A teleplay I recently watched reminded me of a plot I've seen more than once. Spoiled rich heiress, or fiance of el jefe, or similar dame, is shipwrecked and ends up on the island or in the raft with the lowly boat help. Usually the heiress is a knock out of a white girl, and the peon is a swarthy, tough, intelligent Mediterranean or some such non-whitish guy. The woman finds him sexy, of course.
They argue at first due to her spoiled and unrealistic outlook on life, class, caste, and reality. Soon enough she is in no hurry to be rescued, as she schemes to invent ways to have him perform kinky acts upon her while making it appear not to be her idea. She at least arranges a thin veil of plausible deniability, just in case.
It would be great to be shipwrecked in good weather, land on an island which has easily obtained food, no hostile wildlife, plenty of water, and the dame finds me irresistibly clever and strong--in that Clark Gable don't give a damn way.
Actually I do better in that environment. Give me a piece of string, and some penny loafers and I'll build a shelter. Leave me in the middle of civilization and I can hardly make my way. I starve spiritually, physically, and emotionally. It should not be that way.
Civilization developed to provide safety, technical and philosophical advancement, relative peace, etc. Much has been accomplished since the cave days. Air conditioning for one. Go live in Miami for awhile and tell me you don't care about A/C. It should be good, but I have trouble.
The fault for this is not that human society is so evil or wrong. It is my inability to make use of, and recognize, reality in this setting. It is a fault of my conditioning, and possibly my organic make up. Whatever, I do not blame the world for the fact that I have not thrived in it. Just how it is. And it is not quite over, so who knows.
So, I think if all else fails, I will go get shipwrecked in the Caribbean. I prefer that to the cold Pacific. No northern oceans for me. I want the warm stuff, and I am afraid of everything in Asia so I may not go there to be marooned and lost.
I hope I find the right socialite/ hot rich, politically incorrect snobby lady to rescue in the process. Maybe this is a project that could grab my attention. "bout time
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Maybe A Last Laugh; crime and punishment series
As the previous post amply describes, I feel a bit of disrespect and chagrin from the way the Orange Picker boys first lied to me, then denounced me publicly for no good reason. I am what I am and I was born when my mother saw fit to let me out of the oven. No crime in that.
If the previous post was too long to endure, here is the synopsis:
The young brothers asked me to play so I played few times with them in public
it went well enough
They asked me to play Monday night.
I said OK. Then they sent a message at 630 saying they wouldn't be able to make it
I went to the venue to catch other acts and see what sort of people attend
They showed up and didn't notice me.
When they were on stage, the guitar player went on about how the harp player they had last time was really,
REALLY old, in a context which seemed meant to explain why I was not there. And in a ridiculing, derogatory manner.
The event MC did tell him the harp player was good. That was nice.
I've been a little miffed, and sometimes angry, ever since.
Today, I get a message from them asking if I can play on Friday night at the Egyptian Tea room and hookah parlor. Oh, so maybe someone told you that you sucked last time out? And maybe said you were better when the harp player was there? I don't know. One can daydream.
After seeing the guitar guy do his very bad Rico Suave imitation while playing, I was grateful I did not play with them Monday night. Not something I care to be part of.
Beyond that, if you lie to me, then publicly try to defame me for condition of birth, I doubt we have much to discuss. Ignorant people, who are clueless regarding themselves and others, young or old, are to be avoided and afforded no extra respect. My feeling is that attempting to explain the error of his ways would sound like a defense, could result in me punching him, and generally be no fun and not productive.
But I couldn't pass on a little opportunity to reply. Joel thinks they may be too dense to even get the little joke, and the lesson in it, and I think he may be right. I get it and that is what matters.
After several hours I replied in text to their text:
Sorry. I'm playing a benefit at the OLD folks home.
Raising money for viagra, memory loss research, as well as ego disorders
This gave me a little satisfaction. How they take it, like it, or anything else doesn't matter any more. I ,at least, got to say NO, and in a way I wanted to say it.
I'd love to hear what you think, but I won't hold my breath.
I'd already agreed to practice with the friends up here on Ballistic Mountain anyway. They feed me and appreciate my old and feeble way of making a harmonica squeak.
I've tolerated betrayal in one form or another many times in my life, and when I got fed up I always wondered why I put up with it for even a minute. This time I actually cut it off immediately. If any further contact is attempted, I will not reply. Just had to throw this one out there so the clever and even the mildly dim witted would know what is what.
And perhaps they aren't sure if I was there, or if someone in the audience knew me and told me. I like the thought that they may not know.
If the previous post was too long to endure, here is the synopsis:
The young brothers asked me to play so I played few times with them in public
it went well enough
They asked me to play Monday night.
I said OK. Then they sent a message at 630 saying they wouldn't be able to make it
I went to the venue to catch other acts and see what sort of people attend
They showed up and didn't notice me.
When they were on stage, the guitar player went on about how the harp player they had last time was really,
REALLY old, in a context which seemed meant to explain why I was not there. And in a ridiculing, derogatory manner.
The event MC did tell him the harp player was good. That was nice.
I've been a little miffed, and sometimes angry, ever since.
Today, I get a message from them asking if I can play on Friday night at the Egyptian Tea room and hookah parlor. Oh, so maybe someone told you that you sucked last time out? And maybe said you were better when the harp player was there? I don't know. One can daydream.
After seeing the guitar guy do his very bad Rico Suave imitation while playing, I was grateful I did not play with them Monday night. Not something I care to be part of.
Beyond that, if you lie to me, then publicly try to defame me for condition of birth, I doubt we have much to discuss. Ignorant people, who are clueless regarding themselves and others, young or old, are to be avoided and afforded no extra respect. My feeling is that attempting to explain the error of his ways would sound like a defense, could result in me punching him, and generally be no fun and not productive.
But I couldn't pass on a little opportunity to reply. Joel thinks they may be too dense to even get the little joke, and the lesson in it, and I think he may be right. I get it and that is what matters.
After several hours I replied in text to their text:
Sorry. I'm playing a benefit at the OLD folks home.
Raising money for viagra, memory loss research, as well as ego disorders
This gave me a little satisfaction. How they take it, like it, or anything else doesn't matter any more. I ,at least, got to say NO, and in a way I wanted to say it.
I'd love to hear what you think, but I won't hold my breath.
I'd already agreed to practice with the friends up here on Ballistic Mountain anyway. They feed me and appreciate my old and feeble way of making a harmonica squeak.
I've tolerated betrayal in one form or another many times in my life, and when I got fed up I always wondered why I put up with it for even a minute. This time I actually cut it off immediately. If any further contact is attempted, I will not reply. Just had to throw this one out there so the clever and even the mildly dim witted would know what is what.
And perhaps they aren't sure if I was there, or if someone in the audience knew me and told me. I like the thought that they may not know.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Can't Be Cruel If It Doesn't Matter
This has been bothering me for 24 hours now. I'm not precisely sure how I feel about it. My reaction has ranged from pity, to rage, to unkind laughter, to simple acceptance.
Because I have not just let it go, I finally decided to write about it. At first I thought, "This is one odd event that I will never share with anyone.". But, eventually, I came to the conclusion that I had no reason to fault or belittle myself.
As I have mentioned previously, I met a couple of young guys at an open mic, and I liked the potential I saw. It seemed like I could enjoy jamming and playing with them. They thought the same and got contact info, then gave me a call.
We went over some of their stuff at a couple of practices, and played a couple of open mic venues with which I was unfamiliar. One was particularly good as far as the set up and the players. The other was interesting, and we played better, in my view. They definitely played better; smoother and more on time.
So, Monday, I get a text asking if I can play Monday night at the well set up venue. I was working in Rancho Megabucks, and since they didn't think we'd be playing too early, I thought it would work out fine. The place is not much out of my way if I take the highways home instead of the back way. I was working into early evening.
About 6:30 I get a text that says it doesn't look like they can make it. OK, I say, sorry to hear it. I didn't mind. I figured, since I was already in the mindset, that I'd go on my way home from work to check out the place; see who plays, the demographic of the crowd, etc. The other time I was there, we played and that was that. I never got a good look at the crowd or the other players. Stage lights, back door, and all that.
I showed up about 9, and after circling around in National Heights or whatever that artsy place is called, finally scored a good parking place, maybe 100 feet from the entrance. It is free so what the heck. I sat in the back and caught a few acts, most of which were OK, even if they didn't overly trip my trigger. I liked them for the most part. There was one combo that I liked fairly well.
My coffee and water were in the car so I went out for a little break. As I'm out there, who do I see meandering in with their instruments? Yes, the brothers Grim. The kids who couldn't make it.
On our last outing, I did sense some indication that the vocalist/guitar/front/man may have been letting his ego get the best of him, and that he might have a tendency to foolishly become a little too high on himself. Previously he'd kept the front man antics toned down, without the overly affected thing that makes a lot of people sound and look like asses. He seemed to be drifting in that direction.
Needless to say I was a little bit shocked when they cruised in. I was not sure if they saw me, but I figured the ball was in their court. I went in and sat down again in the back. At one point the younger brother walked right by me, but he does wear glasses and had come from the front where the lights shine in your eyes. He's in many ways more about the music than his brother, the self styled star.
So, after awhile the MC introduces the next act and there they are. This place is good with the sound and they work it out before each individual performance. The MC was hanging around up there, sitting on the piano bench while the guitar guy is talking into the microphone. Guitar Lad started talking about the other times they'd played there and how last time they had a harp player. The MC chimed in, "That guy was really good!".
Guitar guy, "Yea, yea, he's good, but that guy is really OLD. Really, he's xx years old!" (talking over the MC's reaction of So What?) "Old! An old man, geez. OLD man." The tone was one of disparagement, not awe or respect.
MC--What? xx is a spring chicken. The guy can play.
Guitar player--clucking into mic "test test test"
I'm sitting back both enjoying this discussion, and horrified, all at once. I'd been nice to these kids, and thought I could help them be better. After hearing their set, I know absolutely they were way better when I played. The guitar player started doing all this affected guitar face stuff, and his licks were too lame to make it work. It was embarrassing. When someone is too stupid to nkow they aren't smart, or too convinced they are charming to notice that none are charmed by them, I cringe.
He was so convinced that he was wowing the women or someone that he let his posing and jumping around take precedence over playing. The tempo was so inconsistent that the bass had to stop several times trying to get him back on it without being so far apart that the notes clashed. It could have been worse, and obviously I have a resentment which might make me a bit more critical.
The truth is, I had hoped they'd do great so I could assume my job was done there, and not worry about it beyond feeling sorry that the kid is too inexperienced or cowardly to just say they wanted to go it alone. I'd made it clear that they should do that if they ever felt like it. I don't know all their songs, and some things may not be what I should, or want to, play.
What stung or seemed like it ought to sting, was being publicly described as REALLY OLD as if that was a reason any self respecting young super star wouldn't have me on the same stage. Many in the crowd had heard me play last week. No one was laughing or gasping in horror when he gave his assessment. I think, to this crowd, he was sounding a bit idiotic.
Believe me it was all I could do not to stand up and say, "Hey, I'm the Old guy, come on down kid and let me kick your young ass into next week!" Which I could. Another impulse was to stand up and yell something as I gave the finger and walked out. Didn't do that either.
I stayed for the set, felt pleasure at the lukewarm applause, and the guitar guy saying the last tune, which included the most outrageous of failed theatrics, is better with more distortion and something(?) else. They use the house amps at this place. Believe me, effects would not have made it work, unless there was something that wouldn't let you change the beat mid-measure. I tried to keep time to it and it was impossible.
Justice, I suppose, but never in my life have I been classed as some really old guy who repels an audience or children or talented musicians.
I still don't know what to think, except that I overestimated the maturity and musical passion of this kid. I give the bass player a pass because he just stared at the floor while this went on and said nothing.
What may have had something to do with it was that when we played the tea room/hookah parlor, people were commenting afterward that the harmonica "really made it. That rounded out your sound, and made it work". Comments like that are always tough to hear when you are the front man. What I know, and they don't, is that I am the spice. What's a baked potato without some butter or sour cream or something? And how much butter or sour cream by itself can you really handle? It's the combination that is worthwhile.
I wasn't planning to go to music heaven or anything, but I thought I might record some tracks when they do the studio time they plan in the near future. From what I saw, they are not ready. The only word I will ever speak to them again is "no". I don't plan to ever even say hello if we cross paths.
It is odd that they knew who I was, and my age, prior to the last couple of times we played, and that they asked in the middle of the day if I could play, then hours later lied about being able to make it. But to be publicly defamed as a player for something other than my playing, as if I had done something to them, kind of indicates that the kid is unaware of how I play, and/or his focus is not on what the product should be--delivering a musical experience. It does put him on my forever list of people to leave bleeding in a ditch if I should ever happen by when they are in such a circumstance.
And another thing; did he not know I was old until late Monday? That is a compliment in an odd fuckwit sort of way.
Bless that MC guy. Having him immediately give his gut reaction when I was mentioned, and for it to be complimentary, was perfect. It left the kid sounding stupid--but, but, but he's old old old!
Well, I've aired it out, and now I hope to deal with something more healthy, interesting and --for God's sake!!!- age appropriate.
Considering the source helps, however this has affected me. I've been very quiet for a day or two. I played with my Ballistic Mountain buddies tonight. They are both older and younger than I, and classy enough not to ridicule me for being too tan, white, black, old, sexy or anything else I can't help.
Because I have not just let it go, I finally decided to write about it. At first I thought, "This is one odd event that I will never share with anyone.". But, eventually, I came to the conclusion that I had no reason to fault or belittle myself.
As I have mentioned previously, I met a couple of young guys at an open mic, and I liked the potential I saw. It seemed like I could enjoy jamming and playing with them. They thought the same and got contact info, then gave me a call.
We went over some of their stuff at a couple of practices, and played a couple of open mic venues with which I was unfamiliar. One was particularly good as far as the set up and the players. The other was interesting, and we played better, in my view. They definitely played better; smoother and more on time.
So, Monday, I get a text asking if I can play Monday night at the well set up venue. I was working in Rancho Megabucks, and since they didn't think we'd be playing too early, I thought it would work out fine. The place is not much out of my way if I take the highways home instead of the back way. I was working into early evening.
About 6:30 I get a text that says it doesn't look like they can make it. OK, I say, sorry to hear it. I didn't mind. I figured, since I was already in the mindset, that I'd go on my way home from work to check out the place; see who plays, the demographic of the crowd, etc. The other time I was there, we played and that was that. I never got a good look at the crowd or the other players. Stage lights, back door, and all that.
I showed up about 9, and after circling around in National Heights or whatever that artsy place is called, finally scored a good parking place, maybe 100 feet from the entrance. It is free so what the heck. I sat in the back and caught a few acts, most of which were OK, even if they didn't overly trip my trigger. I liked them for the most part. There was one combo that I liked fairly well.
My coffee and water were in the car so I went out for a little break. As I'm out there, who do I see meandering in with their instruments? Yes, the brothers Grim. The kids who couldn't make it.
On our last outing, I did sense some indication that the vocalist/guitar/front/man may have been letting his ego get the best of him, and that he might have a tendency to foolishly become a little too high on himself. Previously he'd kept the front man antics toned down, without the overly affected thing that makes a lot of people sound and look like asses. He seemed to be drifting in that direction.
Needless to say I was a little bit shocked when they cruised in. I was not sure if they saw me, but I figured the ball was in their court. I went in and sat down again in the back. At one point the younger brother walked right by me, but he does wear glasses and had come from the front where the lights shine in your eyes. He's in many ways more about the music than his brother, the self styled star.
So, after awhile the MC introduces the next act and there they are. This place is good with the sound and they work it out before each individual performance. The MC was hanging around up there, sitting on the piano bench while the guitar guy is talking into the microphone. Guitar Lad started talking about the other times they'd played there and how last time they had a harp player. The MC chimed in, "That guy was really good!".
Guitar guy, "Yea, yea, he's good, but that guy is really OLD. Really, he's xx years old!" (talking over the MC's reaction of So What?) "Old! An old man, geez. OLD man." The tone was one of disparagement, not awe or respect.
MC--What? xx is a spring chicken. The guy can play.
Guitar player--clucking into mic "test test test"
I'm sitting back both enjoying this discussion, and horrified, all at once. I'd been nice to these kids, and thought I could help them be better. After hearing their set, I know absolutely they were way better when I played. The guitar player started doing all this affected guitar face stuff, and his licks were too lame to make it work. It was embarrassing. When someone is too stupid to nkow they aren't smart, or too convinced they are charming to notice that none are charmed by them, I cringe.
He was so convinced that he was wowing the women or someone that he let his posing and jumping around take precedence over playing. The tempo was so inconsistent that the bass had to stop several times trying to get him back on it without being so far apart that the notes clashed. It could have been worse, and obviously I have a resentment which might make me a bit more critical.
The truth is, I had hoped they'd do great so I could assume my job was done there, and not worry about it beyond feeling sorry that the kid is too inexperienced or cowardly to just say they wanted to go it alone. I'd made it clear that they should do that if they ever felt like it. I don't know all their songs, and some things may not be what I should, or want to, play.
What stung or seemed like it ought to sting, was being publicly described as REALLY OLD as if that was a reason any self respecting young super star wouldn't have me on the same stage. Many in the crowd had heard me play last week. No one was laughing or gasping in horror when he gave his assessment. I think, to this crowd, he was sounding a bit idiotic.
Believe me it was all I could do not to stand up and say, "Hey, I'm the Old guy, come on down kid and let me kick your young ass into next week!" Which I could. Another impulse was to stand up and yell something as I gave the finger and walked out. Didn't do that either.
I stayed for the set, felt pleasure at the lukewarm applause, and the guitar guy saying the last tune, which included the most outrageous of failed theatrics, is better with more distortion and something(?) else. They use the house amps at this place. Believe me, effects would not have made it work, unless there was something that wouldn't let you change the beat mid-measure. I tried to keep time to it and it was impossible.
Justice, I suppose, but never in my life have I been classed as some really old guy who repels an audience or children or talented musicians.
I still don't know what to think, except that I overestimated the maturity and musical passion of this kid. I give the bass player a pass because he just stared at the floor while this went on and said nothing.
What may have had something to do with it was that when we played the tea room/hookah parlor, people were commenting afterward that the harmonica "really made it. That rounded out your sound, and made it work". Comments like that are always tough to hear when you are the front man. What I know, and they don't, is that I am the spice. What's a baked potato without some butter or sour cream or something? And how much butter or sour cream by itself can you really handle? It's the combination that is worthwhile.
I wasn't planning to go to music heaven or anything, but I thought I might record some tracks when they do the studio time they plan in the near future. From what I saw, they are not ready. The only word I will ever speak to them again is "no". I don't plan to ever even say hello if we cross paths.
It is odd that they knew who I was, and my age, prior to the last couple of times we played, and that they asked in the middle of the day if I could play, then hours later lied about being able to make it. But to be publicly defamed as a player for something other than my playing, as if I had done something to them, kind of indicates that the kid is unaware of how I play, and/or his focus is not on what the product should be--delivering a musical experience. It does put him on my forever list of people to leave bleeding in a ditch if I should ever happen by when they are in such a circumstance.
And another thing; did he not know I was old until late Monday? That is a compliment in an odd fuckwit sort of way.
Bless that MC guy. Having him immediately give his gut reaction when I was mentioned, and for it to be complimentary, was perfect. It left the kid sounding stupid--but, but, but he's old old old!
Well, I've aired it out, and now I hope to deal with something more healthy, interesting and --for God's sake!!!- age appropriate.
Considering the source helps, however this has affected me. I've been very quiet for a day or two. I played with my Ballistic Mountain buddies tonight. They are both older and younger than I, and classy enough not to ridicule me for being too tan, white, black, old, sexy or anything else I can't help.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Joel May Have Been Right
This has been a phase of confusion and doubt. Long time friend and arch nemesis, Joel, gave me a long lecture filed with analogies I didn't get, parables that were equally unclear, and illustrative stories that covered everything from Madonna to who knows what.
The maddening part is that all the ranting had an impact and was helpful in kick starting a return to a more pleasant and productive outlook. Some friends are willing to tell you when you a messing up, and I have the feeling Joel enjoys it. He'd deny that, but over the years this has happened a few times. Many years ago his blunt assessment of my state of mind and spirit was one of the influences that probably helped me save my own life.
Let me go on record as saying that admitting Joel is right is totally against my grain. Thankfully, he is usually wrong, or I have no idea what the parable means so I am spared the impulse to disagree with the point. But, there are times, when it counts, when he is right. This was one of them.
I'm unclear what put me in such a sea of self doubt and confusion. And free floating worry. Some things in my life are not bad. I think it is the fear of being able to deserve of be prepared for the good things that freezes me in my tracks as I watch myself sabotage the gifts life lays at my feet. I can think of many reasons why I have to do that, but none of them really make sense.
So, I went to the Egyptian Tea Room, and hookah parlor, to play their open mic with the two brothers. It was an interesting place and a tough crowd to play, but not a bad deal, all in all. It is a cramped space to play, but I don't think the sound was half bad and we did a far better set than I expected. It was the best I've heard them play, and the best I've done with them.
I found myself playing a little different approach from what I did in practice, and did not detect any mistakes at all. Maybe if I heard it played back I would be critical of my part somewhere along the line. I don't know. I forgot to bring my flip cam.
At any rate I think it made an impression. I'm vain and like to hear compliments afterwards. I know I played what I was intending to pay and thought it gave a unique sound. I sort of did horn section, and sort of rhythm. There were a couple of rides in there and times I encouraged a little energy when it was needed. It was a tight set.
No idea what is next in that realm of life. I guess a few more people around town know there is an old harp player about who doesn't play the typical stuff. The challenge is blending and filling out the sound, not the solo stuff. This was a delight. There are even times when the guitar and I run the same notes.
I wonder if the things I say have any influence on these kids. I hope so. My goal is to influence them away from certain pitfalls in life and toward the good stuff. My input is subtle and not of the lecture variety. Mostly by example when situations arise.
In other life, there is a little bit of work to do, and schemes to hatch. I've given up worrying about why I play my crazy harmonicas with people, young or old. I must like to play, and I must think I am good at whatever it is I do. Lately I've been trying to broaden the scope a bit. Oddly that can involve knowing when not to play or when to lay back. I thought I was good at that, but I am noticing I am getting better at it. That is because I am listening to my judgement more on it and not that of others. People tend to want you to play too much or too little on songs. They just don't know best.
That goes for many things in life--it seems like others know what is what better than I do, but they probably don't. Just because civilization confuses me doesn't mean the players in this system have the long term solutions to my dilemmas. Or that the know much. It was not all that long ago that they said in the press that cocaine wasn't addictive. That is just one example in which the current wisdom was devoid of value. Happens all the time.
The trick is to know when my own thinking or behavior is devoid of value. When I know that is happening, there are a few people I try to call because they seem to bring me back. It is a short list and I resist calling one of those people due to reasons I won't state. Just being polite mostly.
It is the fate of some of us that we tend to react poorly to life's events, if we aren't paying close attention. It is simply the first reflex to go left when we ought to go right. Knowing it is helpful, and knowing the keys to arming one's self against the self created turmoil and confinement is essential. The rest is just living. Life is, and most of it can't be changed. How it is approached and appreciated probably is within an individual's power to direct.
I try. And I have difficulty with it. But I haven't given up yet. That may pay off. If I can accept the good stuff and be prepared for it. Luckily, I don't have the compulsion to criticize others and expect them to live how I think I would live if I were they. Doesn't mean I don't observe, grade drivers as I travel and note those who cannot grasp what a true jam is.
Anywa, Joel was right and it is good to have such a friend. But believe me, the guy argues with me about whether he is arguing or I am, and I wasn't even arguing. Ever have someone ranting and raving then tell you to chill out? Crazy friggin nut. But right is right, and what can you say about that?
It was much the same message my cousin delivered to me recently. I'm luck to have such a cousin too. Without these people in my life, I'd be sunk. I wonder if I am just lucky, needy, both, or if this is how it is for everyone.
The maddening part is that all the ranting had an impact and was helpful in kick starting a return to a more pleasant and productive outlook. Some friends are willing to tell you when you a messing up, and I have the feeling Joel enjoys it. He'd deny that, but over the years this has happened a few times. Many years ago his blunt assessment of my state of mind and spirit was one of the influences that probably helped me save my own life.
Let me go on record as saying that admitting Joel is right is totally against my grain. Thankfully, he is usually wrong, or I have no idea what the parable means so I am spared the impulse to disagree with the point. But, there are times, when it counts, when he is right. This was one of them.
I'm unclear what put me in such a sea of self doubt and confusion. And free floating worry. Some things in my life are not bad. I think it is the fear of being able to deserve of be prepared for the good things that freezes me in my tracks as I watch myself sabotage the gifts life lays at my feet. I can think of many reasons why I have to do that, but none of them really make sense.
So, I went to the Egyptian Tea Room, and hookah parlor, to play their open mic with the two brothers. It was an interesting place and a tough crowd to play, but not a bad deal, all in all. It is a cramped space to play, but I don't think the sound was half bad and we did a far better set than I expected. It was the best I've heard them play, and the best I've done with them.
I found myself playing a little different approach from what I did in practice, and did not detect any mistakes at all. Maybe if I heard it played back I would be critical of my part somewhere along the line. I don't know. I forgot to bring my flip cam.
At any rate I think it made an impression. I'm vain and like to hear compliments afterwards. I know I played what I was intending to pay and thought it gave a unique sound. I sort of did horn section, and sort of rhythm. There were a couple of rides in there and times I encouraged a little energy when it was needed. It was a tight set.
No idea what is next in that realm of life. I guess a few more people around town know there is an old harp player about who doesn't play the typical stuff. The challenge is blending and filling out the sound, not the solo stuff. This was a delight. There are even times when the guitar and I run the same notes.
I wonder if the things I say have any influence on these kids. I hope so. My goal is to influence them away from certain pitfalls in life and toward the good stuff. My input is subtle and not of the lecture variety. Mostly by example when situations arise.
In other life, there is a little bit of work to do, and schemes to hatch. I've given up worrying about why I play my crazy harmonicas with people, young or old. I must like to play, and I must think I am good at whatever it is I do. Lately I've been trying to broaden the scope a bit. Oddly that can involve knowing when not to play or when to lay back. I thought I was good at that, but I am noticing I am getting better at it. That is because I am listening to my judgement more on it and not that of others. People tend to want you to play too much or too little on songs. They just don't know best.
That goes for many things in life--it seems like others know what is what better than I do, but they probably don't. Just because civilization confuses me doesn't mean the players in this system have the long term solutions to my dilemmas. Or that the know much. It was not all that long ago that they said in the press that cocaine wasn't addictive. That is just one example in which the current wisdom was devoid of value. Happens all the time.
The trick is to know when my own thinking or behavior is devoid of value. When I know that is happening, there are a few people I try to call because they seem to bring me back. It is a short list and I resist calling one of those people due to reasons I won't state. Just being polite mostly.
It is the fate of some of us that we tend to react poorly to life's events, if we aren't paying close attention. It is simply the first reflex to go left when we ought to go right. Knowing it is helpful, and knowing the keys to arming one's self against the self created turmoil and confinement is essential. The rest is just living. Life is, and most of it can't be changed. How it is approached and appreciated probably is within an individual's power to direct.
I try. And I have difficulty with it. But I haven't given up yet. That may pay off. If I can accept the good stuff and be prepared for it. Luckily, I don't have the compulsion to criticize others and expect them to live how I think I would live if I were they. Doesn't mean I don't observe, grade drivers as I travel and note those who cannot grasp what a true jam is.
Anywa, Joel was right and it is good to have such a friend. But believe me, the guy argues with me about whether he is arguing or I am, and I wasn't even arguing. Ever have someone ranting and raving then tell you to chill out? Crazy friggin nut. But right is right, and what can you say about that?
It was much the same message my cousin delivered to me recently. I'm luck to have such a cousin too. Without these people in my life, I'd be sunk. I wonder if I am just lucky, needy, both, or if this is how it is for everyone.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
