Posted by: normanlgreen | July 3, 2012

Dream, July 3, 2012 Slowhand saves the Island

Dream, home,

the Island, a long defunct Houston Punk Club– Clapton has agreed to come in for a fund-raiser for the revival of the club – not officially a concert. The place is in a state of semi-renovation. Some demotion, half prepared drywall. I peek through a break in the plaster and see where booths used to stand against the North wall.  I got a room at the street end of the club where a young man is in charge. I offer my help “you don’t know me, but I used to some here as a little kid.”  He has been chauffeuring the guitarist around Houston. Plans to take him for smoothies in the AM, at a place called “the Morning After”.

Now it is morning and much progress has been made in preparation. Several tables have been stacked into an improvised stage at the back corner. I notice that the roof for the back half of the building has been removed. The show has become something of a street fair with vendors setting up tables, electric skillets warming home-made foods. The club has recently been the venue for hip hop, so there are many stylish posters. One wall plastered with one design repeated, but with the background cut away so that only the head of the singer is left behind – printed in a cinnamon colored ink.

I stop to talk with a hip hop duo who are selling their cd. One of them hands me a business card. He points to it and says “You see, I am also a reverend.” I nearly reply that I am as well, but amend it to say that I am a rabbi. He squints at me. He explains that he only has the one card, so I hand it back to him, then cross the open area toward the missing South side wall. A chain link fence and gate divides us from lines of people practicing Greek dance in groups of five. I walk further toward the front of the half-building and speak with a young man who has set up an umbrella and blanket on which he displays desserts. I point to a wedge of thick cream and blueberries. He says that it is also flavored with fresh peaches. I tell him it is too large. He reaches into a plastic tub to fish out “a little dog – still big, but not that big.”


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