I'm not sure where to start this tonight, and my limited gifts as a writer and orderly thinker may hinder what I'm about to type, but here's my best attempt.
I just turned off the Sundance Channel. There was a movie I was watching that from what I could determine from the first ten minutes was going to be one of those movies where people in their twenties overthink romantic relationships. These movies used to define my existence, mainly because much like the characters on screen, I kept striking out in the worst way possible.
To briefly recap, my romantic life to this point has consisted of my high school sweetheart who rightfully dumped me because I grew up too slowly, a telekinetic hypochondriac art chick, an emotionally unwound actress type, a second fly-by (which led to an eventual crash) of the previously referenced telekinetic hypochondriac, a live-in country girl, a college student who was probably too young for me, a Puerto Rican divorcee who listened to dance music, a hardcore catholic, my first wife who never listened to me and FINALLY, FINALLY, Lovely Lady Leslie. Interspersed into the above list are roughly 4 other passing liaisons that flamed out for various reasons.
Love's a great thing, but every night, when I lay next to Leslie, thinking about soon being her husband, I think "What took me so long to find her?". I probably don't tell her enough that when I drift off to sleep, I get to smile at her in the dark for about 5 minutes. We've lived together just over three years (it was three last Wednesday the 22nd), and it's still wonderful.
Love is about positive release. For me, I know that for the rest of my life, the love that I show for the human race goes out in concentric circles from a single point. Leslie is Ground Zero.
So to recap, I have Leslie, Autumn, music, water and food. What else is there?

Well, there are songs.......

I owe the loyal reader(s?) a song from the now-infamous Writ Of Common Wisdom.

One of the invented raging topics currently of the American news media is the issue of gay marriage. I for one am a proponent of gay marriage. It's about time our friends in the homosexual community got a chance to see what the sting of divorce feels like. Remember fellas, its all in fun until Chip packs a moving van with all your shit and takes off.
I wrote this song about four years ago. I guess that makes me a visionary, and I have no idea why the issue of gay marriage was in my head. It may be because my first marriage was in such a horrible place and my first wife was becoming such a shrew that the little gay man in the basement of my head was saying, "Gee, is there anything I can do to help?". Luckily, I met Leslie and the rest is history.

Georgia Says


Georgia says, “I’m gonna marry my dear lady”

Georgia says, “My lady suits me fine”

Well, Georgia says, “I’ve been around

And this true love is what I’ve found

I’m sorry if it’s stranger than it sounds.”


Georgia says, “I became aware in college

And since then there has been no turning back

‘Cause I know what is right for me

I wish you would just let me be

A woman in love with a woman in love with me.”


Love comes in many colors, shapes and sizes

And life is full of one-gender surprises


Georgia says, “It’s good to love somebody

‘Specially when you know they love you back

So raise your glasses, toast our love

And even if your god above

Don’t care for it, my lady and I…

Go hand in glove.”

So there. To my friends in the homosexual community, I support you in your struggle. Good luck.

And now I leave the good reader and bid him/her peace and love.

In this early morning, I have nothing to add to the dialogue of the world. I just thought that it would be somehow important to tell the world that I'm bored. Have a nice day.

The Autumnal Equinox is here. The season of quiet begins. The seasons of Spring and Summer are for humans; more traffic, more sounds of children playing in the sunshine. The Autumn and Winter is the time for Nature to make the noise. How I shall revel at the sounds of leaves flying down the street in the wind! The stiff winter winds will burn my ears with their speed and cold, and it will be a sweet fire. The snows will come, more silent than a whisper and touch the tip of my nose and turn to water. One would think them tears if not for the smile on my face. Let the sun worshippers hide if they must. This is MY time. I look forward to that moment when I come inside from walking in the snow and remove my shoes and socks, soaked through and through from knee-deep snow. I shall succumb to winter and in my surrender, I shall find peace. I shall become bullet-proof. The remnants of Summer will try as best as they can to hang on, with a few warm days left, but Summer is just leaving the door open as it leaves. Summer sun has no sense of the rest of the world. In the same way a child will litter a room with toys that have grown tiresome, so too does summer like to leave pieces of itself for all to see. Is it the bumper sticker on the car from the vacation spot we visitied in the past months? Is it the snapshot of frozen smiling people wearing beachware in a time when the problems of the world, if only for a moment, didn't matter? Is it a lost baseball in the bushes destined to be found by the family dog? We never truly know until we decide to look.

A cool breeze at this very moment is hitting my ankles. I don't have the heart to poison this wonderful moment with one of my songs. Let's enjoy the parting of Summer and the promise that Autumn always brings to me; human silence, natural color and the removal of my allergies.

CONCERT REVIEW
Caravan
September 20, 2004
Shank Hall, Milwaukee, WI

The year was 1983. I was 17 years old and just beginning to submerge myself into my lifelong addiction for music. I lived in the Overbrook Park section of Philadelphia, just off of Haverford Avenue and City Line Avenue. I used to take any money I could find and I would go down to Finyl Vinyl Records on Haverford. It was a record store that was run by a guy who was into jazz who never quite knew what price to put on rock records. I was into anything between the years of 1965 and 1973. I was flipping through the rock section when I came across an album with four men standing in what looked like a short forest. On the bottom of the front cover was the name of the album:

CARAVAN
If I Could Do It All Over Again, I'd Do It All Over You

How could I pass this record up? Upon flipping it over, not only was it made in the early '70's, but among the "instruments" played on the record were "worn leather strap", "hedge clippers" and (my personal favorite) "impersonation of a friendly gorilla and assorted ashtrays". I decided that THIS was a band I could welcome into my home.
Caravan is/was a starstruck band hailing from Canterbury, England. In the short lifespan that was progressive rock, Caravan operated under the radar both due to the fault of indifferent record labels and a lineup that to this day just can't keep its butt in the throne. Like almost every other progressive rock band, they were unfairly assassinated by punk rock and disco in the late '70's. Most bands of their ilk never recovered.
When I saw the advertisement in the newspaper a few weeks ago showing a double-bill at Shank Hall consisting of Caravan and their prog-rock brethren in Nektar, I felt that this would be one of my few chances prior to the afterlife to see a unit that has become one of my favorite all-time bands.
Tonight the boys in Caravan satisfied my dreams. With original members Pye Hastings and drummer Richard Coughlin, along with erstwhile members Jim Leverton, multi-instrumentalist Geoff Richardson, lead guitarist Doug Boyle and a keyboardist with a very European name that I didn't catch that was once in the band Camel (research it yourself; this guy was amazing!), Caravan played the set I always dreamed of, and then some. All the perennial favorites were here: "Golf Girl", "And I Wish I Was Stoned (Don't Worry)", "9 Feet Underground" and the closer "For Richard", along with other songs old and new that left my ears ringing, my inner child doing an interpretive dance, and my bladder in dire need of emptying from the Guinness draft and the bottle of Newcastle thank I drank before and during the show.
I was hoping to meet some of the members of the band after their set, but they never came out from behind the magic black curtain at Shank Hall. No problem. For one night, without even knowing it, they made an aging man's dream come true.
I only have one fear now. I truly though I would never see Caravan play a concert while I was alive. They are one of the bands I figured I'd see in the afterlife. Could it be that all of my dreams on this planet have finally come true? Is it safe for me to die now? What's left? Should I be questioning my entire existence now that Caravan has played "The Dog The Dog He's At It Again" while I was still drawing breath (albeit smoke -saturated breath)? As I go to sleep, I go with the knowledge that this may be the night that I don't wake up as I'm falling in my dreams. If you don't hear from me again, it's been a great ride. Love always.

1 AM. Leslie and I went and saw "Garden State" tonight at the local art house. I was really into the soundtrack, but unfortunately, the story line doesn't allow me to get too close to the movie. The main character went home again and all his problems were on the way to being solved. My home is here. My family is a burden to me that I would much rather keep at a distance. As the lady says, "And so it goes".
Yesterday was my exciting day. I went to buy tickets to see Robyn Hitchcock live (FINALLY!!) and Caravan (my prog-rock guilty pleasure) in the very near future. I have people coming from out of town to see Robyn with Leslie and I. That's extremely exciting. For now, I loaded up the CD changer with some selections from the Harris-Spencer Collection. I'm currently listening to "Volunteers" by the Jefferson Airplane. Man do I miss Nicky Hopkins!!
I'm enjoying the last cool night for a while. It's supposed to heat up for about the next week. I'm not looking forward to it. My allergies are wreaking havoc on me right now. It's getting tiresome for all who surround me, let alone myself. all I can do is drink lots of cold fluids.
The CD changer has moved to "In The Land Of Grey And Pink" by Caravan. I'm using this as a warm-up for the show I see in a week and a half. I love their instrumentation.

It strikes me that I owe the reader (do I have a reader) another song. Let's see what the Writ has for us tonight....
This one is strange. Did you ever pass someone on the street, or take a look around your office at the people who surround you? I do it all the time. I think often about just how many people I never come anywhere near again who pass me on a given day. That guy in traffic? Forget it, I'll never see them again. That co-worker who's leaving? Maybe, but anything past a few compulsory " how ya doin' " is something of a pipe dream. This song addresses that a little bit. In my last insurance job, there was a temp worker named Heather who, while not knockdown dragout beautiful, had something from afar than my mind's eye fixed on. It's very hard to explain with the passage of over 8 years time, but I had this idea of regretting not meeting everyone in the world. I wasn't romantically interested in Heather, but the song comes out sounding that way. I write a lot about the idea of courage. I don't have much really. About the most courageous thing I ever did was walk out on my first wife to try to build a better life for myself with the time I have left in existense. My lack of courage really stems from being shy around people I don't know. At a party full of strangers, you can usually find me somewhere near the dish of honey-roasted peanuts. I tend to think in ideas and facts and not in the interpersonal.
So to sum up, this song isn't about Heather so much as it is about my lack of ability to introduce myself to strangers. I'm getting better, but not by much. I spent too much damned time on the East Coast.

For Lack Of Courage


They tell me that you’re leavin’ without bein’ introduced

Now my heart’s a little heavy, and my soul a bit reduced

This face of yours is magic and your hair the wind itself

And these massive aching feelings, I’ll just keep them to myself


But why then am I happy that your door should open wide

Could it be that way deep down I know these feelings will subside

And then I look at you again and I knew that I was wrong

And I’ll never find the courage to walk up and say “so long”


All the times you passed me by and you didn’t say hello

You made me smile by bein’ there and you didn’t even know


But enjoy the road ahead; I hope it gives you everything

Even though to you, I know I just don’t mean a thing

Let the sun cast giant shadows back to every step you take

And I’ll laugh a little louder with my shyness my mistake

Damn, what I might have missed in this world if only for a little forcefulness.

And now it's time to move on into the night. Such beautiful winds I get here from Lake Michigan. It's almost nice enough for a seat outside.....

We're often told from our earliest moments of awareness that there are good days and bad days in life. The catch, as I always understood it, was that these days were supposed to be mutually exclusive of one another. Someday, I'd love for someone to tell me what this day all meant.
12 Noon - I had my annual salary review, which resulted in a raise of half a dollar an hour. The owners of my company were equal parts supportive and reproachful of my efforts over the last year, but the main thing I walked away with was the raise. I went home after my review, had a Boca Bagel (my own creation; a light bagel, with two Boca burgers, habanero sauce, jalapeno peppers and Tabasco; it never gets old) and reveled in my raise.
2:16 PM - I have been fighting with MBNA, one of my credit card companies who was stupid enough to extend enormous amounts of credit to me at the same cosmic moment that I decided that my CD collection needed expanding, for a lower interest rate. Get this; I entered a debt management plan with them six years ago. I dropped out of the debt management plan three years ago because I could finally afford to take over the payments by myself. In addition, I have been paying them a few extra dollars a month above and beyond what they have been asking for. I decided when I got my bill from them in the mail last week that enough time had passed and that I could finally tell them that I am out of the debt management plan. All of a sudden, the flunky CSR on the other end of the phone (the only redeeming quality being possessed by this operator being that she wasn't in India, unlike Capital One, whom I have dumped as a creditor because I am firmly against outsourcing American jobs) tells me that due to the fact that I am no longer in the debt management plan, my interest rate is going up 3 percentage points. After a week of pleading my case to numerous happy-sounding surrogates on the phone, they have finally reneged on that threat and my interest rate will stay the same. They informed me of this by leaving me a voicemail on my cell phone. A footnote: MBNA said I skipped payments to them way back in 1998 for six consecutive months. This is not my fault, but the fault of MBNA, who took four months to respond to the pleas from my debt management company to accept a fixed monthly payment. In summation, MBNA sucks harder than a toothless prostitute and NO ONE should accept their credit cards under any circumstances. The worst part? They are incorporated in Delaware, which is roughly the same from a tax-paying standpoint as the Cayman Islands. Delaware can offer the consumer tax-free shopping because virtually every American corporation has a dummy office in Wilmington and the suburbs of Wilmington.
4:15 PM - I met Leslie at the vet. Our cat Sadie has been deteriorating lately, so much so that she became extremely dehydrated and wasn't eating. The vet gave us an outline of a very expensive convalescense involving fluid pushes and thyroid medications for the rest of our lives, but she was 14 and that it was probably time. Leslie and I were by her side as she was put to sleep. Leslie had her longer than I had her, but from the moment that Leslie and I moved in together, Sadie became my cat. Our dog is Leslie's dog, as he prefers the company of women. Sadie could be a pest and as stubborn as any human, but she was mine. About an hour ago I could have sworn that I saw her turning the corner from the kitchen to come into the office. It turned out to be a tissue, still in the box, moving from the breeze coming in my window. I was going to start a diet today, but I talked Leslie into a pizza to salve my depression. It helped a little. What probably didn't help was watching an episode of "Dead Like Me" on videotape which involved taking a cat to the vet. We should have stuck to the World Cup Of Hockey, but Leslie prefers virtually anything but sports.
We came home from the veterinarian's office to a letter from my professional organization telling me that they had turned down my proposal to speak at their next conference this coming Spring. There goes money and accolades out the window. It would have been a nice feather in my cap, but it will have to wait another day.

We're often told that there will be good days and bad days. This day started out great and slowly deteriorated into a not-so-great day. For the first time in almost three years, I shall go to bed tonight without Sadie putting me to sleep by laying on my chest. I never believed the religious claptrap about animals not having souls. The animals are here, and they keep us company in the best and worst of times. Perhaps their souls are not as tortured as our own, but they're in there somewhere. I found one of Sadie's whiskers in the hallway after we got home tonight. I think I'll hang on to that for awhile.

No songs tonight. Just give the pets an extra rub for me. Rest in peace, Sadie.

It's a BEAUTIFUL sunny September 4th in Milwaukee. I'm listening to Echo & The Bunnymen as I feel a soft and not-too-humid breeze flow through my window.
The Republican Hatefest wrapped up in New York this week. I watched it on TV for a grand total of zero seconds. I read enough of the news accounts of this dog and pony show to know that the Republican Party has slowly morphed into the most organized, efficient and corporately subsidized hate group in the United States. Poor misguided bastards.
I've been playing a lot of Literati on Yahoo lately (their version of Scrabble). As I meet more and more random women while playing, I find it just amazing how much more I love Leslie. I hold love in my heart for the entire world, but in order to share that with the world, I feel it is important to have a powerful example of love in your own house. I can say unequivocally that I have that now. The years of plaque and angst that surrounds my heart from being around people who made me feel OBLIGATED to love them is chipping away a little more each day. I could almost go outside and enjoy the sunshine, if not for my allergies.

And now, for the first time in far too long, I present another song from The Writ Of Common Wisdom. Now, where did I leave off...?
This is a crappy song I wrote about acid flashbacks. One of the biggest lies in America is that people actually suffer acid flashbacks. I agree with Hunter Thompson; I feel cheated that the flashbacks haven't come. This song can be viewed as my contribution to the Great American Lie and myth of what happens after you do drugs. This song also contains a lot of references to what happened to me personally when I was into acid that the reader may not understand. Feel free to ask me about all of them someday.

Flashin’ Back Again


I can’t look at that painting of the drunk clown anymore

I took him down, turned him around, and put him on the floor

Accordions are buzzin’ loud, and still they buzz some more

I’m flashin’ back again, please help me find the middle door


I’ve had an even dozen beers from the case I bought today

Nathan drank the other twelve, laughing all the way

In the August sky, I think I see a one-horse open sleigh

I’m flashin’ back again, but if I’m smilin’, I’m OK


The world is shaking madly, Lord forgive what I have done

With my pupils doing flip-flops and my sanity on the run


On Sundays when I go to church and get down on my knees

The stained-glass windows glowing there leave me ill at ease

Pontius Pilate winks at me, don’t crucify me, please

I’m flashin’ back again, God knows I’ve had a few of these


Night falls like a ton of cats since I dried out last year

I stare into the darkness waiting for a 13th beer

There’s Miles Davis in a swaying tree, and a modicum of fear

I’m flashin’ back again, I kinda wish I wasn’t here


That song is dedicated to my old friend Nathan Brodmerkel. I hope he's doing well. I may giv e you another entry later today. I've been EXTREMELY lazy lately, and for that I'm sorry.

Happy Labor Day weekend everyone. That you, organized labor, for the 40-hour work week!

What a goofy day! I was the lone member of the management team in the building today. I suddenly was the answer man. Funny what a guy in a Hawaiian shirt can get accomplished when pushed.
I really don't have much news tonight. I'm hoping that I'll have something to report on tomorrow. We'll see. One thing is for sure; the day will start with two episodes of "The Green Hornet" on cable. I now have the theme to that show as the ring tone on my phone. It's a psychotic variation on "Flight Of The Bumblebee". Really cool.
Tonight's selection from the famed Writ Of Common Wisdom can very much be identified as the beginning of me stretching my legs as a songwriter. This song is eleven years old. I wrote this while I was living in Greensboro, North Carolina in late '92 or early '93. I wrote it, left it alone for a while, and then in going back through the few songs that I had already written, discovered I had used this exact same chord progression for another song with a faster tempo. The dream is to someday put the first song (which I call "Interior") and this song as the bookend tracks of a concept album. There's a line in this about living "beside this train". This is not an exaggeration. There were freight train tracks about 30 yards from my apartment window in Greensboro. As a person who's used to city trolley cars, this was a little disconcerting when the first freights passed by my window. I got used to it though, as this song celebrates to a degree.

Exterior (Somewhere Else)


The most important people in my life have come and gone

And my eyes won’t see that truth for many days

And I can’t remember who it was who told me I was wrong

When I told them non-conformity pays

I find myself in foreign towns where people twist my name

And at least on face will always ring some bells

And I could travel here and elsewhere, but it all remains the same

‘Cause I always know that I’m from somewhere else


I wake up in the morning and I wish I was with you

And knowin’ your not here will bring me grief

And I quickly regress back to 1986

And I rub my swollen eyes in disbelief

You’re standing fully clothed, flicking ashes on my bed

But I know it’s all a dream inside my self

And I could wish here and elsewhere, but it’s all within my head

‘Cause I always know that I’m from somewhere else


My days go by in darkness and my nights about the same

And I’m not sure how much longer I can last

And I look around my neighborhood for someone I can blame

Or someone to remove me from my past

And things that seem to matter equal nothing in the end

And pretending to love is something I can’t sell

And I could live here beside this train or someplace ‘round the bend

But I’ll always know

I’ll always know

I’ll always know I’m from somewhere else


I don't play this song much anymore, but it still has its strong points when I sing it. For now, I'm going to enjoy the break in the humidity of the last few days, continue listening to Midnight Oil's "Red Sails In The Sunset" and continue my search for hidden wisdom.

OK, I haven't had the patience to put an entry up this week, but MAN do I have a lot to say, so here it comes.
We'll start with this past Sunday. Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards paid a visit not just to my state, but to my neighborhood. It was advertised as a block party. It was situated roughly four blocks away from my current abode in Milwaukee. I walked up in the afternoon and had numerous nice conversations with the other people in the crowd. I went up to Humboldt Park at roughly 3 PM. While Edwards didn't make his appearance until 7 PM, I didn't mind. It is emboldening and empowering to know that I do not stand alone against this travesty of a president we currently have in office. I ended up standing next to a very nice lady who later bought me a bottle of water for saving her spot while she went to the bathroom (ah, Porto-San!).
John's speech was highlighted by his typical talking points (two americas, creating opportunities, the moral imperative of fighting poverty), but on this day, he added a special harangue for these lying bastards who are running ads trashing Kerry's military service. Nevermind that EVERY official military document directly contradicts what these Brownshirts are spewing, but they ought to get a good look at the record (or destroyed lack thereof) of the man they support. Our president is a cokehead and a drunk who skipped his last Air National Guard physical and went missing because he couldn't possibly pass a medical screening. This fact has been covered up very carefully by his propaganda minister, Karl Rove.
On to more positive topics. At the end of Mr. Edwards' speech, I dared to launch myself into the crowd and with a desperate reach of a hand, I shook the hand of the future vice-president of the United States. It was a moment that filled me with a great sense of peace and satisfaction. Who knew shaking the hand of a politician could have such an effect?
My boss is back from her injury and in remarkably good spirits. I wish her a continued speedy recovery. Lovely Lady Leslie is trying to talk me into going to her father's place this weekend for a garage sale. I'm not really interested in going. I want to bury myself in paperwork this weekend. For the short time, I think I'm going back to the Bremen Cafe tomorrow night to hit their open mic to pump out some more tunes.
And one of them might be this one. Since I'm in a political mood, I'm going to jump out of order and give you a song I've written about our current misLeader. More to the point, I see the United States as currently being in a state of civil war. It gratifies me that I am on the correct side of this argument, but honestly, I don't see this war ending with the election. A lot of people are looking at this coming election as the end of this madness. I see it as only the beginning. No one in this country is listening to anyone from the other side anymore. All I am hearing is hate speech from the right, and invective from the left. This song talks about my eventual exodus from this country.

Right Foot Down


The turnin’ of the tide is turnin’ to a tidal wave

And no one seems to listen anymore

It only takes a nervous tic on someone else’s gun

To turn discussion into civil war

But I’ll be on the sidelines with my gun up on the shelf

Drinking beer and living long while you destroy yourself


CHORUS:

So put your right foot down

Pick your left foot up

Kick your right foot out

And you’ll all fall down (2X)


See the monkey leader read his cue card speech with ease

He made himself on someone else’s dime

I wonder whose banana he’ll be chomping on today

Or if he’ll just go missing one more time

Though someone’s gonna pick him off it hasn’t happened yet

As he stands on top of corpses telling you you’re in his debt


(Chorus)


What seems to him like heaven is a hell for me and you

If you think that number one is bad, take a whiff of number two

(Chorus)

I gladly lend my voice to those who would fight this terrible, heartless and cynical presidency with all of their might. As people lay dying in Darfur, Sudan due to religious hatred, as our veterans go without adequate healthcare, as MILLIONS of people in this and other countries go to sleep hungry and as our young men and women slowly get killed in a land we had no credible reason to invade, I wonder how Mr. Bush sleeps at night. And the most infuriating thing is he dares to stand in front of America saying that God speaks to him. Mr. Bush, may I sit here and exercise my First Amendment right to say "Fuck you!!".

FAST REVIEW
Project I AM
August 18, 2004
Open Mic, Bremen Cafe

Ah, open mics. The first step on the road to Hope. The last undiscovered country of music where the talentless mingle with the criminally undiscovered.
Thursday, August 19,2004 saw an open mic at the Bremen Cafe, located at the coner of E. Clarke and Bremen in Milwaukee, a nice little place with great food and all the Newcastle Brown Ale a dark-beer-drinking singer needs to oil his pipes prior to setting the room either on fire or running for the exits. On this night, there was a purpose afoot, for this was the humble debut of four performers appearing under the banner of Project I AM, a new and exciting venture put forth in the hope of forming a front of support for musicians, artists and the chronically creative in Milwaukee and the surrounding area. Thanks to the quick thinking of project founder, Eric Kulwicki, the four performers started off the open mic in the first four spots on the bill.
First up was Kulwicki, starting off the evening by bringing a post-grunge aesthetic forward with his three strong songs. Kulwicki's voice was revealed as a distinct surprise. It is hoped that his tasks as a leader will not keep him off the stage in a role that seems to come naturally to him.
The second act was some nameless hack who missed several chords on his acoustic guitar and bellowed histrionically with his eyes closed, causing the breakage of several beer glasses, one stained-glass window and - in the unkindest cut of all- an ovary belonging to a poor, unfortunate college girl in the back of the cafe who was innocently surfing the internet at the time. The audience applauded as he quickly exited the stage amidst a hail of sandwich baskets, balled-up paper towels and rotting peppers.
Next up was Craig Stoneman, whose daring chord choices highlighted songs of great humor and keen observation. Instrumentally, Stoneman showed himself to be the strongest of the four acts, easily gliding up and down the bridge with ease. His third song, which lamented the absense of actual music on MTV, deserves to be repeated.
Thankfully, the project saved the best for last. Jennifer (last name still withheld; why is that?) took the stage, Stratocaster in hand, and left the crowd wanting more with her sole performance, an original composition called "Sorrow". Emotion exuded from every note from her mouth. Nervous due to being a piano player first and a guitar player second, Jennifer was both relieved and deservedly pleased as she left the stage.
It is hoped that Project I AM will be blowing through another venue in the very near future for more performances like this one. Stay Tuned..........

Late at night....waiting for the humidity to break. A cool breeze is trying to fight through the heat and take over. In the interim, I have the ceiling fans on.
Tomorrow is the coming-out of Project IAM at the Bremen Cafe. I'm rather excited about this. It will be nice to know that I have someone else rattling the sabre and charging up the hill with me. In the spirit of team play, I'm listening to Bakkus' record for what must be the seventh or eighth time since I acquired it. The music is well-played. This is solid rock and roll. I hope they accomplish what they want with it. It's a really tight record.
As for me, I contacted the spectres of musicians past today. I dropped an e-mail to Curtis, one of my oldest friends in the world and one hell of a musician. Between flooding in his basement and his youngest son contracting hand, foot and mouth disease (they live on the fringes of Amish country in South Central Pennsylvania), life is good for Curtis. I first met Curtis when I was 14 (almost twice that much time has passed since then; unbelievable!). I met him through a mutual friend. I was plastered on kamikazes and he was playing with the band who I had helped with the moving of equipment. I seem to remember that this was his first gig with that high school band. The rhythm guitarist lit this girl's patio on fire and initiated Curtis into the band. Just ridiculous. I bet the patio still has a slight stain from the reagent alcohol that fanned the flames. The girl was Shelley Straff. She fancied herself an actress/singer. She annoyed the hell out of a lot of people.
Ah, memories. What a filter! Oh well, onward to tonight's entry. I have no idea what inspired this song. For a time, I was writing a lot of ballads with natural elements (sea, sand, snow, rain, clouds, blah blah blah). This is one of those songs. I find that when I write ballads, I escape to the natural world instead of the many abstractions that are encountered by looking inward. I've always liked the elements, but unfortunately I have no tolerance for them most of the time, as I have chronic seasonal allergies. It turns out that Milwaukee is second only to Grand Rapids, Michigan for cities rated best for allergy sufferers in the United States. I have stumbled accidentally into the right place. Another reason to love it here. I don't know what all of this has to do with tonight's entry, but at the very least I've given the reader a window into the world of J.P.

Every Leafless Tree


If you knew how much I miss you, try’n to dream away the pain

In the lonely days of winter I can hardly stand the strain

In the wind-blown snows of evening, how the drifts become the sea

And I see us on a sandy shore in every leafless tree


To see you was a month of love in a second and a half

How my hands caressed your body in that private hotel bath

It’s these memories of you that come ever back to me

On every silent snowfall, in every leafless tree


And the winds blow hard and bitter ever vigilant and cold

My arms hang lifeless at my sides without a hand to hold

I tell myself under all this white, a little green must grow

A memory of love and loss under January snow


If the seasons change, they can replace the cold with warmth again

A ray of hope for golden days to say, “Remember when?”

A love entombed in ice is always difficult to see

And yet I’ll search in time for you in every leafless tree


This song is in a lower vocal register than what I am used to, but I think I pull it off rather well. The chord structure allows for that. For now. I have to kill just a slight bit more of time before I fall blissfully asleep next to Lovely Lady Leslie, with our cat Sadie continuing her hunger strike at the foot of the bed. Crazy place this world.....

Another August 17th has come and gone. For all of those reading this who had a birthday on the day that just expired (in the immortal words of Ray Manzarek) may you have had some champagne, eaten some cake and balled the old lady!
It's been a bad couple of days. I found out today that my boss broke a cervical vertebrae falling off a horse. She is being told not to talk due to cord shock and will be fitted with a cervical collar for roughly three months to speed healing. Get well soon Jill! I 'm not sure which is worse for you; the pain in your neck or you not talking. May you regain both soon.
And this was on the heals of finding out that a person I work with in one of our client's offices lost her grandmother and father within a week of each other. She's only 21. I can't imagine the grieving process she must be going through. Peace to you Jenny!
The next song in alphabetical order in the Writ Of Common Wisdom is inappropriate after news like this, but what better way to change the mood, right? Perhaps when I think about it, this song is totally appropriate. I wrote this song way back in the foreign country known as the 1990's at the peak of the grunge boom. I was growing increasingly tired of winy depressives with tattoos telling me in 7-minute songs how bad they felt. This was my two-chord reaction to all of this foolishness. Is it any wonder that Kurt Cobain and Layne Staley are dead, given the dour mood of their music? This song could use some updating, as we live in a period of profound stupidity, starting with the current occupant of the Oval Office and trickling down. May we all forget this time period soon by welcoming President Kerry.

Everybody’s Stupid


Everybody reads the paper

Everybody listens to the press

Everybody wears a goatee

Everybody’s so depressed, I guess everybody’s

Stupid, STUpid, STUPID!!!!!


Everybody’s watchin’ TV

Everybody’s feelin’ lousy

Everybody’s huffin’ bug spray

Everybody quotes Bukowski, everybody’s

Stupid, STUpid, STUPID!!!!!


Everybody’s switchin’ spouses

Everybody idiot’s a warrior

Everybody’s getting tattoos

Every killer gets a lawyer, everybody’s

Stupid, STUpid, STUPID!!!!!


Not one of my more subtle compositions, but I think this does the trick. When the stupidity around me in this country surrounds me to a higher degree than normal (how could it GET any higher?), this song pops into my head. Up yours, America! You're slouching towards illiteracy, imperialism and dictatorship. WAKE UP!!

It's been too long a time since I decided to stop in. The week was uneventful. The political season opens itself up to charge and countercharge. I did my good deed by putting a Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker on my car. I did have one very good experience this week. I met Michael Proft, a fellow member of my Laura Nyro discussion group on Http://www.cafeutne.org. It is always a relief to discover that a like-minded individual resides in your immediate sphere of influence. I hope to have further conversations with Michael as time goes forward. I have a feeling he can add to my generally happy mood. I only hope I can add to his as well.
Currently, I'm listening to the very poor CD release of the album "Wow/Grape Jam" by Moby Grape. I say poor due to the fact that there are tracks missing from it. Hopefully this will be rectified someday.
I'm going to give the reader a bonus this early morning. Instead of just one entry from The Writ, I'm going to offer two. This is my penalty for staying away for a week. Now, where did we leave off?....
The first of tonight's two entries is a relatively new entry. When one listens to a lot of Randy Newman, songs like this tend to pop up. Why anyone would write a song about stealing a dead body on the first day on the job as a hearse driver is beyond me; or perhaps, it's right up my alley. The hardest part of writing this song was thinking about what a man who dies in his sleep dreams about. All in all, if I get the chance to die in my sleep, I guess dreaming about strippers with even tans wouldn't be so bad.

Drivin’ Away


Benny Watson, late of Hunter Park

Died smiling, his eyes closed in the dark

Dreamin’ about strippers with even tans

His family put a little money down

For a lovely casket to be buried in the ground

But that hearse driver, he had other plans


CHORUS:
He’s drivin’ away, He’s drivin’ away

That big black car is gonna go far today

He’s drivin’ away. He’s drivin’ away

Where Benny lands, no one can really say


Jimmy Neal, first day behind the wheel

Taking bodies to the cemetery field

Drivin’ slow, leading with his headlights on

In heavy traffic, he saw an exit ramp

His brow was sweaty, his hands a little damp

Before they knew it, Jimmy and Benny were gone

(Chorus)

BRIDGE:
Jimmy drove all day and all night

And Benny never said a word

“What’s a matter Benny? You’re mouth sewn shut?”

Was all that Benny might have heard


Jimmy got hungry; he stopped off for a bite

At a Jersey rest stop in the middle of the night

Had himself a burger and a big ol’ Coke to boot

Out of the window, in the corner of his eye

The hearse he was drivin’ was waving him goodbye

Benny always looked great in his favorite suit
(Chorus)

The second selection tonight is of the same ilk as the first, only more outrageous. I feel I must preface this by saying that I'm NOT a fan of the writing of Ernest Hemingway. It becomes more and more dated with each passing day, and reading about some guy's macho exploits is the last thing I feel like doing in this world. Why not just go to a frat party and watch small-minded schmoes drink themselves sick? This song is my revenge for having to read "For Whom The Bell Tolls" in high school. Leslie probably wouldn't appreciate this song, as she works with the mentally ill for a living, but Hemingway is too inviting a target for my pen.

Ernest Hemingway Discovers The Wonders Of Prozac


F. Scott Fitzgerald novels on the bathroom windowsills

And everything looks funny when I take these little pills

Bullfights are less exciting and the fish just aren’t as big

I feel less like a macho man, more like a chauvinist pig

CHORUS:
Put away your bullets boys, for my sofa is the sea,


Ask not for whom the pill tolls, man, you know it tolls for me


Well I’m not half as angry and I’m not half as sad

Since I got this here prescription Ketchum doesn’t seem so bad

I think I’ll stick around about another year or ten

And sing songs with that Dylan kid and never say, “Remember when…”

(Chorus)


Medication is the answer, my own little movable feast

I might have a shaggy beard, but I don’t feel like a beast……….anymore


Well, I keep them in a bottle just above the bathroom sink

If I knew about this long ago, I’d have never had a drink

I’d never drive an ambulance or try to shoot a deer

And I don’t even give a curse that Marcelline’s not here

(Chorus)

CODA: ……..for thee, and all of we.


The sun's getting ready to come up, so I'll bid the world a fond "until we meet again" and shuffle off to bed. Peace and Love

"...they never stop thinking of ways to harm Americans, and neither do we."

George W. Bush, referring to terrorists.

Kerry/Edwards 2004!!


I'm VERY sorry for not posting something this week. It was a busy week at work, dealing with multiple vacations, illness and the loss of Judy's production. It only gets better next week when one of my employees remains on vacation, and another one goes on maternity leave. To my unit's credit, we got everything done that we needed to get done. I thanked the four employees who showed up yesterday for their extraordinary efforts.
Last night, I went to a place called The Main Stage in Waukesha for the first meeting of Project IAM, (http://www.projectiam.org) and the band of one of the members, Bakkus, played a great set of music for their CD release party. I received a copy of their CD "Seventyonesix" and will listen to it later in the ol' changer. What I heard last night through the substandard sound mix of the bar was intriguing. I'll write a review here after I've listened to it.
Leslie went to her sister's place in Illinois today, and I'm all alone. The dog is sleeping, the cat is slowly dying because she's too lazy to eat a full meal and I'm here dreaming of a pizza which I may or may not buy.
Today's entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom is, bluntly, a hangover song. This song is a compendium of all the rough mornings I heard people have had or I have had after drinking heavily. There's something to be said for actually RECOGNIZING the person you wake up next to after a drinking binge.


Drink Some Juice


Well I woke up with my keys taped to my forehead

And a pack of Camels underneath my arm

There’s bottle caps and condom wrappers everywhere

And this woman’s face is just cause for alarm


Now the wine did treat me badly and affected my eyesight

But I’ll drink some juice and everything’s all right


Well my head feels like a 12-ton ball of headcheese

And the birds outside sound like a traffic jam

Every step I take goes to my cranium

Her name is Kim, but I just called her Pam


Now my cash has all been squandered, and my eyes ache from the light

But I’ll drink some juice and everything’s all right


My kingdom for a good pair of sunglasses

The beer goggles I had don’t fit right now

This shower water feels a little heavy

I think I’ll puke before I reach my towel


Well I wish I wasn’t working, wanna sleep until tonight

But I’ll drink some juice and everything’s all right

Said everything’s all right!


I'm off to get some food. I haven't eaten yet today. More to come later. Love to all.

OK, I'm kind of pissed off. I've tried to post this song twice, and I keep getting some kind of error that shuts down my computer. I'm going to try again. First off, nothing's happening. I'm broke until next Wednesday, I'm looking forward to the initial meeting of Project I Am on Friday night. Leslie is currently at a golf outing with her company today. She'll be home in an hour.

And now, today, the final attempt at this entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom. It does need some background. I am a passive sports fan. I've been a little more passive since I left Philadelphia, but I follow sports with some level of acuity. My favorite sport is ice hockey, and in the summer months (and what may be longer this year due to a labor dispute) when there's no hockey, I turn to baseball. Baseball is a very forgiving game. You can be at your worst physically and mentally and still have the game of your life. Babe Ruth often hit home runs when he was either drunk or hung over, and he's still beloved after all these years. Which brings us to the strange case of pitcher Dock Ellis. One day in the early 1970's, while pitching for the Pittsburgh Pirates, Dock Ellis threw a no-hitter, which is not an easy feat. I watched Steve Carlton, who was the best conditioned left-handed pitcher I ever saw, win 329 games in the big leagues, and he never threw a no-hitter. Dock Ellis did, but on the day he threw his no-hitter, he was erratic. He walked a few guys, hit a few guys and generally had no control of the ball, and yet he threw a no-hitter. Years later in an interview, Ellis admitted that on the day he threw his no-hitter, which was the absolute apex of his big league career, he was on LSD. When presented with this information, I couldn't possibly ignore it. Therefore I give you....


Dock Ellis


Why is the crowd swaying back and forth the way they are?
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)

What a weird-looking multi-colored bullpen car
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)

It’s a beautiful day for baseball, or for kickin’ back and shootin’ the breeze

I can get these guys out with the greatest of ease


I don’t need any warm-up pitches today
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)

The tip of my tongue says I can pitch out here all day
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)
I’m sorry I hit your leg, baby, I’m sorry I hit your arm

Like, I don’t believe in doing anybody harm…you dig?


I’m not the world’s greatest pitcher, but today I’m the whole league’s ace

Today you won’t hit one by me; today you’ll never wipe this smile off my face; YAA!


One more out and my no-hitter day is through
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)

You can’t hit me but dude I can sure hit you
(Can’t hit me, you know you can’t hit me)

The pitcher’s mound ain’t the only thing I’ll be coming down from today

Life is like…you know…what did I just say?


And that's that. This song is my psychedelic (of course) tour-de-force. When completed, this one is one for the ages as far as effects go.
I'm going to get some decent sleep tonight, so this post is my last today. Take care of each other. It could be that that is all you get for a while.

CONCERT REVIEW
SHOE SUEDE BLUES With PETER TORK
Saturday July 31, 2004
Shank Hall, Milwaukee, WI

OK, first things first. Peter Tork of The Monkees can play an instrument. In fact, he can play a NUMBER of instruments, and very well I might add. Despite the historical drubbing that The Monkees have taken from the critical music press, the band as it was constitued in the beginning contained three members out of four that could play something. I defy you to find a manufactured band in this day and age which has a member who can play ANYTHING, save for the listening public for the gullible suckers that they are.
With this knowledge in mind, I, along with three female compatriots (Peter WAS a Monkee, after all; Monkee = chick magnet) went along to Shank Hall to see Peter Tork and the band Shoe Suede Blues. Being a bit of a blues fan, my attention was gained with the blusier numbers of the evening, including nice renditions of the classics "Wine" and "Let Me Play Wit' Your Poodle". Tork, along with band mates (my apologies for not completely remembering their last names) Richie on guitar, Michael on bass and John on drums, were enjoying themselves greatly when their attentions turned to blues, and they acquitted themselves well in that idiom.
And yet this is obviously NOT what the audience of mostly women of all ages was there to hear. The audience thoroughly enjoyed the smattering of Monkees covers thrown in for their entertainment. Many women danced, including a large-breasted young lady whom I thought would surely blacken her own eyes, whom Mr. Tork enjoyed greatly based on the look on his face. And yes, The band performed that timeless favorite "Your Auntie Grizelda".
If this were a band that was playing your typical blues joint on a Saturday night, they'd probably get some positive press. Unfortunately, the weight of legacies die hard for aging teenage idols. I'll give Peter this though; I can only hope to be playing to a room full of women when I'm 62 years old. That counts for something.

Ok, it's late but I'm a few days overdue. Here's what we missed...
The Democratic Convention wrapped up tonight. I'd like to say that the only way to really REALLY watch the way the United States government works, free of so called journalists, free of opinion and spin, is to watch C-SPAN. I watched the convention solely on C-SPAN, without commentary, and I thought it was just great. It was a relief not to here aging political hacks chime in with their jaded and useless opinions. One thing that "Fahrenheit 9/11" taught me is that the press in this country is bloated, lazy and only truly worried about whether the shrimp at the after-party is going to be chilled to their specifications. Besides that, one look at George Will tells you that that man has suffered his share of wedgies in his lifetime at the hands of people who are funnier and much less annoying.
Kerry's speech was basically a battle plan set to the rhythm and cadence of a political convention. It was upbeat, it was positive, but unfortunately, I didn't think he went after this God-awful president and his team. We'll see how he does in direct debate. Leslie had a good laugh when Kerry malapropped himself into a corner stating that the children in Harlem have asthma from "hair pollution". It painted an interesting mental picture if nothing else.
I'm glad I'm going into a Friday. I could use the weekend right now. I'm getting my haircut Saturday afternoon. We'll see how that goes. In some strange way, the length of my hair is directly proportional to my feelings of youth and vigor. Coupled with the fact that I have ears that are so big they track satellites, I don't like getting my hair cut.
Now, tonight's song. This song is extremely painful for me, and I'll NEVER play it publicly. There's nothing in my life that shouldn't be explored in some artistic way, especially songwriting. Songs are, above all things, mile markers that always take us to another place and time in our lives. The place this song takes me to is not a pleasant one by any stretch of the imagination. Having said that, this one probably owes something to the influence of Loudon Wainwright III. By the way, Loudon has a GREAT election year ditty on his website called "President's Day". I highly recommend it. Anyway, here's the song of the day.

 
 Daughters Can’t Dance

                                            
My lady Anna got off of the couch
                                                           
Her daddy’s a salesman; her momma’s a grouch
                                                         
She wanted to dance, and oh, did we try
                                                                    
But daughters can’t dance, and neither can I

                                                    
Never leave the children alone
                                                                  
Anna and I had a girl of our own
                                         
Timing was against us, and I took the blame

And daughters can’t dance if they don’t have a name

                                        
Anonymous doctor took my baby away
                                                                          
Well, she wanted to run, Lord, she wanted to play
                       
She could have two-stepped, and maybe learned The Fly

But daughters can’t dance, and neither can I

 
That does it. I'd like to end on a high note, so I'll tell you all that love is always in the air, despite appearances to the contrary. You can find it with the same vigilance we all tap into to find the bad things in life. It's out there, people. Embrace it.

This week's big event is the Democratic National Convention in Boston, Massachusetts. I watched some of the later speeches tonight. I caught a war buddy of John Kerry's, Hillary Clinton and then her erstwhile husband Bill, who can still deliver on the stump. He looks like he's slimmed down too. Good for him. He must have watched "Super Size Me".
I have been a Democrat for life since mid-2000. I was a registered Libertarian, until, in their paranoid zeal, they warned people not to answer the census. Perhaps they saw the Patriot Act coming, but after I saw George W. Bush become the Republican nominee, I felt it was more important to keep a complete buffoon out of the White House than it was to take a stand. I've been a Democrat ever since the Great Theft of 2000.

I could have more patience with the Republican viewpoint if they weren't SOOO ignorant. They seem to take their verbal cues from the Limbaughs, Hannitys and Gingriches of the world, which is truly a shame. I think Bill Maher said it best when he was on Larry King last week. When you watch the conventions, bear in mind that at least the Democrats show their true face at their conventions. I lived outside Philadelphia in 2000 when the Republicans had their convention there. It was a ludicrous dog and pony show. They marched out every ethnic or near-ethnic person with the barest minimum of Republican ties in a quixotic attempt to show Republican diversity. Nevermind that these people were talking to so many old white men that the smell of Center City Philadelphia was masked with the stench of Old Spice, which is no small feat. They also drew the lamest of celebrities. In addition to tired war horses like Chuck "Cold Dead Hands" Heston, they drew the ever-bodacious sometime nude model and bad actress Bo Derek. She has her head up her ass politically, but hey, nice tits honey!

There will be more convention frivolity to follow in the coming days, but tonight I have a special song from Spencer's Writ Of Common Wisdom. I write a lot of songs based on dreams I have (when I think they sound good; last night an original country song popped into my head with vocals that sounded like Emmylou Harris; I can't sing like Emmylou harris [who can], so the song is lost in near-sleep for the rest of time). I had a dream once where I was in a park at dusk. I walked over to a picnic table and sitting there was the child actress Anissa Jones. I was aware that she had died barely into adulthood of a heroin overdose. I used to watch the TV show "Family Affair" as a kid, to the best of my knowledge her only TV credit. In my dream, Anissa was frozen in time as that child I had watched so many years before. She had a hypodermic needle in her hand, and in my dream I took it away from her. When I woke up, I wrote this song. Anissa met an ignominious end, like one too many of her contemporaries in that time period. I've written a lot of songs that I think have staying power, but this is probably one of the few that I would like to know that people are singing 50 years after I'm dead. It's also hoped that those who read or hear the song and know an addict somewhere are spurred to action. It's not easy to intervene between a human being and their addictions, whatever they may be, but if successful, two lives get better. Anissa is frozen in my mind as that innocent child actress holding the Mrs. Beasley doll on "Family Affair". This one's for her. I hope she's somewhere peaceful.
There is one line that always causes confusion "There's a reverend eating women in the city" refers to the savage crimes of Gary Heidnik, a self-styled mentally disturbed minister who lived in Philadelphia and was later found to have chained up women in his basement and eaten the ones who died. He was executed a few years ago for his dreadful crimes. As far as the human condition, how could it get much worse than that as a reference point?

Could Anissa Have Been Saved?

                       
How did this darkness all begin? It’s much too early for the lights to dim
                                                     
I’m sittin’ in the dark all by myself, like an antique clock on a dusty shelf, and if
   
Only somebody would help me along, then I wouldn’t have a need to write this song
                                          
I feel the distant echo of where we’ve been, or maybe it’s these four walls a-closin’ in
                             
And I wish I knew someone who’d rescue someone, but no one I know’s that brave
                                                                
Could Anissa have been saved?

Could Anissa have been saved?

  
I tell somebody how the world has turned; they’re easily distracted and hardly concerned
                                                     
You can see a cemetery in their eyes, when a stare is never a good disguise
                 
And the world has more people than it’s ever known, how come so many are so alone

You can’t make a friend if you’re feelin’ mean, and you can’t get love from a movie screen
                          
There’s a reverend eating women in the city, what makes people so depraved?
                                                                 
Could Anissa have been saved?

Could Anissa have been saved?

         
I close my eyes and start to dream, tries to kill herself and she don’t even scream
          
A doll in her lap that she loved so much, a needle in her hand just about to touch
             
The skin in her arm, she’s white as the frost, I convince myself she was never lost
                                    
Then I wake up alone in the cold again, with a 2-day beard and a bottle of gin
              
I’ll catch her on the second time around, after I’m showered, drunk and shaved

Could Anissa have been saved?

Could Anissa have been saved?

I truly, TRULY love that one. I think I always will.
Enough of this frivolity. My cat just walked into the office, she's probably hungry, but little does she know that I'm going to bed. She's in for a shock. May everyone eventually be saved in the best way possible.

This was such a beautiful weekend. The temperature in and around Milwaukee stayed in the low '70's with virtually no humidity. It was a nice weekend to get out of the house, and Lovely Lady Leslie and I did. Yesterday, there was a small Italian festival in Racine which is just a hop, skip and a jump to the South of Milwaukee, for those of you not in the know. I had a meatball sandwich, we shared a substandard cream puff (the cream tasted like Cool Whip; VERY disappointing) and we watched a Beatles cover band for about an hour and then came home.
Today was a lazy day. We sat out back with Sandy, our wonderful neighbor and landlord, eating homemade salsa, drinking pink lemonade and conversing. Our next door neighbor Beulah joined us for a time as well. Currently I've just finished dusting the house and am ready to address today's entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom.
People love when I play this one. It's basically a humorous drunk driving song. When I used to play with Curtis, multi-instrumentalist extraordinaire, he didn't like this one and it clouded my judgment, but who am I to argue with the public at large?

Cop Up On The Right

                                                     
Can you buy me a drink?
                                                 
I’ve had ten already, I think
                                                                         
Are you a girl or a guy?
                                                    
Oh! So you are? What am I?

                                                  
CHORUS:                              

Too much time in the bar
                                             
Point me to the back seat of your car
                                                    
I can’t drive mine tonight
                                                 
With that cop up on the right


My shoelaces are tied
                                                     
All together, what a ride

Roll down the window and toss
                                                         
Tomorrow, I’ll call my boss

(Chorus)

                                                            
You’re goin’ 58
                                                   
Speed limit’s 35, oh great!
                                                                  
Flashin’ lights of red and blue
                                               
I suppose you’re fucked up too!

(Chorus)

 
I enjoy playing that one too. It cries out for harmony vocals in the chorus, so anyone who's around usually has to chime in. It's not often when I get a chorus that's good for a group singalong. This song is one of the few exceptions in my catalog.
The rest of my day will be spent in veg mode. I'm watching the cat clean her leg, I'm feeling a cool breeze come through my back window, and I'm thinking about what I want for dinner. All in all, an idyllic American afternoon.  May the breeze that surrounds the reader be just as comforting.

This is a bit of advanced planning. I plan to pass out from exhaustion later because I was up far too late last night.
I received a bit of sad news at work this morning to dropkick my day into the toilet. Judy, one of my best employees, may be leaving the company in a week's time. Her husband is out of work thanks to the Bush economy, and it has been a hard climb back to employment. Judy may be leaving us for a company with a better benefits package for herself and her family. I'm totally bummed, but I wish her well. Since this is a public blog, I'll not bring forth my boss' reaction. Suffice it to say that it was negative.
I recently had to switch my cat to canned food, as she has decided that at the age of 14, she no longer feels like chewing hard cat food. Since we made the switch, she has been a holy screaming terror whenever I am in the kitchen. Thus will be the rest of my life with this cat. The dog remains impassive.
Today's (it's usually 'tonight's'; man, so this is what the sun feels like) entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom deals with a bad reaction to a breakup. I rarely sing this one anymore, but all in all, I wouldn't mind drinking enough to vacate a vat every once in a while.

Cold Water Courage


                                 
It must have been a life ago in another time and place

When the January tears I cried froze right against my face


Banged my head on the door in the dark, spoke your name about a million times
                                  
Convicted you in the court of verse for imaginary crimes

CHORUS:
  
It takes a lot to make me cry

It takes a lot to be your friend
                                                    
It takes cold water courage just to be a man
                                                                 
Cold water courage just to be a man

                                                     
Drank enough to vacate a vat, than I shouted at my shoes
                          
A cold towel on my swollen head was my way of paying dues

(Chorus)

The autumn rain is falling hard; you know it makes me think of you

So I’ll stand in the rain ‘til the sun shows up, it’s the best that I can do

(Chorus)

CODA:                             It takes cold water courage just to be a man

                                                                                It takes…

So that's one more.  As I placed that one here, I've been chatting with my old friend Scott in the Atlanta suburb of Acworth, Georgia. He and his wife Wendy were co-workers of mine in Greensboro all those years ago. They have two beautiful daughters and just a great house down there. I'll see them again. Scott's a good man. I'm on pins and needles right now. He's in the Army Reserve and his hitch ends next month. He could still be called up to be shipped off to Bush's Folly in Iraq. A lot of his friends have already been sent over there. I thank the soldiers who've served. I'm very sorry that they've been sent over there for all the wrong reasons with figurative targets painted on their chests. Now that we've bought this war in the name of America, I have the worst sinking feeling in my stomach that we'll be stuck there propping up this installed government for many years to come at the expense of thousands of American lives. All I can do is wish the world peace, hope that a vote for Kerry is a vote to bring them home as quickly as possible (though I know better, but a canned ham would be preferable to the Village Idiot pulling the strings currently) and make sure that America never lets its guard down again, and finishes one battle before starting another. Sleep well world, wherever you are.