Enough

            I spent my studio money on a woman, and now I’m just about broke. I had a good time. The process had meaning. I learned a few things about tenacity and recognition. When there’s a woman in my life money becomes an issue. Even if that woman is unique and understanding. I feel bad not having money. The life of an artist is filled with dichotomies. It’s tragic and beautiful. It’s peaceful yet stressful. I best let money flow. I’ll let it find me and leave me without worry. It has a way of doing that when you have enough, and I have enough.  

Pay Included

            Last nights gig was a first for me. We were asks via email by the leader of the band to play at a lower volume. Of course the engine room didn’t take kindly to the suggestion. It had more to do with the tone of the email than anything else. I figured I’d turn down. I like playing load, too load at times.

            We played the first song, and the drummer was barely hitting his skins, and Eichenbaum the guitar player looked like he was playing air guitar.  I played accordingly, at a hushed tone.

The first set was like a funeral it was so quiet. The singers didn’t start asking questions until after the second set.

            “Why are you playing so quiet?” they asked.

            They usually ask us to turn down, now all of a sudden they were concerned about us not being load enough. All their vocal imperfections were audible, more than usual. 

            The third set was the same, whenever Eichenbaum went in for solo you could see his fingers move, but there was no real sound coming from his amp.

            I turned up my bass for the fourth set and the drummer started to hit his skins, but Eichenbaum remained defiant and refused to turn up his guitar. The gig was a total loss, pay included. 

The Answer is Easy

            Leadership is a bitch. It’s hard to find a good leader. Frankly, I sometimes wonder if it’s even possible? Yes, of course it’s possible but uncommon to find a good leader. It’s exceptional when leadership has the respect of its subjects. I know I rarely respect leaders, but for the rare few that take the time to organize and plan and come prepared.             

            Patton was a great leader, probably the last great American general we’ve had. I know, I know Eisenhower, well, that’s argument for another day.

            The presidential election is fast approaching. I’ll have the privilege to choose between two potential leaders. I’ve simplified the process for making my choice. The important issues more than likely will bog down in congress, so I’ve come up with my own method for selecting a president. I came up with it just this instant. The question I ask myself is, “who would I be more apt to follow on a marked hiking trail in the San Gabriel Mountains?” Honestly, my rebellious spirit would have trouble following either one of them, but if I had to choose the answer is easy. 

Feeling the Freak

Last nights gig in Venice was blasé. The crowds were much smaller than usual, maybe it had something to do with the weather, or now that it’s August and nearing the end of summer the crowds are thinning. Even Tree Man was blasé. He came in and said hello, but quickly left without singing a song.

            “I just came in to say hello,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested low energy. 

            The usual crazies weren’t there.  The man that balances things on his head while wearing a fur coat wasn’t there. The woman with the white haired wig that dances to the sounds of the drum circle was missing. The freaks were on vacation, or just not feeling the freak. 

Brake Pads

            I went to Bill the smog guru’s shop to have my brake pads replaced.

            “Sit down, sit down,” Bill said.

            We sat down and started to talk. Our conversations usually start off nice and easy and then take a wicked turn, only to end politely, and cordially.

            This conversation was no different. We said our salutations and quickly thrust ourselves into the powerful effects of Bill’s prescription medication.

            “I’ll take the Norco just before bed. I’ll feel a slight tingle before I pass out.”

            Bill mentioned the other pills he’s taking, but there were too many to remember.

            Somehow the conversation deviated to Bill’s childhood. He said he had a thing for fire when he was a kid. I told him that’s how serial killers get their start. He looked confused and introspective for a moment but continued telling me his story.

He started a fire and got a beating for it from his father. His father was a Sergeant in the army. Bill, not to be deterred by the beating grabbed a large glass ashtray and a piled a mass of toilet paper on it.  The ashtray was more like a platter so the toilet paper piled up nicely. Bill put a match to the toilet paper on his bed. He was sitting crossed legged on his bed, behind the fire when his father walked into the room having smelled the smoke. His father just looked at him, but didn’t say anything.  It must have been a wicked sight.

            Bill and I talked for about an hour. I never did get my brake pads replaced.

              

French

            I was at a horse ranch in Chatsworth, when I turned to my friend John-Peter, who’s French. He was born in Paris and somehow ended up in Los Angeles. 

            “Didn’t your people eat horse's?” I asked.

            “They still do.”

            “What do they call it?” 

            “Steak de Cheval.”

            “That sounds elegant, even horse meat sounds elegant in French. How do you guys do that?”

            “I’m not sure.”
            "It's amazing."

Dust Fog

            Tree Man had a documentary crew following him about yesterday. He sat in with us for one song and then said “nature calls,” and left. The cameraman captured it all before they scooted.

Tree Man has a bunch of tree related jokes that he likes to say, dumb one-liners such as, “I need to branch out.”

            Eichenbaum our guitar player had another gig after our gig out in Chatsworth. He invited JP the drummer and I to it. He said it was a fund-raiser for a cruelty to animal’s organization. Eichenbaum said there was going to be Penthouse playmates there. I didn’t want to go. Chatsworth is not my territory. JP talked me into it. JP and I got lost on the way over there. We were on a mountainous road. It was pitch black. We finally figured it out. The party was on a horse ranch and it smelled like it. It was a nice property, but the party was winding down by the time we got there.  All the playmates were gone. We had to park on a dusty dirt parking lot. There were shuttles to take us to the party.  The dust was so thick from cars driving about that it looked like fog, a smelly thick fog.