One of my shipmate’s father was a drummer for a house band at a New York nightclub back in the 30s/40s. I would stay at their place on Long Island for a weekend now and then, and his Dad introduced me to Gene Krupa on one of our nights out. Got a picture, but not the t-shirt. :) Dad still had his Slingerland kit set up in his basement, and he taught me how to play Krupa’s “Sing, Sing, Sing” drum solo. 50+ years later, and I can still do it.
Cold air is heavier than warm air, so it sits in the bottom of the display case. Upright freezers and fridges spill all that cold air out when you open the door.
Drums, too. I used to “tune” the heads prior to orchestra practice in high school with that song. One guy in the brass section would start playing his sax, and the chicks in the string section would dance to it.Then Sister M. Nicolette would appear, and the festivities were over. Good times.
Nurses stumble over the name of one of my meds, metoprolol, all the time. I tell them, “Hey, I’m Polish. That’s a piece of cake. Try pronouncing Przewrolewski without spitting.”
My Dad used to send me into the Polish National Alliance “office” to pay his life insurance premium. I quoted the word office because it was a glorified bar. The place smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke.
The most plausible explanation for that comes from the jousting tournaments of the Middle Ages.Most participants, being right handed, would face each other on the left side of the “tilt”, a fence that separated them.But I think they were just being contrary. :)
Thank God for contact lists, and appointment calendars. Now, if I could just get to the correct office on the first try…