Wicked and Weird: The Amazing Tales of Buck 65
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Star radio-host Rich Terfry presents the amazing tales of his alter ego, musician Buck 65, in this rollicking account of growing up poor, talented, baseball-obsessed, music-mad and girl-smitten.
With wit, style and a born writer's knack for telling detail, Rich Terfry gives us the wildly entertaining story of his unusual life through the eyes of his shy but brilliant and preternaturally observant alter-ego, Buck. Born in a small town in Nova Scotia to a mother who begins yelling at him the moment he is born and a father who keeps his own counsel, Buck imbibes fear and insecurity like other kids guzzle milk. Hobbled by his fears and demons, Buck almost disappears into the “evil in the woods” that lurks just beyond the town's border . . . until he is saved by three gifts: baseball, romantic love and music. His epic journey—full of diversions, coincidences, and larger-than-life characters—out of the darkness of his suicide-plagued childhood and into the bright wide world begins with a killer pitching arm (Buck almost makes it to the pros) and continues with his transformation into hip hop artist Buck 65. Along the way, Buck develops into a hopeless romantic and an obsessively creative, shape-shifting man who both fears life and dives into it with abandon. Wicked and Weird is a lively, sometimes shocking portrait of a life lived on the edge, by turns funny and heartbreaking.
The Tallest Woman in the World? The Human Anvil? Cathy, the Crab Girl? If we were lucky, it would be one of the beautiful ladies from the “hootchie-kootchie” show. The family would have a cotton candy machine set up on the porch and would invite us into their parlour to look at their collection of pickled punks and weird animals. In dirty glass terrariums they’d display two-headed snakes, giant rats and exotic spiders. • My friend Buzzy’s interest in making easy money was fostered at the Miller
being seen without pants by my co-workers. What the fuck? I asked myself over and over as I ran flopping back to the parking garage booth. It was 4:30 a.m. I was relatively safe in the booth. I covered myself with a jacket. All I had to do was make it until 7:00 a.m. without being seen by my manager. Seven came and the coast was clear. When my relief showed up to work the next shift, I explained the whole thing to him. He was a lackey, like me, and he thought my situation was hilarious. The
toward each other through dance. I had the feeling that they didn’t hear music so much as a beat; they had to dance, and it didn’t much matter to what. Since they were the only ones on the dance floor, I decided to see how far I could push them. First I played “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground. I love that song so much, but I had never before imagined it as a dance number. Not only did this couple continue to dance, I realized that they were indeed paying attention to the music and
baseman of the women’s softball team he was coaching. “She took everything but the truck.” “So what is it you do for a living now, Johnny?” I asked. Johnny became very excited. His eyes lit up as he gazed at the road ahead of us. “You’re about to find out,” he said. “Do you see what I see?” What I saw was the carcass of what appeared to be a dead deer at the bottom of the hill, about two hundred metres ahead. “Quick! Skip back to track one!” he ordered. He was referring to the CD in his
calculated that I’d been in jail for almost two weeks. It turned out that I had been incarcerated for closer to two months. Claire had figured out where I was after a week making frantic phone calls to the police in Paris and Moscow. She’d invented stories for anyone else who called looking for me, and worked frantically behind the scenes trying to get me freed. Now, at home, I continued to imprison myself. I felt the need for confined space. I spent a month in the fetal position on the floor of