CLICK ON SCHWARTZY FOR “HELLO” HOLLYWOOD MISH-MASH

CLICK ON LIONEL FOR HIS ORIGINAL MUSIC VIDEO

HELLO (Album Can’t Slow Down – 1983)

I’ve been alone with you inside my mind
And in my dreams I’ve kissed your lips a thousand times
I sometimes see you pass outside my door
Hello, is it me you’re looking for?

I can see it in your eyes
I can see it in your smile
You’re all I’ve ever wanted, (and) my arms are open wide
‘Cause you know just what to say
And you know just what to do
And I want to tell you so much, I love you

I long to see the sunlight in your hair
And tell you time and time again how much I care
Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow
Hello, I’ve just got to let you know

‘Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven’t got a clue
But let me start by saying, I love you

Hello, is it me you’re looking for?
‘Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven’t got a clue
But let me start by saying I love you

新年明けましておめでとうございます。
今年もよろしくお願いします。

Shinnen akemashite, omedetoh gozaimasu.
Kotoshi mo yoroshiku onegaishimasu.

Formal translation:
A new year has begun, congratulations.
Again this year I beg your indulgence.

This is what it really means nowadays:
Happy New Year.
Hope we can enjoy another good year together.

Lucy was excited, she was holding in her arms the most precious thing she had ever known, a magic pumpkin! Father and grandfather played such important roles in making the magic, but what about Mother? Poor Mum had missed out on all that.

Lucy couldn’t wait to introduce Sir Cadwallon to her mother. there was no time to waste! the sun had already hidden behind the block of flats and soon the neighborhood would be enveloped by the darkness of night.

“Oh dear, if it gets dark before I reach the house, Mum will be waiting at the door in a horrid mood.”

She couldn’t allow anything to spoil Sir Cadwallon’s introduction. As she entered Reading Road, she got an idea; “If I cut through the park it’ll save me a good five minutes, at least. Then I can make it with time to spare.”

She made a quick turn off the road and darted into the trees that ran alongside the old Williams Manor. The path led through the trees to a green opening where she often let Duke off his leash. She was always afraid he would get stuck in the thicket on the north side.

“I must be careful to stay out of the brambles,” she thought. “Those nasty burrs sting like the dickens.”

Sir Cadwallon was getting heavier with each step as she ran across the field hugging him like a football.

“Don’t worry, Sir Cadwallon, I’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

She entered the last grove of Ash trees when something that felt like a cactus brushed against her right leg.

“Oh dear! Not those blasted burrs!”

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked around but couldn’t see a thing. She twisted about trying to look around Sir Cadwallon to see what could be brushing against her leg when she felt a searing burn run up her leg.

“Ouch! That smarts, whatever it is.”

She twisted around again but this time she lost her grip on Sir Cadwallon, letting him fly off into the thicket. Only then could she see that it wasn’t a burr at all that had scratched her so terribly. There, next to her leg she saw two vicious amber eyes radiating pure evil.

“Oh, you horrid little cat! You wretch! Look what you’ve done!”

Her shout was answered by a horrible hiss as the black beast fled into the brush where Sir Cadwallon had disappeared moments before.

* TO BE CONTINUED

Lucy hurried down the porch and along the path to the gate, carrying her prize in her arms like a newborn baby. The hollow pumpkin shell was so light, it now seemed odd that her father had had so much trouble lugging it into the house not an hour ago. “Well, that was a heavy old vegetable, but this is a totally new creature. No sir, you’re no burden at all!” she thought as she slipped out the gate and onto the sidewalk.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. “Good Lord! He hasn’t got a name! We forgot to christen him.” She spun around and ran back through the gate and up onto the porch calling out, “Grandfather! You forgot to give him a name!”

Grandfather came to the door, holding his pipe in his left hand and scratching the back of his bald head with his right, “By God, you’re right, Princess. That’ll never do. Can’t have your young prince running around without an official ID. Come on in and we’ll take care of that right away.”

Lucy placed her precious cargo on the dining room table ever so gently, saying, “He’s very special, you know, so we can’t call him anything so common as Jack or John. What’s the most princely name you know? Something gallant, uh..noble and, and of course, brave.”

“Gallant, noble, brave? There is none more so than Cadwallon ap Cadfan,” Grandfather suggested with a playful smirk.

“What? How am I going to say that! It’s a horrid name,” Lucy protested.

“You said you wanted the most noble name I know, and Cadwallon is it, all right.”

“Who was this Cad, Cad…”

“Cadwallon. He was a great warrior king of the Britons. The last true defender of Briton against those murderous Anglo-Saxon invaders.”

Lucy studied the proud features Grandfather had so skillfully carved; the fiery slant of the eyes, the noble lines of the nose, and the exquisite upturn of the firm mouth. Surely this was the face of a prince who could withstand a horde of plundering Vikings. Still admiring the magnificent mask, she said, “All right, Grandfather, we shall call him Cadwallon. Yes, a magnificent name, I should say.”

Grandfather came to Lucy’s side, put down his pipe and picked up the carving knife. Raising the blade over the carved sculpture and in a voice deeper than Lucy had ever before heard, he proclaimed, “In the name of the great people of Briton and with the blessings of her Royal Majesty, Elizabeth I, I do hereby dub thee Cadwallon, protector extraordinaire of the British realm and devoted guardian of our princess Lucy of Wallingford.”

Lucy was sure she saw a flame flicker behind the mask as her grandfather uttered this regal proclamation. What was a moment ago a charming Jack-o-lantern, was now truly a charmed protector with a name, a title and a life all his own.

“Oh Grandfather, thank you. Cadwallon is a wonderful name, indeed!”

“He deserves nothing less. Now you had better on along. If you don’t reach home before it gets dark even Sir Cadwallon will not be able to protect me from your mum’s wrath.”

Lucy embraced Cadwallon in her arms and headed out the door. “Don’t you worry, Grandfather. It’s not more than a five-minute walk if I cut through the park and Cadwallon will see to no harm comes to me.”

She ran so fast she didn’t hear her grandfather shout after her, “Take the road around the commons, Princess. Stay out of the park!”

Father had planted himself in front of the garden hoses, studying each type carefully, calculating the price per meter on his Blackberry.

“Will he ever finish?” thought Lucy, who firmly believed that the Garden Tools section was the second most boring place in the store, the first being Automotive Supplies.

She had begged her father to bring her with him and really did not want to desert him, but it was really getting to be too much!

“I’ll be in the next aisle,” she said as she left him to sort out his engineering dilemma on his own.

The next aisle was even worse, a long row of nothing but ugly grey bins full of nails, bolts and screws!

“Disgusting! There must be something more interesting around here. Father will be sure to find me, as long as I don’t stray too far,” she muttered to herself as she made her way to the next aisle.

Turning the corner on aisle 13, she found herself face-to-face with an eerily orange mountain of evil eyes and mocking grins.

“This is awesome! A horrific pumpkin pyramid!”

Most of the fiendish faces were not all that frightening, but there was one at the top that would positively scare the dickens out of any kid unfortunate enough to encounter its lighted image on a dark Halloween night.

“I must have that one,” Lucy swore as she ran back to the boring Garden Tools.

Sure enough, Father was still there, heaving a coil of green rubber hose into the shopping cart.

“Father! Father! Come here. I found the perfect Jack-o-lantern! You really must buy it.”

“A store-bought Jack-o-lantern? Absolutely not! I told you Lucy, your grandfather has promised to make a perfectly frightful one for you.”

“But Father, this one is so scarey, and it’s on sale for only ten pounds!”

“I don’t care if they’re giving it away, I won’t have it!”

“Not even if I promise to help in the garden?”

“No. You’ll help in the garden with or without a plastic Jack-o-lantern. And just think what plastic like that does to the earth. You don’t want to be a polluter, do you?”

“Oh, all right then. But when can we go to Grandfather’s?”

“Right now. We’ll stop by the Farmers’ Market, pick out a plump natural pumpkin, and take it over to Grandfather’s. How’s that?”

“Absolutely Halloween-derful!”

2 – Picking a Perfect Pumpkin

Father was right; the real pumpkins at the farmers’ market were far more awesome than those silly plastic things at TESCO, even without the ready-made scarey faces. As they marched down the aisle between stalls overflowing with hundreds of plump, fresh pumpkins in all shades of brilliant orange colours, Lucy was overwhelmed by the sweet smell that reminded her of cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Oh, Father, there are so many. I’ll never be able to choose.”

“Choose? You don’t choose the pumpkin, my child,” cackled an old woman in the first stall, “The pumpkin chooses you.”

At the sight of the leathery old face staring out from a mound of pumpkins Lucy gasped and slid behind her father.

“You see, Lucy, the lady says there’s nothing to it. Stop being a silly child and go meet your pumpkin,” Father said in that story telling voice that chased away all the goblins and sent her safely to sleep on the stormiest of nights.

“Your father is right, young lady, picking a pumpkin is as simple as petting a cat. If he likes you, he’ll snuggle right into your arms,” the old lady assured her.

“Well… I suppose I could try…but where to begin?”

“Begin? You begin by coming into my stall. There now, the plump ones can see you much better. Now, close your eyes, turn around three times and stop dead where you are.”

“Like this?” Lucy spun around amongst the piles of pumpkins like Princess Odette surrounded by swans.

“Wonderful! Now keep your eyes shut tight or you’ll break the spell. Before you open your eyes you have to repeat this rhyme three times:

Piddily pie, piddiley pear,
Princely pumpkin, please appear!”

“Go ahead, Lucy. I’m sure the lady knows what’s best. And it is a rather charming rhyme.” She wasn’t so sure about the old lady, but how could she refuse her father’s request.

“All right then.

Piddily pie, piddiley pear,
Princely pumpkin, please appear!”

And having recited that ditty, Lucy opened her eyes to see the most robust, rotund pumpkin she had ever seen staring her right in the face.

“Yes, yes! It’s magic! This is truly my pumpkin!”

“Looks like she’s been chosen. What do we owe you?” Father asked politely.

“Seeing as how it was my best pumpkin what chose your lovely daughter, I would be a fool to ask for less than 20 pounds.”

“Twenty? That’s a bit dear, isn’t it?”

“Oh Father, please. I really must have this one. I’ll do extra work in the garden.”

“You see, sir, you’re getting a bargain. A princely pumpkin and an eager gardener. All for a meager twenty pounds.”

“All right, all right. But you have to promise you will personally escort your prince to your grandfather’s and bring him back safe and sound with a most startling appearance.”

“Oh, I promise, Father. My prince and I will look after each other. And I’m sure Grandfather will love him.”

3 – The Carving

As the car pulled up to the curb, Lucy could see her Grandfather sitting out on the porch puffing on his precious rosewood pipe.

“Grandfather, look what Father got us! Isn’t he just perfect!”

Grandfather stepped off the porch, stretched out his arms, and bellowed in his deepest baritone, “There’s my little princess. Come over here and give your old grandfather a royal hug.”

“No Grandfather, Father has a real prince for you to hug this time.”

“Dad, I’d appreciate it if you could take His Highness off my hands. He weighs a royal ton.”

“’Fraid not, Son. That looks like the vegetable reincarnation of Henry VIII you’ve got there. He’ll break my back. You bring him on in and set him on the table.”

The three of them stood around the kitchen table sizing up their new found friend.

Father was still panting from his sherpa duties and Grandfather just scratched the back of his head as he scrutinized the orange globe on the table. Lucy was the first to break the silence; “Isn’t he gorgeous? Don’t you just love him, Grandfather?”

“Don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you something Princess; I’ve seen some mighty impressive squashes in my time, but never one as lordly as this here pumpkin of yours. Where’d you find him?”

“Lucy picked him out at the farmers market.”

“I didn’t pick him, Grandfather; he picked me.”

“So he’s gifted with good taste, eh? Well, we’ll have to be sure to dress him with a suitably noble countenance.”

“Can you give him a grand face, Grandfather?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Princess; we’ll give him a face worthy of his grand character.”

“All right Dad, I’ll be off. I’ll leave you two artists to your work. Lucy, you come straight home when your done.”

“Yes, of course, Father.”

“Take the regular route and be sure to get home before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, Son, I’ll send her and her prince home well before sunset.”

Lucy pulled her favorite chair up to the table and made herself comfortable as her grandfather began dressing the pumpkin. She was mesmerized as she watched his big, bear-paw hands maneuver the knife like a surgeon with his scalpule. In no time he had the vegetable hollowed out and was just beginning to carve out the face when suddenly the knife slipped, leaving a nasty gash on his left hand.

“Oh my God, Grandfather! You’ve cut yourself!”

He dropped the knife and calmly walked over to the sink, saying, “It’s nothing, Princess. Just a little nick.” He washed his hand in cold water and wrapped it with a fresh dish towel.

“There we go. As good as new. The old boy was just testing my skill, is all.”

“You must take a rest, Grandfather. Mother says we should immediately dress a cut so it doesn’t get infected. You can finish carving tomorrow.”

“Nonsense, girl. My skin is so tough an alligator couldn’t pierce it. Anyway, tomorrow is Halloween. We have to finish dressing your young prince today so he’s ready for his grand appearance.”

With that Grandfather returned to his sculpturing, twisting and turning the blade through the pulpy orange skin of the patient pumpkin prince. Before Lucy could utter another word of protest, he had dropped the knife again, this time proudly announcing, “There he is. There’s your prince charming. A bit frightening, don’t you think?”

He turned the pumpkin round so that Lucy could see the full expanse of his freshly carved features. “Oh Grandfather, he’s magnificent!”

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen such a princely pumpkin in my lifetime. Even if he did take a small nip out of my hand.”

“Yes, your hand. Is it still bleeding?”

Grandfather unwrapped the towel from his hand and showed it to Lucy. It was a miracle! There was indeed a nasty gash just above the thumb, but the bleeding had stopped completely.

“Oh thank God you’re okay, Grandfather.”

“Don’t you worry about me, little one. You just be sure to get this handsome friend of yours home safely. Now get along and don’t dally about. It’ll be getting dark soon.”

“Thank you, Grandfather. You are the most wonderful grandfather in all the world. Come over tomorrow and see how I’ve decorated our pumpkin prince.”

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The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

LES FEULLIES MORTES – Joseph Kosma/Jacques Prévert (1945)

SEPTEMBER SONG – Kurt Weill, Maxwell Anderson (1938)

When I was a young man courting the girls
I played me a waiting game
If a maid refused me with tossing curls
While I plied her with tears in lieu of pearls
I’d let the old Earth make a couple of whirls
And as time came around she came my way
As time came around, she came

Oh, it’s a long, long time from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September

When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn’t got time for the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I’ll spend with you
These precious days I’ll spend with you

SEPTEMBER OF MY YEARS – J. Van Heusen, S. Cahn (1965)

One day you turn around and it’s summer
Next day you turn around and it’s fall
And the springs and the winters of a lifetime
Whatever happened to them all?

As a man who has always had the wand’ring ways
Now I’m reaching back for yesterdays
‘Til a long-forgotten love appears
And I find that I’m sighing softly
As I near September, the warm September of my years

As I man who has never paused at wishing wells
Now I’m watching children’s carousels
And their laughter’s music to my ears
And I find that I’m smiling gently
As I near September, the warm September of my years
All the golden warm Septembers of my years

SEPTEMBER, IN THE RAIN – Harry Warren/Al Dubin (1937)

The leaves of brown, came tumbling down, remember
That September, in the rain
The sun went out just like a dying ember
That September, in the rain

To every word of love I heard you whisper
All the raindrops seem to play a sweet refrain
Though spring is here, to me it’s still September
That September, in the rain

TRY TO REMEMBER – Harvey Schmidt/Tom Jones (1960)

Try to remember the kind of September
when life was slow and oh so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
when grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
when you were a tender and callow fellow,
Try to remember and if you remember then follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender
that no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
that dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
when love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember and if you remember then follow.

Deep in December it’s nice to remember
although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December it’s nice to remember
without the hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December it’s nice to remember
the fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December our hearts should remember and follow.

And just to show September is not all melancholy, here’s one just for fun.

LATE SATURDAY NIGHT

Yamada drove around the block for the fifth and last time.  It was hot as hell and Ginza was dead.  The few drunks who did stumble out of the bars, fell down the subway stairs for the last train to the burbs.

“Hopeless,” he thought.  “No fares to be had here.” 

He made a U-turn, and without thinking, found himself driving straight for Akasaka. 

Akasaka; how he dreaded cruising that eerie borough with its narrow streets, dingy bars, vomiting passengers. He’d avoided the place like the plague ever since that horrible night so many years ago.  But tonight, an invisible power was pulling him back. 

“There’s something waiting for me back there, maybe a passenger, maybe a nightmare, maybe both.  Whatever, I’ve got to go back and find out.” 

Within only a few minutes, his aging Toyota delivered him back to his old haunt.  He was determined to stay in the bright lights on Sotoboridori, the wide avenue at the edge of the unholy labyrinth.  

“Maybe my luck has changed,” he thought when he saw the short line of taxis in front of the station. 

He pulled into line and shut down the engine.  The car was like an oven.

“If it gets any hotter in here, I’ll burst into flames!”

He rolled down all the windows, front and back, but couldn’t get rid of the murderous heat. He stepped out of the cab and into the steamy mist that hung over the town like a damp death shroud. He lit up a Short Hope and dragged himself through the heavy air to the cab parked in front of his. 

“Slow night, eh? Been waiting long?”
he asked the driver, hoping for a promising report. 

The driver didn’t say a word; he just sat there like a stone, staring right through Yamada as if he wasn’t even there. 

“To hell with him and this damn street!  If I hang around here I’ll become a zombie too!” He jumped back into his cab, started the engine and pulled away from the row of taxi tombstones. Two hundred meters down the avenue, he impulsively swung a hard right, throwing himself right into that river of sake, sirens and sin, Akasakadori. The lights seemed much brighter than he remembered, but the stench was the same. He held his breath as he drove up the hill, till he spotted the ominous red light of the Go-chome koban. 

“Looks like that same fat cop’s on duty tonight. Couldn’t be; he should be retired or dead by now.” 

He turned left, away from the koban, then right, into a narrow uphill lane, nearly crashing into the Torii of a small shrine.

That’s when he saw her. She was standing there, a seductive apparition caught in the dim halo of his headlamps. She was draped in a summer kimono, light blue, maybe gray.  A cloth bag hung from her left hand and with her right she held out a closed fan…or was it a sheathed dagger?

His foot felt for the accelerator only to find the brakes. All at once his world stopped; his taxi, his breath, his heart. Only his left hand moved involuntarily, pulling the lever that opens the passenger door. By the time he regained his senses, it was too late; she was sitting behind him and the door shut behind her.

He peered into the rear view mirror, but could see only a vague silhouette in the dark.  The silence was broken by a frail, muffled female voice.  “Minami Aoyama, San-chome,” the voice droned.

Yamada broke into a cold sweat.  “This can’t be. Not her! Not Minami Aoyama! Not again!”

The back streets on Akasaka hill were blacked out.  Street lamps were out, shop and apartment windows shuttered.  Yamada’s dim headlamps cut a narrow path through the dark. He followed on auto-pilot.

He prayed he’d make it out to the lights of Roppongidori before he was swallowed by the ungodly darkness that lurked in the seat behind him. Yamada slammed the gears into second and raced towards the lights of Roppongidori.

He had one thought in mind, “I’ve got to get her out of my cab, or I’ll burn in eternity.” 

Then the horror struck him, “The only way to get rid of her is to take her to her final destination.  Then she can return to the dead. And me to the living.”

He came to a stop at the first red light on Roppongidori. Street lamps bathed his taxi in brilliant florescent light.

“It’s now or never!” he muttered as he closed his eyes, turned his face up to the mirror, and forced them open. 

“Oh my God! No! It’s impossible! Raven black hair, translucent porcelain skin, blood red lips.  It is her!”
And now he was her prisoner.

Yamada turned on the radio.  The whining strains of Yukiguni came over the airwaves.  He turned it up full blast. 

“Maybe the music will drive her spirit out of my car.” 

He dared to glance in the mirror again and saw her shadowy figure drop down right behind his seat. He raced for Aoyama like a mad man. No crash of speeding vehicles could be worse than the awesome presence lurking just behind his seat.

“Minami Aoyama, San-chome, here we come. The devil be damned!”

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

Two detectives flashed their badges as they walked into the koban at Akasaka Go-chome. They addressed the young, overweight officer at the counter. 

“You busy? We have a few questions.”

Hattori stashed the pack of chips behind the log book and jumped to attention.

“No.  Uh, I mean yes, sir.  Officer Hattori at your service.”

“Hattori, did you receive any emergency calls last night?”

“No, sir.  Just the usual. A couple of drunken salarymen and a lost gaijin looking for the New Otani. It’s all here in my report.”

“Forget the report! A dismembered body was found in Aoyama Cemetery early this morning.  The only lead we have is an anonymous 110 call.”

“110? Aoyama? What’s that got to do with me, sir? This is Akasaka.”

“I know that, you idiot!  The caller said something about Akasaka Go-chome koban.”

“What about Akasaka Go-chome koban?  Sir?”

“We don’t know.  That’s what we want to ask you. There’s loud music in the background and the voice is too low.  All we could hear was this koban, something about a taxi… and a name.”

“My name?”

“No, damn it.  The name was Yamada. Kenichi Yamada.  Ever hear of him?”

“A taxi?  Kenichi Yamada?  Yes.  Pardon me, sir, but my father used to be at this koban, uh, twenty some years ago.”

“We’re talking about murder! No time for family stories. Get to the point, Hattori.”

“Well, sir, the point is, my father told me the most bizarre incident he’d ever seen was a grotesque murder.”

“What murder?”

“A hostess was picked up near here and taken to Aoyama Cemetery where she was murdered and chopped to pieces.”

“That cemetery’s a popular spot for murder.” 

“Yes, sir. Very popular. But you see, the weird thing is, the killer was identified as a taxi driver named Kenichi Yamada.”

“Really? Well a convicted murderer should be easy enough to find.”

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”

“Later the same night, my father was called to an accident in front of the shrine just around the corner from here.

“So, what’s the accident got to do with the murder?”

“A taxi had crashed into the Torii. When Dad got there, the car was on fire.”

“Yamada’s taxi?”

“That’s right. And Yamada was locked inside, pounding on the window, screaming.

“So, it was your father who arrested him!”

“No, sir. Before Dad could break the door open, Yamada’s body burst into flames.”

YOSH IKUZO – Yukiguni (Snow Country)

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