Rock & Roll Wifestyle goes all Society column on ya

Well hello my little Junebugs!

And haven’t we had a busy spring now darlings? Well, from settling into our darling little pied-a-terre here in the quaintest little town, to taking a quick jaunt to The Big Apple, we have just been busy as bees. Do have a listen while I regale you with tales from a most faboo month, won’t you? Swell.

Yours truly had a marvelous weekend adventure in upstate New York, reuniting with two of my dear school chums, Ms Sullivan & Ms Connerney, discussing life and love and the like. The stars were kind enough to align for a design gal like myself, and I was fortunate enough to take a personal tour of Russel Wright’s Dragon Rock homestead, which was just fascinating in its mid-century modern mindset. An opportunity like this is just too too much, but you only go ‘round once, I say, so live a little.

Alas, while I sat in front of a roaring fire with the ladies, drinking fine wine and eating imported chocolates and cheeses (courtesy of Mme Connerney’s beau du jour from Gay Paree, who keeps her larder stocked in the most delish assortment of nibbles) it just tore at my heart to think that that my poor dear CH was relegated to a weekend of debauchery in Dewey Beach. Somehow the poor dear made it through the entire pop fest weekend without me, the brave soul.

I am still not sure how he could survive without my innocuous yet constant inquiries as to what time we would be leaving as it was getting very late, and did he really did need that third or fourth shot of Jaeger/next beer/slice from Grotto? Who would be there to warn him of just how awful he would feel in the morning if he kept acting like that? How was he to know when it was too late or that he was spending too much money or being too loud and boisterous?

Thank heavens he was under the watchful eye of those steady fellas The Jellybricks, who even invited him to sleep in their hotel room so he would not be lonely without his lil’ trouble and strife. It was not their fault he did not realize that five in the morning is just too late to get pizza from Grottos, even if you are willing to pick it up. Poor dear.

Not a moment after my return from the Hudson Valley we whisked ourselves down Route 76, towards The City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia. We had advance reservations for a production at the Theatre of the Living Arts, seeing New York City’s chanteuse led loungepop trio Ivy, as well as some lesser knowns, Stars and Astaire.

Despite my attempts to suggest the best way to maneuver our vehicle in city traffic, we unfortunately missed all but one song from Astaire, and had to console ourselves with a cocktail or three. On the brighter side of the coin, we bumped into some friends from Dear Old Delaware as we got our libations and our mood lightened considerably with fond reminiscences of squandered hours at the workplace and our mutual distain for those in upper management. Soon enough the musicians struck up the band, and we had a marvelous evening of suave and sophisticated entertainment, as is our custom.

As I know you know all too well, daytime lives can be mundane at best, so I will not bore you with the dreariness of job hunting or the monotony of dog walking. Instead, come closer and I will share with you the juicy morsel that we discovered the most endearing little band performing at the Tin Angel Club,just scant days after our evening with Ivy.

CH is such a colossal sweetie for indulging me (for the second time in a week, yet) in my penchant for 60’s-influenced-twee-pop-sung-by-a-non-native-English-speaking-girl, preferably reminiscent of Astrud Gilberto during her all too short stint with the Stan Getz Trio. A gal knows she is lucky when her man is willing to sit through a production so noticeably lacking in testosterone. I am one grateful gal in that respect, as the Mosquitos from New York City are my latest guilty pleasure.

Who could resist their infectious melodies and sunshiney singalong bits? I could not even blame CH for looking twice or three times at the adorable singer Juju, who I also found to be very easy on the eyes. With her short cropped hair and snifter of cognac, twirling around in her frilly dress, she was the picture of pop sexy. Oh my- did I just use the S word to describe one of my own feminine gender? Blame it on the bossa nova!

Now, you sweet peas know that I only share in the highlights of hubby’s ever escalating career in the name of journalismo, no? Bragging? Never! Showy-Offy? Pish! Only with that notion swept clear from your mind will I report to you in even and measured tones that our local boy, Delaware’s kindest and finest, my sweet baboo, has been revealed to a wider audience with a glowing report of his musical activities appearing hot off the presses of non other than THE Billboard Magazine.

Yes! The Billboard, the one with the number one with a bullet charts and all. That Billboard! If you look closely at this ish of the Bystander you may come across a mention of it, but we’ll just let you find it for yourselves. No need to appear boastful now- though between you, me and the lamp post, mummy and daddy are awfully impressed with this one!

It would only make sense to wrap up this account of our magical musical month with a mention of the evening we spent in that marvelous metropolis, our home away from home, Gotham City itself. During this visit we were delighted to be the guests of honor at a special show at a darling little speakeasy known as The Cutting Room. Rumour has it that the owner is some sort of television personality, but as we are more apt to listen to the radio these days, his star quality was muted to us. I did my best to be a gracious hostess as I greeted and chatted with a steady stream of well wishers -reliable and wonderful L & P, Chris from DC, even a surprise appearance from fellow music makers and folks we only know via email Even friends from CH’s youthful days playing guitar at the beach came out to support.

I am sure the promoters and industry types were nothing less than impressed at such a big, magnificent sound coming out my darling bunch of boys. Per usual it was over before it began, in my humble opinion. Photos were snapped for publication, hands were shaken, and we left the venue with an open invitation for the band to perform there whenever they are in town, which I hope to be often. After a tasty meal compliments of CH’s backers at one of the city’s snappy new eateries, it was too soon that we had to turn the towncar south and head back home.

And there you have it my peach blossoms, just another day in the life of an average Jane trying to help her John as he ascends the ladder of success. See you on the next rung! Toodles!

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