Hemmingway’s

Last night I went to a place called Hemmingway’s in Hollywood. My friend Lou’s nephew was playing bass in a band called Kiev. I’ve known Derrick the bass playing nephew since he was a kid.

I liked Hemmingway’s. The walls were lined with vintage books and typewriters, there were stacks of papers lining another wall above the bar. I felt at home there. I’ll have to go back sometime. The typewriters were amazing. 

I wrote a book once (currently unpublished) where I used vintage typewriters as an element to the story. I love old typewriters. There was a time in my life when I was considering starting a typewriter museum. People laughed at me when I told them my idea,  but I was serious. Now all I have to do is go to Hemmingway’s to get my feel.

You never know what kids are going to be when they grow up. I have a secret hope that they’ll pursue physics, or computers. Last night as I was watching Derrick play bass, I knew he made the right choice in life. He’s in the right place, with the right people, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes him a huge success. 

Dog Specific

I spent the night at Lon’s house last night. I don’t know Lon. I’ve never met him, but I must say he has a nice house. Lon asked my lady friend to take care of his wiener dogs while he visited his dying father in Seattle. The wiener dogs were lovable but kind of on the spooky side. First of all, they’re pretty small, almost delicate. Their heads are tiny, and they have a hard time backing up.

Part of the deal was that my lady friend had to spend the night with the dogs. She was doing Lon a favor and asked me if I’d come along with her. I didn’t mind but the dogs seemed to be staring at me constantly. It makes me insecure when dogs or cats stare at me. I can’t tell if they’re judging my spirit, as if they have a greater understanding of universal properties, or if they’re just needy. It’s almost too much when they just sit there and stare at you.

We took the dogs for a walk last night. I wasn’t into it all that much. I had fun but there was something about it that made me feel ordinary. I was holding one of those push button leashes that’s designed in an inferior manner. You have to push down and hold the button to lock the dog in. It should be the other way around. You should have to push down on the button to let the dog out.

            I like dogs. I like big dogs with a nice coat. I want a dog I can let run wild, a dog I can use as pillow, a fluffy dog. I guess you might say, I’m dog specific. 

Technology

I went over to Martin’s today to work on Dust Covered Man. We picked through the guitar parts we recorded the other day and laid them into the track. It’s sounds pretty good.

Today’s technology is such that you can monkey with a song at the click of a mouse, which is nice. The art of sound and music is of course old, and antiquated. For the most part you’re using analog recording techniques and applying them to a digital format. There are tricks and secrets for capturing sound. It can be as easy as playing a guitar through an amp, or you can make it more complicated if you want. It depends on what you’re going for, what you want to hear.

           Guitar and voice is about as pure as you can get but it’s more interesting to me to try and come up with other parts to go along with the guitar and voice. Ultimately, I’d like to have two versions of the songs that I write. An acoustic version and a studio version. That way people can pick and choose what they want to hear, more or less, less or more, electric guitar, no electric guitar, drums, no drums. I suppose that’s where we’re heading. You can play a song and create your own mix by clicking a button. You feel like hearing the drums. Click. That bass line is driving me crazy. Click. That singer sucks. Click. Oh, that singer was me. Click.

Lady Killer

            My neighbor hacked down her avocado tree. She ruined a good tree. It made me mad. It made the birds mad. It made everybody mad.

            The tree gave the most unusual avocados. They were long and succulent. They were phallic and sexual looking, simply delicious. She doesn’t like avocados. That’s fine, but why kill the tree?

She said she had rats in the garage and the rats were destroying her material possessions. She paid four hundred dollars to have the rats exterminated. That didn’t work. She paid another two hundred and fifty to hack down the tree, six hundred and fifty dollars to kill rats and a tree. She didn’t have to kill the tree. She could have trimmed it back. She mutilated it. She’s a tree killer. That tree didn’t do anything to her. It just lovingly gave fruit.

            I know she’s going to act real nice and make apologies the next time she see’s me. I told her how much I loved those avocados. It’s just cruel. I’m still mad about it. She ruined a good tree. 

The Cover Band

I was in the studio yesterday with the cover band. We’re putting a demo together. The process has had a tremendous effect on the band. My band mates started to talk music for the first time in weeks. They became very interested in music with their reputations on the line. It was kind of funny. Uncharacteristic. The guitar player emailed me and suggested we extend an eight bar solo to a twelve bar solo. I’d been trying to get him to do that for months.

            The difference between a serious musician and a dilettante is time and energy. I enjoy dissecting songs. I like to learn them as close as possible to the original. It’s fun. With the recording looming my band mates actually took the time to practice. There’s something about the ego. The ego makes things happen.

            The session was kind of long and it brought out the warts in everybody’s playing. I hadn’t eaten. I was growing weak with time. At one point there was a lot of talking in circles and I was just about ready to lose my mind. We got through it and I think it’s going to sound pretty good. We’ll be playing in whiskey bar near you real soon.

Update #3

What have I been doing you might ask?

Last night I received the gift of free drinks. The first one was good, but the last two or three were a mixed bag. I went from bourbon, to vodka, to rum twice. I broke my own rule by mixing drinks. I woke up with a weird taste in my mouth. I think it was the rum and coke.

            What else? I’m recording another song with Martin. It’s tentatively called, A Dust Covered Man. The title is a little much, kind of pretentious. I might drop the A, and just call it Dust Covered Man. It’s sounding pretty good. I leave my music to providence. I walked into the session not knowing what I was going to play. You kind of say a prayer at that point and hope for the best. As it turned out there were musical parts in me just waiting to come into the world. The creative experience is interesting that way, you fret, you worry, and it all turns out okay. 

            I’m trying to figure out how to make my own books. I want to take to the streets with them. If only I had a duplex printer, I’d print front and back at the same time. Kinko’s has them but I figured out I’d have to sell the books for the price of a steak dinner to make any money off of them. I made a jig from scrape wood to press the paper together and glue perfect bound covers on. I can’t wait to make my first book. I’m looking forward to it. That’s all for now, until next time.

The Interpreter

I was exiting the freeway. I was turning right and I had the inside position. There was a black mini van to the left of me and he was making a right turn as well. I saw him punch the gas and make his move, so I made mine. I sensed he was trying to scoot by me and snake my line in his rush. I felt myself tense up and my stubborn side kick in, the side of me that wants cooperation, justice and decency.

There was a merge to one line and I had inside position so I gave it the gas. The mini van had to hit the brakes.

Beep!

How annoying I thought. The snake was snaked and now he’s honking at me.

The line divided into a two line left turn. The black mini van pulled up beside me. His electric windows came down. I pulled back on the switch to my electric windows and they smoothly came down as well.

            “What?” I asked, throwing up my hands in an aggravated tone.

            There was a heavyset woman from somewhere south of the border in the passenger seat and a Chinese man at the wheel.

            The woman turned to the man and then to me.

            “He says you cut him off!” the woman said in a thick Spanish accent.

            “I had the inside line. I was just staying in my line!” I told the woman.

            The woman turned to the Chinese man. I could see him saying something to her. The woman turned back to me.

            “He says, you almost crashed into him!”

            “What do you want me to do, I had the right of way,” I said.

            This was a first. Road rage with a translator. The third person seemed to calm the situation down some. It was like having a mediator. I could see the anger on the Chinese mans face.

            “I don’t think so,” the woman said.

            “You don’t know nothing,” I said.

The traffic light turned green and we drove away. What a couple of morons I said to myself. Then it occurred to me that the heavyset woman spoke three languages and one of them was Chinese.