In the late ‘80s I put then client Johnny Thunders into 1st Avenue in Minneapolis and flew out to cover the show. I tell JT about this local group, The Replacements. He's never heard of them. For him the world ended at the Hudson River and time stopped in 1981. I mention that they wrote a song about him, Johnny’s Gonna Die. He's not happy, at all. "Fuck those assholes..." At the show, I'm talking with Paul Westerberg, he asks if he can meet JT. Gulp. We go back after the show. I introduce them, "Paul is with the Replacements..." Then it gets ugly. "You wrote a song about me? I'm gonna die? Fuck you, you asshole" and blah blah. We're edging for the door, I open it and am about to pull Paul out by the arm. He stops, looks as JT. "Johnny, I wrote it. I meant it. Don't let it happen." Unfortunately, it did.
Years ago I lived on Morton St. in the Village. A neighbor, who had a pet boa, went on vacation. She asked Tullio the bldg super to feed it. 'The dead baby mice are in the freezer, just drop one in the terrarium.' Simple. On the appointed day, Tullio, Willie B. (the super of the bldg across the street), me and the lovely Rosa who ran the wash-and-fold on the corner, gathered around to watch. The mouse was deposited. The snake rose up. Motionless. We waited. Bam! - it struck. Rosa gasped. Willie B. says, "Jes like the lanlord..."
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