Tales from Life as “Junkie”… A Fossil Fuel Junkie that is.
Greetings gentle readers. What does happen when you mix too much beer, jello, bad singing and a disco ball? The Queen can accurately attest to the outcome – having witnessed it herself. We will call the following a tale from the Queen’s former life as a Fossil Fuel Junkie.
Disclaimer: I’m not making any of this up. Only one thing in this tale is not true. I’ll tell you what at the end…. All I can say is - now that WAS the life!
The Night of the Flying Dinner Rolls
I looked over at the pilot and raised my eyebrows. He nodded slightly. I turned the handle and opened the door. The plane went from hot and noisy to hot and deafening… and very windy. I stuck my head out the door. If I had been in freefall, my nose would have looked like I had two small red potatoes wedged firmly up either nostril, it always did. As it was, the skin on my face rippled and my hair tied itself into innumerable tiny knots. Ah, this was the life! I looked down at our jump sight. We were over an airport in California, and it was show time! Air show time.
I was always the “spotter”. She who decides where to get out of the plane so that landing is accomplished in the proper spot. “We” were four women skydivers, a rather well known demonstration skydiving team. At this air show, we were the main act. Usually there were aerobatic planes everywhere but at this show, there was no available airspace for aerobatics, so we were a big part of the show. But just a part. Much of the show was military static displays. When asked, the military can come up with fascinating hardware for the public to ogle. Mostly big planes, really big planes and planes so big you could drive a tank through them. In fact… they do drive tanks through them! The show was going quite well. From our vantage point 5,000’ up in the air, we could see that the crowd was large and growing as people streamed in.
“Cut!” I yelled. The pilot pulled the power back and I and my 100 lbs of gear lumbered out of the plane. That was many years and a number of pounds ago, so I did not weigh much more than my gear. “Twack!” my parachute opened. My huge American flag unfurled and fluttered behind me. The crowd cheered, the newspaper photographers snapped. The show director was very pleased. Her name was Stacey.
Oh yeah, she was barely five feet tall, and eight months pregnant.
The day was a great success, and a party had been planned for all the performers and lucky selected members of the public. The performers in this instance were us and a horde of young military guys who came along with the static display aircraft. The venue was a large ballroom in our hotel (wise choice, as no driving was required after the party.)
The guests filed in: We four women, and a whole lot of young “I’m on the road and ready to let loose” kind of guys, most still in their nomex jumpsuits. They were hungry, and thirsty for “beverages”. I don’t recall exactly what was served for dinner, but I do recall the rolls.
As dinner was being served, it became apparent there would be live entertainment at this shindig. “Wow” I thought, “this is going to be some party!” I wondered if this would be before, or in place of the karaoke brawl which was the norm. Out in the dining area, adult beverages were flowing freely. Although I was a complete teetotaler, I knew that in the eyes of young military guys, the best shows always had an open bar. This show did not disappoint.
And who was to be our act for the evening? Why it was… Shanda Lear. I’m not making this up. She was the daughter of Bill Lear, the designer of the Lear jet. Did her Mom name her that or had she changed her name? The curtain opened… there was Shanda, a mirror disco ball and colored lights. “Wow” I thought again, “this is getting better by the minute!” Her recorded music started, and Shanda launched into her song; I think it was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.
I’ve always been fascinated by the eternal battle in the world of art between ability and desire. Some people have ability… but no great desire to pursue a craft. Far more people are gripped by a desire with the strength of biological imperative but have been cruelly shorted in the ability department. As the song progressed, I could quickly tell two things. One, that our singer was thrilled to have such a big audience and such a great gig. And two, that our singer was locked in that battle… and desire was winning.
Shanda was giving it her all. Listening made me wonder if voice coaches ever made a stab at teaching one to sing on key. If so, Shanda has missed that lesson.
At this point, I was back stage. Stacey was there as well. I stood slightly behind her, taking in the whole glorious scene. Who would want to watch television when you could watch this? I looked out over the dining area and noted a lone dinner roll arcing menacingly through the air, soaring most of the way across the room. Another roll, or maybe the same one soared back across the room. Stacey also took all this in: Shanda – lurching wildly between sharp and flat, the now well beveraged young men ready for – if not their karaoke brawl, then perhaps a food fight. Those were always fun.
“Ooooh,” I thought, “this is going to be good”. But Stacey wasn’t the big cheese for nothing! “Get her off the stage!” she yelled. Her eyes flashed between the stage and her “guests”. She knew exactly what was about to happen. “Oh my God, GET HER OFF THE STAGE!” But how was that to be done? There was no crook handy for yanking unfortunate singers away from menacing audiences. Meanwhile, the dinner rolls were now flying in formation, and in multiples. A few jello cubes were being added in… and I was waiting for the cole slaw. As soon as that started flying, the food fight would be on… and unstoppable.
“PULL THE POWER!” Stacey yelled, “PULL THE POWER – NOW!”
I don’t recall whether Stacey actually ran over and pulled the plug herself, but someone did pull the power, and in the dark, Shanda was saved from a fate involving …. jello.
I found a picture from that party the other day. The karaoke machine showed in the corner, young men and beer bottles were strewn everywhere… we four women were young and cute, and doing a pretty good job of singing something (probably not Over the Rainbow) and dancing in unison. My long hair was flying wildly in time to the music. The karaoke brawl was in full swing. Though I went to many more air shows in my career, I never saw Shanda again. Ah, that was the life.
OK, so we lied about one thing. The jello was not green… I think it was bright red. Other than that, everything is true, and no names were changed. After all, Stacy averted certain and messy disaster with her quick thinking… why change her name? And Shanda? Well, a friend told me he had her CD and kind of liked it, Plus she was out there giving it her all – doing what she wanted, - so you go girl!