People always ask me where I got this autographed.  Here's the sordid, terribly embarrassing story, and if it wasn't true I wouldn't fess up to it.  Please use this as a lesson on how NOT to act in public. If you do, don't bring witnesses.   And do me a favor: don't repeat this, don't ask me about it and don't remind me of the personal inconsistencies (I hold a black belt in tae kwon do).  I'm only pulling it out because it's concert time.  The date this happened: January 24, 1999, in Pontiac, MI.


***This is a highly biased account not of the Pontiac show, but of the way I really made a fool of myself while I was there.   My sister does counterpoint.  This was motivated by a lateness in the hour, blueberry pancakes, chicken fingers and my friend Tavis sitting on the couch with his leg propped up. It's here because it's not a real dish per se, just a diversion. Enjoy.   And my sister and I will be happy to answer any questions, like "did you guys really listen to the show itself?" (yes, we did) and "does Warren have nightmares about you now?" (I think his state of mind is sufficiently tolerant of idiots like me, but just to be on the safe side he's probably got extra security now.)

KT: Ah, yes, Warren Zevon, flipping us the bird when we sang happy
birthday. I loved it. I loved all of it. 

I got there early with my friends Adriana and Tavis and my sister
Maggie. We made arrangements with the club ahead of time to get in
early due to a need for handicapped seating. I was told I almost passed
out when I saw him.

Maggie: Hi there everyone! Now I'll tell you how it REALLY happened.
In spite of our previous seating arrangements made with the owner of the
club, Katie was too chicken-shit to just push her way through the door.
So after bitching at the snotty girl at the desk, I decided to just walk
in, hoping Katie would take the hint. Once inside, we found front row
center stage seats, and to the amazement of my dear sister, Mr. He
Himself was ON STAGE!!! SOUNDCHECK, YES!!!!!!!!!!

KT: I AM NOT CHICKEN-SHIT!!!!!! At least not yet in this tale. Yeah,
we're sitting in the front row of a converted coffeehouse watching Mr
Zevon warming up. He kept staring at us. I would have thought it
terribly charming had I not been so nervous. Then he announces "This is
a sound check. Exciting. Sometimes I throw tantrums while I'm up

Maggie: Once seated, with her GOD right in front of her, Katie turned
to MUSH. What a sight we must have been, me with a smart-assed smirk on
my face, Adriana, who had no idea who this guy was but was just so happy
to be there, Tavis, looking rather, um, Tavis, and Katie, the
pile of mush. Warren's look said it all. "This is the exciting part,
soundcheck. Guess I gotta throw a tantrum." So there it was. God
speaks! And Mush could say nothing!!!

KT: What could I say? We were almost late, took a wrong turn - there's
no street numbers in Pontiac - we're freezing cold and
argued with the door idiot on the way in. I was trying to simmer down
but.... it's WARREN!!!!!!!!!!!! I only dreamed about him the night
before. And the night before that. And the night before that. But
anyway, we of course watched more of the sound check, enamored.
Spellbound. And thirsty. But we kept our thirst at bay while Maggie
decided to be cute and tell Warren a joke. I would have hung my head in
shame except she's an exceptionally funny person.

Maggie: Clarification number one: There are plenty of house numbers in
Pontiac, but she was just blinded by love. Clarification number two:
we were not sitting there enamoured, spell-bound and thirsty. Katie was
sitting there enamoured, spell-bound and thirsty. I was sitting there
thinking "Boy, do I really gotta pee!" I was also thinking what a
dipshit my sister is for letting a moment like this pass, I mean, how
many people get to talk to God? And of those people, how many are not
locked up in an asylum? So, seeing her floundering, I decided to save
the day, me being wonder-woman and all. I did not tell a joke, I just
advised Mr. Zevon (whom Katie refered to as "sir" all night) I just
advised sir that if he wanted to please his small crowd of adoring fans,
all he had to do is perhaps drip but a little sweat on the pile of mush
next to me. Then we could all go home happy. Then, with another
conversation possibly opening up, I informed Sir that he looked a lot
like Chuck Norris. He agreed with me, and the conversation began. I
mentioned the show "Walker, Texas Ranger," and told sir that it was a
God-awful program, but it had some serious charm. He mentioned that
Chuck Norris is, indeed, a very strong man. Privately concluding that
His Most Honorable Sir is a VERY observant man, I informed him that,
while Mr. Norris is indeed strong, Mr. Zevon has much stonger musical
talents. ( I mean, come on, have you ever really LISTENED to the theme
song of his? Yuck!) And then, and I knew it was going to happen, alas,
Mush-mouth BLEW IT!!!

KT: I let her go on because honestly, she caught more of the show than
I did. But it's not quite right. Yes, Mr Zevon looks much like Chuck
Norris, and Chuck Norris, while I'd never say this to his face, can't
sing. Mr Zevon is not God. Sorry. Neither is Chuck Norris. Oh well.
But anyway, I didn't mean to ruin things. All I said was that the only
thing wrong with Chuck Norris is that he was a Republican.

Maggie: Stop right there. Here, I went out of my way to strike up a
conversation between you, and the best you could do was to INSULT the
Almighty Zevon. After Warren informed me that he and Chuck Norris had
been close friends for twenty years, Katie opened her mush mouth and
said "Yeah, but Chuck Norris is a damned Republican!" "I'm sorry?" said
the much taken-aback Almighty. "Chuck Norris is a DAMNED Republican!"
Yes, folks, not only did she insult the man's good friend, but she said
it TWICE!!!!!!!

KT: Hey, he wanted a repeat. What proof do I have? He supported George
Bush in the 1992 election, and poor poor pitiful me left out the fact
that Mr Bush was awarded an honorary black belt by Mr Norris. I had no
idea he would have taken offense to that. He hung his head sheepishly
and walked away. Just when I thought he wasn't coming back, he walked
back onstage and asked, "Are you sure it wasn't a picture?" Sorry, kids
- check your back issues of Black Belt Monthly. Me and my big mouth.
But the retelling is good. I'll be telling my sister's grandkids this
for years to come, once she has grandkids.

Maggie: No, I'LL be telling my grandkids for years to come so I know
they get the truth! And so, the wounded idol limped off the stage,
metaphorical tail between his legs. Hoping to perhaps at least find a
little dignity, he turned around at the last moment, and, digging for
one shred of compassion in my sister, asked "Are you sure he didn't just
POSE for a picture with George Bush?" But NOOOO, she had to dash his
hopes again, push the knife in a little further, and then twist it just
to make The Almighty's heart bleed. Katie launched into a detailed
explanation of how Mr. Norris publicly backed the Bush campaign in '92,
how Mr. Norris raised illegal finances for them, how Mr. Norris got
caught with a cigar and a , well, um...buxom intern- well, ok, I'm
getting carried away. But anyway, as she once again offended the
saintly Mr. Norris, His Honorable Sir disappeared, shattered dreams in
his hands...

KT: I said nothing about illegal funds or interns. I know that Mr
Norris is happily married. I think. I'll check. But I really didn't
wanna hurt the guy. I thought he was a Republican, and we'd get into a
lovely ideological argument. So let me state for the record:

I'M SORRY!!!!!!!!!!
I'M SORRY!!!!!!!!!!

But then he was gone, and then there was the opening act. It was pretty
good. Amy Rigby - free plug.  Say goodnight to the drummer for me.

Then it was all Warren, who had some new guy with him who kept bumming
cigarettes off my sister. And what a sound! I guess anger really does
it for him. To a point. He did forget the words to "Accidentally Like
a Martyr", but it's forgivable. It's the first time it's ever happened.
Left off one of the new songs. But the patter was second to none, and
his humor was in terrific shape.

Maggie: Yes, yes, she's got this part correct. It was a great show, he
did forget the words to "Accidentally Like a Martyr" and, prehaps Katie
left this out for some subliminal reason, after concluding the much
requested song "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner", he looked at me and
said, "I really do look like Chuck Norris, don't I?" It was a prime
opportunity for Katie to give him the audience-autographed T-shirt and
roses she brought for God, but NOOOOOO, she proved herself chicken-shit
again and missed her chance. Instead she waited until after he was done
with the last song. As he was leaving the stage, she kinda dropped it
in front of him on the ground. I don't think he ever saw it. As Katie
ran back to her seat to hide, He Himself left the stage, and a roadie
collected her gift to her beloved and took it backstage to him. The Sir
returned for a rousing encore, then left the stage for good. All is
lost? Perhaps not. Next came the autograph line, where, as you will
learn, all sins can be atoned...

KT: Did I do anything right? No. I'll admit, thousands of online fans
were depending on me to deliver the goods and I really came up short.
Learn from me: Don't talk about politics and Chuck Norris at the same
time. Especially to someone you've tried very hard not to piss off. So
I waited in the infamous autograph line.

Maggie: Yes, she waited in the infamous autograph line, leaving her
sister and friend to fend off all the drunk losers who'd gone deep-sea
fishing for ass! -Just had to get THAT in there, KATIE!

KT: Thank you, Mrs. Clinton. Anyway, there I was. Second in line.
Really dejected. It finally hit home that I blew it. Maybe, perhaps,
maybe, I could try to apologise and not come off as flakier than I
already had. Wishful thinking. But I wasn't as bad as I could have
been. I pretty much said ten Hail Marys to him and I think he accepted
that. He accepted it enough to sign my ticket stub. And you know, he's
a real human being, not a star. Really nice guy. Really tolerant guy.
And I really blew it. My shit's fucked up.

Maggie: And that's the title under which we shall paste the above story
in my scrap-book. Katie's shit's fucked up! Thank you, and good night.