Read Online Queen of the Oddballs by Hillary Carlip - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hillary Carlip
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“What a scathingly brilliant idea!”
I’d recently found a bootleg album of Carole playing a live concert. We pick the exact spots on the record where she speaks to the audience. We call each friend, and when they answer the phone, I tell them we’re CALLING FROM CAROLE’S HOUSE! Then Greg expertly puts the needle down on the record where Carole says from the stage: “I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine.”
“Oh—hold on,” I whisper into the phone. “Carole wants us to meet someone. How do you do? Nice meeting you, too.”
Then I call some more of our friends, and, when I cue him, Greg puts the needle down in another spot on the record where Carole asks for a glass of water. I reply, “Greg, you go get it for her—I’m on the phone.”
HA! All our friends totally buy it! Well, it isn’t that far from the truth. If not for that damn algae, WE’D HAVE GONE SWIMMING IN CAROLE’S POOL!
It’s Friday the thirteenth (BEWARE!), and I’m now sitting on my roof, where I’m writing my closing thoughts in my KING CASE notebook. I’m home alone, and it’s quiet, except for a Good Humor ice cream truck tinkling its music box jingle as it heads up my empty street. Summer’s almost over and soon I’ll be starting high school. And ya know what? I think it’s time to grow up and get real.
Face it. I’m not friends with Carole King any more than I was friends with Carly Simon. I know that. It’s been neat meeting these people, but why did I even want to be friends with them to begin with? It’s cuz I admire WHAT THEY DO. They’re so talented and creative.
So the question is, WHY DON’T I JUST DO THAT MYSELF??? Well, first of all, I don’t really want to be famous. I couldn’t take all that attention! Secondly, what would I do? My singing sucks!!! This was confirmed last month when I was rehearsing for a guitar class recital in front of Ava Atkins and her older brother. I sang Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Dangling Conversation,” and when I reached for the high notes on, “As we sit and drink our coffee…” they burst out laughing and continued uncontrollably until I stopped singing. At the recital I ended up playing an instrumental version of the song, just strumming a bunch of stupid chords. So singing is definitely out. And I know (thanks to cotillion) that dancing is out, too. I do love to write (as you can see by my windbaggy journal entries!! HA!!). Or maybe I could be an actress like my fave, Carrie Snodgress, who I discovered when she was a guest kidney failure patient on an episode of Medical Center months before she starred in Diary of a Mad Housewife. Or maybe an artist like another fave, Joni Mitchell, who paints all her album covers.
I don’t know…. But hey—if I could find Carole King, meet her, and watch her do Lamaze exercises on her kitchen floor, there is no telling what else I can do. Right?
That ice cream truck’s a-callin’ me. Gotta go get a Dreamsicle. BYE!
Spring
1972
President Nixon makes an historic visit to China and brings back a pair of Chinese giant pandas: Hsing-Hsing and Ling-Ling.
Shigei, a Japanese exchange student, moves into our house. For his art class assignment, he paints a still life of my brother’s bong.
For the first time ever, women are allowed to run in the Boston Marathon. I ditch P.E. almost every day.
I scale Barbra Streisand’s fence with my friend David. We leave a vase she admired at the antique store where David works, asking if she’d give us two tickets to the McGovern for President fund-raiser where she’s performing, since they cost $100.00 apiece. Two weeks later she actually sends us free tickets! Good thing we didn’t mention the reason we want to go to the concert is to see Carole King and James Taylor, not her.
President Nixon indefinitely cancels the Paris Peace Talks. Six weeks later, he declares an escalation in the war, expanding the destruction against North Vietnam. I
I’d recently found a bootleg album of Carole playing a live concert. We pick the exact spots on the record where she speaks to the audience. We call each friend, and when they answer the phone, I tell them we’re CALLING FROM CAROLE’S HOUSE! Then Greg expertly puts the needle down on the record where Carole says from the stage: “I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine.”
“Oh—hold on,” I whisper into the phone. “Carole wants us to meet someone. How do you do? Nice meeting you, too.”
Then I call some more of our friends, and, when I cue him, Greg puts the needle down in another spot on the record where Carole asks for a glass of water. I reply, “Greg, you go get it for her—I’m on the phone.”
HA! All our friends totally buy it! Well, it isn’t that far from the truth. If not for that damn algae, WE’D HAVE GONE SWIMMING IN CAROLE’S POOL!
It’s Friday the thirteenth (BEWARE!), and I’m now sitting on my roof, where I’m writing my closing thoughts in my KING CASE notebook. I’m home alone, and it’s quiet, except for a Good Humor ice cream truck tinkling its music box jingle as it heads up my empty street. Summer’s almost over and soon I’ll be starting high school. And ya know what? I think it’s time to grow up and get real.
Face it. I’m not friends with Carole King any more than I was friends with Carly Simon. I know that. It’s been neat meeting these people, but why did I even want to be friends with them to begin with? It’s cuz I admire WHAT THEY DO. They’re so talented and creative.
So the question is, WHY DON’T I JUST DO THAT MYSELF??? Well, first of all, I don’t really want to be famous. I couldn’t take all that attention! Secondly, what would I do? My singing sucks!!! This was confirmed last month when I was rehearsing for a guitar class recital in front of Ava Atkins and her older brother. I sang Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Dangling Conversation,” and when I reached for the high notes on, “As we sit and drink our coffee…” they burst out laughing and continued uncontrollably until I stopped singing. At the recital I ended up playing an instrumental version of the song, just strumming a bunch of stupid chords. So singing is definitely out. And I know (thanks to cotillion) that dancing is out, too. I do love to write (as you can see by my windbaggy journal entries!! HA!!). Or maybe I could be an actress like my fave, Carrie Snodgress, who I discovered when she was a guest kidney failure patient on an episode of Medical Center months before she starred in Diary of a Mad Housewife. Or maybe an artist like another fave, Joni Mitchell, who paints all her album covers.
I don’t know…. But hey—if I could find Carole King, meet her, and watch her do Lamaze exercises on her kitchen floor, there is no telling what else I can do. Right?
That ice cream truck’s a-callin’ me. Gotta go get a Dreamsicle. BYE!
Spring
1972
President Nixon makes an historic visit to China and brings back a pair of Chinese giant pandas: Hsing-Hsing and Ling-Ling.
Shigei, a Japanese exchange student, moves into our house. For his art class assignment, he paints a still life of my brother’s bong.
For the first time ever, women are allowed to run in the Boston Marathon. I ditch P.E. almost every day.
I scale Barbra Streisand’s fence with my friend David. We leave a vase she admired at the antique store where David works, asking if she’d give us two tickets to the McGovern for President fund-raiser where she’s performing, since they cost $100.00 apiece. Two weeks later she actually sends us free tickets! Good thing we didn’t mention the reason we want to go to the concert is to see Carole King and James Taylor, not her.
President Nixon indefinitely cancels the Paris Peace Talks. Six weeks later, he declares an escalation in the war, expanding the destruction against North Vietnam. I
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