The (Un)Official PipesMagazine Secret Santa 2021!
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Mike, I am glad I would be worried if we did, they might be offended me posting them?
Oh, Dear Lord.
I’ll have to tell y’all my Mariah Carey story when I have a chance.
I've heard that story Dan and you should definitely share it. Maybe as a special treat when we hit 75 signups?
Yeah, that's pretty much my story.
So, there I was, a photographer for The Philadelphia Inquirer. We were the the #4 or #5 paper in the country at the time, a major contributor to The Associated Press and the Knight-Ridder national news wire. I was at a nightclub in Cherry Hill, NJ to make pictures of a drag night, featuring some well-known (at the time) drag queens. Arriving a bit later than I'd hoped (but still an hour early) I was slaloming through the club, headed for the dressing rooms, when a big, beefy arm reached out from the crowd and stopped me cold. The arm was attached to squat, musclebound chunk of humanity who immediately chided me for an unforgivable infraction.
"Aren't you going to take a picture of Mariah Carey?" he said, with his best North Jersey drone.
Never one to respond well to prescribed behavior or grunted commands, I did what I do best, which is the opposite of what they want.
"Who?" I said.
"Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!" he stammered.
Damn if she wasn't standing right there, nestled between two sides of beef, with a stupid fake smile on her surgically-scrubbed face. I looked past her, scanned the room and said "Who is she?"
Mariah Carey turned from smiles to scorn and sniped "Take my picture!" Side of Beef #1 just kept stammering "Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!". Side of Beef #1 kept muttering "Hey!" over and over.
"I'm sorry, who is that, I don't know her?" I said, feigning ignorance.
"Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!" Side of Beef #1 kept saying.
"I'm really sorry, but I have a drag queen show to shoot right now. It's for tomorrow's paper. AP is waiting on a special"
Mariah turned bright red, about to pop a gasket. She took two steps back and slammed into the bar, spilling half of her drink, eyes rivited on me. Side of Beef #1 and #2 took two steps towards me, beefy arms extended. I made a lateral shift and disappeared into the crowd.
In the distance, I could just faintly make out the plaintive wail "Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!"
(It's a story that just gets bigger, and better with time. Yes, I am a mighty fan of Dr. Suess's "To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street")
So, there I was, a photographer for The Philadelphia Inquirer. We were the the #4 or #5 paper in the country at the time, a major contributor to The Associated Press and the Knight-Ridder national news wire. I was at a nightclub in Cherry Hill, NJ to make pictures of a drag night, featuring some well-known (at the time) drag queens. Arriving a bit later than I'd hoped (but still an hour early) I was slaloming through the club, headed for the dressing rooms, when a big, beefy arm reached out from the crowd and stopped me cold. The arm was attached to squat, musclebound chunk of humanity who immediately chided me for an unforgivable infraction.
"Aren't you going to take a picture of Mariah Carey?" he said, with his best North Jersey drone.
Never one to respond well to prescribed behavior or grunted commands, I did what I do best, which is the opposite of what they want.
"Who?" I said.
"Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!" he stammered.
Damn if she wasn't standing right there, nestled between two sides of beef, with a stupid fake smile on her surgically-scrubbed face. I looked past her, scanned the room and said "Who is she?"
Mariah Carey turned from smiles to scorn and sniped "Take my picture!" Side of Beef #1 just kept stammering "Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!". Side of Beef #1 kept muttering "Hey!" over and over.
"I'm sorry, who is that, I don't know her?" I said, feigning ignorance.
"Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!" Side of Beef #1 kept saying.
"I'm really sorry, but I have a drag queen show to shoot right now. It's for tomorrow's paper. AP is waiting on a special"
Mariah turned bright red, about to pop a gasket. She took two steps back and slammed into the bar, spilling half of her drink, eyes rivited on me. Side of Beef #1 and #2 took two steps towards me, beefy arms extended. I made a lateral shift and disappeared into the crowd.
In the distance, I could just faintly make out the plaintive wail "Mariah Carey, Mariah Carey!"
(It's a story that just gets bigger, and better with time. Yes, I am a mighty fan of Dr. Suess's "To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street")
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Gotta love those beefy troglodytes! they do serve a purpose. Many years ago I was attending a private party at the House Of Blues on the Sunset Strip. I was running late and was speeding my way through the dining room to the area cordoned off for the event, wearing the House Of Blues jacket that Dan Ackroyd had given me. When I slipped past the ropes one of my friends said, "Did you see what happened?"
I looked at him with some confusion and said, "Nope, what are you referring to?"
Seems that two steroid cases had spotted me and sprinted on a course to intercept me and were just about to tackle me when one of them recognized the jacket (which is only made for Dan) and immediately pushed away the other steroid case, pointing at the jacket. All this happened mere inches behind oblivious me. I never noticed a thing.
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