I had a recent experience of meeting someone who is "Internet famous", an organizer of conferences and a name in the tech world. While it may have been because of the extreme travel conditions, I found him to be cold, begrudgingly offering a limp handshake,  and generally not giving a rat's ass about what I said, which was basically an appreciation of what he's done in the past. My mind has come around to thinking of this person as a sham and a ruthless self-promoter who spams all Linkedin connections on the premise that "if you're connected, you're interested in everything I'm doing". I mention this for a reason: it's bullshit. Unless you are only connected to a very small number of people and can follow every single event they produce regardless of whether it is of interest to you or even happening on a continent you inhabit or not. I've met a lot of people in over 40 years on the road. Nothing is uglier than those who think they are hot shit; they are only half right about that.

While I was visiting Shanghai, I noticed that Herbie Hancock was appearing there in concert a couple of nights. He was even quoted in the China Daily newspaper, calling China "a beacon of [hope and friendship]". Seeing Herbie's name reminded me of the day I met him. My old friend Victor was playing bass in the Monster Band at that time and so was my other piano hero, Nate Ginsberg. Imagine being a keyboard player for Herbie? I was able to go hang out at a rehearsal they were having. The photo shows the look the guys had - hair really changes in 3 decades.

I've always been more interested in the piano than the guitar, so my heroes over the years have been Art Tatum, Oscar Petersen, Red Garland, Wynton Kelly, Monk, McCoy Tyner, Herbie, Chick Corea, Keith Jarret and of course the great Bill Evans. I've seen several of thgese guys live. We saw Bill Evans in an L.A. club where they wouldn't let us sit in the empty front row, because it was "reserved for the press". It remained empty all night. Bill, and Monk too, were both in their last phases of illness when I saw them at Shelly's Manne Hole. Maybe in Bill's case substance abuse added to the mix. I know it wouldn't have been pleasant to meet either at that time of their lives, but Herbie... He was already huge in jazz, respected by all and now he was a rising star with the younger generation, funky music with great musicians, monsters playing the shit out of it! As you got bigger, many accused him of "selling out". Funny how that happens, in the arts, success is always associated with "selling out"

So the memory of Herbie is simple, They were playing a high energy tune, I moved over to the other side in front of the stage and just as I crossed over to get a better look at Herbie, I unplugged the entire P.A. system and all the amps, silencing everyone but Sheila, whose percussion went on for a few seconds. I immediately put the conectors back together or maybe a roadie did while I tried for invisibility. The fact is though, I did meet Herbie after the rehearsal, he of course recognized me immediately and waved away my apology. I noticed his reaction as I told him what you do in that situation, trying to express your admiration, something they've heard a zillion times before. Herbie is undoubtedly one of the great piano geniuses of all time. Unlike say, Bill Evans, who was a horrible, unhappy guy to just about everyone, Herbie made me feel like telling him about listening to his music mattered, it pleased him that his artistic endeavors made a difference to people, regardless of who or where they were. Most will never have to find out, but if you acheived stardom, what exactly would you be like? I wonder if the growing number of wannabes on reality shows are practicing their "nice" chops? 

Although I'm not a country music fan in any stretch of the imagination,  I was introduced to the music of Patty Loveless through her husband and producer Emery Gordy, Jr.
 
Emery was the kind of talented person I respect most, someone who is  deeply professional, yet totally humble. He produced Patty's later work  after a long career as a sideman with Elvis, Neil Diamond, John Denver, Emmy Lou Harris and a bunch of country stars too numerous to mention. He also did a great Jimmy Carter imitation.
 
I know that Patty had throat surgery and that her husband was a ham  radio operator. For the nine weeks after her operation, she could not  speak or talk. Emery tried to teach her Morse Code, as well as using pen and paper with yellow Post-It notes. According to the Wikipedia article, "after this her interest in Amateur Radio developed and she was eventually licensed with the callsign KD4WUJ".
 
Though I never met Patty, I did spend some good times with Emery in L.A.  and later in Paris when he flew over in Denver's jet for a gig. I had  also heard that Emery nearly died of an illness but I believe he has recovered. At least I hope so because he was one of the nicest people I've ever known in the music business.

Is there anything more humbling in a man's life than to have to stand naked in a cold room with a female medical technician looking on (and why are they always young and adorable?) while you try to perform some biological act best done in private? I have been in this position several times in my life and I'd have expected it would get easier, but it does not. The first time, I was in an emergency room, getting a smear done. This wouldn't have been a big deal except that just at the critical moment, there was major commotion and the young woman said "Here, you hold it" and went out without pulling the curtain. I saw a man crying, holding a blue baby, explaining that it had fallen into the swimming pool. This was an awful brush with reality, to be standing there, pants down, holding "myself" while that scene was happening about 5 feet away. People who work in the ER see this stuff every day. No wonder they can watch you shivering naked and embarrassed and not bat an eye.

 The next time I had to have such an exam, it was at the Pasteur Institute in Paris. The nurses there are nuns, not particularly young or cute. The unexpected part of this visit wasn't a young death next to my superficial problem, but something this nun said to me. She was telling me how to produce the sample on the slide, which she was holding. Again, I'm standing in front of this person with my ... in my hand following her instruction exactly. Then she said with a wry smile "Come on! You can do better than that!" Somehow this is probably the only admonishment by a nun I've remembered all these years.

 A few years ago, I had to stand in a cold room (wtf can't they heat these places?) next to a big stainless steel machine that was supposed to measure some parameter - fortunately not the girth, which surely was negative at that point - while a cute lab tech in white who resembled the woman on Dr House's staff "monitored" at a respectful distance. We tried everything: Conversation about the weather, politics, California... anything not related to medicine or organs. Nothing doing. She came over and tied a little ribbon gently around it. I don't see how this could have helped, but hey, these people do this stuff every day. No go. Then she brought over a basin with warm water, dipping my hand into that. All this went on for at least 30 minutes before we gave up.

 I suppose there is a moral to all of this, right? In the service, they tell you, "Airman, the general zips his pants up the same way you do." The next time you are irritated by a presumptuous male, picture him in one of the above situations.

 Maybe a commentor will have an even more intense experience with medical humiliation?