Mabel had a grooming appointment this week to cut off some matting on her back, but she was so badly behaved at the groomer, this is as far as they got with her haircut. Kind of a reverse mohawk, I had never seen little old Mabel be so aggressive, wild and crazy than that day at the groomer.
My e-mail back to Jacquie, with a tale of my own about him...
When I last worked in Manhattan (2010) I would take the E train from Port Authority 4 stops to Lexington Avenue. One morning I got on the subway and found a seat, next to which sat a cute woman's handbag, which I assumed belonged to the person sitting next to it. Most passengers exited the train at Lexington as it was the last stop before Queens, and as I got up, a gentleman said to me, "Miss, you forgot your handbag."
The car was mostly empty of people, and there sat the purse, so I took it. I know you are suppose to turn things like that into the MTA, but I looked inside on my way up the escalator and there was cash, house keys, a make-up bag - someone's personal things that I was sure, had I turned it in, would have been stolen. I decided to take it up to my office and see if I could find the owner myself by something contained in the bag.
There was a key fob for a health club that had an ID number, so I called them and explained that I had found the purse and would they be kind enough to call the owner of the bag and give them my office number. Within half an hour, a young woman called me and said she had gotten on the train in Harlem and her purse had travelled all the way without her and without anyone taking it. She said she would come to my office to pick it up. She did not seem upset that she had lost her purse, or that impressed that I had found it, and her.
I met her in the lobby of my office building that afternoon - she was a tall, pretty young woman, and we chatted for a minute as I told her the story of her lost bag face to face. I asked her what she did, and she said she was Sting's personal assistant. She tried to give me $20, and then went on her way.
I have never liked Sting - his only work that I like were his mod King role in the film Quadrophenia, his part in the dark and weird 80s film Brimstone and Treacle, and some very early Police stuff. I hate his solo work and the fact that ALL of his album covers are photographs of his face. Your story does not surprise me - he seems completely arrogant.
I am reprinting an excerpt from a recent e-mail from a very good friend of mine who I used to work with in our youth, at the famed Record Plant Recording Studios in New York City, in the mid-1980s. We were both receptionists there, and have many, many music industry stories between us. I loved this, and love you, Jacquie.
Record Plant memory ... I remember freaking out because Sting was coming into the studio. At the time I was obsessed with the Police and Sting and didn't think I'd be able to hold it together. A few days later Sting arrived with his entourage and I buzzed him in. So far so good. He stood close to the reception doorway and spoke with a few people for quite some time. I watched him intently as he spit tangerine pits, one after another onto the lounge rug. It was so crass. I never again put anyone famous on a pedestal.
My good friends at Moomers ice cream broke a cheese platter I had loaned them, and paid for the damage in ice cream...the first installment included Chocolate-Chocolate Waffle, Cherries Moobilee (their signature chocolate covered cherries in chocolate flavor), Chocolate Walnut Whiskey, Cherry Brandy, Double Chocolate Cherry and one of my favorites, old school Spumoni