For the low, low price of $5, there will be a Human Jukebox playing at The Great Hall in our neighborhood in March.  For the outrageous price of $30, one can have a dinner of bagged salad, fatty Grade B prime rib with mashed potatoes and frozen green beans.

Yesterday, I saw the notice for this gala featuring the Human Jukebox and optional prime rib meal.  The Human Jukebox (my terminology) turns out to be a guy who sings all the rock-and-roll standards by imitating the original singers.  Nothing truly original here; just songs you can find on Sirius or from your 45 r.p.m. singles you started collecting in high school.  The optional meal that evening is no big shakes, for although the neighborhood diner likes to tout a “chef,” the food is merely microwaved frozen meals or it’s catered in from a professional caterer.  (I wrote about their so-called high class meals in The New Year’s Party.

My best friend and I actually have plans, and it does not include a night of the Human Jukebox.  Not that we planned to go see the performance anyway.

©2022 Colcannon Metropolis, excerpt from “Tales from The Ridge”

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