Dusty And The Pantelones

j 1000+ pointsk 500+ pointsl 100+ pointsm 1+ points - Newb

On the unusually slender and elevated stage at the intimate Hyperion Tavern, Tate "Renegade" Thorson strapped on his Gretsch hollow-body guitar and tested the levels. A quick line check was all time allowed to adjust a mix before he struck the first chord. With Martha on bass and Alex on drums, Tate took to the microphone.

"Hi, I'm Dusty Drawers."

Martha then stepped up, and pointing at Alex (who was set up on the ground, four feet below) announced, "And we're the Pantalones.”

The lights dimmed, the crowd hushed, and Tate started.

Have you seen my man around?

He still looks seventeen

Goes by Roy

but in his head he knows he Geraldine

Could be an illusion

but I don't think it's a dream

cuz’ in his eyes I see divisive lights

of what he's been

Oh, sweet Geraldine

Geraldine was never what she seemed

Geraldine is Tate's doppelgänger. Sure, Tate was born a little girl, and surely the name Rachel had served Tate well for many years, but now Tate was a man: one who liked hot and intelligent chicks.
There were many eccentrics both on stage and feeding the tavern floor. For this observer, the noticing of such beauty so focused on the stage made sense.

The sexy club booker tending bar was no exception. As she poured wine cocktail creations and opened caps of twenty-four ounce Carte Blanca cerveza, her pirouettes centered her eyes toward the stage.

When Geraldine was just a girl

he was as gentle as a lamb

but in her heart she felt the boy

who moved those girly hands

What to do, thinks Geraldine

this isn't in my plan

picket fences round some house

two babies and a man

There's no time to think or so it seems

Escape to free Roy is what she sees

The music was swinging, and the stage banter between the band gave way to a ripe audience ready to join in. Someone shouted, "Why are your drawers dusty?"

Without a second passing, a grinning Dusty quipped, "I like them that way. Dusty, crusty, and all points in between."

It was a perfect metaphor spoken from a stage on the fly, but its truth ran deeper.

So Geraldine leaves her home alone

two dollars in her hand

Dusty roads give way to pavement

city life is grand

She cuts her hair short for a job

and her boss thinks she's a man

Geraldine's friend Jack says honey,

now we understand

So long sweet Geraldine

Geraldine will never more be seen

The post-gig calm down is essential for a musician because the rush of performing kicks one into high gear. Tonight’s cure lead us to Martha's house, where yummy spirits and strong pot brownies helped curate our conversations. Dualities between high and low made for a collective belly-churning descent towards the scatological. Hunched over in laughter, we tied these dualities to the profoundness of what our asses mutually shared. This was good stuff.

It was late and Tate was tired, but you would not know from his energy. We knew his cancer.

Embracing what she knows to make

him real

Roy will give to what she feels

Geraldine builds Roy from her

old dreams

Tate’s “official” transgendering may have coincided with his name change, but the at risk students he counseled at John Marshall High School knew better – I would wager on their keen understanding of gender and dualities before any piece of paper.

When Rachel changed to Tate, the same person endured, and that endurance would be a watershed on how Tate would battle eight years of cancer.

The first bouts involved breast cancer. Tate won, and continued into momentary remission, but the cancer came back. This time it was on his tailbone. This battle would lead to full time management, because the new bout was vicious. It was a painful journey, but Tate fought, with an essence of humor and remarkable braveness, within the outlined possible perspectives. This essence floored all of us.

The last time I saw Tate, he was held hostage to a bed at Kaiser hospital. Being a strong-willed renegade, Tate was holding court from bedside, raising hell to make sure he received proper medical care, and that proper protocol was followed.

I came with Martha, bearing gifts, and from my satchel I fished out a Journal of Ass Production and a brown yo, Fuck that shit t-shirt. Tate's infectious grin lit the room. Because Tate's body sensitivity was now on an acute level, the normal fitting t-shirt was too painful, so an alteration was needed. This was no problem.

When Tate started talking about gaining strength to pick up the guitar as Dusty Drawers, Martha and I looked at him in awe. Tate was craving gluten-free pot cookies, but that would have to wait until he transferred home.

Tate was slated for parole a few days later. His destination was Riverside, his home. And going home included seeing his parents, kin and friends. And hospice care. Tate's final rest came shortly after.

When Geraldine sees her family now

they missed what she could bring

Moma smiles and calls her Roy

while daddy smokes and drinks

And in this city she's found love

cuz I call her what I need

She's the man I dreamt about

a man called Geraldine

At the wake, a beautifully matted series of chronological photographs trailed on all four walls, and Tate was breathing life. The last photo showed a smiling Tate at home in bed holding up a slice of gluten-free chocolate cheesecake. When I looked closer, I saw that Tate's garment held the image of a happy, white puff character humping a happy brown poo. The altered garment brought tears to my eyes. As I smiled, a sense of wonderful absurdity crept into my thoughts: While a beautiful life was cut too short in the physical, Tate's essence is alive and well.

Oh, sweet Geraldine

oh, the man of my dreams

Dusty Drawers, rest in peace sweet. Prince.

13 Comments on "Dusty And The Pantelones"

daphne's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardSite AdminComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatore 6000+ points

Dusty's band can be found on both Facebook and MySpace, if you take the time.

I suggest you do. Here's to a sense of humor in the face of the worst adversity.

.....hugging bunnies since 1969

.....hugging bunnies since 1969

C Everett Poop's picture
j 1000+ points

What kind of drug addled horse dookie is this?

Anonymous Coward's picture

can i have the past five minutes of my life back?

who runs the refund department around here?

CC also known as Coach Crap's picture

Was this based on an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force? This also might have been what The Doors saw in the desert after they took peyote.

Anonymous Coward's picture


Poop Reporter's picture

What the hell did I just read five lines of? I love some crap, but this was just terrible.

Pasty Morant's picture

Bee-yewt-ee-full... I am much moved... Tate was a Grand Master - and is now much more so (tho' I suspect he misses having a real, physical ass... :))) (especially to jest about... )

Anonymous Coward's picture

I loved this story

Deja Poo's picture
Comment Quality Moderatorj 1000+ points

It took me a while to catch on to it and where it was going, but fact or fiction, it was an enjoyable read to me. Keep up the good work, TBL.
Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Frank Benway's picture
l 100+ points

I never thought I'd say this, but can somebody do a " great comment" on CEP? I think Thin Brown Line got her wires crossed. This story is way more "NPR" than "PR". The sentiment behind it is sweet and all, but wrong venue, sorry.

The Incredible Hulk's picture

Hey, AWESOME review! Tate, you rock!

flushmistress's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

Tate sounds like a very cool person with a great sense of humor. RIP.

have a crappy day

have a crappy day

Blaise's picture

Rest in peace.

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