which should righteously be re-named "DICK-day", leastways (in the immortal phrasing of my "soldier-in-arms"/songwriter-bro, Jason Eklund):

"Donkey-Dick-Day!"

It`s a NO-brainer...even for people (the Morons) who all live in Utah ( a leetle place just outside of Paris, France...OR, Texas), its "jest a`leeetle" ways out there; er? -Amigo!

(Bloody Mary... finally, finally, finally shows up!)

"Vielan danke, Happy!"

"Happy". -Bartender/waiter`s name. You KNOW it. -He`s an idiot. (You know that, too) cos he dosent have/or has to borrow the Giga-counter from his banshee, - in this case, female - wretched looking colleague so as I can pay with my (USA) Visa cred card.....and then dutifully continues to screw up the math AND this instrument of online calculation, where-as I end up paying DOUBLE the price of my wretched cocktail!

WE ARE the Frogs who ferry these jack-ass Scorpions across the river of Life. AND!....Because they are Scorpions? Trust me. They will always sting you.

c2011/june/our man in europe/dave delacroix/hildersheim/germany

Our Man in Europe: Part 55: Belle du Jour

Part 55:   Belle du Jour


She is Monday thru Sunday. Fresh as a Summer`s rain; anywhere!.... Unless you live in the Sahara.

It`s always her poise, her walk, her casual-affair-ness. Her swing.

She. Who haunts Man`s darkness, the promise of non-promised tomorrow`s

unkempt promises: The gallows of ALL men`s souls.

Today? She´s in sandals. Another? A print dress, bracelet, anklet, a modest necklace, a Gucci handbag, perhaps?

But it is Man alone who is/are her accessories...as she always butterflies the streets, malls, stations, airports, sidewalks, and the inveitable Lost highways....

of Men´s dreams.

Grey men go to their deaths with only HER picture/vision in their mind`s eye.


c 2011/june/our man in europe/ROME/Italia, of course.

Our Man in Europe: Part 54: The Dream

Part 54:   The Dream


Today? Au jourdhuis? Heute?.... My "dick" fell off.... There was no warning, no erogenous zone irritation/anticipation (see chapter: Test-tackles, part 11 of this blog-book), plus? -I hadnt had sex with myself FOR DAYS, nor with any one else for that matter, for months!

Still. I AM an Artist. I could take it in my, er...stride. I`m freelance. And answer ONLY to 1-800-frickin-God! Unlike most folks, having to show up (dick-less) at the factory or office, red-faced, wondering if anyone can tell the difference from the  (dick-attached) day before, foregoing wearing the usual black-spandex pants...and (again) foregoing the usual "pirouette"  every time the dinner bell gongs (whereby ones colleagues would notice an absent clump in the jock area... Still (again), and MEN not liking to be seperated - for any great length of time from handling - their "dicks"....I resolve to carry it around in my right hand.....so greeting people is a bit of a bother. I put it in my left hand and extend my now free-right hand, in greeting....which, alas, is met with complete dismay!....(?)

Still, (again) it IS my Dick. And I AM an Artist, which is a giant leap forward from Vincent Van Gogh with his pesky Ear! -though I DO/can see..."Vinnie" hanging out at the (Arles) Brasserie patio with his groupies, holding out his detached Ear....to the mouths of the babes, and saying: "LOUDER! LOUDER!"

.....Cant pull THAT stunt with a Dick, of course.

(Or maybe you can?.... "Speak into the microphone, Sweetie!")

Thank God it was just a Dream.

c 2011/May/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Munster/germany

Our Man in Europe: Part 53: Mamma-mia!

Part 53:   Mamma-mia!


(Thought for today: The Family that breakfasts together...sticks together.... Leastways until someone (the Caterers?) shows up with lunch!)

And, oh! Pronto! -On speaking "Italian"?

It may not have escaped your attention that when communicating to the Italian race/nation, leastways, South of Napoli, that a certain skill is required.... Simply pronouncing the parlance is something of a lost cause:

"Scusi? La Stazione, per favore?"
("Where`s the frickin station, buddy?")

Better you adapt a theatrical poise, frantically wave your arms about - with all the fevour of heated masturbation - and rotate your hands a fingers, DO a back-flip (or cartwheel) and SCREAM (using all 5 octaves):

"SCUSI! SIGNORI!"
(Cartwheel)
"LA STAZIONE!!!"
(Then mellow out)
"Per favore...?"

And usually you`ll get an adequate/pertinent response such as:

"2 blocks straight, then make a left. A 100 yards! You cant miss it!" (in perfect English)

OR?

"Idiot! You`re standing in front of it!"

Which brings me to the Calabrian town of PAOLO. A snip of a coastal town on the main East coast rail route. For unlike Germany, which has the most logical and efficient system in the world, Italy`s railroads - like England`s - has a system sooooo designed that if you have to make a connection, your second train will have faithfully departed 20 minutes before you arrive at the connection stazione. In a nut? Nothing runs on time & ANY posted train schedules should be regarded as "official hearsay" and not fact.

Thus! My (visiting from the USA) Accountessa and I find ourselves stranded at PAOLO for a 3 hour wait/delay en route the resort town of Maratea.

So! To the small stazione bar/cafe. Tables, chairs, sidewalk arrayed, station front; directly across the street? -the town`s Police Station. An Art Deco building, 5 storeys, presumably once a hotel or block of condos as the upper 4 storey`s LOOK like condo units...with large windows/patio doors that give out onto individual small balconies, a dozen in all......WHICH both I and my Accountessa humorously pounce on!

....Thinking, should one be arrested IN Paolo for some misdemeanours such as spitting on the locals, urinating in public, getting busted for running a "Ponzi" scam, or being an outright serial killer?....perhaps one could request a cell with a balcony, a view of the Stazione, and the Mediterranean sea, a scant mile away?....

...Before, that is, they (the cops) go at you with the rubber hose and nail pliers, to extract a "guilty" confession?

"Mamma-mia!!!!!"


c 2011/may/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Paolo/Italia

Our Man in Eureope: Part 52: "IL RENO!"

Part 52:   The RENO!


In my never ending search for the perfect "Bloody Mary".... Actually?... In my (European) never ending search for ANY bartending idiot who HAS TOMATO JUICE (they always have Vodka) ergo, I get my hangover fix!... my destiny prevails and leads me to the Ristorante Commercio in (yes!) Piacenza.

Piacenza (like the rest of Emilia-Romagna) is home to the finest Proscuito and a whole bunch of "other stuff" (I`m a stickler for details!) that`ll knock the socks off ANY Tahitian!!!... No problemo, Dude!

Anyways; Ristorante Commercio, via Colombo, Piacenza/Italy, and ON this quest for the bloody, Bloody Mary, I discover the "Sword in the Stone" (T.H.White) and draw it from the rock, effortlessly....and wave it about in the air (as boys will do)....courtesy, mind you, of a cool dude named RENO who runs the restaurant and an adjacent B & B where I and my (USA) visiting Accountessa sojourn.
(Sojourn? -heeeel! Why not?)

Me: "Bloody Mary."

Reno: "Que?"

Me: "Vodka-Tomato juice."

Reno: "No Tomato juice."

Me: "I`m going to kill myself!"

Reno: "Before lunch?"

Me: "Si!"

Reno: "Momento!"

...And promptly returns with that rarest of living jewels, the perfect take on a perfect idea....like Opera, spreading its Valkyric wings, soaring high, then alighting on an island called JAZZ!

(Spretzler water & Vodka.)

It`s Rossi-ish. Actually? Quite pink...with a knuckle or 2 of ice and a lemon/orange slice....SERVED (details! details!) in a Martini Soda glass of triangular design some idiot in the back office of a Milano AD Agency dreamt up before realizing that that particular business - like Hollywood - really did/does suck....and then quit the gig and fled to the forests to live in the nude!

Anyhow/anyways (?), receiving this Hemmingwayian epiphany (no relation to Epiphone guitars) I fell (off my chair) to my feet on the crowded ristorante`s cool marble floor... IN FORGIVENESS to "Our Lord" for this treat...whilst the - by now - lunch time sun, beaming thru lace curtains, positively creating a halo/aura around my (according to my Accountessa) beautiful, thick, wavy hair, BROUGHT ME, the waiters, the clientele, the clackety-clak ristorante kitchen, the traffic on the via Colombo outside, Piacenza town, the WHOLE of Emilia-Romagna, Milano, Italy, maybe the State of Texas too!!? -to a halt.

This....was BIG.

And so, my friends, I say (wiping my sweaty brow) let me introduce you to my new "leeetle friend": IL RENO:

1/2 Vodka
1/2 Spretzler
1 wedge of lemon/orange
2 Rocks.

And chill!...


c.2011. june 14/our man in europpe/dave delacroix/ piacenza/italia

Our Man in Europe: Part 51: The Girl

Part 51:   The Girl


In these (and may you live in) interesting Times; Chinese proverb. (Confuscious, probably)....of tsunami weather, ecconomic disasters...and a society of ritzy paupers...in this "rental" of a Life...pit stops of reflection abound, rarely appreciated as the World momentarily stills...in an attempt to distill Man`s destiny....or lack, there-of.

It`s a funny old Life. (You think?)

In these (and may you live in) interesting Times, I sit in a non-descript, yet Fellini back-drop of a street cafe on the Via Colombo, like East Colfax, Denver, here in Piacenza, Italy.

It`s 7 a.m. on a sunny (but cool, thank christ!) Sunday morning. Cafe Longhi. birra Moretti. The serving wench is (Mandarin) Chinese:

"Meee How!"...:)

....but she speaks perfect Italian: "Buonjorno, Delacroix!"
I have been here before.

The only other dawn customer? The Girl. Popping in & out of the Cafe...with the "de rigeur", surgically attached cell phone, pacing, anxious, waiting for her ride. She is "bella" in tight fit jeans, bust fit-tit-tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise; oh! and of course, some studded black leather handbag, the price of (?) which could finance a 3rd world Banana Republic.

In Italy, clothes, like food, is cheap. If you`re hungry? Buy a pint and the food/snackies/tapas show up. They nail you on the drinks (not me: You!) and re. clothes? -Always on the accessories. Handbags, gloves, Michael Jackson paraphanalia, trinkets, shoes!
...but back to "the Girl".

Obviously, she`s head`in to an important family re-union, church, a weekend cocaine party, or waiting for 2 or 3 dubious, ill shaven Italian dudes (to show up in a crappy Fiat), prepped to go rob a bank, assasinate the Pope...or hit a city kiosk and make off with all the Lottery tickets.

It goes without saying.

....And in reference to said "eye-candy" blonde bombshell....wearing tight fit jeans, bust fit tit tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise.....:)
.....
.....I wish her "Buono fortuna!"

She just might need it.


c 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum

Our Man in Europe: Part 50: "Say wha!?"

Part 50:  "Say wha!?"

Come live with me... and be my love....?

"No thanks!" -Lonesome Dave, like LUCKY LUKE (German comic book-Cowboy character, quick on the draw/faster than his own shadow!....) is happy, solo, and fearing NO man....and grateful for (his) the miracle of Life.

At the "ETE HUS" bar-kneipe, in Steinhude am Meer, I play a sold out/late night concert....to a largely inconsequential crowd (didnt get laid) and make a whooping 60 euros & a half bottle of Jim Beam.

(thinking...)....Odd thing IS....is that whilst, aging, I continue to "flail" in the Music biz....TRYING TO GET OUT!!!....but "the Biz" keeps pulling me back IN....and - the Biz - likes what I do (?).

Something to DO, I guess.

Steinhude Am Meer, the "meer", a large shallow lake, no water craft can have a "keel", and a lot like Lake Hamilton, Hot Springs-Arkansas, is a secret oasis/eden...`cepting....the light here is pure Turner (English painter, 1800`s/ no relation ti Ike & Tina/ and "light-wise", no need to go to Venice!)...patronized by the "cogniscenti" and the odd lost tourist (Loud tee-shirt/looks horny).....and  Steinhude, the "ville", reasonably lush, pristine, a "deutsche" no-brainer. Souvenier shops, Cafes, a pub or two, and restaurants whose speciality is (smoked) Eels, fresh from the lake, as it were. A lakeside promenade; visitors oozing relaxation.

But back to my Gig....at the ETE HUS, managed by a very decent fella named Karsten, the crowd, mid-30`s going on 50, but in THIS case "well keeled"....alas....ASSUME that someone ELSE is filling my Tip jar and quite oblivious - in the holiday/carnival atmosphere... to my actual monetary needs! (?)

Still. The gig is a blast. A Babe-A-Rama/eye candy for the Soul, etc.... Strangest thing? IN the throng, I meet sweet Catherine and her boyfriend Burt. Burt is from Holland; a Dutch dude (sic). And, leastways, in Europe, the Dutch are known for being, er...the most frugal - outside of Swabians - with their money.

European traffic carry national identity bumper stickers. GB for Great Britain, F, yes; for France, B for Belgium, I, for Italy.... Holland? NL, for the "Nederlands" which the French translate into "non-lucrative" as the Dutch always bring ALL their stuff (food, smokes, booze, etc.) with them when they go touring on holiday...so as not to get fleeced by the locals.

Anyhow, Burt (from Holland), happy in his cups, springs for a taxi - so as I can go fetch my guitar from a nearby house/which I forgot to bring, er....actually? I had infact forgot all about the blessed concert!
(Ahem!)
So Burt (from Holland) PAYS for the taxi and then bets me 50 euros that if I sound GOOD....he`ll put 50 euros in my tip-jar...

(Stay with me, folks. This gets good.)

.....BUT (says Burt, from Holland) if I SUCK? -I pay HIM 50 euros!

OK. That`s a Dutch guy talking. You can take a Hollander outta "Dutch-land", but you CANT take the Dutch outta a Hollander!
(Somethin like that)

Anyways; great concert: Baddabing! Good boogie: Axel, Jenny, Karsten & "Ralph", bartending....but the ONLY money in my tip-jar is a speckle of loose change (10 euros) and a very proud/bold FIFTY Euro banknote from (Hollander) Burt!....and, presumably, his sweet gal, Catherine!

Go figure.

And like I`ve told a million bartenders - and now You! - .....if no-one has "stoled" your Bible or complete works of Billy Shakespeare.....You do well TO peruse, if not for Faith? -then for the Getting of Wisdom!

"Say wha!?"

c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/ Hildersheim

Our Man in Europe: Part 49: Saint Somebody

Part 49:   Saint Somebody

In the sometimes fog of travel, Osnabrück, Deutschland, busking on the street in the shadow of that - city landmark - Catholic church, Saint Somebody`s...North or South (East or West) of the town`s main pedestrian drag, the "fussgangerzone...two tall German-Russian (?) lithe & raven haired girls...all dressed in black (....am waiting for that inter-net-Facebook connection!...) patronize my street action, 2 evenings in a row...!

"I just vant to dance!" sez one; drop dead gorgeous.

"Me too!" sez I.

NO! REALLY!!!...Meee too!...(lol)

(Me. Who hasnt washed in 2 days. Hair shampoo? A 5 day distant memory....and a "wheelie-bag" choked with old laundry; self esteem? -At an all time low...)

The girls take pictures with their "handies", cam-corder action, etc., whilst GYRATING to my song, FIRE EXIT...on spandex clad legs that rise to their necks!.....Jeeze -Can we at least meet in the next Life?
(Even Atilla the Hun gets lonely...)

...And... sat there... crossed legged on the church`s expansive pigeon soiled forecourt, guitar semi-busted/but functioning, I look UP to these black clad Amazons...who clearly love my action in the pre-Easter sun, radiating...and can only strum and sing and observe...divinities metallic silhouettes, GA-GA gyrating at my guitar plectrum`s command.

I might add, inwardly, I recall panting like a deviant dog...and pining like only a Poet can!

But, alas! The late afternoon sun, bleating, the World, the Day, the evening, soon to be night, dances by... as is it`s Will...and cogs turn, wheels spindle, Life`s blood flows, whilst hands once clasped, soon release, a kiss, a chill;  amidst a carnival of music, soon to fade; a grape`s burst of Life.

I must go North, to Hanover: "Sofort!"

c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum, bei Hildersheim.

OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: part 48: SWAT!

part 48:  SWAT!


She has Egyptian eyes, wears a "ponce-nez", uses a cigarette holder (to protect her eyes?)...and in her blonde, Germanic charm...exudes the bounty of -a great diet - and God`s miracle of Life.

So shoot me!

Last night, (out) clubbing...at MY age, goddammit!!?....hugging/swearing "eternal love/friendship"...with several women... ALL CALLED RALPH....balloons into a perfect Spring morning: It`s 24 degrees (2nd of April)
Summer, thank god, beckons.

We have BBQ plans: Marinated "Dead Bird", baked potatoes; corn on the cob?... Outta season, like your/mine Genius...and the day will bring...what it may.

Bugs are re-inventing themselves:

SWAT!!!

(Don`t ya just love Nature?)

Meantime? -Staying off the need for a Bloody Mary (with Tabasco, Celery stick, the white of an egg, black pepper or a MELLOW  chopped Chilli....)

(Don`t be an idiot; use a Blenda, `ceptin for the celery stick!)

...I ponder the plight....of those poor folks... (post earthquake, Tsunami, atomic melt-down)
in Japan.

At the Global Super-market, misery is on Discount!

I`ll give you a Coupon.



c 2011. our man in europe/dave-O... mit der Baroness Jutta von XXX/Rheinland/Deutschland/Apres April Fools day....:)

OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: part 47: "Thank you... for Smoking!"

Part 47:   "Thank you...for Smoking!"


In search of a Bloody Mary... in Germany, specifically....to my beloved Amigoes in the "New World" (that would be the USA)....can I suggest an intelligent investment in CARTONS of Tomato Juice (from any reasonably sized Euro-supermarket), prior to embarking on an A.M. pub crawl... as the average - certainly, German - bars don`t include it in their inventory (don`t carry it!)

VODKA!
There`s that.

Worcestershire (WUSTER) sauce;
"Viel glück!"

Maybe TOBASCO!?
Dream on!
(Bring it!)

Black pepper/a stick of Celery/the white of an Egg...?
You MIGHT "luck-out!"

...Oh?... And early morning?

Try NOT to look like a Wreck!
(the locals - sadly - can be alcho-patron picky!....?)

...And PURLEEZE...check your "handguns" at the door...as getting KICKED TO DEATH by TEN Mönchen-Gladbach SOCCER fans...

...often offends.

.....but.....(butt?)....ending on a HIGH note, you can (happily) SMOKE yourself to death... in just about every bar you (meet) frequent;

Ditto: "Thank you... FOR smoking!"

THAT, my friends, is a "given"........:)


c 2011/our man in europe/cafe berlin/M-Gladbach/bartenders: Christian (mornings)/Arnac, from Turkey: afternoons/germany

OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: part 46: Portraits from a Smokey Room (5 Easy Pieces!)....3rd/last part (ahem!)

Part 46:   Portraits from a Smokey Room (5 Easy Pieces!) 3rd/last part; hum.


(5)....to repeat: Lastly, and perhaps, sadly, in this portraiture of sketches, or FIVE EASY PIECES, there`s the unfortunate (?) Lovers....!
HE`s an idiot (AC/DC as opposed to, er...Beethoven... And he IS Deutsche!)
SHE? Stocky, now, though once a blonde belle du jour, perpetually munching on SOMETHING between weight-watchers (sic) Radler Pilsner.
He too, is a grazer. The house special.
Both vacantly staring at the big screen Soccer T.V., fully loaded with beer commercials, their (?) working world, drained of interest, any dynamic...or promise; the "dull" of a German winter...

...No better than my own situ... Bar closing; a winter`s frigid dawn, still 3 hours away, wondering if I can possibly catch - drunk - a provincial bus to some outlying no-where`s-ville, "kleine stadt", my tenure there, un-sure, and where I have absolutely NO future!

Still; the accoustically perfect wet cobbled streets beckon my muse, so, in such deserted surrounds?... I sit may ass down, break out the guitar...and sing to NO-ONE (for absolutely NO money) that ol`time Country & Western favourite: "ALL MY X`s DRIVE A LEXUS!.:. LEXUS IS THE - frickin` - CAR I WANT TO DRIVE!".....

c 2011/dave delacroix/our man in europe/looking to move to Crete/SOON!!!!!....:)

OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: part 46: Portraits from a Smokey Room....(5 Easy Pieces!) Continued....!

Part 46:   Portraits from a Smokey Room.... (5 Easy Pieces!) continued, "apres ski schlanger!"....sorta-kind`a.

(4)...Rasputin, suitably tardy-street chic, aging, and who now sits, uninvited, across the table from me...like a behemoth (spell?) anaconda, uncomfortably coiled...yet in every way...poised to crush or swallow me whole.

Pity...he doesnt know me.

At some point...his reptilian nature comprehends that he may have met his match, and will, for the next tiresome 15 minutes, regale me with stories about the Achilles heel of everyone in this bar, within or outside, of earshot.

"HE (pointing to some Acqualung-Jethro Tull type) was the WORST drunk!"
-adding; "Now clean."

"SHE (some blonde faded Violet) has done EVERYBODY!..."

"THAT guy`s kid killed himself."

"The idiot he`s sitting with is a FAGGOT....but doesn`t know it!...?"

"SHE (some other banshee, sitting nearby) is a TWICE failed suicide!... A complete idiot!"

Then after a lengthy pause: "So what`s your passion?"  (Poison?)

It may be mentioned that this Rasputin (the dope dealer) had infact previously "laid on me", and quite unsolicited, a decent size chunk of "Mary-Jane"...in its Arabic form: hashish. And having passed out "free samples" (like any good salesman)  was looking to reap his seedling`s harvest...but NOT being a "stoner" - I always give it to pals - ergo, HE (Rasputin), was on, er...stoney ground.

(he was) A moustachioed, sporting fella, despite his aura of faded grandeur (cough-cough!) but he, nevertheless, did resort to trying to entice me into drinking buckets of bad Tequila (a last ditch-minute business plan?) whereby I would (get stoned?...and...) enter into his corporate Dope commerce.

lol....Further promises of a Crash Pad (for later/I`m presently homeless), loads of free beer...and the possibility of - showing up - a couple of loose broads...alas for HIM...fail to sway me from my - "I don`t give a shit!" - determined course.

I might add... that like a Hollywood "Talent" Agent...he also HAS/D a talent for looking perpetually disturbed/in need of a (No.2) bathroom break!

...&...To complete this evil, sad-saps portrait?... He may as well as move on to a St. Petersburg`s Czar Nicholas & Alexandria social scenario/and get righteously MURDERED...for choking unabashedly on my beer - in mirth - he can make positively NO headway...with Delacroix!

(5)...Lastly, and sadly, in this "smokey gallery" of living-twilight portraits, there`s the unfortunate Lovers: He`s an idiot (AC/DC as opposed to, er...Beethoven`s whatever)....

Authors note: yet again...I must consult my hand written notes....as after my late morning libations, my good friend Jutta & I have plans for at least 2 more bottles of CHATEAU HAPPY & feel it unworthy of ME and DIS-HONORABLE to my fans to presently continue without further study of said handwritten notes: ergo:

c 2011. our man in europe/dave delacroix/Mönchen-Gladbach/march/somewhere in Germany