3 Piece Adjustable Getaway: Debut!!!

Dateline June 16, 2007: At half our number--or just slightly under half, depending on fortune's whims--the 3 Piece Adjustable Getaway plays smooth and sweet to an appreciative crowd at Mother Fool's. Mothers--none being fools--were spotted in the audience!! The only way to have fit Ken, Gail, Barbara and Mr. X. onto the stage would have been to debut as 7 Piece Adjustable-Stackable Getaway with OSHA-approved connectors.

Come on down and have a muffin...

Of hitchhikers and new turns.

They were two days south of the dreaded Canadian border, Sheila now in the driver's seat. Ken gave her the wheel at an exit north of St. Louis. Anything to stop the Cher songs - maybe she would concentrate on just driving. No such luck, but he was able to slip into a fitful sleep in the back. The rest of the band were awake but quiet, still thinking of the losses in Winnipeg. Steve was mumbling again. "No way, I can't play the guitar parts on my cello," he whined. Bob was insistent. "We've got a gig in two days, and you're going to play them, so start practicing." Steve: "Oh yeah, like... in the VAN?" Bob lashed back. "I'll banish you to the roof and you can play them in the wind. They might sound better like that anyway." Steve mumbled something not nice, and Bob drifted off again, depressed.

On the straight road ahead, Sheila spotted a figure walking the shoulder with the unmistakable shape of a guitar case in one hand and a thumb sticking out of the other one. She pulled over and he walked up like Robert Johnson at the Crossroads, expecting to see the devil. No such luck. "Need a ride?" Sheila said excitedly. "Yeah- hey thanks," he said. He hopped in and cheerfully said, "I'm Chris." Bob said, "What are you, like twelve? Does your mamma know where you are?" Unflapped, he said, "No, just lookin' for a gig." He dumped his guitar in the back, accidently bonking the sleeping Ken, who just couldn't catch a break.

Gail: "Looks like you're going to get your gig. We need a guitar player." She reached out the window and pulled the sullen Steve back in as he was making his way to the roof. Sheila stepped on it, the van lurched forward as instrument cases tumbled again. Bob pulled out a flask and handed the whiskey to "The Kid," as the young highwayman would henceforth be known. Little did he know what he'd gotten himself into. He might have been better off with the Devil.

R.I.P.

Russian maestro and activist Mstislav Rostropovich playing as the Berlin Wall comes down.

Of celebrities and a clean Getaway.

Not to be outdone, Bob donned the Freddie Mercury costume to compliment Sheila, now posing as Cher. The gang was ready to make a run for it. Dodging traffic, they made their way to a not so well lit parking ramp. A few minutes later they were heading down highway 75 in a 1979 VW van, hurtling toward I29, back to the good old USA. Ken took an exit 20 miles south of the city, and lurched onto a blinding network of backroads. The last town, Winkler, was dark in slumber - nothing open but a dimly lit gas station complete with buzzing Mobil sign and half asleep attendant. With no Mounties in the rearview, all they had to do was get across the border into North Dakota. Steve and Gail slept; Steve mumbling something about Redbull, gasoline and cotton balls, and Gail twitching in perfect time to Bob and Sheila singing turns of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Life after Love." Ken missed his wife, Jen, who was now running a ranch in Montana, long having given up hope of his return. He wondered why he EVER left his accounting job. The wound in his cheek itched. He reached for the a.m. dial. Fargo never sounded so good.

Tasty Pralines, Unplugged to Boot!

The lovely Pam Richardson and her musical cohorts, collectively known as The Pralines, playing "Paris and My Own Passing" at Uncommon Ground in Chicago: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyL6hd57FwE
"The Pralines" made their club debut with "The Getaway Drivers" at the now defunct Slipper Club, driving up from Chicago through a raging blizzard to grace the stage.

Of Unionsuits and Tutus...

Having sacrificed her shirt for the dual purpose of disguising the hyper-publicized cellist and bandaging the bleedin' bassist, Gail extricated a daybag from the front passenger seat of a Mini-Cooper through its smashed window. The five ducked into a nearby alleyway, giving Gail the chance to sneak behind a dumpster to make a quick change. The others heard a gasp...then a stifled giggle as she rummaged through the bag. Two minutes later, she made her appearance.

"Kee-rist!", was the collective utterance, followed by a "Wha...huh?"

Gail stood before them, dimly lit by an overhead lamp, wearing a red woolen unionsuit topped off with a shimmering white tutu. "Chanuck ballet, I'm guessing. You don't want to know what the alternative was."

Sheila was more than interested, though, and ducked back to the daybag to peel off the layers of sludge and take advantage of the remaining booty...