The next post probably won’t be up till this weekend
But if you’re new here and want to see what the hype is all about scroll to the bottom and work your way up.
Someday I’ll figure out how to set up proper links…
till then enjoy my REAL life
My fifteen minutes of fame had begun. All three major channels used me as their lead story night after night. Walter Kronkite said my story affected him more than Vietnam. Tom Brokaw tried to form a bond with me based on our shared name. Since my last name is Starita, not Brokaw, I rejected his advances. Peter Jennings offered to fly me to Winnipeg, Canada in coach if I gave him an exclusive. USA Today ran a poll in their paper showing that 63% of Americans would use me as a grandfather clock, 38% as a bear skin rug and only 13% as an ashtray. Eleven years before the O.J. trial, and fifty something years since the Lindbergh baby trial, my life as an ottoman had captivated the nation.
Continue reading “Chapter 7 – Beatnik doesn’t mean “great lawyer” in French”
For seven months I anxiously awaited the day I would hear “Eso Beso” blaring from the speakers of The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon. The days would pass as they would dance their little Beatnik dances to such luminous tracks as “It’s Time To Cry” and “Summer’s Gone.” After two months had passed we had reached track 15 – “Love Me Warm And Tender” and I was confident “Eso Beso” would be just around the corner. This thought helped me get through the nights where I was the bearskin rug. Such dreams enabled me to block out the pain of being an ashtray. And most importantly, it helped to ease my tears when The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon had found the dead body of Mr. Beard under the couch and casually put him out with the trash. I was a surreal version of Andy Dufresne, acting out my own personal “Shawshank Redemption.” Except I didn’t have a Red to get me a poster of Rita Hayworth. Instead I had Dusty, the dust ball in the corner of the room, and the only thing he ever gave me was a mild form of asthma.
Continue reading “Chapter 6 – Dead Men Don’t Wink”
The party was a rousing success. Mr. Beard played his part perfectly, berating the guests, coloring all over the walls, food and even the face of an extremely young Drew Barrymore. The man who later went on to play Mr. Belvedere was disturbed so deeply by Mr. Beard that he suddenly began speaking in a British accent. The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon couldn’t have been prouder. Their new art had produced the kind of buzz, hippy Beatniks like they were could only dream about. Child furniture was like playing checkers. In finding a deranged homeless guy with a disgusting beard, they had elevated their artistic game to chess.
Continue reading “Chapter 5 – Eso Beso”
I can still remember the commotion when one of the Beatniks – Solomon came bursting through the front door one oddly shaped Thursday afternoon. Their monthly party was less than forty-eight hours away and the apartment was in shambles. Gloria was in a panic due to my inability to keep a light bulb lit in my mouth for longer than three minutes and forty one seconds. The pain of my cheeks being scorched from the inside was being drowned out by Gloria’s screeching, rhetorically asking me what kind of touch lamp goes out after three minutes and forty one seconds?!
Fortunately for my cheeks and Gloria’s party, Solomon had stumbled upon an idea. In all actuality, he tripped.
Tripped over a person.
Tripped over Mr. Beard.
Continue reading “Chapter 4 – Styx is the 6th most underrated band of the 1970’s”
Looking back, the one thing I remember regarding my third birthday was this huge party. It seemed like the entire island of Manhattan had shown up. The beatniks – Gloria and Solomon’s duplex was packed to the brim with celebrities and debutantes across all fields of the arts and entertainment. In one corner Andy Warhol was talking up John Oates, of the famous band Hall & Oates. On the patio outside William Shatner was holding court with a bevy of wannabe models and croquet players from Jamaica. You could barely hear yourself think over the rampaging conversations. There was much enjoyment and laughter and I remember wishing I could be more involved in my own birthday party.
Of course I couldn’t, because the beatniks – Gloria and Solomon had reminded me repeatedly in the days prior,
“Ottomans don’t talk!”
Continue reading “Chapter 3 – Ottomans Don’t Talk”
The beatniks – or Gloria and Solomon, depending on whether you knew them or not had a proposition for my parents. They had done their research and learned how badly my parents had fallen. Hell, they had found the tree we were living in! They too, believed in the magical properties of apple sauce and felt that I was a special child. Too special to spend my life living in the Oklahoma forest. Thus, they had traveled from Soho, New York to offer up a deal.
They would give my parents $3500 cash, as well as monthly installments of $40 for three years in exchange for me, TOM Starita.
Continue reading “Chapter 2 – We Have a Blue Light Special On Boys”