The F-word, Winterboy and Carly Simon

(October 14, 2008)

I joined Facebook.

Sorry to blurt it out all suddenly like that without the gentle lube of preamble. You OK? You want to take a minute? No? OK.

Yeah, I did it. I didn't really want to join. After the Friendster crapulence, I swore Myspace would be my last social networking site. I said no to people who wanted me on Twitter.com, no to those urging MyFace.com, and firmly replied NO FACEBOOK whilst shaking my fist aloft like a silent movie star. I did it because I was falling too far behind. Nobody would email me anything anymore! More and more when I'd ask about pictures of your baby or wedding or new house YOU cruel people out there tormenting me with your peer pressure and social networking would tell me it's on Facebook. Gotta get Facebook. "Aren't you on Facebook?" NO!

No. Nope. Well fine then!

So I joined with my real name. You know how Lexi Kahn is my rock name, the Boston music scene moniker I picked 11 years ago? Actually I picked it slightly before that when I was helping this New Jersey band, The Di$counts, with their website. They all had rock names, I needed a rock name. That's how Lola got her name, too, at the very same time! (Lola, where ARE those guys!?)

So yeah, all my Myspace sites and this diary and so forth, I am Lexi Kahn. On Facebook I am who I was in high school and college. And here's what happened.

BOOM.

With BOOM representing a dizzying bombardment of information, people, quizzes and things that I don't-know-what-they-are yet. Put simply, Facebook comes with a LOT of GUI. It's a tremendous amount of info on one page; it's got games, news feeds, microblog, IM, people are sending you little applications, you get a "wall" friends can "write on" and suddenly your old high school drama teacher's wife is reaching across the span of your entire adulthood to write, "Your costumes and artistry live on. Will send an email and catch up. Hope all is well." My costumes and artistry! What could the drama club still be using that I made 20 years ago!

Twenty fucking years ago.

TWENTY!?

Blown away by all this reconnecting, and caught up in the spirit, I started to think about other people I myself can seek out.

One person I thought of -- Alan Winter. Does anyone know Alan?

He used to go by the rock name "Winterboy." I haven't seen him in, oh, six or seven years?

Winterboy's music was earthy/folky, a little hippie political, a little emo/indie, a lot lovelorn troubadour. My only, only critique of Winterboy was that he never seemed to sense when a song should be over; the tunes rambled on so and sometimes his point was lost. But the songs were great, HE was great...where the hell is Winterboy?

Winterboy was a laugh riot. He had the sharpest wit. To be in Winterboy's presence was to laugh non-stop, partially at his quips, partially because of the jolly way his roly poly bearded smile burst out. He was pretty darned handsome, too, but he was also like some kind of spiritual woodland creature with a guitar, like a dude that would be perfectly comfy in Narnia. We got to be buds, we hung out at the beach and went on weird walks. He wasn't only a singer and guitar player, he also painted, great fanciful bright canvases of dreams and stars and nightmares. Envision a cross between Van Gogh and Hieronymus Bosch. Strange misshapen beasts and nudes and colorful, swirling skies. He had these nun puppets...

But alas, Winterboy doesn't seem to be on Facebook. Winterboy.com is dead. Google wants to know "don't you mean waterboy?" before grudgingly giving me dead links. There's another, younger Winterboy in London, and the Myspace Winterboy is a high school kid.

Not that I wouldn't put it past Alan to have found the fountain of youth. It was one of his dreams.

Having Winterboy lose his online presence means the Carly Simon story is gone. It used to be posted in his essays and I would read it now and then for a good, healing belly laugh.

This is so funny that I have to re-tell it. I'm sure I don't have all the detail right and may be missing something, but I remember enough.

Picture Winterboy. Zaftig, bearded, ruddy cheeked, sparkly-eyed. He seemed to like wearing a red cape, I recall. And he rode his bike everywhere. Total oddball as far as society is concerned, but a rare treat if you knew him.

Got that picture in your head? Well, one day Winterboy is on the Vineyard, off season of course, it's fall, and he happens to be shopping in a charming little boutique or health food store, something earth mother-ish. Suddenly he realizes he is standing right behind Carly Simon.

Now, Alan being Alan, he has GOT to talk to her. But he wants desperately to make a good impression. If it goes well and they strike up a genuine conversation, she may ask what he does for a living and he may even have the opportunity to give her (gasp!) a Winterboy CD. His mind is racing. What's he going to say? What'll he SAY, what's a good opening line, my GOD IT'S CARLY SIMON.

Just then the store clerk, who clearly knows Ms. Simon, notices that the toothy chanteuse is barefoot, and says something to the effect of, hey, it's fall, your feet aren't cold? Now, Winterboy, being a fan, knows full well that Carly Simon prefers to perform barefoot and is in fact most comfortable sans footwear. This is it! This is his in! He's a hippie too, he can relate! So as the clerk is ringing up Carly's purchases, Winterboy figures out just what he'll say. He comes up with the coolest, most casual opener. He'll be smooth. He'll be charming. He'll say:

"I would agree, I myself have been known to go barefoot from summer through December."

It's perfect.

He's ready. Anticipaaaaaaaaaaation!

Preparing to lay his killer line on her, he takes a breath. She turns around and looks right at him.

He freezes. He feels his chance slipping away. What does he manage to squeak out?

"My...December is summer!"

And he runs out the door.

I often wonder about that day, if Carly Simon later wondered about the scruffy folkie who mysteriously barked "December is summer" at her one fall day on the Vineyard. She did come to a few Boston Music Awards ceremonies, and I was there, and I DID have a press pass...no, I never asked her.

I really would like to catch up with that Winterboy. DECEMBER IS SUMMER!