CHURCH RETREAT
I always had a pretty good built in asshole detector. Living in NYC, it was always turned on. You can't pick your fans or your congregation, so now with a band and a church, a lot of new "friends" had come into the picture. I felt most of them were pretty good folk. Baby-Baby would disagree. Her detector's needle was always in the red at church or PG shows. "You really like those people?" she would ask incredulously. I had to admit I really didn't know most of them, but i was willing to give them all a chance. I reminded her that our Lord had associated with theives and hookers. "Yes, but he tried to save their souls, not join the party." She had a point there.
When the weather turned hot i decided to invite a bunch of my new buds up to Wolf Lake for a weekend party. The band brought their equipment (musical and otherwise). I was driving a 1971 Caddy that we loaded up with amps, drums, guitars, booze, drugs, and freaks. It was a throw back to 1967. A girl name Zoe in a flower bikini, carrying a pink boom box and bottle of tequila nodded in the back seat, as the men folk rolled joints and marveled at trees and roadkill. Baby-Baby sat next to me, quietly steaming. The artist Buddy Orange and his pregnant wife drove a big station wagon filled with more members of the congregation- Sammy Morita, Karen Black, Karen Carpenter, Carolyn Kennedy, Gary Okie and Dave East. Some rode motorcycles or piled in alienist Bond and Ruby Ray's van and headed north. All in all there were over 30 of us sweating and swaying in that 20X20 cabin by night fall. Even little brother Duke showed up. "Here. Eat this." I said handing him a tiny square of paper. I was always taught to share my toys with my siblings.
The hot tub was filled, dominoes laid out, beers cracked, the band set up, the girl with the pink boom box danced, I put the meat on the 'Q and Baby- Baby cleaned up after all of them, acted the perfect hostess and quietly stewed, waiting for it all to be over. Roger Corman would have been impressed at the gathering. Gary Okie took one of the boats out for a little pre-dawn fishing and and tipped it over losing his brand new video camera. I tossed most of the previous night's dinner in the laurel bushes, making a spectacle of myself. Someone scrawled a note on the front door. QUIET PLEASE! MINISTER PUKING. Pregnant Allie Orange bitched and ran Buddy's ass ragged, her hormones raging. She was carrying the future. No one gave a shit.
In retrospect Baby-Baby was right about most of them. They were selfish, self-centered primadonnas who cared only about who was buying the next round. They didn't help with the dishes, left their wet bathing suits laying all over, drank half a beer then opened a fresh one, flushed tampons down the toilet, didn't kick in for the food or gas, spilled wine on the old man's Malcolm Forbes quotation book, and left menstrual blood and cigarette burns all over the sheets. But hell, nobody's perfect. This was the first of many retreat and i for one had a great time. Sure I lost my pants and Allie Orange grated on me as well, but remember - blessed are the forgiving. BB moped the foor in resigned silence, rolling her eyes when I defended the group. It was tough being the Rev.'s girlfriend. I didn't deserve her. Now if I could only find little brother Duke.
When the weather turned hot i decided to invite a bunch of my new buds up to Wolf Lake for a weekend party. The band brought their equipment (musical and otherwise). I was driving a 1971 Caddy that we loaded up with amps, drums, guitars, booze, drugs, and freaks. It was a throw back to 1967. A girl name Zoe in a flower bikini, carrying a pink boom box and bottle of tequila nodded in the back seat, as the men folk rolled joints and marveled at trees and roadkill. Baby-Baby sat next to me, quietly steaming. The artist Buddy Orange and his pregnant wife drove a big station wagon filled with more members of the congregation- Sammy Morita, Karen Black, Karen Carpenter, Carolyn Kennedy, Gary Okie and Dave East. Some rode motorcycles or piled in alienist Bond and Ruby Ray's van and headed north. All in all there were over 30 of us sweating and swaying in that 20X20 cabin by night fall. Even little brother Duke showed up. "Here. Eat this." I said handing him a tiny square of paper. I was always taught to share my toys with my siblings.
The hot tub was filled, dominoes laid out, beers cracked, the band set up, the girl with the pink boom box danced, I put the meat on the 'Q and Baby- Baby cleaned up after all of them, acted the perfect hostess and quietly stewed, waiting for it all to be over. Roger Corman would have been impressed at the gathering. Gary Okie took one of the boats out for a little pre-dawn fishing and and tipped it over losing his brand new video camera. I tossed most of the previous night's dinner in the laurel bushes, making a spectacle of myself. Someone scrawled a note on the front door. QUIET PLEASE! MINISTER PUKING. Pregnant Allie Orange bitched and ran Buddy's ass ragged, her hormones raging. She was carrying the future. No one gave a shit.
In retrospect Baby-Baby was right about most of them. They were selfish, self-centered primadonnas who cared only about who was buying the next round. They didn't help with the dishes, left their wet bathing suits laying all over, drank half a beer then opened a fresh one, flushed tampons down the toilet, didn't kick in for the food or gas, spilled wine on the old man's Malcolm Forbes quotation book, and left menstrual blood and cigarette burns all over the sheets. But hell, nobody's perfect. This was the first of many retreat and i for one had a great time. Sure I lost my pants and Allie Orange grated on me as well, but remember - blessed are the forgiving. BB moped the foor in resigned silence, rolling her eyes when I defended the group. It was tough being the Rev.'s girlfriend. I didn't deserve her. Now if I could only find little brother Duke.
posted by mike osterhout at 8:53 AM
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