Valley Music Open Mic ..again

It is a way to broaden my horizons. Besides, Cliff and Kevin, the guitars and vocals of Copper Creek were going, so it seemed the thing to do. It may make us stronger as a group when we play together.

Cliff did his own thing, and Kevin did his. Then we all did a tune with Lauren. I'm glad to see everyone is leaning more toward doing original music. It is good when they do things on their own because I get a better sense of where their hearts are, plus I like seeing them play as a spectator sometimes.

Cliff was definitely on his game. He's a legend in some circles around here due his history as an early purveyor of live music. He played as well as ran a venue; a 60's coffee house type of place. I guess about the time when beatniks morphed into hippies.

I've heard some tapes of him in earlier days, and I have to say his voice improved with age. He's got a sound and quality now that is unique. It's the kind of voice you just enjoy hearing, and that has a sound you can't teach or imitate very well because it is its own sound. And the original song he played tonight is first rate.

I decided to try an experiment by doing a solo piece. The house bass and sort-of drums decided to back me. Big mistake. You learn as you go. I'd do that much differently. It was kind of a crowd pleaser but in reality it sucked. I'll do it agin as see if I can do it right. Broadening horizons and experimenting is the name of the game.

Even so, a couple of people asked if I would play with them when it was their turn to play. They were playing songs I'd never heard, and the progressions were nothing typical at all. I faked it OK and everyone was happy. It is strange how some guitar players will call something a typical blues progression which strikes me as hardly blues at all. But those guys consider players like Stevie Ray Vaughn or Led Zeppelin to be old school blues. Maybe you either have the blues running in your veins or ou don't.

Not saying I do, but enough is there that I know what is complicated with off blues changes that Sonny Boy wouldn't have found natural. Sonny Boy Williamson played harp with Robert Johnson and others way back. Robert is the guy who made the Crossroads famous. Made a deal with the devil so he could play guitar so well. Or so they say. He suddenly got good.

I've been to the crossroads, but I made no deals. And if I ever did, I'd never tell.

Anyway, ou can't be all things to all people. Sometimes I can't make myself sound right because it just doesn't work and nothing I can do for that. Tonight it worked OK. The tone of the harmonic blended and fit well enough, and I did the usual thing of just play air harp when in doubt.

I'd say the talent of the players is at a higher level except a few of them seemed to think I know what I'm doing. That is good and bad. Good, because it could lead to opportunities. Bad, because they ought to know I am clueless and only seem good to them because I am atypical in ways. In truth I'm kind of lame as a player in most was. Mostly I have heart and given the chance I can come close to spontaneous combustion when I can sink my teeth into a tune.

Oh well. Let them think what they want. If it gets me something good, I'm all for it. It does seem that the possibilities on the horizon pose interesting possibilities. Nothing that would make national news, but maybe some larger events, audience wise.

I'm doing what I can to lose the gut. No french fries with the hot fudge sundae. Please don't tell Michele.

OMG, not Weak--CHUBBY!

I can see, and touch, my toes. That much is good.

However, I've seen a couple of recent videos and snapshots and one thing stands out more than anything else. That one thing is my belly. I look pregnant on film. If Michele Obama sees this, and they get wind of how I think, I'm certain the fat police will throw me in some sort of compound for the obese, and Bolshevik averse. A deadly combo in today's climate of political oppression.

I knew something was up when my fatso jeans didn't fall off. That's the pair I had to get because nothing would fit when I was even fatter than now. They are only 1 inch different in waist size, but dang, I thought I was a lean, mean loving machine.

Truth is, I'm a rotund whatchamacallit. That is unacceptable. I refuse to be rotund, and I refuse to be a whatchamacallit.

Why so vain, you ask. Because I'm single and even though women like ugly guys best, they don't generally like out of shape fatso guys unless the guys are rich and/or powerful, or it makes them feel better for letting themselves go. Besides, I always thought I wasn't fat. And by most standards, maybe I am not, but I assure you, It looks like I have a soccer ball under my shirt in these pictures. Can't be a fluke every time.

Skinny and ugly works best. Examples like Lyle Lovett, Steven Tyler, and Howard Stern lend credence to this theory, as well as lesser known cases observed over the years.

So, I will stop piling all the snacks and meal items on one plate so I only have to make one trip to the kitchen. From now on I will make a separate trip for each item. That will provide about four or five times the exercise of the old way. I'll be back to my old not pregnant looking self in no time.

Maybe I Am Just Weak

Sometimes I wonder what could have been the reason for habits that don't do much toward building a constructive life. It is possible that the wrong input at the right time can short out basic logical processes in the mind, I don't know.

But then I look around and see people who decided they ought not do drugs, or alcohol, or smoke, and they just quit or tone it down to a non-damaging level. For me to quit the most destructive substances was a huge ordeal, and then I hadn't a clue how to live a productive life, just how to be a little less dangerous to myself and others. Why did I go that path to begin with? I never did think it was all that cool. Maybe I thought that was the way to easy women, or women of any kind. Obviously, I didn't give it much in depth thought.

Then there is the matter of smoking. Eventually I quit for several months, then started back, then quit for days at a time, and started back, then for close to a year, and started back. Why would I do that? It hinders your ability to breathe, makes you unattractive in many ways, and is illegal almost everywhere in California. OK, that last one is probably a reason to smoke. Just so I can blow it at the damned Bolshevik busy bodies who can't live and let live.

Even so, it is not good. I wonder if it is because I am weak that I A) indulged in addictive things to the point of being addicted, B)couldn't just decide to stop and go on with life without a lot of trouble and confusion.

One thing I've never wanted to be is weak. It is annoying to consider that maybe I am. I guess I know the reason I've been alcohol free for 25 years is not due to any strength, as near as I can tell. I quit because I was down and out and had nothing else to do, and someone suggested a way out that wasn't all that painful. If it had required strength, I'd be screwed.

When I look at the total creeps, jerks and communists who have been able to quit smoking without much evident difficulty, it shames me.

Buddy Rich, the late drummer, whom I respected and liked, just made the snap choice and never smoked again. Why was he stronger than I am? I cannot accept this calmly.

I wonder if I can will myself into no longer being a weakling. I'm seriously considering it.

Open Mic and Good Days

This has been a swell birthday weekend, even if the stupid Giants did win the Super Bowl.

Cliff and I hit the open mic at Valley Music again. It is an unusually diverse mix of characters who frequent that event. Some of them may end up being good network connections that could lead to a little studio time or maybe some gigs playing with various combos. No telling. They act like I m a hotshot, so I can't help but like them. I know I'm not really anything special, but I suppose I do well when it comes to being a good side player who doesn't clash much with the music. Most harmonica is either up front and center, or not much for filling in with the background fabric of the tune. There are a few who do well with it, but really not many.

My coastal friends filled me with cake and food and sang happy birthday and told me I am older. This is one time I didn't care. The last two weeks were filled with a lot of magic, and gave me some motivation and more. I have a good feeling about the direction things are going and my prospects for engaging in new and productive endeavors.

The ultimate goal is probably worth it, but to get there I have to do some work that means changing habits and shaking up my usual patterns. I may want what I want bad enough not to give up. I've let such things slide in the past and it left me feeling pretty bad and defeated. I do not want to repeat that sort of mistake in this case.

At the very least I know I will long remember this short period of time as a landmark of sorts, and look on it fondly as a happy interval in my life.

Education is Rarely Free

This has been an educational few days or so. Some of it was quite extraordinary, uplifting and soothing to the soul. However, there was a bit of backlash along the way which I see as my fault, and part of a recent pattern which I do not care to indulge any more at all.

It is one of those syndromes which comes from trying to be nice, give the benefit of the doubt, assuming people understand English and comprehend your words, even though such people may possibly not believe in your idea of boundaries, basic rights and code of what is over the top and what is not. The trouble comes when you underestimate the willingness of some to get what they want or go ballistic, suspending most sense of rational thought. You don't want what I want so I will turn vicious, even though you are under no obligation to want what I want, and it is your life. It happens. Anger and directed hatred are the chosen avocations of some. Spooky.

Then there is the education which involves example, and surprising interaction. That is the best. It is amazing how focussed some people can be, yet be perfectly gentle and quite personable in the process. Like always, it seems my chief instructors in life are women--both on the positive and the negative. Even in the positive form, education requires something. Often, in my case, under recent scenarios, it requires keeping my errant ego in check. That tendency to want to be the hero even when no hero is needed, or to impress merely because I find someone around me to be impressive. I can get it under control.

Nothing worse than someone who can't just accept another's accomplishments without having to make it about themselves. Oops. That sounds vaguely like various political movements and rhetoric that have been blowing in the wind lately.

Maybe I will list the positive aspects of lessons learned, over the past few days, at some future time. It left me more hopeful and feeling fine.

It's a BallisticTour Kind of Life

There are some things that I'd love to write about, but it just doesn't pay to spell it out here. I'm too lazy to write it up as a parable of some kind which would make the point but be so obtuse that no one except those involved would draw out the symbolism as it relates to reality.

So, I have to settle for vague generalities which symbolize nothing. Pretty much.

Oh, I can list one or two specifics. Someone from one of the open mics invited my Copper Creek band mates, plus another guy I know to come play music out his house. It was a music house-party. They all brought wives and such. I arrived alone, but did not feel bad because I was not feeling all that lonely.

It has been an educational few days. It's good to be back home only for peace of mind knowing it is still here. Tomorrow I expect to be up the coast a little way, once again, then all will be quiet and the ships that pass in the night will go their own ways. Oh, there I go, breaking my own rules. Maybe I am really talking about ships. Sleek vessels, well appointed, and what the heck.

But there is always that damned pirate ship lurking around trying to sink you. Or maybe the Coast Guard gone rogue. Can't let that sort of thing prevent one from experiencing the joy of a well made, responsive craft. Take the good and hope to dodge the torpedos.

It is amazing the kinds of things being done independently by individuals which seem to bring them a bit of freedom, independence and security in one form or another. Lots of people are their own bosses, and own companies. Nerve and confidence go a very long way. Talent alone rarely wins the reward. Seeing that kind of thing in action and being a temporary part of it is inspiring. And else.

I've been out of the comfort zone and not in circumstances in which I control much. That is tough and it causes me to assess my attitude and try to bend it in the right direction. It is easy to want to come up with something from my past or present so I can prove my worth, even though I am the main person who is questioning if I possess any.

Such times can make or break you. You either fall into childish abandonment fears and start forcing people to pay attention to you for no reason, or you get over it and appropriately assume your proper role in that venue. Sometimes it is not my stage and hogging it, or trying to, would just screw up the show and benefit no one.

I did OK. And I reaped some benefit by doing so.

Obviously I have filled this page with what could be considered symbols and metaphors and everything I said I wasn't doing. But I did not make it into a story like, "Once there was a skunk who ran with a gazelle in the three-legged race on field day at the boarding school", or something like that. Besides, everyone's already heard that story. The skunk and gazelle routine has been done to death, if it has been done at all.

Kick Starting; again

It may be some organic syndrome--medical weirdos who studied me because I am weird chalked much up to "organic syndrome"--or it may be how I've been conditioned forever from without and within. Often external conditioning becomes internal and the organism produces its own shock treatment when considering choices that yielded pain from external sources in the past. That is where one can get pretty crazy and self defeating.

I fall into that latter category, and have discovered that knowing the score is not enough to affect the proper course. It is a start.

So, knowing I have to change some things, mostly because I am not satisfied and I want project and passionate challenge in my life, I started thinking...

That resulted in considering what I would do if I won a great deal of money; enough to take the limits financial embarrassment brings out of the equation. Soon I realized that most of these things could be done right now.

It would be tragic to be wealthy and isolate, avoid exploring various possibilities, let one's self become out of shape and unhealthy, etc. --all the things I'm doing. All of those things can be changed without a huge bank account or trust fund. I may not be able to build a machine shop for creating whatever right now, but I do have some tools and materials and a place to work and create. Make do with what you have.

I don't need a car so I don't dream of money falling in my lap so I can buy some exotic auto. Mine does the job very well. I have a good amp, and only need a delay pedal, and can get by without if need be. Besides, I am not making use of that.

Things I'd like to market I have yet to pitch. Things I want to write I have yet to finish. Money is not the key to that. The more I hear of the 99% the more I want to be the .1%. The 1% is not a lofty enough goal. I'm not interested in being the 1%, or more accurately the .1% or .01% who wield power and control over others--the .1% who are free, happy and purposeful. And financially secure.

Maybe that is because I was present for the 60's and early 70's and I discovered that a huge portion of hippies and group protestors were insincere, selfish, duplicitous and just out for sex and party time, and usually in a way that was horribly materialistic while masquerading as the opposite. Not a big fan of any era, but that scene was cruel, and failed miserably. They protested during Vietnam and created the concept of never ending wars, domestic roadblocks, mandatory helmets for everything they can get away with, and a general open season on minding everyone's business and making laws to force others to conform. That is the flower power generation--useful idiots for tyranny.

If they mean the modern day version of that crowd when they claim to be the 99%, count me out.

OK. That was a bit of a tangent there. The point is, resources at hand often hold the key to opportunity, and behavior can be altered by realizing it in a way that becomes internalized. Maybe some kind of special pill would help too, but I've not found any useful, long term, in my quest to get out of my own way.

Odd as it seems, my drastic move out west, and rambling travels have been baby steps toward breaking out of destructive patterns which create a mental prison. Plus I have enjoyed the travels, and learned a lot about sleeping in a tent.

Empathy; double edged doodad

People tend to get worked up, feel self righteous, while identifying the downtrodden. Sometimes they assume some group is more beat down and powerless than they really are. I guess that is more a manifestation of a superiority complex and a need to appear benevolent than it is a true indication of empathy.

Even so, I've seen and known people in certain circumstances which tended to earn them the scorn of those who think they know what that situation is like to live, but they do not know. Some people are incapable of imagining any condition of life feels differently than their own. They are ignorant, and either totally lack imagination or brains, or something.

The thing that tends to happen when it becomes open season on judgement of a group, where they become the scapegoats of frustration, is that a lot of unjust things happen. If you can paint such vitriol with the brush of egalitarianism or self righteousness, then any values which go by the wayside are unnoticed.

That is much of what is happening with this class rhetoric which has provided a release for so many who just need something to blame and hate because life is a bit more tense than it ought to be. Rich is evil, therefore we should cut them down to size by confiscating their wealth for ourselves. That is as unfair, and cruel as some of the games which are played on the poor and ignorant.

Payment selling was designed to financially rape the poor. If they weren't ignorant, and greedy, it would not work. The guy making ten grand a year ought to know he cannot afford a twenty five thousand dollar car. But, if someone says they'll carry the note or the lease, he'll sink himself into it. The only reason why is that he is too greedy to use his head, and/or he does not realize that just because someone will allow him to do it does not mean it makes sense. In this case there is a bit of reality denying and greed on both sides of the board. "He signed the contract!". Yea, but you knew he was a half wit or otherwise highly unaware. I've been there. It is an ugly thing, and those jobs wear thin.

Empathy, or lack of it, cuts both ways. I'm highly empathetic to people who have made a lot of money through very consistent, disciplined effort and planning. Many times they are very bright. To think they do not deserve it because someone else is poor is a very stupid thing. One person creating and accumulating wealth does not make someone else poor. We are putting thievery and dishonesty aside for now.

When I hear this 99% talk, I still wonder what exactly that means, why is it nobler to be part of the average mass than of the exceptional few, and how you can decide that everyone is to be grouped in terms of income. Some mega wealthy people are evil, and some are not. Many of the self proclaimed 99% are greedy bastards who want to control the wealth of others, and some are not.

Maybe "we are the 99%" means we aren't the 1% who live under a bridge, in prison or have a terminal disease. Hadn't considered that, but it is a bit heartless and cruel to then protest that 1% of struggling unfortunates.

I'm pretty sure they are talking about money though. It gets confusing. People raising hell about the greedy rich, while they advocate spending the money of the rich on things they deem worthy, and which will benefit them. Sort of like the extortionist calling the miser greedy. In some cases the thief calling the victim greedy.

Just because someone has wealth does not mean they in no circumstances deserve empathy. It may be a surprise to some to know that even the wealthy feel pain, have hearts, heartbreak and cannot do everything they'd like for some of their loved ones. They cannot cure the incurable or ward off mortality. They are not by definition evil.

I've met as many (more, in reality) people of meager means who were evil and violent, unfeeling and lacking conscience as those who had some wealth. I feel far safer walking down an ultra wealthy street than I do a street in a housing project. That fact alone causes me to conclude that poverty is by no means a virtue, nor does it necessarily spawn decency and compassion.

I could be in poverty at any minute. I wouldn't think it would give me the right to mug people, be violent or destroy that which others have created and worked to build. I'd ignore licensing and zoning laws if I had to make myself a shelter. I'd ignore licensing laws if I had to sell trinkets on the corner trying to get a foothold.

Who knows, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the rich should hate everyone and anyone who wants to be richer should hate those who are. They all deserve the wrath; rich and poor alike. Nervy bastards.

Roadside Ramblings/Seasoning-spice Update and Correction

The smoked hot paprika from Spain is really not that hot when cooked into things. Take it straight and it is. Cook it into Grandma Ballistic's hundred year old recipe for potato extravaganza instead of using regular paprika, and it is quite the thing.

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I've noticed more and more in my travels that the hip thing to do in traffic law enforcement is to threaten double fines. At first you think, "OK, workers are in danger so they are out to ensure their safety".

Then you realize that the last five double-fine work zones have consisted of a couple of orange signs, maybe one giving a reduced speed limit, but no work, no workers, nothing. Just a few miles of harassment and paranoia.

Then there are the "Safety Zones", which sometimes have a slightly different name. "Safety Zone Next 20 Miles, Fines Doubled. Drive Carefully." Oh shit!, I better be safe and careful for a change. Time to quit driving with my toes from the back seat. It never occurred to me to drive carefully at 70 or 80 miles per hour. If they hadn't told me, I'd have gone on driving without care, concern or attention.

It's always a relief to get back into the unsafe zone where all hell breaks loose and everyone goes back to watching tv, texting, having sex, and blogging as the drive. And where the fines are only one time as bad instead of double the trouble.

Now I'm seeing that "fines doubled" thing on side roads which have a 40 mph speed limit, and the same fake work not going on.

I guess they want money and want to be able to extort it at will. My thinking is, "Do I really want to give money to an outfit that does business this way? NO!!!!"

How we became a culture that not only accepts, but often encourages, this kind of big brother, police state mentality is beyond me. I guess people look around and think others are idiots who need heavy handed guidance. But they fail to consider who it is that sits in judgement and pulls the strings---often those with no moral compass or good judgement whatsoever. Often just thugs who missed getting drafted by the Mafia.

I guess a safety zone is a nice way of announcing an extended speed trap, and possible venue for random searches and the like.
If only people here and elsewhere were not so damned afraid of freedom. I believe it is partly their fear that makes them need this kind of parenting as adults. It is strange.

Insights of Meditation; part a

It came to me in a flash of clarity.

Ever wonder where Trump and his son, the wannabe mini-me-Trump, got that poker face thing they do on the apprentice, and what makes them think it is cool?

The Donald picked it up from the old Alfred Hitchcock series. Al would parade into view wearing that expressionless expression, then begin his droll narrative. No matter what he said, it seemed highly intelligent and beyond reproach due to his delivery and that emotionless countenance, which still managed to convey an air of superiority.

It is clear that the Trumps have studied this and practiced imitating Mr. Hitchcock's manner, incorporating it into their management style. I suspect that they watch old Hitchcock intros then run to the mirror to see how close they can come to duplicating the look.

Now Trump's secret is out. I can't believe I am the first to realize the influence behind the man and the show. Just goes to show the power of meditation, daydream, and living half in one dimension and half in another.