Please see "Buckgram" from 2/1/07 before reading this.
Unfortunately, Buckwheat failed to respond to my email prior to the show so I was not able to duplicate his outfit for the evening. I did however wear my trusty homemade Buckwheat Zydeco t-shirt. It basically consists of a sketch of him running while playing the accordion wearing a crown and purple cape. On the back it reads, "Hot Tamale Baby" with a picture of, what else, a hot tamale, baby. It’s also covered in mustard, blood, beer and liquor stains from the night out after the last Buckwheat show. I think he likes hot dogs.
So Arlo and I get good and liquored up at my place before attending the show. For the detail oriented, it was Jack on the rocks served in Curious George jelly jars with Pabst chasers. A couple jars of Jack in about an hour had us more than ready to zydeco the night away. After a short train ride up to Times Square we hit the will call booth at B.B. King’s. For safety reasons, Arlo put the tickets under his name, rather than under Sherb. Smart thinking Arlo!
Once inside the theater, Arlo retires to the gent’s room whilst I procure us some frothy beverages. With our jackets safely stowed in the coat check, me Buckwheat t-shirt was in full view. A stranger standing at the bar inquired as to whether or not I had actually made the shirt myself. I answered that I had and that I wear it to all the Buckwheat shows I attend. He informs me that he is actually Buckwheat’s drummer. I quickly remove a Sharpie (all Sherbtastics should carry one) from my pocket and ask him if he would mind signing my shirt, which he does. The only part of his name that I could ready was "The Saint" and "drummer" which to me makes it even cooler. Before he has a chance to run off I ask The Saint if he would please tell Buckwheat that Sherb was here. With that, he was gone.
Upon Arlo’s return I tell him of my fabulous encounter to which he replies something like, "Get out?!?!" Fortunately, I have the proof. Several beers and a basket of chicken fingers and fries later Buck takes the stage. Arlo and I make our way to the dance floor and start showing off our moves. Remember kids, always switch from pints to bottles before attempting to take your beer dancing. Spilled beer is such a waste.
I can't really say for how long he played or even what songs, you're just taken up in the moment. Kinda like the way I write, I never go back and re-edit, just living in the moment. Anyway, before the end of the show I had managed to make my way up to the front of the stage standing just below Buckwheat, often times making eye contact with him, wondering if perhaps somehow he knew that I was the great Sherb and that if he did, would he get the hell out of there? I began to imagine myself as John Malkovich's charachter from In the Line of Fire. Sending cryptic notes, slowly getting closer and closer to my prey without their knowledge. Then it happend. The show ended and I extended my hand toward Buckwheat and he firmly shook it. Probably never knowing he pressed flesh with Sherb, at least until my next letter. The moment was magical. Jackpot!
