Don't Know Why, but who cares

So, despite my panic when barely glimpsing my life, I went ahead and practiced with the young brothers for close to four hours today; going through some of their original stuff and other things. Guitar players always have to throw in chord changes that aren't immediately predictable. I suppose if they didn't then all songs would sound the same.

The original songs are among my favorites. I'm kind of getting the idea. The main thing is that not every tune is a solo opportunity or the place to play single note runs. Fitting some rhythm and chords makes more sense on a few. I'm actually nt so used to that because most people want me to do a ride on everything. I think it is best for the big picture not to.

There is talk of a Thursday night paying gig up north of here aways, which may turn into an every week thing. I wonder what it pays? Considering California gas prices, it needs to pay something.

They said they've promoted themselves to this place--a hotel--as having a good harp player in the mix so I am expected to play.
Once again it is a situation in which I just kind of do what I do, and ou don't have to be too good--just sensible enough to go with what they are doing and avoid clashing. Also it is again rather challenging at times because this set up is different from what I am used to. It is a different twist from what I did in Memphis or what I've done here with Copper Creek.

I'll continue to play with Cliff and Kevin and Lauren, unless there is a conflict and one or the other has a paying gig. It appears the Orange Pickers are more serious about scoring that. And more available for it. I may be able to find something for them before long as well. We'll see when the time comes.

In the mean time I must sort and filter my junk and achieve some semblance of organization. It can lead to a better livelihood and for sure a better state of mind. That and measures to be healthy and in shape ought to brighten my day to day world view.

Bands Like This, and I Panic

So, I jammed and went over a couple of tunes with the Orange Pickers. The fairly young brothers who play guitar and bass, with the guitar player being the front man and vocalist.

Then they said there is an open mic tonight that is far different and more of a thrill than the one where we met. The thing is this place puts everyone's name in a hat and draws it like a lottery. The have enough acts that they only give you 10 minutes.

But you are playing to an small auditorium from a great stage, with a very good sound system. The lighting is such that you can barely see the audience because the only lights are stage lights. Very professional. And quite a few people.

I didn't see or hear everyone. One guy who played piano and sang was pretty good. I wish I knew someone in the audience or that we had recorded what we did. It felt like we did pretty well, and the roar from the audience when we were done was noticeably more enthusiastic than I'd heard. We did 2 tunes and took up every bit of ten minutes.

It is crazy but I swear this is the perfect band for me. The big hitch is that I'm too old for this nonsense. I get all enthused, then I look around and panic. What am I doing? When I step back and realize how pitiful it all is, I recoil from myself in horror.

Now I am not sure what to do. The Orange kids are all eager for the next practice, or they were, and I am thinking I need to do something else because I should have outgrown this kind of thing before those kids were even born.

I hate the whole music world as it relates to me. I don't belong here, dammit.

Loco Motion

Why do I keep playing? I play when the practice here in the neighborhood, which is a sporatic kind of thing so we never really get the game up to where I'd like. We also play some things that aren't my favs, but that can be good for broadening the skills. And I play more and more at a couple of open mic events which occur every week on Thursday and Saturday. I've done the Saturday one more than the other.

There are times when I question what it is I'm doing. I don't really get it. Last night, at the Saturday open mic, my friend Cliff was to do some songs that are foreign to me and probably not in need of a harmonica backing, so I just put my name on the play list separately. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I saw that those two brothers from last time were there. I call them Los Lonely Boys, but the call themselves the Orange Pickers. They must pick oranges sometimes, and I guess they like the word play. I also call them Los Gatos Naranjas. I like the spanish names.

Anyway, I asked if they wanted to come play with me when it came to my time. They had a couple of songs they thought would be bluesy so I said OK, we'll do those. They did very well. I like the guitar player's stye and vocals, and his brother's bass is not bad either. There were a few technical issues and I know what I'd do differently, but it was OK.

They called me today and want me to come jam and want me to play with them when they get gigs and such. These are kids, relative to me. Very young. But I think that lead guy has something and that they could make a go of things. So I will go tomorrow and play on their home turf. Maybe I can help them, or maybe not.

Right now I am in one of those mind states which is characterized by thinking I am not any good at all and should be doing something more constructive. It is amazing how I lose all sense of worth when it comes to music. I've been plaing like crazy lately, so I should be in good form, but all of a sudden, bam, it just dissolves.

There was a guy last night who came in with a very nice harp case, and coll bag of related things. He talked a big game too; claimed he plays jazz, classical, bluegrass, blues, you name it, and that he did studio work. I was sure he'd put me to shame and people would realize I am just an angsty lamer hacker.

When I played, he never said anything. Then when he got up there with the people he was going to "play some blues with" he took the microphone off the stand and held it. I never did that there because I didn't know if the sound guy would adjust right. It seemed to work well enough.

After all that talk I expected something that would make me think I need to work on this or that, or to hear something I couldn't do. What I heard was third rate, and I almost would rather have been blown away. It shows how little confidence I have. There were no really good licks, no special tone, vibrato, nothing. He didn't play off key notes and that's about it. I could in no way picture jazz, classical and studio work. I was shocked.

My shock was at my own vanity and fear, and at the fact that he really wasn't what I consider good. Other players can make me nervous, but they usually make me play better, and give me something to strive for or think about. All I wondered is whether anyone actually paid this guy to do a studio gig. If what I heard was a sample, I'd be kicking myself forever if I played like that in a studio or on stage. I do that anyway with my efforts but I would kick harder.

It just goes to show, the spiffy case and goodies coupled with mildly arrogant boasting does not interesting music make. Not to say I even know if what I play is interesting. When I like things it is because I get lost in it and like the way it feels to play whatever I'm doing. Always been in it for the feel rather than the sound, to a large degree. But I hate it when it sounds bad or clashes with the big picture. Maybe I have more sense than some in that way.

I hope I can dig up some enthusiasm for the lonely boys. They should be encouraged. They are good kids and have charisma as well as a great feel for their music. Besides, the guitar player holds the late Robert Johnson in high esteem and knows about the Crossroads.

I'll tool on down to Jamul tomorrow afternoon and see what's what. Just don't want to be one of those old guys that looks stupid because he doesn't know he's not 20.

Mean Streets of Ballistic Mtn.

A stroll down the hill and back.

Up to the Cabin and Up to the Band House

A little visual taste of the neighborhood<--- that's what we called it back before it became da hood, and when whore wasn't spelled or pronounced ho.
I cling to the English of fly-over country, until they emulate what is perceived as coastal inner city cool. If you don't know, large urban inner cities are not cool or conducive to leisurely strolls.

This is what happens when you drive unpaved roads which curve and go up and downhill with a flip cam in one hand and, part of the way, a harmonica in the other. And trying to add some sountrack on the minor key harp while filming and driving. Ab harmonic minor, I think.

Grim Poultry Conspiracy Discovered

Like many of the most devious and diabolical plots, the chicken coup has been in plain sight. They taunt us by printing the truth and proudly displaying it.

People are so accustomed to responding positively to senseless claims, announced with glee, that they often ignore the sinister substance of the thing. Or we haven't a clue what is being said, but it sounds good so we are influenced. "Now, with new Hyrdropinol and fewer colemnizoids!" "Doctors recommend it over zerbetium, 2 to 1."

Those examples are relatively harmless. What I realized wasn't so harmless was what was labeled quite plainly on the egg carton. I have to think it is a case of discrimination--an institutionalized hate crime--that the authorities have let this practice go on. No scandal, no expose on 60 minutes or some viral internet outrage. No occupy the chicken farm. Nothing.

I fear for my life. I have no idea why they do this, but it says right there in bold print on the egg box, "Vegetarian fed hens.". Some yahoos no doubt think this is funny. They do not know the potential kick-your-ass viciousness that lurks in some non-carnivores. They wouldn't be laughing if it said, "Snickering Yahoo fed chickens."

However these victims of the poultry industry are not animals, they are human beings. How can they get away with it? If you prick us, do we not bleed? etc. etc.

My question is, why are they feeding vegetarians to chickens? Can't they feed them chicken food, like seeds or popcorn?

All I know is that if I go missing, the place to look might be the local egg farm. A clever plot, since the evidence is eaten. I would think modern forensic science could prove wrong doing now that they know the score. They had no reason to look for traces of vegetarian in chicken droppings, until now.

They should have looked, but law enforcement is a bigoted, imperfect, corrupt bunch of pain in the ass sadists, for the most part, so it takes time for the few good people to get the right thing done. Yes, I know people like to say, "Oh, most in law enforcement are dedicated public servants, blablabla..." They know that is garbage and so does everyone else. Most in law enforcement are not nice people. You can't be and enforce the kinds of laws they enforce, in the manner in which they do it.

I've known a few cops, and since they were friends prior to going to the dark side I ignored the reality. I've met people who are cops, and I do the same thing--pretend they are swell people. But the truth is, when it comes down to it, and they have on their cop suit, they are not normal, nice people. They are power. And if you don't answer just right, show the proper deference, then zap, you are going to be physically abused, and probably cited or arrested--hit in the wallet one way or another.

In all fairness it is not totally the fault of the cop that he or she is a mini tyrant in most cases. They are in a system which promotes it. If they do the right thing, they are dealing with dirtbags which is no fun at all. They are under the thumb of politicians which is a can of worms too. So, the setup gives them an out--find mild mannered normal folk who are violating some insignificant rule. Less chance of getting shot, or of the person having power and connections which might jeapordize the job, pay raises and pension.

If they focussed as much on wiping out gangs as they do with stupid drug activity and traffic entrapment tactics, maybe it would be a better thing.

I still question the ones who go along with stupid laws under the excuse of "just doing my job", but that is how it is. 911 operators, dispatchers and other support personnel are less likely to have the same over bearing power rush that often possesses the cop. If a cop refused to do the job in an unconstitutional, and unreasonable manner, that cop would be out of a job in most locales. People somehow think it is unAmerican to say these things. I think it is unAmerican that it has come to the point where innocent people tend to fear the police more than trust them to protect. Some still think if you aren't doing anything wrong you needn't worry. My experience, and that of many others, has been to the contrary. Just wait, is all I have to say.

But I'm on the short list for chicken feed, and they probably aren't. Obviously equal protection means nothing when it comes to non-carnivores.

I'll bet something would have been done if they said, "Cop fed chickens" or "City council fed hens" on the label. But then the eggs would probably be rotten from the get go.

By the way, there is no such thing as a "public servant". They are paid, and doing a job-sometimes. They even have thuggish unions. They are no more public servants that the barristas at Starbucks. Except the Starbucks people provide a service you want and voluntarily pay for. Few surprises there. The barrista is unlikely to pry into other matters in your life because you ordered a latte. Perhaps the server of espresso can lay more honest claim to the title, "public servant", than most who self aggrandize with that tag.

No News Is Good News

Holy smoke!! I just perused some general headlines for the first time in awhile. When you shut it off, it can be a shock to check back in.

If I didn't know better, and I don't, I'd say there was a long standing effort to instill fear, confusion, and animosity into the deepest recesses of what is left of our minds. Really, none of it makes a lot of sense, regardless of what pundits and historians theorize.

There is simply no rationale for the way things are, and the structure of most of civilization. I narrow most of it down to people not having the ability to mind their own business and respect the rights of others through the ages. The clever institutions which thrive on this weakness in humanity have done well in exploiting this while gaining wealth and power. It certainly isn't new.

What is new is the pure volume and weight of this crush of fear, hatred, avarice, jealousy, lack of conscience, etc. No reasonable voices hold the political stage to any degree. It is quite clear that whatever, even if only fate, is pulling the strings intends for Obama to have a second term. I don't think he has to say or do a thing. Those vying to oppose him are digging their own graves as rapidly as they can. And I am not one who agrees with the current administration's philosophy or practices regarding nearly everything. But come on, what is all this insanity on the other side? Very depressing.

I give up on that. The only thing I can do is hope I can afford to drive from here to there, and just pretend to be free and hopeful. In discussing things with friends I can see that they don't agree with me, and I think they miss the big picture in many ways. If they can fix it, I leave them to it. My best fix is to fight the things that affect the mind and one's optimism about his own prospects and ideas.

Geez, with all the cliches that constantly find their way into sports lingo, now "chink in the armor" is considered racist because a Chinese basketball player is making a splash. You know, lots of people, who aren't obsessed with race and ethnicity, would never have drawn that nuance out of what was being said. No matter. They fired the guy anyway.

I'm wondering how the phrase, "At the end of the day..." will become off limits in the future. That is one cliche that I hear everywhere. Did anyone ever say, "The bottom line is..." in a context in which someone drew a sexist connotation? Maybe in circumstances that caused them to be labeled homophobic?

Clearly I have been duped, just like most people. The trouble is, I am one who has somehow taken it seriously enough that I have had big trouble kick starting my life, over and over. I hope to get a foothold before it is all over and I am unaware that I did it.

It shouldn't be too hard to ignore those who "wake up every day asking, What can I do to make your life better? (with tax money)". And to avoid the El Cajon contingent of the highway patrol. I thought my buddy with the gym bus was stopped by the Sheriff. Nope, it was CA Highway patrol, El Cajon office. One citation was for a dirty engine. The guy crawled up under the thing and decided that.

THEY do not comprehend the life of people who just try to make a living, especially if they are independent of any government or large corporation. I have to run away from anything that has to do with agencies and agents. And from any people whose circumstances are such that they like all the bureaucracy, or at least the set up. They will be talking about policies and politicians and I need to avoid it like I need to avoid alcohol, and other addictive things. I am too easily sucked in and it is detrimental to life.

Much of what I grew up believing is wrong. Much of what most of us grew up believing is wrong. Until people realize that, and figure out what of the ingrained material is destructive, the snowball will continue to grow. It is not a matter of the choices we are presented officially, either. Those are false choices which beg the real questions at best.

So easy to let outside matters cloud the real and present. I want to be a workaholic again. Just need that something which will hold my attention and fire some passion. I think that is among the healthier choices. Falling into mourning over the job market, what used to be, and all that won't win the day. Some choices aren't there, but there are more possibilities than I know; kind of by definition.

For Want of a Coat and a Bag of Gold

When I was meandering through the wild canyons of Utah, and all the great Colorado country, I remember thinking that one day maybe I'd be back and have a nice warm human female to share it with. Over time I pretty much said heck with it, forget about it. And I not only no longer thought about it, I really no longer cared one way or the other. Spend eternity alone? Beats hell, with or without company, and I've been there both ways.

Now, all of a sudden, I do have the chance, and I don't even have suitable clothes, let alone the money. And all I'd be doing is visiting, rent free. All the digs and such are in place. Or I think they are. That is the price you pay when you go on strike at 29 years old and never truly regain your bearings. I went on strike because it seemed everything I knew was wrong--at least in the way business, government, and human beings tend to operate. They shook my reality so hard, and disgusted me deeply. Even so, I see now that I walked away from millions of dollars, and possible death by assassination.

That is the trouble with obsession and passion, and I'm not talking the kind that involves stalking or seeking a human companion. If you have no proper guidance, no knowledgeable sounding boards, you can become just as dedicated a quitter as you were a creator of great things.

And in the end, you won't even have a proper coat or jacket to go hiking or skiing or exploring in the mountain west in wintertime. This is a lesson you should pass on to your children.

Perhaps I will figure a way to swing the cash to get there for a visit, and just wear all the clothes I own at once. Or I can raid the Goodwill donation places for good outdoorsy jackets, boots, thermal wear, etc. Damn. I don't think this is going to happen. I may have to just say, "Sorry, I'm poor, and I have ignored anything that dealt with security future or winter for too long. I'm too much of a loser to even accept the invitation." I won't say that, but it is basically true and that is beginning to piss me off.

Friends will berate me for not jumping at the chance, and would not do so to such a degree were they to live in my skin for a month. That doesn't mean they are not right. I have a WW2 army-air force officer's overcoat. It is wool and weighs a ton. Somehow, I do not think that is the best thing for the job.

It is the story of the princess and the pea. I'm the pea, and you have to ignore the actual plot of the story for that to make any sense.

Another Valley Music Open Microphocasm

This is all a horizon broadening exercise. The ego boosting aspect is a little confusing, too. As soon as I look at the reality around me, I wonder why I do what I do.

Once again I ended up doing a couple of solos. Since I knew Cliff was doing a song he hasn't done and maybe it was better not to have me muddling through, I figured I'd just do my thing and that would be that.

Somehow I got moved up to early on the list, and I figured I ought to give another solo foray a shot. Undecided between major and minor key, and drawing a blank on what it was I considered playing when thinking about it yesterday, I pulled out the A minor harp and just hit a chord then started playing and playing and playing some more. I suppose there was a bit of continuity to it, and at least it wasn't a repeat of anything I'd played publicly.

It went over well. Then I pulled out a D harp, used to play A major, and did something different. Most of the time I was figuring out how to slide into this really fast clikity clack thing that just uses a few notes but becomes a fast sharp rhythm. As fast as I can go, and it is a thing that is hard to do, because I have to find a way to breathe during this deal. I did OK, but I felt like I had to go short of what would make it right. I'm working on improving the lungs and all that. No wonder smokers are a dying breed-that stuff could kill you.

So, the major key thing went over big. Maybe my forte is just making it up as I go. Once again it wasn't the usual stuff anyone around here has heard. Some kid asked afterward if I'd sold my soul at the crossroads. It happens he and his brother played ahead of me, and I liked the guy's vocal and understated style of play. A good groove. Now it looks like I may hook up with these guys and who knows. The old man and the boy wonders. I really don't want to be that guy that hangs with the college set.

Except these guys are jammers and playing from a place few people even know is there. Hard to explain, but I think they've got that something extra, and they like the same kind of thing. We'll see.

I'd say the players there tonight were a cut above the usual. It was definitely better quality than the last time. It seems the level of play is improving every time.

A couple more people asked if I'd play on their songs. That is always risky because they tend to play obscure country type tunes I've never heard which have changes that are unnatural to me. They go where I wouldn't if I'd written the song. That's the challenge. That and figuring out what harp is best suited to it. Can't always go by what key it is generally considered to be. Odd stuff is tricky. I faked my way through, and one of them I actually liked. It went OK I guess. At least I got to play one of Cliff's tunes that I know.

I'm either going to have to do work on these harmonicas or replace a few. Those things have become way too expensive. They are listing a friggin Marine Band harmonica for $51.00. They gave a guy a discount and it still cost him 44.00. That is over the top. I'm going to stick with Lee Oskar harps I think, when I get anything. They are high priced as well, but they hold up far better. And for me, I generally like the sound better. Some people don't for their style of play. It does make replacing reed plates seem the better way to go than getting a new instrument. When you factor in all the different keys I use, fifty bucks a pop comes out to a lot of money.

The saddest thing is that I know I'm not a harp player's harp player. I do what I do, and I am fairly good at filling in background without clashing or stepping on the vocals or other parts. But as far as real deal, I never allowed myself to reach my potential. I do think it was there. It honestly confuses me.

I wonder how I'll react when some ultra killer harp player shows up. I'll have to go ahead and play, because it would be bad form to lay out just because someone else has better skills. Like when Magic Dick was on stage with Lee Oskar. He couldn't hang. But he hung in. I was just surprised he didn't have beeter sense on what to play and what not to play. That's where I think I have the edge. I can be out soloed by anyone, but I am more able to find the way to blend than most. But no one is paying me to do it at the moment. And there are times I can't find any way to work it in where it makes sense to me. So hell with it.

These are lean times and I will just do some menial manual labor and get enough to pay gas to and from the job, plus a ration of bread and water.

I'm a yoyo. One minute I am hopeful and optimistic, the next I wonder who I'm kidding and have no faith in myself whatsoever. Until presented with a problem to be solved which is outside of just me.

Just because I Underestimate

I've noticed that when I voice self doubt, some people tend to slightly miss the mark of what I'm saying and indicate that they under estimate me more than I do.

Not f., in case you wondered. Thanks for the note. That was a private message so ignore.

Anyway, I did mislead re Valentine's---to a point. I still believe that it is only natural for money and power to win the women, feminists or not. There are complicating factors and all that, but it is nature, and rooted in How Things Work. People after your money, allegiance and labor try to brainwash you otherwise, but you cannot fool mother nature forever. That is why every communist country has a black market.

Anyway, there are other tricks. Not being needy is a good hook. And I must say, it was requested I write something for V Day, and despite the fact that between the lines, and even on them, I was telling the truth, what I wrote was inspired and a home run.

Sometimes I know what I am doing. The whole issue is whether I want to do it. I have much difficulty in allowing myself to enjoy what I enjoy, and to live constructively. I respect productive, constructive lifestyles more than most people, yet I shy away from actually being that way. It is a mystery to me why that is.

You know the humidity is low when you wash a pair of levis in the sink because you are financially frightened, and they actually dry over night, in the shade, indoors. It would take days for them to dry in Miami, unless you hung them out in the sun.

If I were a carnivore I'd be shooting rabbits in my yard and cooking them to save grocery money. I may do it anyway, for the skins. I'll make a rabbit shirt, and rabbit shoes, and won't have to buy clothes soon. Guess I better include some sort of trousers in the mix.