The 2:00 A.M. Call

2:00AM seems to be a recurring theme in a couple of Sande songs.  Apparently that is when she gets the call that something is amiss; friend arrested or dead, etc.

So, I was slated for a bit of time off from medico land.  Then I get a call today.  Dracula wants to schedule an appointment sooner by six weeks almost, to discuss the latest imaging and lab results.  That kind of sounds like the 2:00 A.M. call.  Probably not going to say "yippee, it was a hookworm all along and we can fix it in a jiffy!"

Well if it is for one test, then that means a mutated gene. The other, well, I don't know.  That could be a real pain because the cure is possibly not very helpful.  I'm not sure if I have to still wait a week or two because that is as soon as he is available or he's out of town or what.

So, let's do our best to avoid letting the imagination run amok between now and the 25th.  Not the ides of March.  E tu Bucco?   I believe best case would be the mutant thing.  The other would be highly bone marrow specific, and uglier, so far as I know.

It may yet be a year of blowing through remainder of savings and getting the hang gliding or ultra lite action going.   I really want to be a proficient parasail person--easier to transport.

Eeeyikes.  What if I have to deal with the psycho lady who holds the information desk and any information contained there hostage?  She was trouble.

Maybe I'll end up running a harmonica therapy program for mopey ass doomed people dealing with the same general nature of malady.  Of course mine is rarer, since I am picky.

Now I get what most people go through.  I have had it so easy in many ways.  And I should.  I'm not cut out for pointless hardship.  Believe it or not some people are. They seek it.  And they play martyr on a mission while they do that.

Strangest Band Ever; that is a good thing

So, we have this group fronted by a woman old enough to be some people's mother.  And some people would be already out of the casa.
And we have a fiddle player of the same age who has intermittent kidney stone issues, then we have me who is even older, and I'm probably dying of some soap opera disease. They always find cool deadly stuff.
The drummer is losing the grip of his hand sometimes, hence plenty of sticks nearby in case he drops one out of the blue.  Bass player is younger and non committal.

A very unlikely bunch.  But the sound is beginning to shape into what we've been after.  And it actually does kick ass, and we actually are developing a following.  I am playing a far different style of harmonica than ever before.  I'm not sure I've heard exactly this anywhere, any time.

Some compliments are interesting.  There are those people who say they hear extra voices when we play, and some of those attribute this to an angel phenomenon of some kind.  Makes sense since one or two of us have a foot in the grave.

Another musician around town complained, good naturedly, that Sande had snagged the best musicians for her group, and how did she pull that off.  I'll tell you.  She has hours of great original music, she is pure energy and we all have fun.  Maybe it is keeping me and the drummer from keeling over in our misguided mortality.  This is the sort of thing I do best; blend and work with other instruments.  That is my pick when there is room.

There are times that the sound gives me chills.  Quite unique and remarkable.  Distinctive and original and it is working.   Capturing it, and learning to make it gel all the time, is not easy, but we are getting to it.

It still amazes me that people ask me to be a part of such projects.  I suppose I do have something to offer, to those who can see it, or allow it. You just can't play with everyone.  Or not do it and feel like it works.

But unlike a lot of people around, we don't put on airs and pretend to be younger,  or do that "Oh gosh, aren't we old. "Look at those spunky seniors jamming in slo mo".  Whoever started this seniors talk is evil.  Ever here those patronizing news stories in news person voices?  Barf city.  "Are our seniors getting the care they deserve?"  Gimme a break.

It seems to interest a wide range of ages.  Other than that I refuse to do age or gender studies.  I will not that this seems to get the attention of women and that is good.

If I can stay afloat and not queer the deal, this project could take off.  I want to drive a tour bus and have adventures.  Not likely to happen, but, we have two house of blues gigs, so maybe it is possible. Sande is the new thing.  Baby boomers are a large chunk of population and they will dig this stuff.  Maybe they can get on to something new and quit with the same Neil Young songs over and over, and pining for the old days, that sort of thing.

I'm always astounded to see the group who gave parents such a bad time, and who screwed the country up when they could, complain about the lack of discipline and common sense among younger generations.   It boggles the mind.  The generation that set the bar for bratty, phony and hypocritical.  What nerve to start in on, "When I was a kid, blablabla..."

Thirty somethings are clueless when it comes to how wealth got created in this country, and the dangers of too much official power, etc., but at living life, and doing it well, they may be the best of all.  Less fickle than my peers.  And they seem to enjoy life. The know how to do that in ways I do not.

They were still able to get outside some since there was no internet in their early childhood, and the culture was a tad less paranoid.  People forget or don't know that violent crimes and threats to children are probably lower now that twenty or thirty years ago.  Yet we in effect imprison our youth as if keeping people safe in a cage is kinder and better than letting them risk the hazards of the free range, so to speak.

You want your damned egg producing chickens to be free range and not dosed with antibiotics and hormones, but your kids are monitored 24/7 and dosed with whatever satisfies the school and shuts the little urchin up.  Ritalin, cocaine, whatever.  Why do people puch for happy chickens but only "safe" children.  Overly safe is a complete drag for anyone and not the nature of life, living, passion or motivation.

Of course if you watch the news, listen to Obama type sound bites or crazy ass preacher-politicians long enough, you think you are crazy if you question all the garbage.  I'm telling you, the status quo is what is totally off base, insane, and destructive.

Political figures in our age try to have that same mystique a priest might have.  They are priests with a gun to your head.  People do not stand up to this stuff because they are afraid, insecure, unsure, and suckers for itty bitty bribes in the form of free government things and unearned power over others.

Anyway, this group is not so typical of baby boomers or anyone else except people who can live without the approval of all the pop culture conformity police.


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Maybe I'm Pregnant

I've got this crazy craving for ice cream and ate a ton of Klondikes.
the end

What This Pig Needs

...is more grease.  Grease that baby up!  If it stays where it is, squirming like that, it'll be tomorrow's breakfast bacon.  Or maybe next week's.

No question the creature has the moves, but I just don't think she's able to slip through the gauntlet without serious injury, eventually giving up.

We shall see.

Mark my words---three words, maybe four: Po ca hon tas.

Don't say I didn't warn you.  Misfits, run for your lives!!

An Unsolitary Man

It is amazing how much of an isolationist I am, yet that is not my first choice, were I capable of making choices differently than I have.

I enjoy playing songs with people.  I like it when there is a singer, and worthy lyrics.  That is why I like the group I've been working with.  Mostly we are backing the singer/song writer, Sande.  And her stuff is good enough that I am willing to put my stuff on the back burner, without resentment or hesitation.

The best thing is that performing can suspend ailments for a time.  Maybe not a long time, but a time. Then again, maybe for a long time.  Do not know until the time comes.

I think I know how it is all working out.  Worst comes to worst I'll hire deaf mutes to overhaul my house and life.  They have to be illiterate as well, but intuitively good workers.  That way they won't be able to talk and sully my good name.

I'm hoping someone turns up with a video from this weekend at Crest Community Center.  Maybe because the house was packed the acoustics were better.  It was beautiful, powerful, balanced sound.  And we probably played part of the time at a new level. I am sure a few minutes were our best of all time.  An evolving project.  We are getting tighter, and more settled in ways.

If I discover a video, I hope it is good because it was fun.  If it is good I will put it up.  The last one can only be seen on FB by friends of the posting person.   Or so I understand.

Star and Micey - Love Me?/#1

I happened upon Star and Micey videos last night, somehow.  About a year before I left Memphis I crossed paths with them.  They were very young and had a very uplifting attitude and presence.  Only three of them then.

The guy with glasses that is shown for a second or two with a mandolin is the creative force.  The name came from his talks with a homeless guy who said his name was Star and his long lost wife's name was Micey.  Hence the name.  He'd just settled on it back when I saw them.

They had great family support but had hardly played anywhere.  It was a kind of invitation only open mic environment.  The excitement and joy of the whole thing, with such great family backing was infectious.   In a way, very southern.  I'd forgotten that little episode in my secret life.  It was a bright point during a dark period.

Not sure how I got there.  None of the old band knew of my forays into more acoustic, non blues circumstances.  Can't swear to it, but I believe I sat in with them on a tune or two.  They made an impression for me to remember 8 years or so later.

Ardent, one of the studios where I recorded, signed them.  Ardent is the most impressive studio in Memphis.   That is definitely the home of the cool kids.

So, I am thrilled that they got signed so soon after they began, and that they still have a good attitude and they rock.

So, maybe later

I like the professionals who suggest options, with one of them some variation of the "Let's wait a couple of months and worry about it then,  Maybe it will be different."   I chose that option over the definitive but invasive visit to the core of my being--carnally speaking.

My vital signs are terrific, so I am pretty sure all else is just a misunderstanding of some kind.   However, I do plan to get a bigger car to compensate for ill formed, smaller than normal reds.   Remember Red China?   Of course.

But who remembers Red Rhode Island?  No one.  See my point?

Probably not, but trust me, there is one, either contained within the lines, or between them.

I may have yelled at the lady at the information desk who wears a mask.  At first I thought it was to avoid disease.  Now I realize it is to hide her identity because she's a terrorist.  A 95 year old female terrorist.

The bureaucratic maze that is this complex leaves people other than myself, even employees, at a loss when trying to discern the route between here and there, or even where there is.   So, there is a huge, semi circular desk, in front of a woman sitting on a raised chair, sort of like a judge.   She is wearing a mask.

"May I help you?"
"Where is imaging, x ray?"
Do you have an appointment?
I don't know, I just came from upstairs, Dr. Dracula ordered the tests, and they said to go but I am not sure of the directions given me. Just need to go there.
Where is your paper work?
I give her something, but it is not her job.  She wants to start calling to see if I really have authority to go to this xray place.

Do people crash x rays ordered for others?  Do they sneak in and make mischief?

I reached over and grabbed my papers and was trying to leave.  I got there eventually.  The masked matron was nuts.  I'm pretty sure she must have escaped from the psych ward, and she commandeered the information desk while real employees were at lunch.  No one would pay this terrorist shrew.

I felt the disapproving look of strangers while I angrily asked her to please just not involve herself in my business and forget I asked her anything.  I may have said, without thinking, "Hey the last thing I need is a fucking moron calling different departments causing more bureaucratic idiocy than we already have.  No more idiotic bureaucrats need to be involved."  Words to that effect, including an expletive or two.

It didn't dawn on me until later that she was an escaped lunatic.  I would have played along better.

Oh well.

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La Musica de la Gente

The last time we played Good Guys tavern was just this past Saturday.   Month or so prior was out last outing at this bar, and it was what we considered our worst show yet.   This last one was good in many ways.

So, our March 10 House of Blues gig got moved to the 9th, and we had to cancel for reason that the bass player had a lame previous commitment.  It all comes down to an older woman he is stalking to no avail.

However, we now have 2 House of Blues bookings, June 30 and Aug 11.  Crest community center this Saturday.  I have played there with Copper Creek and it is always a nice evening.  I like that place.  Way up on a ridge.

We have a regular 3rd Sunday of the month show at Navajo Live.  And sometime soon, Hard Rock Cafe downtown.  Another place I like.

This new style of play which involves many very big chords, mostly split chords, and a lot of first position, or straight harp playing, taxes my lung capacity to the limit. It is not at all easy.   But it is not all typical either.

I encountered one other harp player doing a lot of stuff similar to what I do.  Blew me away.  He also fronts some songs, which I do not.   Not with this group and no covers, in any case.  After crossing paths with that guy, I think I may have upped my game a bit.  I have issues with myself if I think I've been smoked by a better player.  Not sure if he is better, but he does some things very much like I do. That is very rare.  The tone is great, too.  So, I focus more and try to utter perfect sounds and be the catalyst which defines the blend of guitar fiddle and harp.

Some of the songs have some sweet violin parts.  This is purposeful arrangement on the violin, not limited dimension fiddle.   People are liking the sound.  No one else has this sound.  I know of two other harp players who could play the background and compliment the violin.   Quite the surprise to find these two.  Keeps me on my toes.

Like me, these guys aren't hanging in the blues circles.  Kind of a rarity among San Diego harmonica players.  Most all hit the same blues things and play pretty similar licks.  Many really good players in this town.  Just not always the kind of stuff I care to hear.

I'm finding it a little more difficult to hang but it is OK for now.  I wonder how it will be in June.  Better, I hope.

Is It a Chronicle Candidate?

This past year has been the oddest year of way too many odd or stupid years.  I am not sure if this is a stupid one or not.  We measure February to February.

This is a merry go round that I can't seem to exit, and it is speeding up.  I imagine that sooner or later it will go so fast that I fly off.  It's the whole centripetal versus centrifugal force routine.  Actually, centrifugal force is a made up force.  It is really momentum at play which out weighs whatever the force is trying to hold me in the circle.

That is how it works.  Why does that leave one a sentimental puddle of mush and in no condition to face another human being at this instant?  No answer.

I'm thinking that by the time I see people who haven't seen me in awhile, they will think I got way older.  Which I did.  I use the word "got" in unsophisticated ways, just because I can.

I think I am following a saga that some may consider a little grim.  Only a couple of people are fully in the loop.  I curse myself for that, but they know medical things and want to be in the middle.  I believe they are scared, to some degree.

I'm going through the process which may give definition and finality to the trouble shooting phase, but if it is as it appears, I will likely go on a rampage of joyous nonsense until money or other things run out.   Maybe I should anyway.  I should not do it alone though.

RR shot me down about a year ago.  I do not know why, but sometimes people get all wrapped up in religion or other super natural endeavors, and they queer the deal.  How maddening.  I've been exposed to all the blind fanaticism I can take for one lifetime.

Anyway, I think it could have worked out, but not really.  Looking for gurus and magic?  Better pass me by.  That kind of thing is not real.  Fake spirituality born of peer pressure and wishful thinking, if any thinking at all is at play.

That is what recovery from alcohol or drugs can do--lead you to another kind of emotional addiction which offers continual validation and reinforcement, but can also screw up a young man's fancies.
Or an old man's.   Still, most things are better than active alcoholism or drug addiction.  I just have to back off from certain things.  It is personal to me.

We'll see wednesday if the last bit of blood study defined anything.  Then they drill into your bone to sample bone marrow.  With luck it won't happen, though it appears inevitable.   On Monday they want me to swallow a pill that is a tiny camera.  It sends pictures to a receiving unit you carry around all day.

I do not think this will yield any info at all, and I told them.  I think everything is higher up and that's that.  Allegedly this anemia circumstance is an energy sapper.  I thought I was just depressed.   It may be that I was oxygen deprived on a cellular level.   They think my ill formed blood is disappearing somewhere.  So they go looking for it everywhere.  Right here between my chin and my navel, I guarantee it.  Who listens to me?  It's my house and I know what is what.

This is why I walk away rather than invite anyone into my world these days.  I have nothing to offer and I'm falling apart.  So, the more I like someone, the less likely I am to leave the opening.  It would be too selfish and self absorbed, even for me, if you can imagine that.

We did OK on our Saturday night gig.  I wonder if anyone can tell how hard it is to do these days.  Probably not.  I may have a little missing in the realm of ultra fast garbage, but I manage with new ways of doing things; lots of gentle chording encouraging the violin to show off.

I feel like I should somewhere write down everything going on; good days, bad, symptoms, procedures, the entire case as it flows.  Where to do that?  I don't seem to be able to.  I can have a horrendous night, but if I feel ok later, I forget and feel odd mentioning it to paid professionals.  In my mind, somewhere, is the idea that I probably am not tough enough, or that I made it all up, and I'm actually 100% fine.

I have to do without real food all day Sunday.  I will do all I can to wake up very very late that day.  My stomach will be killing me.  It is for the pill cam.  It wanders down the small intestines taking snapshots like a Japanese tourist.
(I hope that is politically incorrect enough for morons to label me racist.  We've allowed our culture to be molded and shaped, more and more, by charlatans, fools, and complete imbeciles.)

People talked me into the pill cam. Maybe they are right, but I will bet the cam that nothing is amiss there.  You win, I give you the cam when I'm done.  You can wash it off and sell it on ebay. Who will know?  In any case, I am not sure this is necessary.  And I am probably right.  I don't think this will leave me in lasting pain like their recent foray down my throat with a camera on a stick.

I think it is good to chronicle some of this.  Otherwise I forget the sequence of things, and entire events.  It is all very surreal.  I want to know what's up, and then I want to fix it and be done.  Even if they can't fix it, I can do OK, armed with all the facts they have.  I'm a better trouble shooter than these beleaguered medical people.  They have to be like government agents and paper pushers to stay out of jail.  It sucks and soon we'll all die as a result.

Sande, the singer I back up, has a song that seems to fit me for many reasons this year.  The first lines are; When the rug gets pulled out from under your feet, and your world's spinning out of control... ...it's just a moment in time, but it's the rest of your life. all must be told...
Great tune.  But I don't know how long I can keep playing with this group if the sternum/stomach/skin issues get any worse or just stay the same and wear me down.

Nothing stays the same.  That much is fairly certain.  So, we shall see.

I'm pretty sure I've become used to a way of life which is not quite right or normal.  This is probably not at all a normal way to feel.  Tonight is working out to be another difficult one. But, I have what I need and more.  Compensate and improvise.  That is what I have to do.

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Seriously, Can Humanity Survive the Nonsense?

Research is not my favorite thing, but I will do what I must to become informed when I see the need. I've done it with things like the healthcare bill, back when everyone was talking "what it will do", but avoiding actually disclosing the text.  It is very convoluted and continually refers to other bills and leaves much up to bureaucratic discretion.  

In reality, no one outside of a few crafting the text of the bill could have had a clue what was in it.  Other than the extraneous things they added in according to donors desires and all that.  But that was then, and I made it known I felt it was more a bizarre vote ploy and power grab.  But like always, people like to think they are getting what they want and are more than happy to dance to the ends-justifies-the-means tune.

Rarely are the ends a long term bargain.


I have done more medical investigation than usual, lately.   It can work for or against you.  I've heard people act like someone who searches his own diseases is in for trouble.  If you aren't more in tune with what could be the problem with you, given some information on symptoms and what they indicate, then you deserve to be treated like a subservient subject by medical people and nurses who think in big valley-speak cartoon bubbles.

This is a quote from a page I visited,  "In honor of Rare Disease Day, help spread the word with a photo.‎"

Really?  Rare disease day?  Come on.  This whole disjointed view of medicine, charity, science, life, has gone too far.  Let's celebrate rare disease day!!  Are you nuts?

There are plenty of diseases I don't have which are about as rare as what I may have. But what if none of the above is the case?  Then it would be even rarer.  I've lived in towns in which, according to these stats, I'd be the only one with whatever it is.  

For a few days I thought I was OK.  Or could easily become OK.  Then, after last night's gig, at home, weird, supernatural, demon possession stuff began.  Big red areas, like instant birthmarks, and dots like blood vessels or maybe got stabbed by a fork, looking dots.  Blackish, reddish.

Today, no patches and the dots all but completely gone.   Then I wonder.  What if it is a crazy episode and you only think you see it?  That prompted me to take pictures of my arm the last time it happened.  Hard to get a very good pic but it shows up some.  What if I just think it does?

Not hard to wonder if you are nuts when you already suspect as much.

I do not think the survival of the species, or even the pursuit of happiness are best served by having Rare Disease Day, or a jump in icewater to cure disease, or any of a million odd celebrations of sickness that are held all over the place, mostly by the unafflicted.  It is an industry built upon partial truths and much fear--the patients' and their families' fear.

There is a lot of money to be made and much trouble from lawsuits can happen. So, you play ball, cover yourself by filling files with enough tests to thwart a tort attorney, and if you are very lucky, someone's issue may actually be pinpointed and properly treated during the process.

That is the exception, not the rule.  The rule is that there are drugs which can make you feel OK while your true problem is never really well diagnosed.  Trouble shooting is normally weak.  But drugs can mask that.  We handle symptom A with drug X, and symptom B with drug Y, and then there are drugs to deal with the side effects of X and Y. 

Those things happen.  Drugs can be a bribe to pretend everyone is doing a great job and hallelujah, you're healed, sort of.  Some are great.  

Maybe a Rare Pharmaceutical Drug Day would be cool.  I don't even know how to express how strange that seems to me.  Rare Disease Day.  You think maybe some of us are from other planets, far away, and we just don't remember how we landed here, but we know it was a mistake?

Let's have a national, boy oh boy does my upper belly hurt day.  Or rare migraine headache day.  Everyone march, slamming pots and pans together to bring on the celebrated condition. 

I'll bet all my trouble is because I am not a carnivore.  It is not a thing I can easily fix.  I do not find it a natural desire on my part, eating a creature that motors around one way or another.  It would be easier if I did find it natural.  It must be.  

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