After Mrs. Huey's kindergarten, when I was about six years old, I was interviewed by a nun because I had to be worthy enough to be accepted in an all girl's private school. I have no memory of the name of that "sister" who asked me if I could write. I recall that I showed her I could - and I already had the penmanship of a 12 year old then - thus, there were no further discussions. I was admitted and was relatively happy.

Prep school and grades 1, 2, 3, and 4 were a breeze.By the time I was in grade 5 I was reading "The Merchant of Venice", not because I loved the pound of flesh part, but because it was required reading.

Grade five was different because I was elected class officer, and probably was the first one in the history of any Elementary school who was impeached a week after elected. I hardly recall WHY, except that I was mad over Davy Jones of the Monkees, Tigerbeat Magazine, and I had learned to be somewhat of a freethinker. Yet, my being a freethinker had nothing to do with God or the Catholic Church more that it had to do with my right to keep a notebook of song lyrics (by the Monkees!) that could have been offensive to Sister Basildis.

Sister Basildis was a German nun who acted apprpriately like Hitler and who was obviously anti-Jewish, not that I cared then. She would strut like a huge peacock through the classroom and bring a map and would say : "This is Palestine" when I knew that was Israel according to the real map anyway. She also hated the Monkees and that was what made me call her "Hitler". She also detested the fact that I was rich, whcih I didn't know," because I had more daily allowance than most of the kids and I had a chauffer and a Benz." Thus, she resented the fact that I gave so "little" to her recommended charities and that I picked up bottles that College students left on the campus so that I could get the 5 cents deposit for returning the bottles. She thought that I was wallowing in wealth and had NO right engage in more wealth-making activities such as picking up bottles. Nevertheless, I didn't REALLY hate Sister Basildis more than I was curious if she had hair under her veil.

I fell in love (or I thought so) when I was in grade 5. My first "crush" was my teacher Miss Z.C. who I recall had the most beautiful hair, a plump sexy ass, and was incredibly smart. No, i wasn't a lesbie, but this was an all-girls school and everyone had a "crush". Miss Z.C was graceful as a princess, had class and was smarter than most of my grade school teachers. I would have given up my imaginary love affair with Davy Jones of the Monkees for her but she spurned by roses and literally told me that I was getting "scary". I nrecall the first time I cried real tears was when I was at the car, on the way home from school, because I was utterly brokenhearted. That was despite the fact that I also had a crush on one of my older classmates, named "Marian", who later became a movie star. Marian looked like an angel, has incredible class and always made it a point to hold my hand.

My worst day in my fifth grade was when I made a fool of myself while playing "soccer". I was the Blue Team captain and pitcher and "did" a wong dash and managed to injure my knee. Bloodied and bruise, I was too embarassed to cry and locked myself in one of the bathrooms. I swore I would not come out despite pleas from Sister Basildis and the school physician (yes, we had those then). It becomes hard to tell you what happened next, but I knew that it was my grandaunt who rescued me again from being vastly shamed for losing a game and my "prestige" as the team captain.

 Was I afraid? Yes, I thought I was going to die, but there was some "odd pride" I felt which seemed more important to me then than my bloodied knee.

Copyright 2009  B.U.G.S.E.Y

When I hear the music of that old song "Somewhere My Love" I am reminded of my grandaunt. I also am reminded of something I bought from a flea market in Italy when I was eleven. It was a music box shaped like a guitar which one winds to hear that music. My grandaunt treasured that until the day she left this planet.

it was in 1970 when I got a call from my grandaunt's sister Patsy who asked me perfunctorily : "Do you want to go to Europe next week?". I said yes because I thought that vacation was boring and I didn't think that swimming at the beaches was a big deal anymore. My brother Dennis and I, though we lived in different homes, were often at some beach or pool owned by one of our relatives' extremely wealthy friends. Dennis was a whiz swimmer which made me want to kick his balls and which naturally hurt my ego. After all, I was the one supposed to be "great" at everything.

Thus, it has to be Europe or bust, despite the fact that I feared flying because I was sure that the plane would crash. After all, bad things happen to sinners - particularly rich sinners - as Sister Basildis always reminded me. Going to Europe however would make me impress my classmates, would allow me to send postcards everyday to my "crush" Miss Z.C and I was enthused by the thought of seeing left hand drivers and handsome European boys.

I have no memory of the first time I was on the plane except that it was a KLM flight and I saw the stars and clouds and felt a peace I have never felt on the ground. It was something like a "high" when I see the collection of stars so near, as if I were able to touch it. I loved the night flights better more than the day flights.

First stop wasn't Europe but was Bangkok where we stayed for a few days. Something about Bangkok which I enjoyed by the Floating Restaurant. The people were also incredibly loving -- well, maybe to kids anyway.

I recall Rome...

 The Vatican wasn't so awesome - or at least I thought then - because St. Peter's Basilica had these huge paintings on the ceilings which didn't make me feel comfortable. But near the same place was THE fountain where I wasn't sure if I threw in a coin but was damn sure than I wanted to dive in and collect all of them. I asked why people had to throw away coins and someone explained : "That's so that you'll come back to Rome!". As usual, I hardly GOT the logic, but I bought a thin single pizza from a street vendor and to THIS DAY, I swear that's the best pizza I've ever tasted.

I loved Pompei and seeing the ruins. There was a place though among the ruins of Pompei which cordoned off kids. So I guess I didn't see the BEST part? Where those people having sex while the volcano was spewing ash? I mean, how horny can these people be?

I sat on the Coliseum and I didn't felt morbidly depressed  as I listened to the story of how the Christians were slaughtered by the lions in that place. I wondered even then, how the heck can Rome be such a "sacred city" when there was such a thing as a Coliseum where people wathed and enjoyed lions eating other people. I did not like it. All I remember was seeing a cat or two in that tourist area.

I loved Venice except that i thought the Hotel was haunted. That was when I realized that most of the hotels there seemed old and ghastly. I thought riding the gondola was the most UNromantic thing any couple could do because the waters were dirty and the scent wasn't too pleasant. There were also a lot of stray cats in venice. What upset me most however was that there was no decent drinking tap water! I came to the conclusion ergo that everyone probably had to drink wine and that the people were all drunks.

Sorrento and Capri, however was a different story. As we rode through the boat through the underground caves and saw the blue waters and the abundance of the schools of fishes, I began to feel a bit more uppity. After the ride, we reached Sorrento where I saw the loveliest gardens in the planet .I thought that was Eden. The food also seemed divinely different..

Looking back, the best thing I bought from Italy was that "Somewhere My Love" music box and that pizza. The music box was the type that you had to wind to hear the melody. It was my gift to my grandaunt. Another good thing about Italy was that I collected postcards.. some I sent to Miss Z.C while I was there and others I kept as souvenirs.

Greece...

Food wasn't that great,I recall, but the guys were cute. I felt grand sitting on the ruins of the Acropolis and probably was thinking of everything EXCEPT Aristotle and Plato. I felt grand though while having my pictures taken. I loved Athens for no reason at all except that the weather was great and so was the hotel that allowed me to write a lot on its elegant hotel stationery. It was also the first time I tasted lamb and realized it would also be the last time!

The only thing that made me merry was buying my first guitar at Copenhagen. As I recall, I was in a rather surly mood and thought I was dying of boredom when I attempted to escape the company of the oldies and took off in the night to go to "Tivoli" which I remember was a carnival. That was where I bought my first guitar -- at a small carnival. It wasn't for sale really, but I tried to win it in vain. Not content with going home without a guitar I offered to buy it for a hundred dollars in travelers check which was quite stupid of me. However, that was the ONLY expensive thing I purchased during my first tour.

Then there was Zurich where the food wasn't as good as Italy but I wished I could take home a cable car.That was when I knew that heaven was something like a place where snow gently falls and the air was clean and the cheeses were delicious.