Bush League, Dude. Very, Very Bush League.

Two traits passed on to me by Ma Dukes that seem to most prevalent in my life are the need to pee frequently and apparently having an approachable face- one that invites complete strangers to start talking to me.

Peeing went fine last night. No problems there.


D Rock’s Second Annual 25th Birthday Photo Scavenger Hunt pulled into Skinner’s in Olde City last night with the Phillies already down to the Marlins 3-2. The Sox had lost, but trying not to dwell on it too much, I saddled up to the bar while members of the Boys Team took photos. Phil & Q were off to the side, huddled up like the college days and just as I sat down, the older dude next to me turned to me.

“Nice night,” he said. “I just came from a fantastic show down at the Pier.”


I thought this was both strange and surprising.

Strange because I didn’t expect a late sixties black dude from the Northeast to be an Incubus fan and surprising because I thought Incubus’ fan base was much, much younger.

But no, it wasn’t the Incubus show. It was a doo wop group performing at the Pier, not Festival Pier. That was my mistake. Ain’t nothing like the old soul music, he repeated several times. I kept saying Sam Cooke and he kept responding by telling the same Jackie Wilson/James Brown anecdote.

Jackie Wilson was first; of course- we all know this. And when he started out, James Brown was opening for Jackie, Jackie Wilson. Because Jackie was bigger. But that didn’t last long because soon, Jackie was opening for James Brown. But we all know that Jackie came first. But James Brown is James Brown, so he went on to headline.*

I would try to add a few things, like Brown’s dynamic live show and how his sound evolved better with the times that Wilson’s.

Yes, Yes, the dude replied, because Wilson, Jackie Wilson, came first and had that more traditional sound. James Brown opened, but went on to headline. And yes, yes James Brown’s music did evolve with the times. He died in 2006 you know.

This dude had a very definitive funk to him and while I’m never one to turn down a fun, yet slightly repetitive conversation about old soul and r &b, at times, the funk was too much. It was wafting, seemed to be an aura around the dude- probably an inch or so from his body. Stale and if it had a color, it’d be a dark tan. Musty, brah.

Then the dude told me that I looked like George Bush.

And I’m going to have to agree with my dad on this one and kind of disagree with that one.

Dude was a long-haul trucker and was very interested in Maine- wanted to get up there and travel around, wanted to know when the best time of year to go was, and wanted to know if lobster was as abundant as it seemed. You bet your ass it was, I told him and strongly suggested September as the time of year to go.

I offered him Mitchell’s couch if he were to go through Portland.

That’s not even a joke.

But soon the Scavenger Hunt was back on, giddy up and out the door & over to Sugar Mom’s. I shook homeboy’s hand, told him to enjoy the weather and again, that if he wanted to go to Maine- September was the time of year to go. He thanked me for the advice and said goodnight.

Probably never see that dude again and I’m not sure if he’ll ever make it to Maine or not.

Really I’m only sure of one thing.

I sure as shit don’t look like George Bush.

* paraphrased

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