Monday, March 16, 2015

Best Laid Plans ; part mmxv

For reasons beyond our control, the Hard Rock Cafe gig for this evening was canceled.  Had nothing to do with my bad behavior, fear of our noise, etc.  Details are unimportant and I would be making them up anyway.  I know it was canceled and that it had to do with things other than us.

Not like it was a show at Shea stadium, or even Qualcomm.

Last night was OK.  The stage has bright lights everywhere and the ceiling is super low throughout the place.  Lower on stage because it is raised and the ceiling is the same all through the place.

The lights are hot, and my usual spot on stage was hot with no air circulation whatsoever.  There is a four inch square in the ceiling on the opposite side which shoots cold air straight down. No louvers or any sort of grill.

I had to position myself over there,  I could feel the itch attack wanting to come on and that was my only hope if I was to be able to play even one set.  Maybe one song.  So, we worked it out.  It made me almost irrational in my frustration.  I was so mad I had to have the special spot. It is becoming harder and harder to cope with any warm temp or high humidity.  Lately I'm way too sensitive to all of it.

I hope they keep over-booking the house.  That way I just do a few things in between guests and go home.  The new manager does not know I have issues going on.  I will have to tell him soon.  I need to find a back up worker, but people either have transportation issues or they just aren't geared to handle it, or something.  If you understand how it works, it is a cushy job with a halfway decent wage.

I just want back up, not to lose the job if I don't have to.  I'm concerned we are headed that direction unless I find a better way to contain the attacks. Any more--for ages now--I cannot wear a short sleeved shirt or it will start in my exposed forearms.  It's nuts, but unfortunately, I do not think it is psychosomatic.  It would be interesting to see if hypnosis could play a role in negating the discomfort.

It is an overall thing besides the specific problem areas.  You can feel your face get hot and that sort of thing. Part of the program.

So, it was an OK show.  I was angry and humiliated at the same time for requiring the spot under the vent.  My playing was mediocre. At best.  Overall not our best and far from our worst.

I am not fond of bars.  Last night was Navajo Live, a bar.  Nice in a way, but too much of a bar in a way.  Even as a drunk I did not like bars.  I spent a lot of time in them, but I recall saying to friends while there, "$%^& Bars suck!!!  You know, if they didn't serve alcohol, no way I'd hang around a bar!!"   Profound.  That was the peak of my reasoning power back then.  I quit.

And I certainly never missed the bar.  Bars are not me.  They suit some people.  No thanks.

But, a nice bunch of people came out to see us and support us.  Mockingbird showed up, Tara and Diego.  I think Mockingbird is a terrific name, myself.  And they are a delight. Really.  They are some of the cool kids of the Americana scene.  I call it that.  Chuck calls it that, and he knows this stuff.

We don't know and neither does anyone else.  I csall it Americana fusion.  Friend Vicki calls it Root Rock, but after hearing root used in the Australian way, I thought it a little bit too X.  Still, that does have its charm.

Call things whatever.  I'd say it is the least over-produced, over-amped and aesthetically affected genre of semi popular music.  Most people just like to play it and that is all.  Plus very few are drunks and reprobates.

The blues crowd around SD is nice enough but largely dominated by people putting on affectations; just the right look.  The look that says, "Look at me.  I look like a badass, so maybe you'll think I'm a badass."  Must be lots of peer pressure because their are room fulls of players who have the same hat, the same facial hair, the same harmonica licks, same songs.

I thought I was blues for many years.  I see now that I am far from it.  I'm more like Manheim steamroller on a diatonic harmonica.  But that is a new thing.  Even a year ago I wasn't playing this style.  It serves many purposes.  One of which is that it allows me to exert less while laying down big platform for the violin to just run.  I do my solo when needed, but not like I might.  This is working out.  It must not be as easy as I think because I met a seasoned player who told me that, though I play a different style from him, he can't even do half the stuff I do with apparent ease.  Big compliment I thought.  He had no idea how nice it was to hear that at the time.

Now I forget our next gig.  Outdoor festival in May.  How I will handle that I am not sure, although I will find a way.

It seems like we may have something on the 29th of this month.

Too bad about Hard Rock; I was shocked at the number of people who said they planned to go.  Downtown, 5pm.  Rush hour.  Nice place though.  I hope our small group of fans doesn't give up on us.

I ought to be writing profound thoughts.  What if I kick soon and have only whining and bitching left in print?   I can just hear Joel now giving me the Charlie Brown authority figure talk.  You know what I mean.  Authority figures in Charlie Brown always sound like muted trumpets  No offense Joel, but I ignore it when people bitch about stuff I can't change.

More people have tried to change me over the years than should have.  I rarely try to change anyone.  I try not to because I do not know what their best path is and I am not their owner.  They are the owners of their lives so it is up to them to handle it how they see fit.  Then again, maybe I am so manipulative that I trick even myself, while not realizing I am trying to change people.  I do that well, actually.

I'll probably be around too long to piss off survivors, anyway.  By the time I kick they'll probably substitute targeted tickling of specific parts of the brain for reading or movies or plays, any of that.  I'll refuse to get the tickle device installed and I'll die a 120 year old freedom fighter.  It will be an honorable exit.  Full of valor, purpose, drama, and rebellion.  OK.

Something to look forward to.  All the in between is just roadside sightseeing.

But here's the deal.  If Joel lived in SD county, he could handle backing me up on this job and wind up with independent projects for himself along the way.  If he could maintain a flexible mind and outlook.  I worry about rigidity there.  I tried to teach the kid all I know, but you never can be sure they listen well enough to pick it up.

One can only hope.

That would solve my work issue and someone I trust would be in the loop.  Got no place for him to live or I'd send a post paid box and suggest he mail himself out here to help me keep the job with the people who made Barry what he is today.

I'm not in any spot to be host or even gracious.  This heat is not helping.  For me in the seventies is hot, and in the sixties is almost too warm.
Except for the times when that is suddenly, temporarily not the case.  Those times last up to an hour, on a good day.

I feel like a faker.  I'm trying to make the band thing work but I feel as if I can't be sure I can do it on any given day.  Same with work.  I could not strip and sand and finish a large item of teak right now.  Only if I have ample time with no witnesses. This sucks. And the family, highly toxic, dysfunctional family of the housekeeper, whom she has managed to get on the pay as her "sometimes helpers" seems out for my job.  Her son is a psychopath, I'm pretty sure.  I won't go into all of it.

Suffice to say what was a great co-worker thing became strained as soon as they realized I may be sick and having troubles.  I will still kick them into next week if ever there is a safe opportunity (free of law enforcement) to do so.
The housekeeper, herself, is kind of turning a blind eye to the rest of the crew's antics, but she will tiptoe around her son forever.  Matters not how out of line he is.  Maybe the manager figured out that they padded hours like crazy during the management change.  So blatant.  Pure theft.

I've never seen a work situation in which going to the boss about colleagues being bad people ever worked out.  It doesn't matter what they did.  You lose.  You let the boss come to you, and then you let him form his own view.  Or you implant the view into his mind, all the while managing to let him think it is his idea.  I'm thinking in terms of current manager,  He.

Those opportunities are hard to find.  Hoping to be ready when opportunity knocks is all I can do.
I can't go much longer without cluing him in on what is happening.

I never realized how much there is to like about life.  But the part of how it works when you have zero money can be a challenge.  There are people who live out in the woods without much money.  But the woods probably doesn't bring on uncomfortable, or intolerable whatnot.
So, there you have it!



  1. Huge difference between bitching and constructive nagging. No offense taken.

    Wa, wa, wah, wah, wah.

    1. Constructive nagging over things that cannot change. Public schools. That's all I have to say about that. Sympathy card in the mail


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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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