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.

Man it's late. I've been playing poker online with my friend Brian and a cast of a few.
I have been neglecting this blog for a few nights by sleeping. Where do I get off?
We're now playing poker with a girl from Michigan. Brian IM'd me and stated that she has the personality of a dialtone. I almost agree, but that's a little bit mean.
So, I guess you're wondering where tonight's Writ entry is. Well, as soon as "No Salt On Her Tail" by The Mamas and the Papas fades out, I'll give you one (I LOVE this song)......
OK. Tonight's entry, though delayed, is a real treat for me. It's one of the only quasi-gospel songs in my repertoire. A little bit of history is needed first. When I was in high school, my old friend Dave Mann and I were talking about band names, and what would be a good one. Because of our like of progressive rock (it WAS the early '80's in suburban Philadelphia), we came up with the name Crimson Shadow. Dave even drew up a perfect logo for the name in his spiral notebook. Alas, at that point we couldn't play any instruments, and the dreamed died on the drawing board. And yet the words parked themselves in the back of my head, right next to one another. Roughly 16 years later, I wrote the song below. It has nothing to do with a failed band, but I like the sentiment of this one. I still can't decide if it should speed up between the first and second verse. Let me know.

Cast A Crimson Shadow 
  
                                                             
We shall walk beneath the flowing streams of amber 
                                                  
Sunlit in eternal morning grace 
                                                  
And all the best emotions I will grant you 
                                                   
In the moments when again I see your face 
  
                                                 
CHORUS:                      

So cast a crimson shadow on the water 
                                        
Scatter leaves of green along your way 
                                                  
Your shade will be the sun in my direction 
                                                     
And love will be the order of the day 
  
                                             
Over many winding paths my feet have traveled 
                                                      
To places I may never see again 
                                               
And all my plans will slowly come unraveled 
                                             
Until I reach that place that knows no pain
 
(Chorus) 
  
                                         
In moments when this life can’t be more vacant 
                                              
I look into the distance heading north 
                                             
I almost see the peace I’ll one day savor 
                                            
Above the trees a-swayin’ back and forth
 (Chorus)

 
And so we have another entry. When I wrote this, I was listening to a lot of the Grateful Dead. I think the song "Brokedown Palace"  bled through this somewhere, but this isn't as good. I hope you liked it anyway. 
It is now 3 AM. I MUST go finish the laundry and put away my bag of cookies. I love you all. Ain't that grand?

Another day, another day off....
I slept a long time today. Originally, Leslie's sister was supposed to come up for a visit today, but she decided to take the day off and relax after she and Leslie cleaned her garage out while Leslie was down there yesterday.
I had planned to get an oil change this weekend, but that will have to wait, as Leslie discovered that I have another tire going flat in the rear of my car. Currently there is a screw in the wheel, so that will have to be patched tomorrow. What's a man in America without a car? A man in shape, because he walks or bikes everywhere. I used to be in shape. Now I'm 38.
And that brings us back to the Writ Of Common Wisdom. Tonight's entry stems from an all-too-brief career as an anesthesia billing consultant. Last year, I was attending an anesthesia conference in New Orleans. I had been in New Orleans a long time ago when my dad lived in Baton Rouge, and I didn't think much of it. First off, with my allergies juxtaposed against the Louisiana humidity, it seemed like a place where I would suffer greatly. Second, the sections I saw were run down and dirty and no one seemed to care. It was with this memory that I went to the conference. I must have been housed on the clean side of town, because I didn't see as much despair this time around. I decided ahead of the trip that since I was going to be in town, I would make a reservation to have dinner at one of the restaurants of Emeril LaGasse, famed TV chef. I later caught some flack from my boss for charging it to the company expense account, but you only live once. She ended up letting it slide. It was a little unorthodox, as I went to New Orleans alone. I sat next to two women from California, one of whom was having a birthday. I believe they were sisters. I got the sneaking suspicion that they were trying to fix me up with the birthday girl. As Leslie is now permanently inserted as my one and only, I blew it off, politely said good evening, and walked back to my hotel on what turned out to be a pleasant evening. I like walking city streets alone, as it allows me to take in the sounds around me, as well as the activity with an unblemished eye and ear. I was staying at a hotel whose name escapes me at the moment, but my window looked down on Camp Street in New Orleans. New York is often called the city that never sleeps. That may be true, but no one in America avoids sleep in quite the same way and with such a distinct and devil-may-care flavor as the denizens of New Orleans.
I don't mind being alone, but if I'm alone rather than close to the one I love, it results in songs and thoughts like those put forward below. In the past year or so, I've been listening to a lot of David Ackles. This song's chord choices drip with his influence. His footprint is on the lyrics as well, but in a more subtle way. I recommend acquiring David's work as soon as you can. His songs were fabulous. Rest in peace, David.
 
Camp Street 

  
                                                                                     
Standing wide awake again 
                  
I could swear that I still have some life to spend 
                                                            
Looking down from the 12th floor
                                                                             
Hoping for a little more 
                                                                         
And an open window 
  
                                                                                  
Insomnia returns 
               
Stitch the cuts and soothe the places I’ve been burned 
                                              
Toss and turn from bed to bed
                       
And the pounding in my head 
 
Is getting in rhythm 
  
                                                            
And the lights go out on Camp Street 
                                                            
And the lights go out on Camp Street 
                                                            
And the lights go out on Camp Street 
                                                           
‘Til the sun shines down on us again
 
 
Revelers are stumbling down 
           
The empty darkened streets and laughing thru the town 
                                         
And even when the bars are closed
 
Someone everybody knows 
                                                                 
Just keeps on drinking 
  
                                                   
Another taxi passes by 
                    
His light is out and no more fares; why even try? 
                                            
Traffic lights are flashing red
 
But the city’s only dead 
                                                                        
For just an hour 
  
                                                        
Then the light shines down on Camp Street 
                                                        
Then the light shines down on Camp Street 
                                                        
Then the light shines down on Camp Street
 
‘Til the night surrounds the streets again
 
 
This is three songs in a row of mine now that I hold in high regard when placed against the rest of my catalog.  When this one finally gets recorded, it could just be massive. For now, it's a wannabe on acoustic guitar, but a very healthy, self-reliant, Bohemian style of wannabe.  This song ends with some hope, which is hard to project with just lyrics, but trust me on this one. It happens when the music is added.
 
I just completed a bowl of banana fudge chunk ice cream, which my cat found very interesting (she finds ANYTHING in a bowl interesting). She's 14 years old and hasn't been eating lately, so we switched her to wet food to help her chew. The first helping disappeared VERY quickly. I'm hoping she's not mad that there's not more in her dish right now. I better go check. Until tomorrow, dream well..

Well, aren't I early?
Leslie has been away for most of the day. Because the hot water heater in the house was being replaced, I stayed home and wallowed in my own filth until about 2 hours ago when I finally showered.
I spent most of the day alternating between watching baseball on TV and reading a biography about the Buffalo Springfield. Lots of drugs and egos in that band. They were young and stupid. They're one of the few bands from that time period that still have all their members still alive, so that has to count for something.
Well, before Leslie gets home, I have to get to tonight's entry from The Writ. This one needs a LOT of explaining.
I have chronic seasonal allergies, so in the spring, when most people are mating, I am sneezing and reaching for the nearest tissues. My allergies are caused more by heat and humidity, so I have a better time of it in the Fall and Winter. Autumn is easily my favorite season of the year, so when the summer finally ends and the weather turns cold, this is MY mating season.
When I lived in Pennsylvania, I made friends for a brief time with a between gigs guitar player who ran a karaoke showcase on Friday nights. It was early in October and the weather had been summer-like for the preceding weeks. I went out one Friday night heading for the karaoke bar. I left all the windows open in my third floor apartment, as it had been in the low '70's that day. ..
Now, the next part needs a little more of an explanation. I talk to myself. I'm PROUD of the fact that I talk to myself. In the end, I'm the only one who can make sense of my thought processes and understands what the hell I'm saying. The voice I talk to myself with takes many forms, one of these being a voice that sounds roughly like Arte Johnson's old man character on "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In" that sat on the park bench next to Ruth Buzzi, who would end up saying something slightly off-color to her, and would invariably end up getting bashed over the head with Ruth's handbag.
Now, that being said, I can continue the story. The temperature dropped about twenty or twenty-five degrees that night. I got home at about 2:30, unlocked the door to my apartment, and I found it joyfully chilly. "It's AUTUMN!", I said to myself. Suddenly the lecherous Arte voice in my head followed that with "bend over".
About an hour later, this song was written. It's not about anyone specific, and it is not about what would seem like the obvious topic on first read. I don't enjoy you-know-what, and I'm not an advocate in any way, shape or form of that kind of activity. To each his own though; don't let me stop anyone from having a good time. Unfortunately, I put these lyrics to one of my most catchy tunes written to date, so most people really like this song (as long as they have a sense of humor).  Without further ado, I present........
 
 
Bend Over, It's Autumn 
  
               
The leaves fall gently through the trees, then it rains and makes a mess 
                          
The wind is blowin' 'round the hem of my true love's favorite dress 
    
October winds come gently 'round her head, but I'm lookin' at the top of her legs instead 
                                               
And I love her from the top down to the bottom 
                                                                                   
Bend over, it's autumn! 
  
                     
And nothin' truly feels like the first time when a cold wind hits your chest 
                              
So at the risk of sounding crude, will you please show me your breasts? 
             
I look at them and fall in love again; I would hate it if they fell on other men 
                                             
Well, two brown eyes on top, one on the bottom 
                                                                                   
Bend over, it's autumn! 
  
                                  
Well, throw open the window and give us some cool fresh air 
                                      
I'm never truly happy 'til your whole backside is bare 
                                                   
And you can fake it if you really wanna 
                                                                                        
Any feminist will tell ya 
                                                                            
I'm a man, and I'm not supposed to care 
  

I'm holding you as close as I can get without being behind you 
                  
And what would truly be so wrong with that, from back there I love the view 
                  
We'll start to get a little frigid rain, then I'll wake you up and start all over again 
                                               
So hop up into bed and make like Rover
 
It's autumn, bend over!  
 
 
And that's one more. I read a caption under a picture of Randy Newman once that said, "If the songwriter offends you, you've missed the point". That is my disclaimer, but certainly NOT my apology. I make no apologies for anything leaning towards the artistic.
Leslie just called me on the cell phone. She'll be home in about an hour from her sister's place in Illinois, home of future Democratic Senator Barach Obama. I'm going to go do the dishes and change over the laundry. This was an early post, so I'm going to bed later instead of staying awake. I bid all peaceful people a restful sleep, and all warriors a change of heart.

Not much of a Friday. I went to work, came home, barbecued some steaks for Lovely Lady Leslie and I, and after eating them I fell asleep until about 2:40 AM. Now that I've my night's sleep, I'm up and around and chatlessly visitng all of my favorite stops.
 
Which brings us to this morning's entry from The Writ Of Common Wisdom. At the time I wrote this, I was listening to a lot of John Prine. I wish this song were funnier, but it sets the mood I was looking for correctly. I don't play this song nearly as often as I should. This is one of the better ones lyrically.
 
Back To The Wind 
  
                                             
Once had a friend of social grace 
                                     
Hat upon his head, and a smile upon his face 
                                                                
Drank all my whisky, then he disappeared 
                                                  
With his back to the wind and a belly full of cheer 
  
                                   
Met a psychic gypsy dressed up like a clown 
                                      
Painted on a smile and then we hit the town 
                                                           
Told me my future, then she left me for dead 
                                             
With her back to the wind, and a dream inside her head 
  
                                     
Came upon the postman in the driving rain 
                                 
With a can of mace and some keys upon a chain 
                                                                    
Gave me some letters, then he sped away  
 
With his back to the wind and his lights on in the day
 
  
It’s a funny road that we travel on 

One day we’re here, and the next we’re gone
 
So I’m leaving here at the toll of the bell 

With my back to the wind and just one more tale to tell
                                                               
Yea, with my back to the wind and one more tale to tell
 
 
And that's THAT entry. This one holds up well for being written almost ten years ago. A lot of these songs are older,  and some lyrics just don't age well. I like this one.
 
Among the stories of people being intimidated for their beliefs in this once-great and slowly decaying land of ours, I wish the reader a happy weekend and assure them that I refuse to decay, physically or intellectually.

CONCERT REVIEW
James Lee Stanley
Shank Hall, Milwaukee, WI
July 15, 2004
 
I live with a fan of The Monkees. I have no objection to this, as virtually all musical things from the 1960's (with the salient exception of MoTown) hold a special place in my ears and heart. Since I've known my housemate (and for purposes of full disclosure I must state that we're getting married sometime soon), she has told me about seeing Peter Tork live, but that on the same bill was one James Lee Stanley, who in her opinion, bested the headliner.
With her urging, and in the company of one of her oldest friends who drove up from Illinois, we went to see James Lee Stanley at Shank Hall in Milwaukee tonight.
We arrived early and grabbed a front row seat dead center in front of the stage. I didn 't realize that by doing this, I had set myself up.
James came out and immediately asked if there was anyone in the audience who had never seen him before. I raised the loneliest hand in the world; I was the only Stanley Virgin in the bar. For the first few songs of his very entertaining set, I was the between-song banteree.
The power of Stanley's live performance lies in two things; mastery of guitar and storytelling.  Stanley is one of those rare acoustic guitar players that when seen by people like me with (at best) marginal talents, the first reaction I have is to take my hands home and scold them for not behaving like those I've just witnessed. Being the only person in the audience for whom James Lee Stanley was a new experience, you'll pardon me if I don't know the names of his better known songs. The fans in the know who surrounded me tonight at Shank Hall were more than obliging as they blurted out requests from what I now know as Stanley's impressive catalog of songs.
At the end of the show, I had a brief occasion to meet Mr. Stanley, telling him that I had never been abused so tastefully. He was as genuine off the stage as off, and when Leslie (my intended) blurted out that I also played, I was penetant, saying I could NEVER play guitar anything like what I just saw. And tonight, for the first time in my life, a true troubadour looked me in the eye and said, "Anything that anyone else has ever played, YOU can play!". Not even from FAMILY have I ever heard such words of encouragement from one musician to another. I left Shank Hall knowing that the next time we met, my hand wouldn't be the one going up at the start of the show.
James Lee Stanley is currently whizzing around North America. Visit his website at http://www.jamesleestanley.com for all relevant information.
 
 
Because I actually saw a REAL musician tonight, I won't ruin the moment by posting another entry from The Writ Of Common Wisdom this evening. Look for the next entry tomorrow night.

Well, at the moment I am chatting on IM with both Dani and my friend Brian. One conversation is about hockey fights, the other about music. How exhilirating.
I would have posted last night, but I had a BIG sandwich from Subway and fell asleep within an hour. So, here I am; well-rested, incessantly chatting and listening to Sandy Denny.

So, I wrote a GREAT protest song today, but that's not the song I'm presenting here this evening. Since I'm presenting The Writ Of Common Wisdom in alphabetical order as it is now, I've come to a song that seemed like a good idea at the time, but I look at it now and it's just horrible. In the name of being a completist, I present it for your laughter and general scorn.

As The Moon Flies High


The summer sun burns all of my senses

Walkin’ ‘round both lost and agonized

My fevered brain just withers and condenses

Until I find I’m halfway paralyzed


CHORUS:
But as the moon flies high

And the bright light fades away

In the blink of an eye

I’ll be on my feet

And on my way


Humidity is making my mind wander

Sometimes I don’t even know my name

Can’t focus on a single point to ponder

And I don’t even know from where I came

(Chorus)


The nighttime will wash over me

And the stars will light my path

And I’ll forget that that sun ever shined

In all its radiated wrath

(Chorus)

And on my way


And if you think that THAT'S a load of crap, you ought to hear the chords and melody to it. I keep it around as my red-headed stepchild. I psychologically abuse it until it decides to sound better. Honestly, I promise that the NEXT song I post here will be MUCH better.
Good night. Love one another. Hug a Democrat whenever you can.

About 45 minutes ago, I was engrossed in three different IM chats at the same time. Now, everyone has gone to bed with the exception of Dani, my Austrian friend, who went to work.
My boss is back from Africa, and suspiciously pale for being in Kenya for two weeks. How did she do that?

Well, let's fast-forward. Tonight's entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom has a nice story behind it. The tune is eleven years old, the lyrics ten. When I was living in Greensboro, NC in 1993, my hands kept playing this same chord pattern over and over again. I knew it was something, but the words wouldn't come. This spilled into 1994, when I had moved back to Pennsylvania (also known as "the worst mistake of my life"). In April of '94, six days after they found Kurt Cobain's body on a floor in his house, my grandmother died at the age of 85. I knew she was going to a happy place in the afterlife, and out of nowhere, these words presented themselves to me. I think vocally, this is one of the best songs in the Writ. You be the judge of the lyrics, but this song will mean a lot to me for a long, long time.

Ascension


Your time is done

Close your eyes

Into the sun

Rise, rise, rise

Wait for the dawn

Time to move on


Gently, you wing

Into azure skies

To thee, we sing

Rise, rise, rise

You’re still alive

We will survive


I can really wail on that one. I recorded this one live about 4 years ago, and it filled me with a spirit I'm not used to.
Well, I've downed a Newcastle Brown Ale, I've listened to "Spread Your Wings And Fly" by Laura Nyro, and I'm ready to call it a day. Who knows what tomorrow will bring to my doorstep? All I can say is I can't wait to see, and I never pictured myself saying that at this point in my life.

So we went to see "Anchorman" today in a local theatre. Leslie loved it. I thought some of the humor was forced, as is often the case with Wil Ferrell. Sometimes, he's just a little too over the top for my tastes.
After the movies, we got some Chinese take-out from the local Chinese restaurant (where else?), which is in the middle of remodeling. It's a good thing it's only right around the corner. We both had sesame chicken.
Now, tonight's entry from the Writ Of Common Wisdom. This is a country song again. I don't write a lot of country songs; I just happen to write a lot of country songs that begin with the letter A.

A Really Big Eraser


If I had a really big eraser

I would stick it inside my head

I would rub and rub ‘til I erased

All of those rotten things you said

Then I’d pull it out and start all over

And find something else to do

But I can’t find a really big eraser

So I guess I’m stuck with you


If I had a really big cheese grater

I would shred my life down to size

Maybe I’d cut, or maybe I’d slice

Or maybe make julienne fries

Then I’d take all the cuttings and the scrapings

And make a pot of John Paul stew

But I can’t find a really big cheese grater

So I guess I’m stuck with you


If I had a really big paint roller

I would repaint the canvas of my life

I could be Picasso’s pet canary

Or maybe Fra Filippo Lippi’s wife

I could take my mistakes and my bad decisions and make them all just disappear

But I can’t find a really big paint roller, so I guess I’ll just hang my canv-ass here

Yea, this one's really silly. This will be the first of many that the reader sees on this blog. I think you have to flush out the silly lyric pipes of your brain every once in a while or you'll go mad.
I loved Kerry's pick of John Edwards last week. I don't think I mentioned that. I actually voted for Edwards in the primaries, and I truly believe he should be president someday. He's a good man, until proven otherwise by this reckless and lazy media in America. Here's hoping they win this one.
Sleep well, world. We're not going anywhere.

Well, I had another great day.
I woke up after noon (forgive me, for it was a Saturday). I immediately sprang into action; I did the laundry, scrubbed the entire bathroom, took out the trash and installed a window air conditioner in the bedroom for use in the near future. Leslie and I had a chicken/bacon/barbecue pizza that was to die for from Papa John's and then went shopping for about an hour. We came home and watched a free DVD we got with the pizza ("Weekend At Bernie's"; it's great escapist entertainment).
Leslie is now asleep, and this brings me to the song of the night from The Writ Of Common Wisdom. This one dates from a dumping I suffered in early 1994. This song was one of many from that particular dumping, and I think it's one of my better songs. I also think it explains itself.


Anything She Wanted


When the sun comes up, she’s in my arms again

And we pick up where the night left off, the kisses sweet as rain

And I drive her home once more, promising that I’ll call by four

And my days are filled with autumn’s chill and anything she wanted


I drop everything to see her gray-green eyes

I disappear when she speaks to me; no limits to my skies

But the truth is always there; I try to lie and say that I won’t care

And I wish my day to go her way, with anything she wanted



Well, it always seems so perfect when there’s nothing bad to see

Ah but when one nerve shows you’ve seen them all, and that’s been the death of me



And when I wake up now, no one is with me here

And I spend my days just kidding myself and I go to sleep in fear

But I tell myself again, if she needed me to be her friend

I’d be her fool, her perfect tool, for anything she wanted


Sometimes I'm such a sap. Did I mention that the dumping had to do with the facts that she was 450 miles away and dating someone else at the time? ...That's a story for another day.

I'm dumbstruck. I have nothing to add. What am I doing here? Why are you staring at me? Why are all of these letters in black? Help me. HELP me!!

Another late night.
I'm listening to "Hejira" by Joni Mitchell, after reading posts about it all week at the Cafe Utne forum to which I post and read.
This was a day chock full of happy events. I received an e-mail from my friend Marcos back in Pennsylvania. He and his wife had their second child back on June 4th, a boy they named Lennon. Marcos is quite the musician. It was a marvelous piece of news. He also produced my live album roughly four years ago, which has sold the extremely modest total of two copies.
I also fell into a nice IM chat with former co-worker, scratch bowler and all-around hockey nut Brian. He and HIS wife are expecting their first child in late-October. For a while, the lax job market was pummeling them in unfair ways for such sweet people. Things are now back on track, and baby will soon make three.
Now, tonight's contribution from The Writ Of Common Wisdom stems from a time when I dated all the wrong women for all the wrong reasons. I dated this girl named Amy who claimed she was a telekinetic. She was also a hypochondriac. This is not the person you want to be around when you are in the depths of a budding drinking problem. I met her on my 22nd birthday. She ended up being a present that lasted for three months. I have to admit that those three months seemed magical, as do a lot of days you have in your twenties. They were days full of reckless abandon and seemingly endless sunshine. Outside forces were conspiring to pull us apart, it broke up badly and I reacted by crashing a car while drunk.
Fast forward two years, and our paths crossed again. I was dating a girl named Susan, and had been for over a year. Susan was younger than I am and was just entering college when we started dating. My relationship with Susan was filled with pain, unfortunately mostly on her side as her father died while we were together. To add to her devastating loss, she loved me, and I was unfocused and was beginning to feel the walls closing in faster than I wanted them to. A mutual friend invited me to Amy's birthday party at a bar close to her house. We got together again. Sue was crushed, and I still feel like a horrible person for doing that to her. She certainly deserved better, but all I could see at the time was Susan's increasing reliance on me, not realizing, as I do now, that she needed me as the man in her life in a time when there was no other after her father passed away.
Amy and I lived together for 17 days. It was a horrible experience. As was becoming my custom, I reacted to the breakup with a car crash.
I still shake my head to this day at my stupidity of crashing two cars over the same woman, a telekinetic hypochondriac with a laundry list of similar low self-esteem issues that shadowed my own far too closely at the time for us to ever DREAM of making a relationship work. I haven't seen or heard from her since I moved out after that period in 1990. Someone told me that she was a realtor in Northern California. If you live in Northern California, and are buying a house from a realtor who seems to be taking a lot of tablets for her headache, and suddenly the front door of the house opens by itself, tell Amy I said hello.
The following song stemmed from a dream I had about Amy many years later. It's a country song that bears a strong rhythmic resemblance to "The Return Of The Grievous Angel" by Gram Parsons.

Another Dream About The Car Crash Queen


And I saw you again in a different place than the one you had before

You had a new mom; you had a new man and a noisy aluminum door

And your man was nervous that I’d come to you to sweep you off your feet

But that was then and this is now and the two will never meet


The mom that you had was annoyed by you and the burden that you were

If it means a thing, if it matters at all, you should know that I didn’t like her


You hair changed colors and so did your life; it was all so bittersweet

‘Cause that was then and this is now and the two will never meet


You were the love of my life

When my eyes were open wide

And my heart beat fast

Shoulda known we’d never last, never last….


So in my sleep I still have you and that’s good enough from here

You’re a juvenile hole in my heart that only I can feel

And I think of you when I drink rum or a double Dewar’s neat

And that was then and this is now and the two will never meet

And so it goes. Now I'm engaged to the love of my life, a person I wish I had met so many years earlier. I place this song here knowing that it was written at a time when I didn't see my true love ever finding me. She did. This song stays in the Writ as a Ghost of Relationships Past. May it always stay right where it is as I approach my new life with Lovely Lady Leslie.

3 in the morning. Somehow, I have to get my sleep patterns adjusted. I think I'll be up for the next few hours making that attempt.

In tonight's installment of "Nuggets From The Writ Of Common Wisdom". I offer you the following selection. The words to this are country, but the tune is pop-oriented. And when I say "pop", I am referring to something closer to the Beatles definition, and not this garbage that's on the radio today. This song can't really decide what it wants to be, so I'm exposing its ongoing identity crisis to the rest of the world.

All I Wanna Know



A spherical bouncing ball and a place I wanna go

Is all I think about, it’s all I wanna know


A topped-off tank of gas, and a little April snow

Is all I think about, it’s all I wanna know


At the end of the night

When the sun comes up

I’ll be far away from here

And I won’t have a care

As long as I still have a dream to share


So a cloud above my head, and a steaming cup of joe

It’s all I think about tonight, it’s all I wanna know


After reading this, it's got a positive message, so I guess it's on the happy side ofcrisis. We'll see.

With that, I bid you a good day. Love everyone; trust no one.

After a roughly four to five hour mid-evening nap, I have arisen to nothing in particular.
I'm listening to the best of Spanky & Our Gang, and contemplating my future, which remains wide open.
In keeping with this, I've decided to use this space to publish my songs, one at a time, sans musical notation, to share my vision with the future. I'm going to publish them in alphabetical order as they appear in The Writ Of Common Wisdom. So without further discussion, I present the first of many.

Airport Wind


Stranded here in Newark waiting for a limousine

This is the coldest place that I’ve ever seen

And brewery lights in the distance there

And a January breeze blowin’ back my hair


CHORUS:
Airport wind and 747’s

Blow me up into the heavens

You can jump on a plane; just leave your car

Let the airport wind take you to the stars


Shoes brightly polished, suitcase with a tag

Black and white stripes on the American flag
‘Cause the air is so dirty, all I do is cough

And those red tower lights just blink on and off

(Chorus)

BRIDGE:

Hope I fly into the sunrise; hope the food is good today

Hope tomorrow I forget about this windy yesterday


Truck traffic passin’ headin’ to New York

A plastic knife, a plastic spoon, a plastic fork

And my tie’s a little crooked, and my pants a little tight

But those runway zephyrs take me from the night

(Chorus)

And that's song number one. This one is kind of jazzy, and this is one of the few that I have recorded, having recorded it as a live track about four years ago.

I'll have so much more to share.

As for now, my CD changer has switched to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". Every once in a while, between songs I'm writing, I have to remind myself of what real music sounds like.

Good night!!

It's just after Midnight on July the 6th. The long holiday weekend has come near its end. Over the weekend, I ate like a champion, saw two rather impressive fireworks displays, worked a little bit on "The Writ Of Common Wisdom" (my name for my songbook) and generally enjoyed myself. I even came up with a good song title that I must work on.
I was inspired by going to a small town 4th of July to-do in Spring Grove, Illinois. It's a small town just outside of the town where Lovely Lady Leslie grew up. After watching small town folk congregate around the beer tent for more than half a day, the following couplet came to mind:

"When Danny gets drunk on the 4th of July
Somebody's going down"

So, sometime in the next week, I'll have a song called "When Danny Gets Drunk On The 4th Of July". You want an American anthem, you've come to the right place!! And the best part is, I don't know anyone personally named Danny, outside of some kids I went with to elementary school. Now THAT'S creativity.
Leslie showed her sisters the book that went along with her ring tonight. I didn't read their reactions, but I think they liked it.
It's a nice cool night tonight. It took a long time, but I've found myself a home.
OH, my dad kept sending me right-wing garbage chain e-mails, so I reported him to Yahoo! as being a spammer. I'm curious to see what they do in response. I DO know that all of his mail to ME is being stopped at the server level. No more Fascist crap in my e-mail box. Such a relief.
And with that, it's time to goof off a little bit, see if my friend Dani from Austria is on IM, relax and fall asleep with limited help from my cat Sadie, who likes to sleep under the covers as soon as I come to bed. Love to all.

I tried to type some of the following information on June 30, but unfortunately, I encountered a computer problem. So I'll try again.
This past Wednesday was the 30th of June, which is Lovely Lady Leslie's birthday. I had a surprise for her after she got out of the shower. We were both topless when we sat down on the bed. I handed her her gift and she opened it. It was the book "There's No Such Place As Far Away" by Richard Bach. The main idea behind this quasi-childrens' book is that no matter the distance, a person can remain in your heart. That was how Leslie and I started out. I reminded her that it had been roughly three years since we had first made love, and that we had overcome great distance to get to this point. With that, I produced the engagement ring she had picked for herself from underneath the pillow, and asked her if she would marry me. She said yes.
It's almost four full days later, and the shiver I get in my heart from her saying yes still feels brand new. On the day I take her hand and offer myself to her as her husband, my life begins anew. She is responsible for nothing short of my resurrection as a human being. I plan to repay that debt in full as time goes by. The most important thing I can do is remain happy by her side, despite all things in the outside world trying to tear us apart. To this point, I have had no idea what true love is. Now I know. She's asleep a room away, and I never want to be more than this far away from her again.
I was going to cover other depressing topics, but the hell with that. Everybody be happy, or we get nowhere. You can do this by voting Democratic in the coming election.

It's been two weeks, so here's the latest news:

Lovely Lady Leslie's ring arrived via UPS in the past week. It's her birthday this coming Wednesday. I'll figure out a way to tell her I love her and want her hand in marriage very soon. I know she reads this, and more importantly, SHE knows it's coming. I just have to figure out a stealthy way to do it.

Yesterday, I saw "Fahrenheit 9/11". There are many more erudite ways I can say it, but America's current president MUST be removed from office. The movie didn't even mention that his grandfather found it necessary for the sake of the almighty dollar to do business with Adolf Hitler until 1942, when he had to be ORDERED to stop by the Roosevelt administration.

Now, I must get back to my songbook, which is almost finished and readable throughout. Register to vote. PLEASE!!!!

Now HERE'S an experiment. I've decided that at this late hour (1:20 AM CDT) I am going to type until I either pass out or my fingers atrophy. The following will be ruminations, exhaltations and a few stops for micturitions (look it up). I hope I can keep the mood light, so here we go:

Name: John Paul Spencer
Date Of Birth: April 29, 19- bum bum bum bum
Place Of Birth: Yeadon, PA
Occupation: Medical Coding Supervisor (It has its moments)
Eyes: 2 (brown; seeing if you're paying attention)
Hair: Brown (I would have typed "See 'Eyes'", but I didn't want the reader to think that I only had two hairs on my head; I actually have quite a bit of hair for a male my age; my poor friends)
Height: 5' 10" (5' 11' if I feel like standing up straight)
Shoe Size: 12 (NO, I've never tried to power a row boat with these, but it's only a matter of time)
Ethnicity: 1/2 Italian, 1/4 German, 1/8 English, 1/8 Protestant Irish (what a freakin' mess!)
Religion: Jonestown People's Temple (only survivor: We shall rise again! May I offer you a Kool-Aid?)
Favorite Living Musician: Richard Thompson
Favorite Dead Musician: Let's put it this way. Richard Thompson is one of the only musical heroes still breathing.
Favorite Movie: "Cool Hand Luke"
Favorite Album: "Astral Weeks" by Van Morrison
Favorite Song: Yea, right. Like I can narrow THAT down.
Favorite Actor: James Stewart
Favorite Actress: Anne Bancroft
Favorite Male Vocalist: Tim Buckley
Favorite Female Vocalist: Sandy Denny
Favorite Food: The Philly chicken cheesesteak
Favorite Dessert: Leslie (more on her later)
Favorite Historical Moment: The Murder Of Julius Caesar
Least Favorite Historical Moment: The 2000 Presidential "Election".
Favorite Book: Narcissus and Goldmund by.....
Favorite Author: Hermann Hesse
Favorite Politician: Eugene McCarthy
Least Favorite Politician: Joseph Stalin
Preferred Sex Symbol: Brigit Bardot

In addition, I prefer to do the cooking if I have all the ingredients; I like candles, incense, dogs and cats, birds from a distance and the smell of burning leaves. I like cold weather; I eat meat and am not ashamed; I loved my grandmother; the fastest way to buy my friendship is through junk food; I think Tom Cruise sucks; I never listen to anything but NPR; I have a very firm belief in the afterlife; I have no belief in people in power; I don't know what the Function keys on this keyboard do; I have never been to Spain, and unlike Hoyt Axton, I don't kinda like the music; the scariest thing I ever saw in my life was Patti LaBelle live; I like watching people fall; I think it's even funnier when animals do it; I think Russia is slowly slipping back into dictatorship, and they couldn't care less; I wish I could play piano, but I'm stuck with guitar; I can outsing any white man alive given half a chance; I'd rather listen to the dumbest folk song in the world than the best heavy metal song in the world.

Now that we all know me, let's take a listen to what's on my CD player:

"They'll be trains of blossoms...they'll be trains of music"

Laura Nyro. A best-of collection. I love her music. It gives me instant hope. I'm very surprised that no one I know is online tonight. As stated in earlier posts, Lovely Lady Leslie is not a night person. She fell asleep at roughly midnight. She's wonderful. It took too damned long, but I found my perfect match. She's all things to me.

I'm in my home office in Milwaukee, home of sausage, cheese, beer and (in the last month) 5 billion gallons of shit in Lake Michigan. Mmmm, what a stew! Serve some on a cracker today!!!!

"Save The Country". This is my theme song this year. I've never been able to vote in an election that meant so much to the world. I want to be able to say I svaed the country after election day this year. Here's hoping. "Save the people/save the children/save the country".......

My favorite sport is Ice Hockey, but the NHL is about to self-destruct, so I may have to drop sports altogether. It may be all for the better. I am rather lazy when it comes to creating music, which is something I love to do. Maybe a lack of hockey will spur me on to greater heights.

HEY! I just noticed that my Austrian friend and fellow Laura Nyro fan Dani (Daniela) just signed on. Let's see if I get a message..... so far nothing........I know she has a choir concert today in Vienna (she lives there)......

I'll interrupt if anything happens on that front. So I was trying this tooth-whitening kit earlier where you have to paint your teeth with this goopy peroxide stuff, and it was just damned silly. You're supposed to put it on at night before you go to sleep. Therein lies the problem; I very rarely sleep, so I kept salvating, turning this goop on my teeth to WET goop on my teeth. I wiped it off with a tissue. I'll try again tomorrow when I actually go to sleep.
I have high hopes for my teeth. I recently gave up soda (or "pop", as they call it here in the Midwest; "pop" to me is either a punch in the eye or anyone's dad; curse this infernal language!) and am drinking virtually nothing but water. I gave up caffeine along with that, so I'm feeling much healthier.

I'm sitting here thinking that if I keep typing, maybe I can bring Blogger.com to its knees. Wouldn't that be something? I like being a wordsmith. Nothing makes The Man meet his maker faster than too much information. I'll never stop typing. I shall rule the world by never being silent AHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!

So recently I got a cell phone, and I think I've gotten more wrong numbers than calls from people I actually know. Apparently, my cell phone number used to belong to someone who fixes car air conditioning systems. I get a lot of voice mails asking me to fix people's air conditioning. It's rather humorous. This is solved by hitting the number which matches up to the "Delete Message" command. I thank whatever higher power that is that my number didn't belong to a gigolo.

I mentioned before that I write songs. I had a bit of a problem a few weeks ago when about a quart of soda spilled onto my song notebook. Luckily, I stored all of my songs on computer discs, so no harm done. A lot of these songs are awful, but I keep at it. It keeps the mind sharp.

I've decided to take the initiative and Instant Message Dani...Let's see what happens....

(As I chat with Dani..the new album now playing in my 12-disc changer is "Sweetheart Of The Rodeo" by The Byrds [extended reissue])....
Myth number one exposed: Dani's choir concert is actually TOMORROW; rehearsal is today...from 3 to 7 PM Viennese time...concert tomorrow at 8:30 (same time zone)...apparently they have to rehearse how to enter and exit the stage..I suggested that the choir should surprise the audience and sing the entire concert while standing on one leg....this idea is being rightfully ignored...I've suggested that if it doesn't go well then explain that this choir concert was an avant garde jazz interpretation....this is of Renaissance and Baroque music...this plan may not work...Her choir director's name is Vijay. I suddenyl want to write a song called "The Hindus Of Vienna". It will be a waltz on sitars. It sounds like the choir concert will feature Italian folk songs. Dani is in a relationship with an Italian (from Italy) named Angelo. Dani likes mostly female vocalists, being one herself. That makes sense. We're currently talking about modern interpretations of Bach. I mentioned "A Whiter Shade Of Pale", she mentioned "For All We Know" by the Carpenters (She stumped me; i didn't know about that one). I like Richard Carpenter's vocal arrangements. We both don't care for the songs "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" and "White Christmas". I really don't like show tunes. Dani likes some operas, but not musicals. For operas, it depends on her mood. I've now sent her the IM background of a fishtank. It's very relaxing. Kind of like watching Bob Ross paint a landscape (God rest his soul).

SO as the night goes deeper, My thoughts of blogging the reader to death have subsided. I shall soon turn in for a night's sleep next to Lovely Lady Leslie, and probably with the assistance of our cat Sadie, who likes to help me fall asleep by laying on my chest. And at the same time, I'm getting kind of hungry. I hope I've let a little light into my world. I bid you good night.

Another night, another song by Donovan.

It seems that whenever I'm disgusted by current musical trends, I go back to the '60's. A little more uplifting, a little more fast and loose with musical styles. Donovan was really flighty musically. I dig him.
Am I the only one who's fucking sick and tired of hearing about the still-dead Ronald Reagan. LET IT GO! He hasn't known who anyone else is in years. He shouldn't be on currency, he's not a hero, he ruined the economy and put weapons in the hands of our future enemies. This is not a hero. This was an atavistic fool who couldn't recognize a true threat to America. I'm most insulted by the fact that he let AIDS burrow into the American fabric, spread and kill thousands for no other reason but for political expediency.
On to the uplifting! My bandmate in the Jumping Frenchmen Of Maine, Bassman Dylan, and his wife had a baby boy yesterday. Xavier James. They call him "XJ" It's so Jaguar. I'm not sure I can call him that, but hey, the kid is loved! Now THAT'S a whole lot better than a dead president.
The humidity broke last night. I'm back to comfortable again. The cold keeps me thinking. I pity the reader, but hey, whatever floats MY boat!
I'm coming into Friday, and feeling a little thirsty, a little rammy, a little musical and a little funny. I'll take it.

And so it ends...

The National Hockey League handed out the Stanley Cup for what may be the final time. Tampa Bay took it. They earned it. It was nice to see Dave Andreychuk take a cup after 22 years in the league.

Now the important work begins. It's time to jumpstart the musical bandwagon. I'm in the midst of cleaning up the songbook and putting it in a new binder. Unfortunately, I'll be on my own until roughly Mid July, as the Jumping Frenchmen of Maine take a hiatus for childbirth and doctoral setup work by the other member of the band. So it's time for me to take the reins of my own career.

I'm finishing up listening to the Hollies' Greatest Hits. Do yourself a favor sometime; listen to the drumming of Bernie Calvert of the The Hollies. The guy was sharp.

12:30 AM CST. Out of the darkness of a new day, a ray of light shoots from my fingers.
In a time when all the world is electric with hate, conflict and other forms of nonsense, I feel incredibly empowered almost to the point of being bulletproof.
I am not famous. I am not a Hollywood star, a man of money or influence, a Casanova or even a guy who can cook the greatest meal on Earth. I am but a simple citizen of the Universe. Doesn't that put it all in perspective? OPEN YOUR EYES....WIDER. Doesn't that feel good? Don't you feel your face stretching? Don't you sense the use of blood vessels that you've let grow dormant and calcify?
Now check out your hands. Bend your fingers at half-staff. Now just randomly flex and straighten those knuckled suckers. AREN'T THEY GREAT? Tap the tip of your nose repeatedly. If you try hard enough, you can tap your upper lip at the same time.
I'd be willing to wager that you're smiling in spite of yourself right now. And yet you are beginning to feel good, and all in all it didn't take much, and best of all, it didn't cost you a thing. When in doubt, dear friend, dilate! This has nothing to do with your eyes. Your whole body has to do it or it just won't work. When one part of your body and mind dilate, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, eventually - or maybe instantaneously - your heart is going to do it too. It's at that point that you're hooked. You couldn't stop it if you tried, and why would you want to? This has nothing to do with chocolate or beer or speed or sex or cold or heat or air or water. It's all up to you.
MAN, I hope you feel good right now. I hope you feel infected by light and happiness. Thanks for stumbling in....

(I always knew that if I put my mind to it, I could make a great benevolent cult leader. The best part? I don't even want your money or want to make you wear white robes and hand out flowers or want to make you drink Kool-Aid.)

Now that the good feelings are spreading inside the reader, I'll tell you the concrete things going on in my immediate universe. I'm listening to the Best of Brewer & Shipley, drinking some water (I gave up soda; no more caffeine and I'm still stoked; how does THAT happen?) and feeling more in love with Lovely Lady Leslie than ever before. She sleeps a room away, and I know she falls asleep frustrated every night because I'm not next to her due to my nocturnal habits. When you truly love someone, geography in three dimensions doesn't mean anything. The geography of the heart is where love lies, and with her, I always know the way. AS this band says, "Shake off the demon/see how the angel run". While not grammatically correct, I know the feeling. The demon has been shaken, and my soul is finally doing some soft traveling. I live in the same house as that angel. I'm in the best place in the world. As I once saw in a Bob Mould video, "What you see is not what you get/what you see is what you have". When you look up on a sunny day my friend, you have the whole fucking universe!!

9 long days....not too much to tell.
Memorial Day is approaching. None of the veterans in my family gave their lives for the cause. My father served during the Korean War, but spent most of his time in occupied Japan in geisha houses. My grandmother once told me about a cousin of hers that served during WWI in Europe. He came home and began to have seizures. It turned out that he was exposed to mustard gas. He was taken to a military hospital in either Maryland or Virginia and eventually succumbed to the effects of the gas.
I sometimes think that the dead soldiers are the lucky ones. I have seen the living relics of the Vietnam War far too often on the streets of my country struggling to find inner peace and failing. Having been 9 years old when the last helicopter left the roof of the U.S. Embassy in what was then Hanoi, I grew up thinking that every war, deep down, contains error and miscalculation. Whether it is a repelled invader or the resolve of a eventually vanquished defender, one side eventually turns out to be in error. Watching old newsreels of battles from a time before I walked the planet, I was shown moral imperatives for battle, and yet every infantryman in every army that ever existed, no matter what the moral persuasions of their commanders, carries with him the idea that he is right.
Seventy years ago, my country entered a war which was supposed to be fought against an imminent threat to the well-being of the nation, but ended up being a war defined more by its racism than its true goals. We went on to spend trillions of dollars on it and continue to do so to this day. We spend all of our time in this war fighting it from the wrong side, and no one has the nerve to call for a stop to it, and if they do, they are quickly beaten down verbally for even daring to put forth such an idea. This war has become not a victory, but a long protracted lesson in tic-tac-toe, or rather, one endless string of draws. This war is called the War On Drugs, and I fear that the War on Terrorism is following its wasteful model. It's no longer God Bless America. It's God Help America. As an American in these troubled times, you'll pardon me if having this leader of our country gives me the feeling of living under a ladder with a target painted on my chest. Or as Pete Seeger said so many years ago, "When will they ever learn".
To all the soldiers in Iraq, come home quick, stay safe and know that if it were up to me, you'd all be home with your loved ones now. May no one ever cry for you on Memorial Day.

It's an exciting week!
Last night, I experienced the beauty of the local emporium known as the Bremen Cafe. I played the open mic there. I did a fair version of one of my own songs, a horrible version of "Candy Man" by David Ackles and if I might say so myself a pretty damned good version of "Once I Was" by Tim Buckley. I was thanked by some people for that one. Then the heavens opened up and it rained enough to kill off half the rat population of greater Milwaukee. I figured it was Ackles getting back at me for screwing up his song.
Tonight, on the last night of qualifying, I answered all five phone round questions for "Super Millionaire" (a guy can dream). I have to have my cell phone on from 8 to 11 tomorrow for (hopefully) that random call. I haven't been to New York in about 14 years. I'd be happy to win enough to buy Lou Reed a drink. That wouldn't THAT set the twilight reeling!
And now it's time to scrub the tub (Lovely Lady Leslie's orders [it needs it; she's right again; when will she stop that?]) grab another soda, and tempt fate by hitting the ATM after dark. Adieu!!

ALBUM REVIEW
Laura Nyro
Spread Your Wings And Fly: Live At The Fillmore East May 30, 1971
Columbia/Legacy

April 8th is a horrible day in contemporary music history. April 8th, 1976 found Phil Ochs taking his own life after a long decline fueled by being attacked in Tanzania three years before and descending into alcoholism. April 8th, 1994 brought the discovery of Kurt Cobain's body in his Seattle home. April 8th, 1997 took away Laura Nyro, one of the first and greatest of the "Singer/Songwriters" that would change the landscape of American popular music for the better part of the late '60's and early '70's.
This latest gem from the Columbia/Legacy catalog represents one of the last concerts at Bill Graham's Fillmore East. Nyro is alone at the piano on her home turf of New York City, bringing forth more soul than any white girl before or since. Slowly, through a deft use of melody and medley, she offers the audience a brief history of the songs by herself and other contemporaries such as Goffin and King (her splendid interpretation of "Up On The Roof") that had delivered her to this point in time. As the liner notes are careful to explain, the sound quality of this disk is not without its flaws, but the occasional sonic accident doesn't diminish from this music. Nyro, on this night, effortlessly moved the audience from songs of desperation ("I Am The Blues" and the David/Bacharach museum piece "Walk On By") to songs of hope ("O-o-h Child" and "Map To The Treasure"). Two tracks on this album, "American Dove" and "Mother Earth" have never been released in any form on any of Nyro's previous releases.
It is important to note that the audience responds most vociferously to Nyro's own "Save The Country", a song that takes on increased relevance in these troubled times. While it is songs of life and the heart such as "Stoned Soul Picnic", "And When I Die" and "Eli's Coming" that put her on the musical map and ensured her legacy, it was songs such as "Save The Country" that give Nyro a timelessness and continue to make her music relevant seven years after her death. In fact, it is maddening that in the 33 years since this performance, we seem to have been forced back to square one with regard to ecology, war, and man's inhumanity to man by the current keeper of America's keys. As another of Laura's songs says, "I'm mad at my country", but it is Laura Nyro's shining musical messages of love and peace that give me some sense of hope and strength these days.

It has been roughly 11 days since my last confession, and these are my triumphs (God wants us to do well).
On May 3rd, I officially became John Paul Spencer for all the world to see. It became easy to explain to the judge why I wanted to change my name when his clerk mispronounced my old name. The paperwork for these changes never stops. I'm rather amazed at the different levels of proof all of the financial and governmental forces at work would like from me. The only thing I have to update are my 4 CD club memberships and I believe that I am finished.
I wrote one song on a whim and finished another by force. One started out grandiose and ended up light-hearted, the other started grim, became morose and descended slowly into utter despair. As you may have guessed, I'd rather play the first one.
I have a busy weekend ahead of me, all of it involving some sort of athletic pursuit. On Saturday, I join Lovely Lady Leslie on the NAMI walk (according to the brochure, that stands for the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill). Lovely Lady Leslie devotes her professional life to the treatment of the mentally ill, then comes home to me. As you might have guessed, she never gets a break. I'm beginning to understand her constant need for sleep. On Sunday, I play street hockey with friends. I wonder how I'll look out there.
This evening, we dined with friends expecting their first child. The man in all this, Dylan, is also my band mate in the two-man-plus-effects-box collective known as The Jumping Frenchmen Of Maine. Very soon, we shall set about cutting a record with the help of all of our musical bric-a-brac and Dylan's computer. More on that next week.
And so, as the sun rises on Central Europe, I bid all in the dark and light and peaceful, a quiet, a humble goodnight.

I'm in the middle of what could be the most important weekend of my life. On Thursday the 29th, I turned 38. It was low-impact. I stopped by The Philly Way on 2nd & Florida and got myself a chicken cheesesteak. For a further taste of home, the Phillies were on ESPN, they lost in 13 innings, but I enjoyed what I stayed awake for (c'mon, it's BASEBALL! What, did you want me to stay awake?). Today, I got the best haircut I've had in a LONG LONG time. I feel and smell great from the head down. I got a few compact discs in the mail today. I already listened to "Cold Spring Harbor" by Billy Joel, noted pianist and reckless driver. I'm currently listening to the Belfast Cowboy himself, Van Morrison. "Bang Masters". My favorite album until the day I die is "Astral Weeks".
I got a pleasant surprise at work before I left on Thursday; Jenny, a young lady who handles charts for one of the clients I deal with at work, sent me an e-card for my birthday. Such a sweet person, Jenny. I wish wonderful things for her in her life. May the bumps in the road be few. Tomorrow, I'm going engagement ring scouting with Lovely Lady Leslie. Yes, it's that serious, and it almost always has been since we came across each other. She has been feeling ill lately with a virus. As usual, she's asleep at this late hour. Sh always warned me that she loves her sleep. Unfortunately, she paired off with a ghoul.
I feel I need to recommend one-half of a recent album purchase; Disc 2 of Nellie McKay's "Get Away From Me". It's an ambitious debut. Too bad she's touring with a relic like Sting. My Lord, why doesn't he retire already? I feel embarassed for him. I'm wondering just exactly when he began to morph into Enya.
Now that my diet soda cup is empty, I'm going to move to Rolling Rock to help me get some rest. Monday is the big day. With the grace of a judge, I will officially be known to the world as John Paul Spencer for the rest of my life. If the door closes, dear friends, kick it back open. Accept NOTHING at face value. Good night. I may be back in an hour or two. I'm wired on caffeine.