BELLINGHAM!
What time shall I wake her up?
That’s right. Let’s wake her up. Call at a bad time. I meant, of course, waking up my good friend who has been living in Madrid, Spain. She, Sue Gurnee, is a friend from way back when. That’s right. High school in New Jersey.
Sue has found her own remarkable way through the world, usually by helping others – reading their auras, directing them on spiritual paths. Sue can clutch your wrist and have you believe that healing is on the way. Often it is.
Why not? There was never evidence to the contrary.
I don’t think she ever twisted my arm, though she grabbed my wrist from time to time. She bit me once, now that I think about it, at a screening of Night of the Living Dead at the altogether dead Surf Theatre in the Sunset District. I’m not sure I really got over that. She meant no harm. The zombies were doing the serious noshing.
All the same, Sue Gurnee is an extraordinary force. She’s tough, she’s funny, she’s cultured. Sue is the Night of the Living. She is certainly kind. I guess I always liked her sense of irony.
Imagine that. She’s an expert. I always wanted to know an expert on irony.
Sue also used to sing on my demos for Decca Records in New York when I was a kid. Well, we were both kids.
That’s a sense of her playfulness. There will be no life without a sense of playfulness. For example, I wrote a song for Susie called “Beef Stew.” That still amuses her to this day.
“I found a city girl with real country charm.”
That is she.
Yes, one of the lines from the song. It stuns me that I still recall it. But this is not about the songwriter. It’s about Sue Gurnee.
Let’s not leave out the part that she is a marvelous artist and a stunning success in everything she has undertaken. And a natural, bitchin’-good musician. Just as her sister, Wendie, is. She could sing the hell out of a song. Sue could pick up any instrument and play the daylights out of it. I never thought the retreat of daylight would have been less welcome.
Those dawns were occasionally discouraging. Aw, that was a long time ago.
Don’t get me wrong. I love this lass.
Gurnee lived in San Francisco in the 1970s. She liked this city a whole lot, particularly when she used to sing at the Obrero Hotel with me. She was stellar. That was a great Basque restaurant and hotel on Stockton Street in North Beach. The Goyenetche family treated us fabulously, famously and generously. Over the years, I could never figure out how Sue knew all those Basque tunes. Only the other day, I looked up some things about her family and its Basque heritage – Basques from New Jersey.
I start to believe every word that emits from her mouth, tempered by wisdom, and simmered with experience. It is all about positive notions, things that are designed to help people. The thing is about Gurnee – she is for real.
Gosh, all this undermines my silly, sardonic side. I’d rather be goofy, capricious, and recall the time when Sue and I went to see the Flying Burrito Brothers in 1969 in Westchester County, New York. Imagine seeing Gram Parsons singing live. What a great show. Right after the concert, there was a terrific summer electrical storm. Sue and I clutched each other as we got to the car in the parking lot. All of this enterprise is not a surprise to me: there were flashes of anger, flashes of wonderment. Sue engendered all the voltage in the vicinity wherever she went. I got scorched once in a while. Not to worry. I got over it after a few years.
Does lighting strike twice?
I sure hope so.
I talked to Sue on the phone, as I mentioned, from Madrid, just a few days ago. That city lives nine hours ahead of San Francisco. And many years ahead of me. As Sue does, I imagine. Madrid sounds so exotic, so romantic. She tells me otherwise. It’s tough in Europe these days. She says it is dark and it is cold. Perhaps it’s better to repair to San Francisco, gaze at the radio, and warm our hands over the genius of Sue Gurnee.
I could save money on gloves – and perhaps wonder if I should wake her up. What time should I wake her up? Let’s not wake her up. She is going to wake us up.
In a way, she already has.
Sue has found her own remarkable way through the world, usually by helping others – reading their auras, directing them on spiritual paths. Sue can clutch your wrist and have you believe that healing is on the way. Often it is.
Why not? There was never evidence to the contrary.
I don’t think she ever twisted my arm, though she grabbed my wrist from time to time. She bit me once, now that I think about it, at a screening of Night of the Living Dead at the altogether dead Surf Theatre in the Sunset District. I’m not sure I really got over that. She meant no harm. The zombies were doing the serious noshing.
All the same, Sue Gurnee is an extraordinary force. She’s tough, she’s funny, she’s cultured. Sue is the Night of the Living. She is certainly kind. I guess I always liked her sense of irony.
Imagine that. She’s an expert. I always wanted to know an expert on irony.
Sue also used to sing on my demos for Decca Records in New York when I was a kid. Well, we were both kids.
That’s a sense of her playfulness. There will be no life without a sense of playfulness. For example, I wrote a song for Susie called “Beef Stew.” That still amuses her to this day.
“I found a city girl with real country charm.”
That is she.
Yes, one of the lines from the song. It stuns me that I still recall it. But this is not about the songwriter. It’s about Sue Gurnee.
Let’s not leave out the part that she is a marvelous artist and a stunning success in everything she has undertaken. And a natural, bitchin’-good musician. Just as her sister, Wendie, is. She could sing the hell out of a song. Sue could pick up any instrument and play the daylights out of it. I never thought the retreat of daylight would have been less welcome.
Those dawns were occasionally discouraging. Aw, that was a long time ago.
Don’t get me wrong. I love this lass.
Gurnee lived in San Francisco in the 1970s. She liked this city a whole lot, particularly when she used to sing at the Obrero Hotel with me. She was stellar. That was a great Basque restaurant and hotel on Stockton Street in North Beach. The Goyenetche family treated us fabulously, famously and generously. Over the years, I could never figure out how Sue knew all those Basque tunes. Only the other day, I looked up some things about her family and its Basque heritage – Basques from New Jersey.
I start to believe every word that emits from her mouth, tempered by wisdom, and simmered with experience. It is all about positive notions, things that are designed to help people. The thing is about Gurnee – she is for real.
Gosh, all this undermines my silly, sardonic side. I’d rather be goofy, capricious, and recall the time when Sue and I went to see the Flying Burrito Brothers in 1969 in Westchester County, New York. Imagine seeing Gram Parsons singing live. What a great show. Right after the concert, there was a terrific summer electrical storm. Sue and I clutched each other as we got to the car in the parking lot. All of this enterprise is not a surprise to me: there were flashes of anger, flashes of wonderment. Sue engendered all the voltage in the vicinity wherever she went. I got scorched once in a while. Not to worry. I got over it after a few years.
Does lighting strike twice?
I sure hope so.
I talked to Sue on the phone, as I mentioned, from Madrid, just a few days ago. That city lives nine hours ahead of San Francisco. And many years ahead of me. As Sue does, I imagine. Madrid sounds so exotic, so romantic. She tells me otherwise. It’s tough in Europe these days. She says it is dark and it is cold. Perhaps it’s better to repair to San Francisco, gaze at the radio, and warm our hands over the genius of Sue Gurnee.
I could save money on gloves – and perhaps wonder if I should wake her up. What time should I wake her up? Let’s not wake her up. She is going to wake us up.
In a way, she already has.
OK, Bruce, knock it off – get back to your new book, “Spearfishing for Compliments.” Torment him at [email protected].
