Getting Good Help

It is surprisingly difficult to find people to assist me in the cushy part time job.  And I hang in circles where people need money and often can use the work.  No matter.  They'd rather just not, in many cases.

My situation is such that I need someone to do the stuff I want to do but pretty much can't at this time.  So, I need someone who will do good work, has some awareness of the place and job, and who isn't a psychopath trying to take my job.  Even this little outfit has good guys, bad guys, and drama.

So, I run into a drummer who had been up the coast for several months.  He has skills that will work fine.  I may have to discourage overdoing the perfectionism.  The main thing is that this will allow me to fulfill my obligations to the workplace and not let my personal issues put me at the mercy of evil doers who would steal my job.  The old manager knew that I am irreplaceable, just because.

I'm not so sure the new manager knows this.  Hard to say.   At this point, maybe not.

The drummer, D1, got the tour today and helped me do a few things.  He'll make more than I will overall, but things will get done that I find difficult.  Playing is easier.  People know I may have to lay out at any moment but it is different.  Plus, I think I play better than I do labor.  I've done plenty of each.

Here's some stuff.


http://www.reverbnation.com/enterthebluesky

I Told Them The Epicenter Was Right Here

It may take hours I do not have to just down a bowl of oatmeal.  This is the annoying thing about doctors.  They ignore the truth when it comes from the subject(patient).  In their mind you are a subject, there to pay them and let them pronounce easy labels for your ills, despite loose ends that leaves.

I told them this is not really as much a case concurrent, unrelated conditions as it seems.  I said the center of all this is right here, pointing to sternum-diaphram region.

If only I knew for sure what sets it off.  I know that all night long and still into today, it is hard to even get water to go down. It just sits there on top of what feels like a brain freeze, except in the middle of my chest.  It is no good at all. It sits there and I have to spit it out and try agin. Eventually it goes down.  But the feeling of something stuck there, like maybe a flap of something they hooked with the endoscopy rig got pulled inside out in that region.

If I die from this, at least it is here.  I told the guy weeks ago there was a problem. I called on two occasions.  I was so pissed that his reaction was, "well we did not see anything", that I gave up at that time.  Now this is interfering with me performing simple house sitting for friends who depend on me.

Stupid twit, if you ripped things up while removing the cam, I doubt you saw it. What insulting bastards. It is all a CYA thing.  I am not looking for a lawsuit, just relief.  He seems to think I don't know how I feel.  His nurse had the look of knowing this is real.

People do not get how I am operating.  It takes me at least a day or two of easy rest to go perform for two hours somewhere.  And I might be feeling great, but I pay later for some reason.  Fatigue or this damned lump below my throat feeling debilitates me.  It is painful, nauseating, and no good.

Such a hassle to deal with the bureaucratic doctor mess that I try to avoid it.  Plus it is far away.  I do not know how I am going to get this week worked out, or our future obligations to play music.

All I want is to get my house made right. Get rid of clutter so the landlord won't be burdened further with it in the shed, and then I will be OK.  All has to be cleaned sanitized made holy.

Then I can be OK.  I do not think this is a situation which will improve, long term.  The problem is more here than in the bone marrow, even it that is screwed too.  I'm out of warranty.  I have to never again agree to do favors when I have doubts, even if it seems like I am being a jerk. Now we are all in a lurch.

The Weird, The Good, and The Other

Everything at work is always changing.  I'm not too sure the new manager sees my value, but then that makes two of us, many times.

I could be wrong.  Neglecting to tell me when people are leaving and other schedule changes is a little like your parents moving while you are at school, without leaving a forwarding address.

In other news, the Marine wants me to record more in the studio on Monday.  I will try to make it.

Sande wants to record tomorrow morning.  It is a home rig, and I don't know the details.  If I am not running it or don't own it, I leave it to others.  Whenever home recording is done, if you aren't careful everyone wants to be in charge and have their input.  Play your part and let the engineer handle the rest.  Don't get involved until the very last, and only then if you have to.   That works best for me.

Tomorrow morning, Diego, the guy from Mockingbird, is bringing his equipment to Sande's and he's engineering the session.  It is his equipment, and he has volunteered this.  I definitely trust this guy's judgement and artistry.  I am so surprised he is doing this.  Huge compliment in my book.

Next week, house sitting, with Max, the Great Pyrenees. He is about my size, but stronger and has better temper control.  He gets his feelings hurt or he just stubbornly won't move sometimes.  That is about as vicious as he gets.  Pouting and stubbornness.  Mostly he is just nice.  But this is a huge challenge for me because I have to worry about leaving him every time I go away.  He's not alone for 12 hours at a shot, so I have to work to avoid super long times away.

If only I could rest all that time.  But I can't.  Maybe the killer pill is doing its job and I will be feeling better with more energy.  That can happen I think.

For some reason the playing is useful, but I realize I get embarrassed around my non-musician friends.  I feel stupid like an old show biz sort who never did anything.  All I do is play for no discernible reason, and some people like it well enough that they either ask me to join their projects or they come listen. It happens.  But last night I was embarrassed at end of night.

My friends and I took Uber from Pt Loma.  They made me play for the driver. Then they wanted me to play an be recorded when we got to their house.  I decided to quit saying no to them or arguing so I just did as asked.  But then I felt stupid.  I know that was no one's intent. But it is not quite who I am or want to be.  Maybe it is who I am and that freaks me out and makes me deeply sad.

I have no time for sadness.  Besides now is no time for that.  If I can keep a level of joy or positive attitude going, I believe my system has a better chance of stabilizing and not killing me quick.

There is work to be done on the job, too.  And I know I am still up against Uriah Heap and his mom, and the rest of their crew at work.  So strange how people will turn and betray for the most petty of rewards or goals.  It is pitiful.  I would hate to be like that.

Maybe I will end up making money another way. Or not.  I cannot get any worse or work will for sure be out the window.  This way it is only a maybe.  And maybe not.

I thought the studio engineer and producer hated me because they said nothing to me between takes, only to the lead guitar who was laying down tracks simultaneously with me.  Turns out the silence was due to the fact that they liked what I was doing but wanted something different out of the guitar.  So, it was opposite to what I thought.  I have to watch that. I am of that kind of easily hurt feelings when nothing of the sort is intended.  I try not to let that happen too much.

So, it is all complimentary and lucky for me.  But it is hard to meet commitments.  All this last minute stuff.  I have to do the house and Max.  It is the least I can do for people who have been so kind and loyal and supportive.  Max and I will have a little retreat and get in touch with our inner selves and the soul of the universe.  We'll be doing yoga and tai chi, and maybe some salsa dancing.

I hope he doesn't start barking at birds or cats.  At least his bark sounds like an innocent, possibly slow witted predator, rather than a vicious one.  But he is smart in that he knows what you are talking about so it makes conversation easier.  He knows all.  Except he's a little superstitious.

My Nightly Roll of the Die

It was a stroke of luck that my daily dose of poison occurs at night.  They say take it about the same time every day.  Why they do not advise taking it at night is a puzzle.  No time of day is specified.

I got the idea because a hematologist in Iowa came to my acquaintance through my ex boss, the house manager who hired me way back.  Her brother in law has reviewed my stuff and gave the proper Dx long ago.

He is quite the guy.  He actually cares and pays attention, and thinks to himself, "How can I make this process easier for my patients to take?"  It is obvious. He doesn't say it.  Not like politicians who claim such compassion in areas of life where they do not belong.  But he found that evening hours for certain things made life much less unpleasant for his clients.  The man is a saint.  And he really helped guide me, and indirectly some of the medical people here.

Anyway, I found out that he goes in at night to administer chemo and such to his ailing cancer patients.  He did it at night because they are more likely to do OK and to sleep through the worst.

I do not think the people handling my case are even close to that considerate.  I'm beginning to think they hate most of their patients--bunch of whiney creeps, dying of cancer.  They exist for the benefit of the doctor's ego and that is it!

And you think Obama and Pelosi's system helps this?  Keep drinking that koolaid. They didn't even know what was in the bill, and still don't. Neither do we, really.  Contrary to the tone of the discussion, Obama no more wrote that bill or even served as general architect of the thing than I wrote A Midsummer Night's Dream.   People are greedy and stupid in large voting blocks. How cool is that? That means anything is possible.

What the heck.  things were screwy anyway, so why not buy votes buy screwing it up more in the name of the little guy or whoever.

This is not chemo, but it is designed to shut off a lot of stuff.  Kind of a killer thing and toxic. All the talk of people using gloves and shooting anyone who touches the stuff bare handed who is not taking it.  Medicine. When did it take the wrong turn into lala land?  Maybe thousands of years ago.

I am not set up for anything as drastic as that, and no need, so all is well.  I think now that it all may improve. Every time I feel good for twenty minutes I decide that it is going to be OK. And I feel it deep down.

So, I think at night is the ticket to hope to sleep through the worst.  Often it knocks me right out. Sometimes, not.  So, before I take it, I hope and beg for a good night and morning.  Mostly I do OK.
And from now on I am fighting the fatigue just to prove to any bastard who needs come uppance that I am not putting up with this nonsense.

I'll use my anger at those who fancy themselves superior to show them who is superior.  And the rest is all love. Even if you are a hopeless dimwit. As long as you are not mean.

Where was I?  Right. One ice cream sandwich and one hydroxyblablabla.

What if this wounded warrior guy gets tour gigs?  I think he might get some opening slots, and I'mn their harp player. Can I do it?  We'll see.  I have to do everything.

Hard Rock Cafe tomorrow with new viola, substitute bass and drummer with bone issues of the hand.  What a band of weirdos.  But we are pretty good.  Hell the viola played the symphony. And yet she thinks I am worthy. She maybe thinks I am the Mac Daddy of back up and solo musicians.  Clearly she made a friend for life out of me!!  Married. Geez.  Figures.  Not that I feel confident bringing anyone in to my iffy life.

No Good. I'm Still Angry. Drat!!!

Anger will not do.  I cannot afford, nor do I want to spend the time and energy on that wasted condition.  Sure, a little anger now and then is helpful. It could get you out of the path of the speeding bus just in time.

But cultivating it, or letting it run where it does no good--now this is the stupid thing to do.

The subject of family came up and I realized I am mad about certain reactions and behaviors.  But these were the exact behaviors that existed in certain others when I was one or two, and from then on.

Older siblings know instinctively that they can have a hope of destroying you if they demonstrate no respect for you no matter what.  That is different from being nice, but not a lot different.  So, I am pissed that I valued such opinions and that they still sting.

I never should have sand bagged because people more pitiful than myself wanted so badly to win at any cost, and seemed so crushed if I won.  Screw them. I should have done better.   I could not fight everyone.  Especially because I was too young to know everything I needed to know to survive these people any better than I did.

But I cannot set myself up for that feeling again.  I will make some claim about scattering me in the gulf stream or Shasta lake or something.  Gulf Stream. Caribbean. That's the real ticket.  Just to annoy them.  But before that, who cares?

I have to get past the anger to the point that if I am confronted by this old childhood insecure jerky behavior, I can view it with something other than anger.  At this point anger is all I got.

It is sad.  If I were bleeding in a ditch far away from home or friends.  Family would be way the hell down on the list of those I'd call for help, if on it at all.  I would probably rather die than see that look or hear one word.  Why now?  I do not want to feel this.  But I see no changing.  Changing is always left to me.  I'm defective and everyone else is productive and , oh geez the I word, intelligent.  On that last, the degree of superiority or any evidence of superiority, if it comes down to it, is dubious, or non existent.

But I do not have the long term career, bank account, offspring , etc. to prove it, therefore I am inferior and not to be allowed admittance into the halls of the self appointed elite in life.

Seriously, this is not healthy but I cannot think of how to fix it.  I do not want to be resenting anyone. We are lucky to have life. It is an amazing condition. Everything is. Existence itself is mind blowing. We don't even know what it is.

Dilemmas May Emerge

It sure is difficult trying to get a few people to show up and not make trouble when playing music.  Now the bass player's ver part time job has called, and he can't make Thursday at Hard Rock Cafe. We only play from 5 to 7.  A nice, early supper time thing.

So, we know a guy who does play some bass and he is willing to take the time to listen to mp3 versions of the material and show up.  I was pretty sure he would not refuse.  He is also one of the best sound men around.  He's run sound at a few events, like the Dia de Los Muertos festival in Old Town.  It was good.

This guys is the quintessential geeky nerd guy.  You would probably see him at trekkie conventions comic-con. I don't even know how to write the last one.  Never heard of it before living here.  A big huge deal with people dressing up oddly and Hollywood celebs hanging out and comic book nonsense is the star.

It always sounded like people were saying "commie con".  For the first year or two I thought it was a democratic party event.

It has nothing to do with commies, but the con, I suspect, is quite robust.  "Public servants", the kind who make laws for us but are dumb enough to think Guam or Okinawa might capsize from too many marines, like to say that word, "robust".  It is less obviously hip, but still almost as hip as variations of sustainability, sustainable, etc.

Yes, yes, yaz, quite a robust and sustainable piece of legislation.  That is their speak for, people will be sacrificed for our view of the common good.  Must break some eggs if we want an omelet.

Where was I?  and why am I here now?

Bass player. Check.

The drummer has something wrong with his hand and is going to have to find a way to take time out. Not easy to replace him at all.  I am not sure if he hasn't pushed that hand too far. I told him. Dang it.

And then there is no telling the sort of time bomb I have become.  Boom, you're outta here.  Mostly the annoying attacks are manageable, but not always.  This esophagus issue is not good.  I may be seriously afflicted with an exotic ailment which may all be my imagination.  I always tell myself that.

And the Marine who brought me in to record on his project wants me with him from now on.  It could present a conflict.  He knows I play with Sande, but if he ends up with a little tour in the works, I cannot say no, I don't think.  I believe he has at least one or two songs that will do well on the country charts if no one screws it all up.

Temperamental people, like performers, do screw things up.  The ego and view of reality become very confusing.  

Anyway, I am trying to play where it suits me while I can. That could change at any moment.  If I kick on stage at a stadium or something that would be fine.  Otherwise maybe not.  I may have to go back and tell the internist I have an issue and quit arguing. I hate stubborn doctors. Does he think I made it up?  He didn't see it because when he was removing his device he messed up something in there. By then he was out so of course he didn't see it.

It is such a f'ing bureaucracy to navigate just to see these people. Hardly worth it.  The model of dealing with patients is similar to the corporate, and even small business, way of hiring.  Anything to avoid actual face to face contact.  Anything to avoid admitting that you are human or they are human.  How can we manage to never meet?  Somehow I blame the state.  But it is too tedious to back that up.

So, how is it going to end?  How will I ever get this mess sorted out so I am not worried about it?  It was good about a year and a half ago.  Year and three months, anyway.

Hunger does not show up like it did.  Now all my fatso clothes, that I bought when I thought I'd be a heavy non smoker forever, are becoming dangerously loose.  Time to gain some weight back.
I'm almost back down so that the skinny clothes are not even tight.

I decided the playing makes me feel better for minutes and hours at a time.  I can't do much else that I would like so this is the last maneuver into some sort of swan song scenario, or just exit in a moment of enjoyment.  I do not think this life can continue all that long as is.  But as long as I get everything organized, then I am OK. That is my only worry.

Real Hotshot Producer at the Studio

Apparently this project is hooked in with wounded warriors.  The guy is a Marine back from some crazy ass islamic countries and wars.  Anyway, he can get just about anyone in town to sit in or do studio tracks.  So, it is big flattery to be asked to play.

At first I was skeptical of the engineer and producer.  Soon I realized that they were the real deal. The producer, Johnny something, has a gold record I'm told.  More importantly, he used to play and hang out with Norton Buffalo.  That means he knows how the greatest sound.  Norton was among the greats.

I did not know what they wanted or if they liked what I did for the first three takes.  In between they kept talking to the lead guitar, who was laying down a track at the same time.  Dobro and rhythm were already there. So, this was a case of fitting when and where it works or makes sense to me.

With no feedback I was clueless.  I took a break and the marine's girlfriend told me it was good.  They didn't talk to me because they had no desire to alter my approach. That was a compliment.

This was interesting because everyone involved was really happy with what was going on.  Lots of takes, and lots of waiting on my part. But it was fun and worth it.  By far the best produced studio sessions I have done.

Last night was beyond anything I anticipated, and so was this afternoon at the studio.  It was a little dicey towards the very end and on the way home because of an unruly esophagus.  Sounds kind of like asparagus.  That is not an attractive word.

I'm glad these guys understood the concept of blend and enhance.  My part is not way out front or even 100% or the time.   It is what I would do if I were me.  I remember hearing Toots on a tune by Julian Lennon, and it is just a very small part of the whole.  But that is all it called for. That is what separates him from whoever is not like that

Another fine day

I've learned not to assume I'm healed every time things are not too bothersome.  It does make for a good day.

The toxic pill has not created much problem today, nor have the other physical anomalies with which I deal more and more of late.  

Off to a real studio

I like the studios with wide open spaces.  So much is done with computers in living rooms and basements, you don't often find the kind of studio we'll be checking out today.  Maybe they can use me for other things.  Probably not.  

Why Are All The Hot Viola Players, Over Forty, Married?

Alright, here's how it all goes; the violin player wanted to do a few of his own songs, and wanted to play MC when Sande, the front person, is tuning.  All well and good, depending on how you do these things.  It wasn't really in keeping with what this project is, so she said No.  Don't issue ultimatums unless you are ready to walk, or know you will get your way.

He walked.  He thought his ultimatum would win him his way.  But he didn't count on her being as strong as she is. And she is right.  Qhen you try to be special, or more equal than others, watch out.

So there is a couple, friends of Sande; she, a viola player, he a DJ, her husband ergo C. Blocker.
So to speak.  If you are married then no one should even test the water or push anything. Same goes all around.  If you are married, do not be a dweeb or dweeba and screw up. Just don't.

Anyway, here we are doing the first gig with no violin and Sande brings in Karen on the viola, and it was so much more fun than we expected.   Sande ran through the stuff with her yesterday. But without the rest of us, and there are many tunes.  Karen rocked it, and to boot, her husband the DJ tweeked the hodge podge bunch of amps and PA stuff so the sound was better than normal and feedback about it was more precise and critical. Jim.  I have to forgive him for being married to Karen and taking yet another off the market.

I don't care anyway, except it is great playing with her.  We blended well.   I'm still hesitant to pull anyone in, even the unencumbered.  Who wants to deal with days like to day.  Four or five hours it takes to get breakfast and be OK enough to take off.  "Hey, look!!! Didn't throw up blood this time! yay.

Tried to meet a guy at 1:30 at the ranch, before heading to the Spring Valley Inn to play.   I finally was able to get there at about 3:50pm.   Had the gig been an early afternoon thing, I don't think I could have done it.  I don't care what they say, my main troubles are between my diaphragm and throat.  How it ties with wacko blood production I do not know.  But I know I am in closer touch with what is up that any doctor who even hints at doubting me.  Some do.  Some have learned; like guitar players learn that if I say something is out of tune, it is out.  Made many doubters eat crow on that.

This viola player is another classically trained musician.  When they caught our show some weeks back, she and her husband complimented me.  She especially did.  I remember because she said nice enough things that I told her she was my new best friend.  And here we are.  I did not know at that time that she plays.  Whenever I can impress real musicians with my mouth harp, I figure I did it right.  Besides, I consider that what I have evolved into playing is not often done by harmonica players, and I'm somewhat pleased with this direction.

I made up my mind to play as much as I can with people that appreciate what I do.  Tomorrow I hit the studio for the Marine who is the star of the music therapy program they have for vets who need something besides a bunch of insincere, sycophantic "Oh (gush) thank you so much for your service".    Some things can become so generic that they lose their soul, and the ring of true feeling and passion.

Anyway, last night and this morning were not the piece of cake I prefer.  I am no stranger to hardship, but I think of myself as one, so little troubles always throw me for a loop.  I am always surprised that I, of all people, should have any difficulty.  I'm just not the type to be visited with misfortune.

My current saga with the soap opera disease which may not go away soon, or ever, actually has positively influenced my outlook, and even my behavior--sometimes.  I do not ask questions about mortality rates or how my particular complications influence things. I've done research.  I know what I test, and what has probably been missed and how it could work, best case.  So, I know where I am and I am quite happy to do my best to achieve certain very personal goals.  They aren't big things, except to me.

Oh man, I heard a girl today, aty the ranch--is it OK to say girl? or better to say I heard a wo-perbeing (must not say wo MAN, or perSon.  That is sexist. So perbeing, and if you have to push it, woperbeing.

I don't know how to eliminate the word "man" if man is the topic of the sentence.  Perbeing with outie.  Who knows.  God help us if they get too carried away with the official international picture language for illiterates.   Not so easy to read in all cases.

I never finished the sentence or thought above. This perbeing, with innie, named Chas, just blew Dan and I away at the Ranch.  I did play a little with her but mostly sat out because the tasty resonator and electric guitar backing her acoustic and rich full voice were all she needed.  They were keeping it soft and subtle and perfect.  One of those times when I felt listening was the thing to do.  Some things do better without me.  Knowing that gives me a smug sense of satisfaction because I know when not to add unnecessary things to a piece, whereas many do not.

Tough day, beautiful night.  Let us hope I timed food and toxicity so that I sleep through it tonight.
People with real issues and real chemo madness must be far tougher than I.  I couldn't do it.  It takes too much effort and planning.  And some stay sick all the time.  I'll bet playing this music helps me.  Even if you hate this music, which you shouldn't do, the act of doing what I do has to be helpful. I work out the diaphragm and lungs, and various muscles up there. And the vibrations are inhaled as much or more than exhaled.  That has to shake thing up internally.  We hope and believe it is for the good.

Whatever is Kava, I'm In

Last night I met a friend at a Kava bar.  I did not sample any kava, but I did have green juice and a gilled cheeses with avocado and something. It was good.

So, I ended up sitting in with both acts.  One of them has studio time at a very nice studio, and has asked me to come out and lay down some tracks.  I am looking forward to that.

Surprisingly, there are not many real studios around.  Everyone is recording in the their living room with a laptop and some software.  I haven't seen a real studio since Memphis.

Not that some of the home studios aren't good.  But they aren't making money off of their recordings, for the most part.   Just gives you something people can hear when you are seeking gigs which will probably never pay your cost of recording.  That is cynical, but true.

I cannot wait until automatic tuners are mainstream; a device that maintains the tuning automatically because it can't stand it when the guitar player has out of tune strings any more than I can.

They already have them somewhere for big bucks.   I wonder if they just hate to tune or if it does not bother them.  Or both   Shudder.

The Kava bar was mostly academic looking twenty somethings with a plethora of tattoos and great attitudes.  It worked out.  Easy to talk which most people did, but also easy to listen to the music if you cared to.  I think I was happy to play somewhere other than a bar.  Plus, I was just sitting in, as asked, so no obligation or responsibility.  Is that the definition of utopia?  I guess plenty of food and shelter need to be in the mix. And a car.  But other than that, it defines utopia.