Support Me on Ko-fi"COLD PIZZA" IS SOLD OUT. I NEVER RECEIVED AN ACCOUNTING, SO HERE'S YOUR CHANCE TO GET A PDF FREE
In 2011 my book, "Cold Pizza For Breakfast" won the 43rd annual ASCAP Deems Taylor Award for excellence in non-fiction writing about music. But I never got an accounting or any royalties from the book publisher -- and then the publisher died. I have since found out that the book is sold out, so I have taken it upon myself to offer it for free to anyone who would want a copy. I never made it to make money -- I wrote it so you could read it.
Just send me an email with "book" in the subject line and I'll send you a PDF of the book. Last night I discovered that the PDF version didn't have an index -- so I photographed each index page and made a homemade version myself. I think that an index is the most important part of any book you buy. Even if you have the book, ask me for a PDF copy and share it far and wide. Be careful with Appendix A -- it's 1,000 songs I've played on the radio as a guest DJ, so it can make a dent in your bank account if you're not careful!
The book starts like this:
“Pack your bags!” he panted. “This is the one we’ve been waiting for. You’re opening for Joan Rivers in West Palm Beach!”
West Palm Beach, Florida? Joan Rivers? This was the mid-1990s, and I thought, I’m just a folksinger! Joan Rivers? She’s a huge star! This is too wonderful for words. I love my agent! I’m on my way!
I flew down from New York and pulled up in front of a brand-new, state-of-the-art, cushy 1,200-seat venue in West Palm Beach where a giant marquee flashed AN EVENING WITH JOAN RIVERS. The concert promoter met me out front. I asked him if they were going to add my name up there. No, he said, but they would insert an addendum sheet to the program, so I had nothing to worry about.
Joan and her people were so kind to me during sound check; they liked what they saw and heard. Her manager told me, “Joan does a voice-over from behind the curtain to begin the show. When you hear your name, that’s your cue to walk onstage, where you’ll do thirty minutes—not a minute more. Or less.”
COLD PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST: A MEM-WHA??
I went out to the lobby prior to the doors being opened to get a feel for the audience. This crowd was decidedly older—way older—than I was used to. Many of the women reminded me of someone; their outfits, their hair. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Uh-oh. Nancy Reagan. Not really my audience. No matter. The men were well dressed, a giddy rainbow of pastel pants, plaid sport jackets, white shoes, and shiny black toupees. I have a song called “Bald Headed Men” that I decided then and there to put in my set. Look at all these bald guys hiding their shiny domes. They’ll love this song!
The doors opened, the hall filled, and the lights went down. I peeked out at the crowd from the wings, waiting to hear my name. I saw programs in the laps of all the audience members and imagined they knew they were about to see an opening act.
Suddenly, spotlights shot this way and that over the heads of the crowd, and we heard Joan Rivers’s voice. “Welcome to my concert. They say you can’t take pictures or audiotape the show, but I say oh go ahead, what do I care? And now, please welcome the best opening act I could find in my price range, Christine Lavin . . .”
With that, I confidently strode out to the middle of the stage, preparing to hit the first chord of my first song . . . but I couldn’t.
Joan was still talking.
I didn’t understand what she was saying; all I could hear was the reverberation of her voice bleating on, punctuated by the audience’s laughter. I stood there, frozen. They told me to walk out onstage when I heard my name. I heard my name. Why is she still talking?
I stood there and waited for her to stop. The only words I recognized were the final two: my name. I guess they meant I should have walked out onstage the second time my name was mentioned.
Oops.
[To find out what happens next, email me at teeny.lavin@gmail.com and write "book" in the subject line.]
Have a great night.
Ciao!
Chris