1, 2, testing, 1, 2, 1, 2.

This wkend, all of a sudden, out of the blue, Blogstream's PMs, & CCs, and notification of updated blogs that I try to follow, have not been delivered to my mailbox. Diesel sent me a PM that I have yet to recieve...I have had no mail from Blogstream at all, which is in the past, an unbelieveable dilemma, & though, admittedly, it is entirely possible that I failed to accumulate any more comment feedback than the last 2 comments from Whit & ME, and the 5 comments on the previous story...now, maybe no one liked my stories. It could happen. Just cause I was having adventures in my opinion, I may have been boring my readers to tears...it could happen.

But the thing is, I dunno what is happening. Y'all know how much I love the Stream, and y'all also know that I have little or no idea of what I'm doing or how I am getting it done...it's a lot like I play pool, or bowl..."slop luck," ya know?

So, I'm looking for advice...do I bug Pioneer? Call Yahoo? Wal-mart? run a virus check (did 1 3 wks ago)? start a new blog site? How do I fix this? How do I get back to my same old used to be? Missing out on communicating with my cyber-Stream buddies is putting an ache in my heart. Somebody, save me?..................thx

When The Rolling Stones come to town, people come out of the woodwork, calling in favors and sweet talking their way in to see the show. The Stones are, without a doubt, the greatest live Rock n roll band in the business. Ask anyone who has been there.

HP & I were new to Rock Medicine when The Stones came to Candlstick Park in the '70's. Everybody and their brother's, were jumping through hoops trying to get in. The Rock Med Coordinator met with HP & I after hours, and told us that there was only room for HP on the list to get in, and no room at the show for Cher at all. I was whiney, but I understood. He took us to the Pall Mall Bar after breaking the news & bought me a lot of top shelf scotch, trying to make me feel better. Then, he felt so guilty, he made some phone calls, & managed to find me ticket so that I could be a spectator, & not be entirely left out of the show. I stopped being whiney-I figured a ticket holder would do just fine. So, HP played medic, & I played audience, and it was a noisy, busy, crazy show full of kids more intrested in street fighting than dancing. Candlestick Park wasn't really much of a dance venue, the stairs were steep, the bleachers were uncomfortable, the sun was merciless & the alcohol soaked young people didn't have much of a sense of humor about being crowded into such cramped, close quarters.There were far more folks in the ball park than there were actual ticket holders-big shows usually turn out that way.I don't even think they play Baseball at Candlestick, anymore,these days, it was pretty much out dated, with lousy acoustics upon initial completion of construction. The winds off the nearby Bay were brisk and unpleasant,often making balls sail unnaturally far away as a rule, and San Francisco was never really overly fond of their ball park in the first place.

Over a decade later, The Stones returned to the Bay Area where I was now a semi-VIP in Rock Medicine in the mid-'80's. They were scheduled for back to back shows at Oakland Stadium, and as expected, long-gone Rock Medicine elders had come from eveywhere begging to get their names on the backstage list. Now,those days, I was a single hippie-chick with a good reputation for working as hard as I did over a decade ago when my ex & I wereworking as a team. So, when the coordinator came to me and told me that I would only be able to work one out of the 2 shows, I understood, and had every intention of limiting myself to that one allotted show. They issued green T-shirts to indenfy the Rock Med folk the first day, and blue T-shirts on the second day.

Sean had long since cooled our intense relationship, since he had moved to LA, and yet, thankfully stressed that it was important to him for us to reamin friends. I still had it bad for him, but as he just wanted to be friends, and I was content to take what I could get. I had him meet up up with another old flame of minein L.A., who was a production assistant in Hollywood. I set up a meeting for them in a bar, with only me in their past as a common intrest, and they became best friends. Both of them stressed the importance of wanting to remain my friends, & they were such a cool coupla guys, that I took what I could get. Since they were coming up from LA for the shows, the coordinator took the distance they had both travelled into consideration, and told both of them that they could work both shows. I was still cool with it. Besides, they rented a deluxe RV with all of the amenities, and parked that bad boy right in front of the back stage door of the stadium. We told the security folks that we were spending the night between shows there to provide medical assistance for the roadies, stage hands, and the occasional stray would-be concert goer looking for a way in. It was only a little white lie. If anyone had brought us a patient in medical need, we would have reacted professionally and taken care of business, but nobody did, so we didn't have to, and that was the main idea all along. Nobody came to visit us in our RV because they needed medical attention, they came to visit and gather in a warm, friendly party atmosphere with the friendly Rock Medicine folk who had tea, and coffee, cocoa and cookies,... a place to sit down where their bosses couldn't find them to delegate more responsibilities. About 1:30 AM, a coupla Event Security guys were banging on the door hollering our names. The big bruisers had a lil' kid in his late teens in tow that they had found sneaking around the grounds & they were going to kick him out until he started name dropping, usung Sean's & mine names... a closer look revealed the bedraggled kid to be Forrest George, son of the late, great Lowell George Of Little Feat fame. Sean had "adopted" Forrest a coupla years back at a Dead Show where the stiking resemblence to the kids's father had struck him immediately. Forrest was a sweet guy, but was mad at the world for his father's all-too-early demise, and consequently, had a chip on his 18-yr old shoulders. Sean had tried to be a positive male role model in the past for Forrest in LA, but, well, Forrest was a moody kid & it was often hard for Sean to get through to him, and it was a bumpy relationship, as best. But, he wanted to get into the Stones, so he shows up out of the blue and sticks like glue to Sean & I, trying & eventually succeeding to get into the show.

Now, it was all well & good that we could pull some strings & get Forrest into the show, but I started feeling a little gyped. What had this rebel without a cause done to warrant free admittance to both Stones shows except for getting born to the right folks at the right time? If the world owed young Forrest entrance to both shows, didn't some one just maybe owe a lil' sumthun, sumthun to me? Most of my free time had been volunteered for Rock Medicine as far back as I could remember. I started thinking, again, kicking pebbles around out in the parking lot.

Sean & Ron & I worked that first show and worked it hard. For really good bands, people tend to ingest a lot of as much stuff as they can get their hands (or their noses) on. It was a madhouse, passed out kids, horny kids slapping lip-locks on other semi-concious horny kids laying on the air matresses next to them, lots of screaming,puking shouting, fighting and drama. We were really busy, and none of us hardly had a chance to look at Mick, let alone watch the show. At one point, I was helping a young man who was less than aware of his surroundings, when he stood up and proceeded to unfasten his jeans and piss on my shoes. My sense of humor was rapidly thinning.

Out in the crowd towards the end of the show, while on a stretcher call, I had pretty much resigned myself to not being able to enjoy the show as business was just too intense and constant. Not being able to enjoy the show happened frequently, and you had to take it in stride, 'cuz you were there for the kids, not for yourself. I spied my friend Penny running over to where our stretcher team was busy loading a kid to take her back to the clinic area. Penny was crying, and she grabbed my arm squeezing it painfully.

"Oh Jesus, Cher! A kid just did a handstand on the top rail of the stadium and went right over and fell on his head on the other side!" I was speechless. We all were. We got our patient back to the clinic, and then we all went in to a kind of shock, crying and trying to comfort each other. In the 17 years I had volunteered for Rock Medicine, no one had ever died. This heartbreaker was the first, and he never had a chance. There was nothing anyone could have done to save him, and all the potential joy had gone out of the day for all of us.

That night, in Sean's RV in the parking lot, there was a steady stream of visitors- Event Security, Bill Graham Security, The Rolling Stone's own Security staff, and just about everyone remotely connected with the show. Everybody wanted to talk, everyone wanted to make each other feel better, everyone wanted to find the magic again, Nobody slept.

Come dawn the next day. I was feeling gyped, kicking at pebbles around the parking lot again, pissed that yesterday had had such a tragic ending when it should have been a jubulant celebration. Pissed at the whole scene. A pebble was suddenly kicked back my way, & I looked up to see Brent Mydland, the then, keyboard player for The Grateful Dead striding by with his daughter on his shoulders heading for the show.

"It's a new day," he said to me with a wink & kept hop-walking, the lil' girl giggling, and I took it as a sign. The only T-shirt I had was yesterday's green shirt, but I also had a soft cervical collar in my car from a fender bender that I had been in a coupla weeks back. I told Sean & Ron that I was gonna break the rules, & try to sneak into the second show, and salvage the weekend . I didn't want to take care of sick kids(I had already been assured that they were more than adequately staffed for that), I wanted to see the show. I needed to see Mick. I wore the wrong shirt, a soft collar, and had a set of crutches(Rock Medicine always had crutches on hand). I was going for it. You had to get by 3 sets of security(Event, Bill Graham & The Stones) to get in the gate. I set my jaw in a determinded face full of pissed off pain, and limped in like I owned the place. and was in a hurry. Most of the staff had been in & out of the RV the night before, at one time or another, and recognized me. Nobody gave me a second glance-just nodded and let me sail on by. Sean, Ron, and Forrest, all had to get checked ,and doubled checked, and searched as they tried to follow me in, and they were supposed to be there, wearing the right T-shirt, not breaking the rules. I left them in my dust and kept on trucking until I blended in with the crowd. I had made it. I headed for the backstage bleachers where I was again recognized, and allowed to pass. Nobody questioned my familiar face in a soft collar with crutches. I managed to enjoy the rest of the show, and never pushed my luck to sneak into any other show, again. But I bet that I could have pulled it off if had I tried...

When we were newlyweds, fresh out of the US Navy, HP & I began volunteering for Rock Medicne to work Oakland Stadium's Day On The Greens. That's where Frampton did his "Do You Feel Like I Feel" live version, I am pretty sure, & I am pretty sure that that was our first show. We were so excited about our new-found hobby, the Rock Med staff couln't get rid of us that first concert. We just hung around & hung out after the show, til they had to get serious with HP & I, & tell us to go on home, now kiddies, the show is over. We weren't in the inner circle just yet, but that didin't last long.

I spied an ad in the back of a "High Times" selling a drug-analysis kit that had chemicals & reagents & test tubes & detailed instructions as how to find out the chemical make-up of whatever substance you wanted to test. We ordered that bad boy, and Rock Medicine started courting HP & I, like a teenager in heat.We had the drug testing kit,& HP & I were the only ones that knew how to use it. He was a Paramedic, I was an EMT. He was a Respiratory Thrapist, I had had 4 yrs experience working in Physical & Occupational Therapy at Oak Knoll's Naval Hospital. We always stayed at our posts, watching the patients in the clinic, being super dedicated to non-judgemental hippie medicine(keep 'em outta jail, try to keep 'em out of the hospital, etc,) working with kids that were freaked out, drunk, bummed, lost, confused, excited, unconcious, hurt, rowdy, sleeping, itchy, bitchy, pukie, injured or very in, with the in crowd. We would often drive from Oakland 25 minutes in Hell traffic to go to the Haight Ashbury & hang out at the bar Rock Medicine's staff frequented, 'cuz Hot Damn!Now, we were one of the gang! The Pall Mall was always packed with Clinic volunteers(there were many other aspects of the Haight-Ashbury Free Medical Clinic, besides Rock Medicine-Rock Med was just the most fun.)

On Fat Tuesday, we locked the doors of the Pall Mall & had private "Hey Bon Ton" Mardi Gras parties in costume. After I returned from Indiana after the divorce, I went in costume to a Fat Tuesday party with a svelt fire-woman friend of mine...we won the trophy for best costume...I was the magician, with a top hat & cane, and she was the rabbit that came out of my hat...we both showed a lot of leg, and didn't have to buy ourselves one single drink, all night long.

It was so awsome to live there, do all that, go all those places, meet all those people, have our names on lists at back doors, be on a fist name basis with Rock Producer Bill Graham & his production staff, and the Security Staff, and the catererers, and the stagehands, and the recording folks & the vendors & even the local cops. Our ambualnce company(where HP & I were working), became the company that always had an rig or two standing by for a big show, or one on call with a 7 minute ETA should we call for assistance.

So many stories to tell. I've got a fun one about the Rolling Stones...I'll work on that one this weekend. It is a great story, that happened long after my divorce & my subsequent return to Rock Medicine, where Sean & my Production assistant pal from Hollywood, Ron, rented a big ol luxury RV & we camped over nite between the 2 Stone's shows in the parking lot...& we were the only ones allowed to stay overnight in the parking lot, yet we had lots of visitors all night long-cuz, now, Sean & I were in with the in crowd, too. Those were the daze...

In the late 70's, injections of Vitamin B-12 were one of Rock Medicine's most common treatments. The roadies, the prodution crews, the carpenters, Security staff members, and the stage hands, even the Rock Medicine staff ourselves, would be all of a sudden jonesing for a shot of B12 to hypothetically "smooth out the rough spots" after working too many hours, with little or no sleep to prepare & perfect the stage & the show.It was not uncommon for lines to form as folks filed in for their B-12 shots & then, pick up a complimentary cup of coffee from the clinic before returning to their rock-bound jobs. The infamous Dr. David Smith even conducted an official study on B-12 & rock n' roll, during those years.

Bruce Springstein & the E St. Band came to Winterland one summer night. HP & the other muckety-mucks were out on a stretcher call in the crowd, and I was left in charge of the clinic in their abscense. All of a sudden, Bill Graham's right hand man, Bob Barsodi busts into the clinic babbling,"B-12, B-12, I gotta line me up some B-12 pronto."

" I'll give ya a shot, Bob," I said, starting to draw up the medication & prepare for injection.

"No, no, not for me. Come with me, hurry!"

So, I put the safety cap over the needle, & did my best to keep up with him as he strode in fast-foward, all business, long steps heading backstage. I almost lost him in all the comings & goings of the backstage workers, and barly just managed to keep him in sight. He disappeared through a door, slamming it behind him & I just stood there blinking for a minute, wondering if I was supposed to wait. Before I could complete my thought, the door opens, Bob reaches out and grabs my foearm and drags me into the room.

Bruce's strapping black saxaphone man Clarence Clemmons was standing there sweet talking a coupla back stage floozies. Barely acknowledging me, he started to undo his jeans & expose his upper right hip, positioning himself for the injection. I knelt down to be at hip level & started to jab the needle into his muscular derrier, when to my horror, the needle bounced off of his tough skin without penetrating. Panic stricken, I didn't waste a millisecond before holding that syringe like a bar-room dart, and forcefully jabbing that bad boy home.

Clarence looked down, & made eye contact with me.
"Thank you, Momma," he grinned. He's got a really nice smile.
Before I could rise, I felt a hand touseling the top of my head, messing my hair. Little Stephen grinned at me, said something to Clarence, and sauntered off. I stood there for a minute before Bob grabbed my arm again & unceremoniously rushed me back through the dressing room door & back put into the backstage crowd. Again, I just stood there soaking up the rush of what had just gone down, before I shakily walked back to the clinic. HP was pissed. Pissed that I was in charge & left the clinic(Barb was watching it!) & he was exceptionally pissed that he had missed out on giving Clarence his shot. Me, I was downright giddy the rest of the night...