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.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
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.
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?
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?
Monday, July 19, 2004
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..
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..
Saturday, July 17, 2004
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.
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.
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.
Friday, July 16, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
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.
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.
Monday, July 12, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
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!!
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!!
Saturday, July 10, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, July 09, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
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!!
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!!
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
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 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.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
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!!!!
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!!!!
Sunday, June 13, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, June 11, 2004
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, June 04, 2004
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!!
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!!
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