Spaced Out


Here’s my pick for the world’s worst album title. The photograph is appropriately dreadful, but I’ve seen worse. One can only imagine what dark poetry is lurking in the liner notes. (If anyone out there owns this puppy, please e-mail me immediately.) It must have been a blast in the studio that day. Crowded, too. A Stylist with a clipboard, someone in charge of costumes, the photographer’s red-faced assistant (Andy something or other), a make-up artist, a sweaty copywriter from the agency who had nothing better to do.  Highballs for everyone after the shoot. The art director was already loaded from a 3-martini lunch, and slept it off that evening on the 6:32 to Westport.  When he stumbled off the train… “Hi, honey…”  his wife waved  from the passenger seat of her MG… couldn’t wait to spring her little surprise. 

She was taking him out to dinner….  on a UFO!

(INERT THEME: ” The Commuter ” by Les Baxter)


Rod Serling appears holding an attache as the train pulls out of the station and the couple drives off in the dusk.