Google

Good news! My stats are back. Thank you Google, you're not so bad after all.  

Google Stats

            Google has statistics for us bloggers who use Blogspot. There are a couple reasons why I use Blogspot and one of them is the statistics that I can access. It’s interesting to see where people are reading from and how many readers I have on any given day.

            Today, tonight I went to check my stats, and it seems all of my history has disappeared. Erased. Imagine my disappointment when I realized I’d been wiped out.  This is Googles equivalent of Apple Maps in my estimation.  This has happened to me before. The last time it happened it involved money from ads on my blog that people clicked on. The money in my account one day vanished. I took down the ads on my blog as a matter of principle shortly after that.  
            I’m not sure what’s going on with Google, but I don’t like it. I’m a stats guy. I need them to keep me interested. I’d really like my stats back. Imagine baseball with no stats, blogging to me is no different. 

Hip Hop Waltz

            I had a bass playing gig in the valley yesterday. It was a paying gig and having money isn’t all that bad. It was raining off and on, when there are clouds in Los Angeles it’s a special day, and when it rains it’s extra special.

The gig was on Sherman Way and as it turned out it was in front of a Pawn Shop. I saw the stage set up on the sidewalk. I’d never played on a sidewalk before. My initial reaction was “oh man,” but a gig is a gig and I had to make the best of it. We set up and played a couple songs when it started to rain. We were under an awning, Protected. I was looking at the clouds and the rain. It was beautiful. There I was playing my bass in the rain. Perfect.

            People would stop and listen. Two high school kids stopped and were listening intently. They applauded after every song. Commuters were waving and honking their horns as they drove by. It was interesting. Then a fat African American couple stopped. They looked like they were into Hip Hop based on their wardrobe. They were standing in front of the band when they broke out into a waltz. It was unexpected, and incongruous. They were waltzing on the sidewalk, lovingly, affectionately, as if they were the only two people on earth. It was the most beautiful and romantic thing I’d ever seen.  

Bagpipes

            There use to be a bagpipe player in the neighborhood, but I haven’t heard him play lately. I’m assuming he moved away. Either that, or he gave it up. I liked listening to him practice. The sound carried up the hill into my cabin. He usually practiced during the day. What he was playing was indistinguishable. Bagpipe mumbo-jumbo of the official order. Who knows what they’re playing, but it sounds good. It’s a commanding instrument. If you walk into a room with a bagpipe heads are going to turn. And if you start to play, even though nobody will know what you’re playing, people will be interested for a song or two. It’s hard to hold an audience for more than that with a bagpipe. You can’t do a bagpipe concert. They don’t hold. They wear on you. They’re better suited for parades, where you can hear them coming and going, and as they pass they sound beautiful.    

Sausage and Porn

            I went out last night as I’m accustomed to do on Thursday nights. I’m trying to change my night out to Tuesday, but it seems Thursday won’t let me.

            I’ve been going to the same place for years, not because the people are nice, but because the atmosphere is just weird enough to keep me entertained.

            Last night I met a man from Minnesota who was in town making a documentary on the children of porno stars. It sounded interesting enough. We talked about Bob Dylan, and I mentioned Rodriquez to him. He had never heard of Rodriquez. I asked him about the sausage in Minnesota. I have a thing for sausage and any chance I get, I’ll ask a mid-westerner about the sausage in their state. He told me about a place called Klinker-hurst or Capiastan, I can’t remember, but it sounded like an Estonian country. That was my night, I talked about sausage and porn, mixed in with a little music. Themes that follow me where ever I go. 

The Lincoln Memorial

            I was a history major in college, so it makes sense that I like to watch the History Channel from time to time. I was watching a segment on Abraham Lincoln when it was suggested that "Honest Abe," maybe wasn’t so honest. Abe had a friend. His friend was a man. Abe and his friend spent a lot of time together and shared the same bedroom. I got to thinking, how great would it be if Abe had a streak of lavender in him. That would set the country on fire. The evangelicals would be upset, that’s for sure. My mind raced thinking about the possibilities. I thought about the Lincoln memorial and the five-dollar bill. We’d have a great big statue of a gay man in DC proper. The bigots would be beside themselves with anger, but then again, the bigots are always besides themselves with anger. 

Rodriquez

I saw Rodriquez on Friday night. There’s Bob Dylan, there’s Johnny Cash, and then there’s Rodriquez. He was great, barring his issues with keeping his guitar in tune. Performing for people can be a strange thing, especially if you’re strange yourself. I know this first hand, for obvious reasons. We all have our tics, It seemed to me that Rodriquez’s tic was tuning his guitar. I don’t blame him if that’s his tic. It could be that his guitar doesn’t stay in tune. He uses a nylon and those things go out of tune when you breath on them.

            I enjoyed the show. He was magical. His song writing skills are amazing to me. His songs are very simple and very catchy. What complicates them is his strumming technique. He plays guitar like a Ranchero. It’s a very personal style. His strumming patterns are different from most guitar players. His technique fills a lot of space. It makes his sound bigger, wider, warmer then most. I love Rodriquez. It would be great to jam with him someday. That would be a dream come true.