This really happened. I was barely 21. I should have been barely 18 but was too scared to go sooner.
The first time I ever walked into a gay nightclub (Wham! 1011 Arnold Street, Greensboro), the DJ, Bobby “DJ” Smith, leaned out of the booth and said, “oh baby, fresh meat in the club, you’re so hot!” That scared the hell out of me yet I felt so validated.
It took awhile for me to discover that a genre of dance music I loved in the 80’s (and currently under revival) had the name of Italo Disco.
I also knew the name of the genre hi-NRG and loved it, too. hi-NRG was big-time cardio and would send you out the door wringing wet and sometimes stinkin’. It was a good stank as long as it was from the recently showered.
A few hours of this dancing would send one home, or wherever, able to go on for another week. I spent a lot of money chasing the music in 12″ vinyl. Some woman on Lee Street near the Biff Burger had the best store for it.
There was a older Lumbee guy named Doug who was one of the best to watch on the dance floor. He had it down. He liked to tell Lumbee stories.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italo_disco
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hi-NRG
At least the White House Valentine post is a quick way to identify the simple of politic. 💖 💛 🤎
Posted in rage against the machine
Friend memories.
Daniel Popovski, 1986 Ohrid, Republic of North Macedonia (was Yugoslavia then).
I was in Madrid in summer of 1986 and wanted to visit Daniel in Yugoslavia thinking it was close. It wasn’t, but JAT Airlines (Jugoslovenski Aerotransport) got me over there for little money.
Daniel and I were pen pals before we met for real in Ohrid. He was a strange one, but the visit went OK. He was obsessed with the USA, and his dream was to travel to the USA one day.
Fall of 2003, after not having heard from him in many years, he calls me out of the blue. He is on a bus in Charlotte heading to New York City. He gets off in Greensboro for a few hours. He was realizing his dream of being in the USA I only had little over an hour to get off work and meet him at the station downtown after not having seen him in seventeen years.
He visited some friends in NYC, then later ended up spending part of a year in Los Angeles.
He wasn’t sounding that good when he called sometimes from Los Angeles. The calls stopped and e-mails began bouncing months later. I never heard from him again and can find no traces on the Internet.
I have no idea what happened. I think he must have died in LA.
Anyway, Daniel Popovski, photos 1986.
I put on some E. Power Biggs (concert organist) because I was thinking about a friend I had when I was in high school who was a fan. We used to sit and listen. The friend could repair pipe organs and traveled a lot doing it.
He also had a huge Chrysler that he had converted to run off propane (or some type of bottled gas). There was a huge cylinder of it in the trunk. When riding in it, I often wondered if there was an explosion risk.
He also liked treasure hunting with a metal detector.
He could also repair CB radios.
The entire family was strange. If you flushed the toilet in their house, you had to wait with it until it filled and stopped. lol.
I was always attracted to the weird and the strange.
Why is Allstate using a lunar rover on the moon to advertise a car insurance app and having the rover launch over the rim of a crater which would have resulted in a horrible crash?
Commercials don’t have to make sense, but this one gives me the creeps.
Also gives me the creeps: Joe Namath’s blinding white false teeth in whatever the hell he’s advertising.
Posted in rambling
I’ve never been an expensive watch person. When I saw these low-priced Armitrons looking so cute, I had to get me a couple.
Both are nice, but I’m especially fond of the retro digital.
Hurry Reverend before Ernest T discovers who his bride is.
I got off work early, then Brian comes home with treats. Latte and a frap.
 | Lee on dinner for two |
 | Lawrence B on the empties |
 | Comrade Vegan on hash, coffee, and tobacco |
 | Kenneth on 1980 |
 | Ballot Ready on goofing around in guadalajara… |
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