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Some thoughts on your birthday. And what you taught ME about Life and Rock and  Roll

We are at the Hilton in Baltimore, line-up was some insignificant band supporting BOC, I forget who.  But it wasn’t The  Who, that’s for sure.  We had no interest in BOC, we were very young   then and they weren’t pretty enough for the infamous Sherry and Shari. Who weren’t infamous then, but were certainly working on it as fast and as furiously as we could. But we were really just little kids.

We were there to see the Hottest , Baddest Boys on the Rock Scene, the Raucous Rodeo Clowns and Rock and Roll Gods of the late seventies, VAN HALEN, who were also on the bill.

Alex had been terrorizing the lobby all afternoon. His favorite trick was to ride up and down in the elevator with an aerosol spray paint can, and every time the doors would open he would take a lighter and shoot a flaming fireball at the unsuspecting women and children trying to board. It was hilarious at 3 am. Not so funny at 4 in the afternoon.

The Miami dolphins were staying in the same hotel. They were infuriated at all the babes in the place were paying ANY attention to them. So they had taken to riding those huge rolling luggage carts drunkenly up and down the corridors begging for favors! HA! We were rock chicks. They didn’t stand a chance.

At last call Diamond Dave had decided that all the ancient, slutty, worn out local groupies at the party were pretty much the best of the bunch and all there was to offer and there would be no Malibu Barbie’s arriving anytime in the near future to answer his Rock God prayers so I was the lucky winner of that nights” Win a date with Dave” lottery.

As we went upstairs in the elevator at last call one of the guys in BOC says to Dave

” Robbing the ice cream parlors, are we now?” (I looked about 12 until I was thirty)

I had lost the other Shari hours earlier, no idea how, when, where or why (until morning) Turns out she and Eddie had disappeared way earlier. Evidently he didn’t wait for last call, or divine intervention, when he saw what HE liked, he WENT for it

So after several fabulous hours with just a gigalo, he says to me

” Hey babe, I’m pretty hungry, how about you go get me a couple burgers?

And hands me a couple of hundred dollar bills. This seems A Bit excessive to me, burgers being about two bucks each, and I thought it a TAD inconsiderate to send me OUT ONTO THE STREETS OF THE SLUMS OF DOWNTOWN BALTIMORE AT FOUR AM, but I’m a game girl, and didn’t want to be rude and  I was trying to be nice

(Looking back I wonder…Hmmm, I wonder if MAYBE, he was TRYING to GET RID OF ME! Lol  ! )

Nawwww   I’m sure he was just hungry after all that excitement. Well, I wasn’t  that excited. Dave was the kind of guy who thought the privilege of being with him was reward enough in itself  so even at my tender age i was pretty unimpressed. But he was. And surprised.

As I said, I was a lot older than I looked.

BELIEVE IT OR Not, I actually was so young and stupid I went out on the deserted streets in the dark in the murder capital of the nation, found a Jack in the box open at four am and came back WITH two burgers , both for Dave ( mustard and onions, I took a guess) and didn’t get myself ANYTHING, after all,   it was HIS money. And I forgot to ask if that would be okay! LOL

So I come back twenty minutes later and knock on the door…

He’s like” WHAT? “and I’m like…” back with the burgers” …

and he’s like… “SERIOUSLY? “

But he must have been hungry (or in a complete state of shock I returned instead of robbing him and heading off on my merry way) because instead telling me to fuck off he let me in and I was there until lunch time the next day. I guess the burgers gave him a second wind. When it was time to go I tracked down Shari, or rather Dave did; he knew I wasn’t leaving without her.   And he was dying to have me gone.

But to his credit, he ddidn’t have the chutzpah to come out and say so.  Or the lack of common decency to turn someone so young and naïve out on the streets AGAIN at five am so he could be left alone to sleep in peace. Although, I would have been like “OHHHHHH, WHY didn’t you just SAY SO? Okay. “

And we found her in Eddie’s room.  Still wearing the stockings and stilettos she had been sporting the night before, and nothing else, although a bit worse for wear and tear!

(Hey Valerie Bertinelli, don’t look so INNOCENT! I KNOW STUFF ABOUT YOU)

We had no idea how we are going to get home but when Eddie offered Shari a hundred dollar bill for cab fare ( much classier than Dave trying to trick me into sneaking out on him in the middle of the night) I finally put all the pieces together and how we laughed about how shocked ( and pissed off ) he must have been when i knocked on the hotel room door with the food.

And I decided that was the first and last time I was going to go off with a pretty boy with no brains and no real interest in me except as the the only decent option left on an off night. From now on, it was only going to be people I really liked,  and who really liked me back and wanted more than one night and  not me to be the kind of girl who would take the money and run.

ANY WAY…Happy Sixty  first  Birthday  you rock and roll bad boy, From the Sherry Fairy

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Anyway there’s a lot more to tell but that’s another story for another time….

When THE BOYS COME BACK!

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I’ll admit, I’ve been a Chicago stalker since 1993. Ok, maybe stalker is a little harsh. Follower? Fan? By no means a groupie. I have never been backstage, although I would have given my left arm to ogle Bill Champlin in the flesh and get a pic with him.

Something about those horn-blaring, keyboard-playing, sexy older dudes rocking classic tunes just made my heart pump and pulse quicken. Now, 22 years later, I still get a rush when I watch them on stage.

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Have I gone mad? my mother used to ask me, when I was a kid of 16. As a hazel-eyed, precocious, dreamer of a girl who spent her Sunday nights glued to the radio for Casey Kasem’s Countdown of the Top 20 Hits in the land, I was a certified odd duck. While other girls were out cruising in cars in boys, going to raves or bush parties, and lighting blunts, I was in my room like the perfect little Bible thumping, goody two-shoes, penning her romance novels, aka Danielle Steel style and shrieking when Cetera came on the radio with a ’70s or ’80s classic like Old Days or You’re The Inspiration.

No, Mommie Dearest, I did not lose my marbles. I simply found a band that spiked my heart rate better than any Stones or washed up rock band could do. All the other girls worshiped Kurt Cobain or Brad Pitt, but I had the image of Peter Cetera plastered all over the walls of my tiny room. She panicked, thinking I was going to run off to Idaho and find him.

When I discovered Cetera had left in 1985, I was bummed out, to say the least. But then, in June 1993, I decided to take a shot at seeing the boys in concert at a tiny pavilion called the Ontario Place Forum in Toronto. I spent six weeks cutting grass on the one acre spread at home, and my dad paid me a meager $15 a week. It was the Chicago concert, though, come hell or high water!!

There is a point to this rambling. And I will get to it. The band’s review is here, beneath the plethora of gushing. I promise.

From that pleasant first night of summer, June 21, 1993, I was hooked on Jason and the boys. That was when Mister Scheff wore those black sleeveless shirts, flaunting his huge biceps and adorable mop top of curls. Bill had that sexy growl, black leather vest and long silver hair in a poni-tail. Robert wore black spandex pants and a big purple shirt, hair in a blunt cut just grazing the shoulder.

Over the years, the guys from the Windy City have never let me down. Each show, mainly in the Toronto area, was fantastic. Back in the ’90s, they played Kingswood Music Theatre at Canada’s Wonderland or Casina Rama. Each time, my mother groaned, fussed, argued, and tried to come against my passion for “those old men again. When are you gonna grow out of this phase and give it up?” All the while, her condescending words fell on deaf ears. My sister and I got on that GO bus and headed for the show. I’m a stubborn Taurus, so I usually get my way. Miss a once-a-year show to see my boys? I’d rather die.

Fast forward to 2015. Now, with a new vocalist and keyboard player replacing Champlin, I wasn’t keen on hearing him sing. After all, I’d been spoiled by Jason and Bill singing “Hard Habit To Break” with that perfect blend of harmonies. The smokey, blues tone of Bill and the Cetera-esque vocals of Jason. How could a fill-in possibly emulate that?

Soon enough, I would find out I was wrong. I needed to give the “new guy” a chance. Who was I to judge this Lou Pardini character, anyways? I hadn’t heard a single note he ever sung. Come off it, girl. Just swallow your pride.

Earth, Wind and Fire were on double-billing with the boys. This was going to be a big deal!! Earlier in the week, I was stoked to be caller #7 on the local radio station CKDO when Chris Coppin answered the phone and asked: “CKDO…who is this?” I remember jumping up and down, shrieking, because for the life of me, I’d never won tickets to see my favorite band. For years, I’d spent piles of money on the tickets, never having the thrill of winning them for free. Here now was the moment, and I couldn’t be happier.

My sister and I arrived at the gig early.

11911513_10153259193208732_1257000067_n The lineup was huge. No one was let through the main gates til 6:40 p.m., and when finally, we all started milling through, I could feel my anxiety rising. Dammit, get me to the Keg pavilion pronto! You see, just that afternoon at 2:00 p.m., I was stoked to hear from The Keg restaurant on twitter.

They’d seen my Chicago-tagged tweet from the night before, stating how excited I was to see Jason and the boys. The Keg sent me a private message: “We’ll be there, too, Rochelle. Tell us the number of people in your group, and we’ll have complimentary drinks and food for everyone on the house.”

All I remember was running out of the house with fire in my heels and amped to the max to get to that concert. Free tickets to my favorite band AND free drinks and food? The gods must be smiling on me!!What the hell was happening with my karma lately?It seemed to be on steroids.

Finally, arriving at the venue, having some drinks and SUPERB appetizers, we all mingled with a small crowd. We were given laminated passes to wear around our necks. Sauntering around with food in one hand and a drink in the other, I was right in my glory.

Chicago came onto the stage around 7:45 p.m. The crowd went wild. They started the show with “Beginnings,” their classic hit from the early part of their career. Robert sounded smooth as ever. I watched him on the jumbo screen and turned to my sister. “Does that man never age? Look at that full head of hair. He’s 70 but looks 55.”

All the guys dress so well. Stylish jeans and a dark blazer, mostly. All sexy, all perfect eye candy for the ladies in the crowd. Something happens to a Chicago fan when we witness the guys come to the stage. There’s a collective moment of awe, then the cheering erupts. The chill through the body. The heart rate elevated. Our mood spikes, we become one with each other, all 16,000 of us.

This concert rocked my socks. Every song was pure magic, people grooving, dancing, laughing. Happy faces flooded the crowd and the joy that spread through that place was phenomenal.

The show ran about 3 hours and was well worth every penny. No bad review here. What else can I say? The weather was perfect, 18c/64f, not a cloud in site. The Full Moon shone in a cloudless sky, and the boats dotted the harbour over pristine Lake Ontario.

Jason and the guys covered all their big hits like “Make Me Smile” and “25 or 6 to 4,” and sang their hearts out. When Mr. Scheff belted out the classic “Street Player,” I shrieked with delight. It’s thrilling to hear the band revisit some old hits that were not previously covered in the set. I’ve heard over the years that they really love their fans. There’s no such thing as a bad Chicago performance, and I’ll vouch for that.

So when the new guy on keyboards came out and rocked the keys with his blond-streaked hair, black vest, white shirt and black pants, I was a believer. Gone was Champlin and his signature growl, but in his place was a soulful crooner named Lou Pardini.

At the risk of sounding weird, I’ll confess I have a thing for Mr. Lou. Besides, what’s not to love? Slick vocals, killer style and sex appeal that makes any hot-blooded woman from age 35-55 swoon with lust. Okay, okay. I’m being a little extra, but you get the picture.

Moral of the story, my boys did the show justice. They gave us a stellar performance, and made us proud of their 48 years of fantastic music. We came, we saw, we drank, we ate, we swooned. The band conquered.

By the end of the night, this tired little Chicago fan crawled into bed exhausted, yet fulfilled. Happy and sated, because my head was ringing with Robert crooning the words to Dialogue Part 1 & 2.

The last thing I remember was putting a clip of Lou on my smartphone, belting out “Call On Me” from the Montreal concert in 2012. Then I fell into a deep, satisfying slumber, with visions of hot older guys dancing in my head.

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Rochelle Renee: BIO

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http://www.amazon.com/Rochelle-Renee/e/B00TKVRAXK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1441108644&sr=8-3

Born in a small town in Southern Ontario, Rochelle was writing by the age of 7. Her love of short stories graduated to novels at age 14. First, young adult equestrian stories, and later, adult romance. Her biggest writing influences are Lucy Maud Montgomery, Nora Roberts, and Danielle Steel. She is passionate about music and slates the band Chicago as her all time favorite. With five novels under her belt, Rochelle can be found burning the candle at both ends well into the night. She shares her century home with a teenage daughter, guinea pig and loveable Schnoodle named Shiloh. Rochelle writes about the healing power of love and hasn’t given up hope that her prince is out there waiting. She is a journalism graduate and holds a history/sociology degree.

I swear to god if you secretly stalk me i promise NEVER to write another stupid post! The quality of my blog will improve Totally and Forever LOL I love you lol

Cheri Speak

im-stalking-you IMAGE SOURCE: Sodahead

If I used the excuse, “I’m just too busy” then I’d sound like a real ass, but whether I change the words or try to baffle you with bullshit, the excuse would still be the same,”I’m just too busy”, even if it does sound like a cop-out. It isn’t. I have so many things going on at once that I am lucky to be able to focus outside of that vacuum for brief moments of sanity reading time that is completely unrelated to having to read it. Like work.

Although I am often “just too busy” [or rushed, distracted, fill in the blank] to remember to hit the “Like” button or “Share” on my social media something amazing, funny, meaningful or whatever thing found on your blog, I recognize I need not be too busy today to tell you — and I mean that to all of you

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Hahaha I JUST saw this , I must have missed this post while I had my head down finishing my latest book, you cheeky monkey lol nicking my best stuff!

I have an article almost ready for you but I was wiped and took a few weeks off to lay around like a slug before I started promotion. Thanks everyone!

Glad you enjoyed it , Write ON! Sherry

Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

I stole (I mean OBTAINED) these fromSherry Carrolls Facebook page, to share with you:

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Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

Peaches have long been compared to backsides. Because, well, peaches look like tushes! And now, thanks to some fruit venders in China, they really look like butts. Sexy butts.

These peaches are apparently being sold to capitalize on the the upcoming romantic Qixi Festival. They’re a novelty present! And should be taken as such. But, they aren’t cheap: A box of nine panty fruit is 498 yuan or US$80.

The peaches are getting mainstream coverage in China. Online, some people have been delighted by the peaches, while as Sina explains, some think they are rather vulgar! They look kind of cheeky to me.

Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

[Photo: 农业博士]

China News reports that these unusual peaches are called “Ripe Fruit” (蜜桃成熟時), a name evoking obvious sexual connotations. The panty peaches were first developed by a fruit vender in Nanjing, with each pair of underwear slipped on each sexy butt by hand. As SDChinareports, the peaches are from Yangshan, in Wuxi, an area that’s also famous for its lingerie and garment industry.

Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

[Photo: FenyiZX]

And how do these peaches taste? Well, The Wall Street Journal once called Wuxi peaches “the juiciest, most delicious peaches on earth,” so they’re probably pretty good!

Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

[Photo: Mancy]

Other fruit venders in Shanghai and elsewhere have also apparently started selling sexy peaches. SDChina adds that this Nanjing fruit vender claims to have applied for a panty peach patent a month ago and is filing for infringement with the intellectual property bureau. Peach panty patents, who knew?

Peaches Sold as Sexy Butts in China

[Photo: Sjzhchb]

水果店老板推”内裤蜜桃”热传 无节操营销引争议(图) [China News]

小伙发明”穿内裤的水蜜桃” 网友大呼无节操(图) [SDChina]

Top photo: Eastday

To contact the author of this post, write to bashcraftATkotaku.com or find him on Twitter@Brian_Ashcraft.

Kotaku East is your slice of Asian internet culture, bringing you the latest talking points from Japan, Korea, China and beyond. Tune in every morning from 4am to 8am.

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