Matthau & The Chocolate Mustache...
When I was growing up, we used to go horse racing most weekends. My dad owned horses and had a bookie and the whole deal.
For one of the real big races, we got a whole host of his good friends who were total characters and ready to lose probably $100,000 that day, rented a limo, and we headed down to the track.
I mean there were doctors, lawyers, actors, and "entrepreneurs."
To be honest I can't remember which track it was. Or even which state. But I think it might have been Hialeah down in Florida because we loved Miami Vice and that was the race track with the pink flamingos during the title sequence.
Anyway, the catch to this story is whatever track we were trying to get in to you had to be over 18 or so to get in to the club. We were previously unawares of this rule.
So we've got our limo and all these rich and famous fellas ready to cough up egregious amounts of money. It was the 80's!
We walk up to the ticket window and they won't let us in cuz I was like 10 years old. I didn't look a day over 7.
We head back to the car. Defeated.
But just then one of our cohorts, Walter Matthau, ceremoniously takes a cork out of a wine bottle and burns one end of it with a lighter. Then he uses that cork to paint a black charcoal mustache on my face. Mind you, I was a towhead. My hair was basically white at that point. Blonde as could be.
So we walk back up to the same guy that had dashed our hopes only a few minutes before and now I've got a charcoal black mustache. Like he wouldn't notice us. He turned us away again.
Matthau complained vociferously. He told the man I was a jockey and needed to get in to ride in the big race. The guy still didn't buy it.
In the end, we figured out you could be underage at a certain part of the race track.
Station to station & guard by guard our buddies bribed me back up in to the Turf Club.
After a full day of racing, we waltzed out the front door of the club. The whole group.
As we passed by we were sure to each stop and say our thanks to the guy who wouldn't let us in. Charcoal mustache, tow head and all.
Barn Burner Mondays Presents PC3 playing a nice laid back Monday evening at the
Bigfoot West. 10939 Venice Blvd. Palms, CA 90034
Jon Niemann: keys
Rich Berardi: drums
3 short upbeat sets starting at 9pm.
Word up...
When I was growing up, we used to go horse racing most weekends. My dad owned horses and had a bookie and the whole deal.
For one of the real big races, we got a whole host of his good friends who were total characters and ready to lose probably $100,000 that day, rented a limo, and we headed down to the track.
I mean there were doctors, lawyers, actors, and "entrepreneurs."
To be honest I can't remember which track it was. Or even which state. But I think it might have been Hialeah down in Florida because we loved Miami Vice and that was the race track with the pink flamingos during the title sequence.
Anyway, the catch to this story is whatever track we were trying to get in to you had to be over 18 or so to get in to the club. We were previously unawares of this rule.
So we've got our limo and all these rich and famous fellas ready to cough up egregious amounts of money. It was the 80's!
We walk up to the ticket window and they won't let us in cuz I was like 10 years old. I didn't look a day over 7.
We head back to the car. Defeated.
But just then one of our cohorts, Walter Matthau, ceremoniously takes a cork out of a wine bottle and burns one end of it with a lighter. Then he uses that cork to paint a black charcoal mustache on my face. Mind you, I was a towhead. My hair was basically white at that point. Blonde as could be.
So we walk back up to the same guy that had dashed our hopes only a few minutes before and now I've got a charcoal black mustache. Like he wouldn't notice us. He turned us away again.
Matthau complained vociferously. He told the man I was a jockey and needed to get in to ride in the big race. The guy still didn't buy it.
In the end, we figured out you could be underage at a certain part of the race track.
Station to station & guard by guard our buddies bribed me back up in to the Turf Club.
After a full day of racing, we waltzed out the front door of the club. The whole group.
As we passed by we were sure to each stop and say our thanks to the guy who wouldn't let us in. Charcoal mustache, tow head and all.
Barn Burner Mondays Presents PC3 playing a nice laid back Monday evening at the
Bigfoot West. 10939 Venice Blvd. Palms, CA 90034
Jon Niemann: keys
Rich Berardi: drums
3 short upbeat sets starting at 9pm.
Word up...
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