Be thankful I left this as-is.

I wanted to accompany the title of today’s entry with a photo of Barbara Eden in her Jeannie garb with Lindsey Buckingham’s face Photoshopped on top of hers. As Photoshop was loading up I decided to refrain from rendering such an image in fear of what horrific psychological cans of worms it might open. I can’t afford to fly to LA and visit Dr. Drew just yet.

Last night we had us some fun times at Greenpoint Gallery where I played an acoustic set. Getting there was a rather interesting adventure: 5 minutes prior to our departure torrential rains diarrhea-ed from the sky. Thanks to our dear friend Cathy who was on her way in a cab to pick Wifey and I (and guitar) up we didn’t have to walk 9 blocks to the F train and deal with everything else that comes with that.

Once we were all loaded into the car and on our way it became apparent that our driver wasn’t quite sure of where he was going. I felt a little bad for the dude; he had a GPS and it was telling him where to turn but he was missing turns due to being out of his element. I shouldn’t have felt bad because it’s his f’in job to get people around in N.Y. f’in C. but I’ve totally been in that spot before. It’s not fun to be behind the wheel and lost in this city. I watched the GPS reroute our trip about 5 times before he finally got on the right track.  We arrived, I did my thang, we consumed some fermented malt beverages, took in the awesome art, befriended some new peeps, and headed back home (thankfully with a driver who knew where he was going).

I hit the bed and passed out shortly thereafter. Next thing I knew I was in our friend Collin’s parent’s house in Wisconsin that we’d just been at for Collin and his new bride Kate’s wedding a few weeks ago. Bryn was there as well as random family and friends. There was a knock at the door which was located in another area of the house and someone went to answer. I heard commotion. Not bad commotion, this was some very, very positive commotion. “Holy shit!” and other high spirited verbalizations were flying around the room like firecrackers in a jar. I’m not sure why I didn’t get up to see what all of the “Holy Shit!”s were about; perhaps I was too tired or didn’t want to be nosey. It wasn’t my house.

The party at the door moved down into the basement where for some reason even though I was never down there, I knew it contained an elaborate recording studio. Guitar playing and singing commenced. I’m not clear on who it was who came upstairs, but they came up to me and said “Dude… LINDSEY FUCKING BUCKINGHAM is in the basement playing right now!” I could feel my heart thumping so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of my body and slap me in the face. Lindsey is THE MAN as far as I’m concerned – he gets a lot of credit for just being Lindsey Buckingham but not nearly enough credit as a guitar player. That guy can play.

Before I knew it or had a chance to go down into the basement and meet him he was already down at the curb and on his way to wherever he was going next. Apparently Lindsey Buckingham had a lot of things to do in Wautoma. The room was alive with talk of how Lindsey Buckingham was just here. Lindsey Buckingham played in the basement. Lindsey sang in the basement. Lindsey this, Lindsey that. I was sick to my stomach.  I didn’t even get a chance to shake his hand and thank him for the years of inspiration and kick-ass guitar playing.

I ran out the front door and down to the curb. Lindsey was ducking down into the car. I couldn’t see his face; it was blocked by a big white pimp hat that he was wearing. He must have sensed me coming because he stopped for a second and looked up. And this is the Lindsey Buckingham that I saw:

Say WHAT?

I was flabbergasted. I just saw Lindsey on Saturday Night Live a few months ago in this What Up With That skit and he sure as Hell didn’t look like that. How could this happen? Does the camera remove 80 pounds and 50 years of excessive pasta and wine consumption? Did he have an allergic reaction to something?

I realized that it wasn’t Lindsey Buckingham – it was Gerard Depardieu. My heart sank. I felt like Ralphie in A Christmas Story when his teacher gave him his essay back with a big fat red C+ on it. I didn’t even say anything. I somehow pulled myself together and walked back into the house. The Lindsey Buckingham excitement was still alive in the air. Everybody was talking about how awesome it was and comparing all of the photos they’d taken during Lindsey’s brief appearance at the house.

There was a knock at the door again. It was Lindsey, and he had decided that he wasn’t done jamming… he was ready for more. Down into the basement everyone went as I sat there in disbelief. How could they not see that this was Gerard Depardieu? You know… the guy who just got all of that press for whipping his tally whacker out on a plane and watering the cabin floor with it?

As much as I wanted to out him I just couldn’t burst their bubbles. They thought that Gerard was Lindsey and they were having the time of their lives so I just stayed upstairs thumbing through some magazines and left it at that.

I woke up and looked around. The sun was coming up. My mind slowly transitioned back into reality and I realized that I was back in Brooklyn. Bryn was sleeping next to me as was Frank in his usual spot next to my head. I was still whitewashed in disbelief over the whole Lindsey Buckingham thing… seriously, how could they not realize it wasn’t him? And what in the name of all things holy was Gerard Depardieu doing in Wautoma making everybody but me think that he was Lindsey Buckingham?

I’ll never know. But now that I’m fully awake I would like to tell anyone reading this who may have had a dream involving Lindsey Buckingham playing in a basement last night: That SO wasn’t Lindsey Buckingham.