As a huge fan of the musically progressive tunes produced by the ’70s band Ambrosia, I was gratified to learn that they had reunited (a seemingly inevitable occurrence for bands these days) and were playing in St. Petersburg. For free, no less. However, upon attending, I was dismayed to learn that they were playing in a small tent at an art fair. (Had I known this, I would’ve taped it…for personal use of course, Mr. FBI agent.)
Since none of their albums have yet been released on CD, I brought along a letter inquiring why. I passed him the letter when he came out to sign autographs. That done, I went back to the fair. Twenty minutes later, the crowds had thinned so I ambled back to the stage to see if the band was still there. I found the entire group posing for snapshots like tourists for an older woman I took to be a band member’s mother.
Leaping at the chance to act like a total moron, I tried to get into one of the photos with the band. (Fortunately, I wasn’t quick enough.) I did, however, manage to meet David and some of the other guys in the band. When he found out I was in advertising, we talked about working on a project he’s heading up. (Hopefully, this will lead to a job in Hollywood with a salary so obscenely huge that I’ll start hanging with big name celebrities at their beach houses and develop an obscure, yet interesting, drug dependency that will require years of experimental and controversial therapy at the Betty Ford Clinic. I can hardly wait.)