The Transporter Couch

Back in the day, Art and I would make up songs. We would sort of sample the music and rythms but would supply our own lyrics. We appropriated a song from Le Trim called, I think, “We Like The Cars,” that we switched around somehow that I can’t really recall, but one line was, “we like the girls, the girls that go ‘here’s your martini, sir.’ ” At that time (in our lives) we would sometimes go to La Posada and have a drink or two and there was this very very very pretty, very solicitous blonde cocktail waitress named Jody and she made us feel very special. I totally, completely and absolutely would love to know what ever became of her. She was beautiful and kind and attractive but by NO means trashy, and she made us feel good.

La Posada is a 5 star hotel in Santa Fe, NM, and the lounge is a series of rooms that were once parlours in a beautiful old house on Palace Avenue. I don’t even care to speculate how much money we spent in there over the years. But the furniture was comfortable, antique but sturdy, the cielings were high and handsome and the walls were covered with old-fashioned style paintings. The floor, as I recall, was covered in thickly padded red carpet. One night, after my “French” professor told me I’d better buckle down and learn French or I’d fail the test a second time and that that would bode ill, I took over a space there and turned on a lamp and drank coffee and “learned” french. Two days later, we had a test and I passed it. In class the following day, a Friday … and this is a really weird memory but for some reason we were passing around a crown of ivy or something and everyone would wear it for 20 seconds and talk about why she or he should be lauded. I put it on when it got to me (and no this wasn’t a regular new-age healing sort of thingl it was just a goofy afternoon) and I said, “I passed the French test!” And everyone clapped. Then the professor, David Bolotin, said, “Yes, Mr. Walker I think you deserve the accolade. Of course, you didn’t pass the first time.” And the whole room looked at him like, “what a dicky thing to say” and Tim Graham, not a tight friend but a really nice guy, just said to the room in general, “He giveth, and he taketh away.”

Returning to the main thread of this essay, Art and I would sometimes just plain MAKE UP songs. We would be sitting on the transporter couch, or riding in the car, and would make up crazy stuff. “Dormonica” numbers among them. Dormonica was our pretend housekeeper and

She could make a martini; she could make a Manhattan;
She could make you some boxers out of busy plaid satin.

I can’t remember other stanzas, but the refrain was,

Dormonica, Dormonica, don’t ask to get paid;
Dormonica, Dormonica, you’re just our maid!

In retrospect, it was BEYOND tacky. But it was fun and you know, helped us stretch our minds.

And one day, we were riding in the car (the old green truck, actually) on our way to seminar, and Art just started singing, “I saw your god ……. drowning kittens……..” to no tune in particular. Maybe “I left my heart in San Francisco.” It was funny and, obviously, memorable! It came to me today. I was riding in the car…. Hilda and I had gone to Wal Mart to buy sodas for the restaurant and it was a quiet moment. There was music on, Ulrich Schnauss, but it was very subdued. We had stopped at a light and we’re very close and comfortable being together and not talking, and I started singing, softly, “I saw your god ….. drowning kittens……” Hilda just looked at me and started laughing ….. She laughed so hard she sat through a long green light. People honked but she wouldn’t budge because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t open her eyes.

That’s all.