The Cowboy

Yesterday, I met a retired cowboy at a bar after rehearsal. I’m playing bass in a cover band, classic rock, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, just the good stuff. The band rehearses on Saturday’s and after rehearsal the drummer and I have a few beers in Pasadena. We were sitting at the bar when an older fellow sitting next to us started talking. He was slamming down Tequila shots and after a couple of shots he was feeling no pain and started talking. He gave us a lesson on how to ride a bull. I don’t foresee myself riding a bull anytime soon, but if I should, I’ll know to look at the bull’s shoulders, not his head, and not to think too much. I didn’t get the cowboys name, but he told us that he use to meditate before his rides. He used a visualization method to help him through, but mostly he didn’t think too much. It made perfect sense to me not to think too much, that’s when you get in trouble when you think too much.

The cowboy abandoned the subject of rodeos and started in on the game of golf, one of my least favorite subjects. He lifted his arm in pain and said he tore a muscle in his shoulder playing golf. "I love the game," he said. I sat there in silence. It struck me as ironic that the cowboy bull rider hurt himself swinging a golf club. 

The Gods Have Spoken

I went over to Martin’s studio yesterday to drop in back round vocals to the Mundane Blues. It looks like the doctor’s wife’s part is going to work out just fine. We’re ready to start work on the mix. Martin was excited to show me the newest version of Protools. He tried to load up the session into it from the older version we were working with. We sat there and watched digital magic as the old version of the software communicated with the new version. It looked like everything was working just fine, until the session popped up and the bass line was missing. There was a blank space where the bass line was suppose to be. I wasn’t sure about the bass line to begin with, and had thoughts about reworking it, but Martin seemed to like it, and I do have a tendency to be overly critical. So when it showed up blank it was almost like a message from the gods. We can use the same bass line if we want to. We’ll have to export from an older version of the session, but I’m not sure I want to now that the gods have spoken. 

Discourse

I like listening to the radio, but I must admit it sometimes drives me nuts. Political discussions are the most frustrating. If our politicians are to solve our problems, we’re going to have problems. Why is it okay to pick on the poor and the old? I don’t understand it. If feels like there’s a sector of society that wants people to suffer. Power is strange that way, it becomes more about turning the screws, than enjoying the ride. 

Politics hasn’t changed much in my lifetime. There’s the sensible argument and the not so sensible argument, the not so sensible argument usually involves some sort of manipulation. The first president that I remember was Richard Nixon, and he was more of a comedic figure to me than anything else. He’d wiggle his cheeks and give the peace sign. “I’m not a crook!” That was a lie. He had a pretty good sense of humor, and was a real good sport. He hardly seemed like a president at all, but more of a celebrity, a TV icon. I seem to remember him on Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In. Those were fun times. People had a sense of humor back then, even the president of the United States. 

Cheap Ain't Good

Boy, I had a rough one last night, cheap Tequila. There is nothing appealing about cheap Tequila. Jason and I had a few beers after rehearsal and things were fine until a crazy Irishman asked if I wanted a round of Tequila. I’m not sure why I said yes, more than once, but I did. It was a bad move that I paid for later in the night, and early into morning. I didn’t feel right for much of the day. I had an awful taste in my mouth and I had nightmares in my sleep. It was a bad scene. My body didn’t want anything to do with it. I felt bad about myself, ashamed in some way. I know better. I wasn’t performing at optimum, and that bothered me.

            I’m over it now, but my drunk days are slowly fading. I’m not as interested as I once was. If I’m going to drink wine I want it to be quality wine, and the next time I drink Tequila it’s going to be one-hundred percent agave.   

The Stealth Bomber

Yesterday was opening day at Dodger stadium and to bring in the new season a B-2 Bomber flew over the stadium. I was driving toward the sunset when I noticed it. At first I was impressed by it. It was black and flat and nothing like any other plane I’ve seen before. It made a sweeping turn over downtown and it seemed to struggle to get to attitude. It was nothing like a hawk, but more like a crow as it flew toward the ocean. My excitement quickly subsided and I began to think about the fuel it was wasting.  What a waste of money I thought. It’s okay to spend money on a fly over for a baseball game, but if some kid wants to go to college he’s crap out of luck. I like baseball and all, but what about the children?

The Cell

I’m at my lady friend’s house. Wednesday nights we’re on. Friday nights we’re on, most other nights we’re off. But we talk on the phone a lot. Not as much as we use to on account of my new phone plan. I bought a pre-paid phone just for emergencies. I was thinking that I could get along without a phone all together. I’m not much of phone talker. But I do talk to my lady friend, but now that I’m being charged by the minute I find myself rushing through our conversations. She calls way more than what is reasonable, and if I pick up on the fact that she’s calling for calling sake, I cut her loose as soon as I can. We’ll joke about it.

“I’m going to have to cut you loose,” I’ll say.

“No! Okay,” she’ll fake pout.

“Good-bye”

“Good-bye.”

We joke around a lot.

Often times the phone drops out all together whether I talk or not. It deducts minutes without providing a service. It’s quite the racket. I lost three minutes the other night just trying to make a simple phone call. The phone would ring, my lady friend would pick up and then the phone would drop out. I fell for this trick three times before I finally gave up. I find myself wishing for a land–line. I’m not much of a phone talker, even less now.

Canes

My mother invited me to dinner tonight. She’s a good cook. I was surprised to find my old aunt sitting in the living room when I arrived. She’s pushing ninety. She’s lucid, but she’s missing some marbles. She uses a cane to walk, but when I opened the front door she was sitting erect on a recliner.

After dinner I went into the bedroom to check some scores on the television, My mom and my aunt were watching a Jean Harlow movie in the living room. I was on the bed watching the highlights, when I heard a clop, clop, sound coming from the hallway. I figured it was my aunt walking with her cane down the hallway to the bathroom. The sound was moving closer and closer and even though I knew for certain it was my aunt walking with her cane, for a moment there as the sound neared I was scared. It was such a haunting sound. The rhythm of it as she approached me made me think there’s nothing scarier.

I’ve never seen a horror movie with old ladies walking with canes as the villains. But try to imagine for a moment, you’re in an old house with wood floors and you hear this sound clop, clop, clop, as you lay in bed. The sound is coming toward you ever so slowly. It’s repetitive and persistent. Clop, clop. You have no idea what it is. The sound grows with intensity and then suddenly stops. Your bedroom door swings open. You look from under your covers to see who it is. There’s an old lady with a cane standing in the shadows.

“Where’s the bathroom?”