Bollywood collides with The Valley in an Epic 327-A Romance
Abandoned by my fellow 327ers, I prepared for the road trip to Banta by myself yesterday. I was interrupted while I was weeding the ol' brows by a call from Aaron-the-Groom. Could I pick up Will-I-am in San Jose? Sure, I said, eager for a road-trip buddy. I called the number, a voice answered, I was given directions to a place off Blossom Hill.
As I pulled up the the house (white with green trim, a white caddy in front, according to my notes) I had my first glimpse of Will-I-am. A very dapper black man in a fedora waved at me as I pulled up. We exchanged introductions. He let me into the house.
Five minutes, he said.
I sat in the immaculately clean living room decorated with Kwanzaa-inspired art prints as a stream of children, aunts and uncles poured in and out of the front door. Nobody seemed the least surprised to see a white girl in a cotton candy-pink vintage coat and a screaming orange polyester dress sitting on the couch reviewing her mapquest directions.
We were soon on the road. Uncle Billy (as the children called him) regailed me with tales of Flip Flop, touring (he does vocals for Aaron's band) (Ah am famous but not rich), his ten year old daughter, Tallulah, and Art. He asked me if he could play his flute. I said ok. He rooted around in his bag and pulled out a bamboo flute and proceeded to play. He had to scootch over to my side, otherwise the flute would have banged into the window. It sounded like ambient "native american" flutish sounds. He apologized for being a beginner.
We made out way out of The Valley, through the rolling green hills, rain, rainbows...
Tune in next time for the rest of the story