Musical Highlights of 2006-- #2

JAMES GANG--Nokia Theater
I have loved Joe Walsh since I first saw him become one with his guitar in 1972-3(?). I watched in awe as he led a band called Barnstorm on stage at Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green Ohio back then.
I’d never seen nor heard a person and an instrument merge like Joe and his guitar did that night. I continued to love his talent through the Eagles, his solo stuff, and his recordings with The James Gang.
Though I’d heard the music of the James Gang on radio, and the band members were all from my mid western state, I was too young to attend any performances they might have been doing when Walsh was with them.
So now, in August 2006, I get a chance to see the re-united Walsh version of the Gang.
Joe Walsh, Jimmy Fox and Dale Gilmore have come back to have fun, revive the music of the Gang, and give Joe a chance to shine again. Joe said in a radio interview that playing with the Gang allowed him to go different places musically and get into his guitar more than when he had to be a professional sideman with other talented players to perform songs with rigid parts. This was for fun, he said.
True to his word, it was fun for everyone!
The James Gang played their biggest hits and best album songs. Fox and Gilmore smiled all night long while onstage, spreading positive energy along with their excellent playing skills.
Joe was just Joe. Wise-cracking, humble, and the coolest guy in the room,any room, anywhere.
The music was magnificent, and the Gang even backed Walsh on some purely Walsh hits. The crowd loved it. The band loved it. It was a great concert.
Before the show, in my job as backstage runner, I had knocked on Joe’s dressing room
door to hand over an awaited package. Joe answered, with his guitar hanging in front, and I realized I had just interrupted his warm-up.

The beautiful music I’d heard as I rapped on the door was him playing his guitar. I had ignorantly thought it was recorded music.
“Hi!,” He said with a wide smile, standing there in his stocking feet.” What can I do for you?”
He was acting just as friendly as if I was an old neighbor looking for a cup of sugar. I told him what I had and handed it to him. I met his smile with one of my own.
“Anything else I can help with?,” he said.
I said something which meant no, and thanks, and I went on about my business. I was not the coolest one in the room, but sure felt like one of the luckiest.

A BRIEF INTERLUDE TO MY TOP 10 BLOGGING

Lightning and thunder removed the luxury of electricity from my neighborhood last night. It happened around 6:20 PM.
I was sitting at my desk when the darkness came, and felt for a nearby lighter. Using the lighter, I located the first of many candles. Carrying a lit candle through the house put me in touch with my inner Little House on the Prairie kid.
After several candles were lit, my home gave off the esthetic of an old, romantic movie set. My own Friday night film noir.
I located the first of three flashlights. It came on for three seconds then quickly dimmed to darkness. I took a candle to my battery drawer to locate the big D size batteries needed to give my flashlight life.
After some searching, I made a note to myself to put big D batteries on the shopping list.
My late husband’s police flashlight laid in the bottom of the drawer. It’s a big, black, heavy, metal light that can also be used to clobber someone. Though I can’t recall using it in years, when I press the on button, it brightly lights up and stays lit. His light still shines when needed.
Next I find a little clip-on flashlight that only takes two of the plentiful AA batteries I have on hand.
So now I’m well lit. Hey, why not make an adult beverage?
Leftover Xmas eggnog and Jim Beam are soon mixed in my glass with a couple of cubes. I sit in the big chair and enjoy the sweetness. Now what?
Being alone may not make holidays miserable (see earlier posting), but it sure makes a night without electricity go slow. What time is it now--6:30?
The air around me is scented with burning candle scents of Vanilla, Pear, Ginger and Lavender. I’m drinking a nectar of the winter solstice. There are no sounds, no intrusions.
What a perfect time to make love. This atmosphere begs for a lover.
Alone, even my favorite vibrator needs a live current; so I do without.
I let the flickering reflections of the candle flames on the French doors put me in a state of contemplation. Instead of noticing how quiet it’s become, I realize how noisy life is normally. I begin to revel in the quiet, much more comfortable with my one-ness. It’s nothing to be scared of, you know.
The hard rain comes again along with more thunder and lightning. My long-legged Greyhound paces around me. I’m glad the candles are enclosed in glass jars, since the coffee table where some set, is the same height as her stomach. Serendipitous foresight!



"Not into candle-play!"


So I began giving the Greyhound a homeopathic brush massage, attempting to calm her. We were both really getting into it, when something clicked and the lights and TV came back on, just like that.
First thing out of my mouth was a sad “awwww.” I would remain untested in this challenge of the unplugged. I think I was up to it, too.
The lights are now on, along with the TV. The Beam & Nog is gone. The dog is sleeping. The cat has come out of hiding. The electric life resumes.
Better kill the candlelight. Don’t want to start a fire.

Gender Differences
“I’ll let you play with my boobs if you’ll meet me at Winstar and give me money to gamble with. I’m old, fat and soft. I have big boobs.”
A woman reading the above online ad disgustedly thinks “Whore! Slut! How demeaning!”
A man reading the above thinks “She sounds like fun. I wonder what she looks like?”
No wonder we find each other fascinating.

A Top Ten List for 2006

Musical Highlights
Numero Uno
Van Morrison, Nokia Theater-- My good friend Patti bought tickets, and gave me one as a birthday gift.
To start the evening, Patti and I met at the theater early, parked next to the levee bank and tailgated. We sat in lawn chairs facing the west, looking behind the row of parked vehicles, enjoying choice, delicious food and drink.
As we watched a beautiful sunset, a bonus feature of the evening serendipitously came upon the horizon.
About ten cars down, a well built man appeared behind a truck, standing on the levee bank, silhouetted by the sinking sun and all it’s colors. Just enough shadows to make out body textures and forms, but not distinct features, the lighting was absolute perfection.
As if in a Ralph Lauren commercial, the man stripped off his shirt, pulling it off overhead one arm at a time, emphasizing his toned physique.
In the light of the setting sun, he put on another shirt, as sexily as he’d taken the other one off.
The sky darkened, he finished changing and moved out of site between the cars.
Patti and I watched without saying a word, appreciating the marvelous view. This was our private opening act. Proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.
But the headliner was about to begin.
We walked in, sat down, and he came on immediately, as if waiting for us. We were there to see the Man, and he came through without missing a beat.
Van had just released a CD of what had been reviewed as “country music.” Van the Man did about four songs off this CD, and if that’s how Van does “country,” I’m a fan! (not a fan of country, so you know it must’ve been great).
He did many of his hits from the 70’s and 80’s, or is it the 60’s and 70’s now? Decades are flying by.
Brown-Eyed Girl, Moondance, Tupelo Honey; all were sung without losing a note, expanded from the recorded version, and played masterfully by his talented 15 (?) piece band.
It was a glorious night of friendship and music. One of the best of my adult life.

Highlights Numbers 2-10 coming this weekend.

SINGLE AND ALONE AT XMAS

To all those who think being alone during the holidays is a fate worse than death, let me tell you something. I'm single and alone. My holiday season has been full of joy.
No children whose visions of sugar plums must I keep alive, no significant other for me to find the exact- right- perfect gift, no family obligations filling up weekends or days off. In other words, very little stress, just a lot more socializing.
Children, presents, and significant others can be fun, too. But I’m looking only for the positives, since the myth is that not having those things equals misery this time of year.
That’s simply not true, and may just be a well-kept secret so as not to upset all the family traditions. Not exactly conspiracy-theory status, but perhaps a conservative intention nonetheless.

Nuts.
This year, I also innocently started what might become a tradition. I gave everyone the same Xmas present.
What I gave to a ‘bar buddy," I gave to my parents. It was a homemade gift, which I spent many hours on many days after work preparing.
There was something simple and fun about giving the same gift to everyone. I made a cute little one-size-fits-all card, and didn’t label the presents, which made me free to give to whomever and whenever I wanted. I felt like a sincere Santa.
An unexpected positive from the same-thing-to-everyone gift giving, was that I felt love for each and every one. Instead of spending more on my relatives to show them how much more they mean to me than the neighbors, the simple sweet-and-crunchy nuts said it more eloquently than any diamond or cashmere sweater could.
I appreciate one and all who are in my life, for whatever it is that you personally bring. All parts contribute to my life, and each is special in it’s own way.
By giving the same thing to one and all, I felt the true spirit of giving. It’s not based on a dollar amount. It’s not based on the latest toy or gadget. It’s based on the fact that there are good people in my life who make it so much more live-able, and they don’t need a fancy gift from me to know that.
Who knew a simple nut would show me such things?

Observations on my way to work this morning–
Aside from the garbage man and a few others in trucks, most of the commuters this morning were women. Already known is the disparity of pay between men’s and women’s jobs, but more obvious today was the disparity in bargaining. Seems like most of the guys got to stay home for a holiday after-day, while the wimmen-folk headed off to work.
When are we going to get our act together?

The Christmas Butterfly

Living in the country around my Ohio hometown, as I did for many years, major holidays were a time for family dinners.
A relative would offer up their home, everyone would bring something to eat, we’d joke around a lot with each other and make people laugh, and most of us would then sit at a big table together and play a simple card game that might cost each person a dollar. That pretty much explains every family dinner I’ve attended in the last 40 years.
There was a time, in my childhood, when not just my aunts and uncles, but distant cousins of my father and great-aunts and great-uncles would gather at Uncle Lonnie and Aunt Mae’s farmhouse. That was the home of my father’s uncle, the brother of my grand-mother.
Once a year, I would see blood relatives that I barely knew. But the atmosphere was fully welcoming to all. I can’t imagine anyone coming onto the farm that day and not being totally engaged.
At Uncle Lonnie’s and Aunt Mae’s, the activity of the day was a softball game in the cow pasture. The cow patties came into play either as obstacles or bases. We just accepted them as something in the field.
Afterwards, the meal was served by the women. I can still see the soft cotton aprons over their Sunday dresses as they bustled around the small farmhouse kitchen, making room for the many dishes to be shared. No one table could hold all the relatives, so the older crowd sat around the sweetly set dinner table, while the rest of us found benches and other perches outside.
As a kid, I mostly went for my Aunt Effie’s home-made noodles with chicken. Thick, firm, short. egg noodles in a creamy broth with tender chunks of chicken cooked just right. I’d fill up a whole plate with just that. Then I’d go for a cake, probably also Aunt Effie’s. She was a self-taught master cake baker and decorator. Her creations always made desserts a highlight.
As time progressed, Lonnie and Mae passed on and the summer-time softball playing family reunions ended. I rarely saw my once-a-year family members again. But my dad kept up a smaller family reunion of his four brothers and sisters.
So the tradition continues to this day. Though many close relatives have died, my Dad enjoys a full house of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews at least twice a year to celebrate a holiday.
However, I rarely attend. Over eight years ago, I moved 1100 miles away to a southern state. No other family members lived nearby, though in the last few years, two nieces have moved into the state. Holidays have become just a day off from work for me.
Single with no children, I view holidays as downtime where I could lay around the house in comfy clothes, visit a casino for the day, sleep late, go to the dog park, clean the house, or watch a rented movie.
Even Christmas-time was non-celebrated, other than the generous gifts sent by my dad, mom, brother and sister, so I would have "something to open."
Lately, however, my non-planning manifested itself into a busy social season! Having free-time over the holidays with no family obligations to commit oneself leads to acceptance of lots of invites.
So far this week, I’ve attended two Christmas parties and have another gathering of friends on Friday night and Sat morn. I even have a Saturday night date with a male friend in the same familial circumstances as I. I have become a social butterfly!
Keeping oneself open allows for many more opportunities to present themselves. I already knew that lesson, and it’s so nice to be positively reminded of such things.
Living in the moment, enjoying life as it comes, carpe diem; all good things I strive for.
Sometimes, the results are obvious, sometimes barely palpable, sometimes more rewarding than others, sometimes fun, sometimes horrible, but always life in action. It’s a wonderful life in action.
Life happens, even when you don't plan on it.
{\!/}
{/!\}

COMPANY PARTY/ Production Assisting Gone Awry

Some of my co-workers were caught by surprise by my entrance. Usually I am 'au nature'l in my capacity as a rock-n-roll runner. Tonight, make-upped, coiffed and nicely clothed, I received second looks and sincere compliments.
Is that a commentary on how bad I usually look at work or how good I can appear?
In all fairness, usually my co-workers see me during a 17-18 hour workday that starts at eight AM. And the people that show up for an eight o'clock concert as customers, freshly scrubbed and sweet-smelling, look even better next to me since I've already been working for twelve hours. I make them look good!!!
Nice mix of people. A charismatic man who caught my eye was named after a major roadway in the metroplex. Or should I say the road was named after his father. Whatever. It was fun to meet a face behind a road. That doesn't happen every day.
I even became re-aquainted with a very personable woman I mingled with at a blues bar many years ago, who is now married to one of the head honchos of the company.
"Hi!!! Why are you here?" she asked me. "Hi!! Why are YOU here?!!" I responded.
Well, this ol' bar aquaintenence, who I've also watched fight a hard battle with breast cancer, had married into my company's executive strata. I've worked for this company for four years and had never made the connection. It happened tonight. Some things just take time. Repeat. Some things just take time.
I got a little bit drunker than I intended, but only because Austin the bartender was a generous pour-er. The food was marvelous, even when cooler than ideal. The famous Dallas restaurant that catered this affair earns their good reputation. P. F. Changs, thank you.
Right now, at 11:55 PM, I feel closer to many of the people I've worked with this past four years. Real connecting or Jack and coke?
I'm usually good at parties, if given half a chance. And I've had a good vibe present in my life the past couple weeks. Some of the people I work with expresed their appreciation to me for my job performance. Good bartender or sincere?
(I'll find out when I see everyone sober again at the next show)
I like how I can have a pleasant evening just about wherever I go. I think that's a real good thing.
Happy holiday parties!

My 18 Hour Saturday Workday

I swear I'm not an ol' fogie. But....
I worked backstage at a heavy metal band festival last weekend.
Nine thrashing, screaming bands in torn, black clothing, face piercings, angry tattoos and stiff hair. Baby rockstars, a friend calls them. I call them tiresome, unoriginal, and old news. The rock bands of the 70’s perfected the ‘trash the venue’ techniques until they knew better. These bands haven’t learned anything at all.
They have multiple hangers-on, skanky groupies, and replica fans. Higher maintenance than most other music genres, their management crews are often demanding, sneaky and arrogant.
I assume they are not used to nice places like our theater, because they leave the dressing rooms looking like the basement of an abandoned house. Pieces of food and broken liquor bottles on the floors are the norm. Smokers arrogantly lit up anywhere and everywhere and left the evidence behind.
The band members separately are often friendly and nice. But it only seems to take one or two assholes to make the others stink, too. No one seems to rein anyone in. There are no good leaders in these bands, only bad ones.
Modern heavy metal music never turned me on after the 70’s, and even then it was only Led Zeppelin. After spending 18 hours backstage with the heavy metal crowd, and about two minutes listening to the music, my feelings haven't changed.

SOMETIMES A MYSTERY, SOMETIMES JUST A CAT

On Sunday night, I decided to move some furniture around. Way underneath the couch I found my cat's stash.
I had wondered where all my pens went. I started believing they were like socks.

And I had a feeling she had something to do with the missing nightlight....

And here's the secret snatcher enjoying
another of her catty habits; escaping to the garage and laying on the hood of my car.

Don't Expect Me to Do Oil Changes too

I’ve finally given in and put totally non-feminine gifts on my wish list.
In years past, when generous relatives have asked for gift ideas, I’ve mentioned perfumes, body lotions, creams, and fuzzy slippers as items I’d love to receive.
This year, it’s a stepladder and gift card to Lowes, the home improvement store.
I’ve accepted that no one is coming soon to be my toolbench prince.
I was hoping that the man in my life would also bring a dowry, if you will, of ladders, tools and a cordless drill. I’ve been patiently waiting for the man with a stepladder to sweep me off my feet,
The flaw in my thinking is that first I must hook up with that man. That has proven futile. I realize I need to take care of things myself.
I must stop thinking that a princely man is going to save me from wobbly lightbulb changing duties, top-shelf pullout surprises, and painting high walls. I’ve accepted my fate.
I will soon be a woman with a useful, sturdy stepladder. And then, I’ll buy a cordless drill.
I’ll only need a man for love, affection and some companionship.
I’ll be a much less needy woman. And we all know that the less needy a woman is the more threatened most men become.
"What? She has her own stepladder?! Feminazi alert!"
So I think I’m doomed. I’m sealing my fate. I’m a non-needy woman who takes care of herself in all ways now.
No, wait, a man with a truck would be very useful. Getting my lawnmower to the shop for maintenance and repairs is next to impossible in my Mustang’s trunk. Yes! I’m still needy!
That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

GOOD NEWS BAD NEWS

Things I learned from watching my plumber digging up my yard while looking for a water leak:
Stand at least 20 feet from your plumber while he’s digging in a wet ditch.
They earn every penny they get for the work they must do.

For those who read my holiday depression post before I deleted it for being too depressing, my worries about a huge plumbing bill creating havoc with my finances were unfounded. The bill is much less than I thought it would be.
Just goes to show ya, it's a waste of time to worry. Wait till you know.

I OUGHTA KNOW BY NOW
The local news reports two men paralyzed and one man dead. Hanging Christmas lights. Tragedies, all three.
The information highway lets me know every time someone bumps their nose or breaks their spine or dies even while in the holiday mood.
I’ve declared to no one in particular, mainly for my own sake, that the day I stop learning I’ll be dead.
But lately I’ve been asking how much do I really want to know?
Is this how one grows old in spirit, by fearing knowing more? Not just fearing danger, but fearing depression, fearing frustration, fearing heartbreak, fearing changes?
Does information always equate change? Is information we receive that is compatible with our present or intended actions always more welcome than information that isn’t? No matter how factual or truthful the non-compatible info is?
I like to think I’m open to real information, and not unwelcoming of it, but there seems to be a lot of people who aren’t. How easy is it to get that way?
The only thing that never changes is that nothing stays the same. By fearing change, one fears time itself.
The more information I get, the more I know, the more I realize how little I know. I also realize how much I know by knowing how little I know.
So how much do I really want to know? That question and what the meaning of life is seem like foundational questions I oughta know by now.

Still Whining After All These Years

When the tornado came through down town Fort Worth on a Tuesday in 2000, my most pressing concern was if Caravan of Dreams would be open by Thursday for the scheduled John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers show.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have compassion for those who suffered damages. I did. But I also had tickets for a front row center table. And Mayall at the Caravan was guaranteed to be a good show.
Downtown was too damaged for that show to go on and the gig was canceled. Not rescheduled, canceled. Caravan of Dreams was done. I just didn’t know it yet.
Shortly after the twister visited, the Caravan closed it’s doors.
The beautiful, best-music-club I’ve ever been in was replaced by another of Cowtown‘s cultural experiences. For a gastronome, it made little difference. For the music enthusiast of Boomer age, it was a tragedy.
The Bass family opened their music Hall and thought that might help pacify Caravan’s fans. The Hall performances are first-class, the venue is classical, the service is mostly impeccable. But it’s a different experience. The Caravan was the perfect mix of concert and nightclub. Bass Hall doesn’t come close to fulfilling the Caravan’s paradigm.
Fast forward six years. I was one of the approximately 180 people at McDavid Studio recently to hear Alan Haynes with Jim Suhler & Monkeybeat play two sets of quality guitar-driven rock-and-blues based music.
A nightclub “atmosphere” seems intended by the set-up, with comfy chairs around tables for four, and a table bar set up in the corner of the large, acoustically sound but otherwise cold, sterile room.
If using standing room, I’m guessing it could hold three hundred friendly people or two hundred patrons allowing personal space for furs and jewelry.
Bothersome were the blazered employees paired together in the studio, hallways and entrance. Poised and professional, they were noticeable in the sense that I couldn’t figure out what the purpose was.
It’s a find-your-own seating policy so ushering wasn’t needed. They were very helpful as I negotiated the hallways on the initial bathroom trek, and smiled as I passed thereafter. But would a place employ people merely to help others find their way to the bathrooms? Or was it more of a security squad to keep wandering the halls to a minimum, which would be easy to do in the multi-use building? It was very hard to tell.
During the performance, the mostly middle-aged crowd cheered and clapped, and one happy-footed woman stood up and danced to one song. Bless her heart, she moved from dancing near her table to the far side of the stage. It’s hard to dance like no one’s watching when your table is front row center.
The blazer-ed brigade mostly sat around the perimeter during the show. I thought at the time, and still do, that they could have been much more productively used as cocktail servers. They aren’t your average cocktail server type, but who needs stereotypes anyway?
The bar service was easy and the tenders friendly and drink prices were probably average for downtown and less than Nokia Theater. The price point seemed to be six dollars. Add a dollar tip each drink and it’s two dollars over what I pay at my usual haunts. But maybe I’m just lucky.
If you live downtown, and haven’t yet attended a McDavid studio show, it won‘t hurt. Just plan on finding a hot joint afterwards, where your happy feet have company and you can get your groove on.
Mr. Bass, I knew Caravan of Dreams and McNair/McDavid studio is no Caravan.
But it is a really nice place to hear music.

LETTERS TO GOD

In response to my blog about Dennis worshipping a blonde with big tits (see Bar Scene- Magnificent Obsession), I had the following email exchange with some poor, mis-guided soul.
In a message dated 12/1/2006 6:14:34 PM Central Standard Time, (REMOVED) writes:
hi god,
this is me god, a mere mortal man. not really agressive, though i've been called that, not even slick, though i've been called that also, just an ordinary guy. I want to pray for an "ole lady" for me. doesn't have to look like a model or anything, just a down to earth lady who i can trust, likes music, will blow a doob with me or just blow me from time to time. someone i can share lifes little dramas with. you know what i mean god, someone like you "a blonde with big tits".
LOL...god, let me know if you have anyone in mind for me, i'd appreciate it. thanks for listening god.
peace and love god
abraxas

REPLY:
Sent: Friday, December 01, 2006 7:20 PM
Subject: Re: a prayer....
Hi,
Thanks for writing. I only had 8 billion emails asking for stuff today.
(Prayer: The last refuge of a scoundrel)
True love cannot be found where it truly does not exist,
Nor can it be hidden where it truly does.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.
And To all virgins: Thanks for nothing!!
Good luck down there.
me

In a message dated 12/1/2006 10:41:27 PM Central Standard Time, (REMOVED) writes:
you're worthless god!!!!
all you give me is prose! you need to get back down to earth and check out how things are nowdays, i mean it's only been some 2000 years since you been here, times have changed, the fuckin world is running amuk, people are killing each other for for their religion, sneakers and cars, no wonder you got 8 billion emails wantin shit. all i want is an "ole lady" dude, a good piece of ass to care for, not world peace. i'm a mortal, i can't abstain for 2000 yrs, so lets go, what happened to fuckin miracles!
peace and love god
abraxas (lmao):-)

Criminy, my son,
I couldn't even find a good girl for Jesus. He had to settle for a prostitute
(no offense, Mary of Magdalene). All those things you mentioned, well, no wonder I'm so freaking busy. And you want me to take time out of my schedule so you can have a regular piece of ass (no offense to the manger donkeys). What, do you think I'm Zeus?! Now he's the multi-tasker.
Do it yourself! I've given you the tools. Why do you think I invented liquor??
Oh, and that thing about going out and pro-creating---old news. Stop already! Wear a condom. Get fixed. I'm so tired of all these humans running around. The other gods won't hang with me anymore coz of all my kids running around like crazy. Just try to get a babysitter for that! I haven't had a break in over 2000 years.
Humans! Sometimes I wonder why I bothered....
I need a nap. Let sleeping gods lie.
me

Things I Want to Know

If a nun has dyslexia, do you think she worships her dog?

Why don’t eggs taste like chicken?

When people say “it tastes like shit” don’t you wonder how they know?


More About Me

I’m allergic to chocolate. It makes me swell up and get fat.

I have tasted Moonshine and yes, the nickname Rotgut is appropriate.

Men often ask me if I’m bi-sexual. I am always “bi-sexual” on the first date. If a guy wants to have sex with me on the first date, I say “Bye.”

Dad didn’t mind when I went to parties and stuff. He always told me to have a good time and be a good girl but I always wondered which one was more important to him...

This cowboy came up last night and said some inappropriate things to me. I slapped his face hard but was immediately sorry I did it. Oh, not coz I hurt him. He had a cheek full of chewing tobacco.

NASCAR

NASCAR is in town.
I don’t want to be a snob, but I personally won’t date anyone who has a big “3” in the back window of their pickup.
Mexicans have their gothic letters, Nascar fans have their 3’s and 8’s.
I probably shouldn’t pick on Nascar fans. Its a hugely popular sport.It’s just not a real diverse crowd. There’s a part of the campground called Bubbaville...Lots of stars and bars and (hopefully)spittoons in that area.
Last night at a bar, one of those bubba’s was flirting with me.
He said “ Sugar, would you ever go out with a man like me?”
I said, “Sure, Bubba, as long as he’s not too much like you...”
When he asked for my number, I just said 8 and he was satisfied.

BAD POETRY

RELUCTANT LOVE

This isn’t a dress rehearsal
This isn’t about when and if
I don’t have a life to live over
This life is the one that you’ll miss
This life is the one that you’ll miss

If I don’t care for you
If I can’t see you grow
If you won’t let me love you
You’ll miss the best part of what I know
You’ll miss the best part of what I know

This isn’t about the future
It’s not about the past
It’s about living for real, for now
Living life at last
Living life at last

Let me love you
And love me back
Don’t be afraid
I’m good in the sack
Repeat, I’m good in the sack.


BLUE COWBOY

A fantastical female with a feminine mind
Met a cowboy in quite a bind
He’d loved and lost and was feeling low
He’d been taking it easy, taking it slow
Yet here he was with hat in hand
And talking about a No Promises land
of sex and fun
and more sex, too
But with no strings attached
Cause he’s feeling blue
My, oh my, what’s a woman to do?
So, sweetly and softly, she took his hand
And showed him the door to a Promise land
He shook in his boots at the thought of more
than just sex and fun behind that door
He felt relief when she went on through
He wouldn’t explore, he liked feeling blue,
So the fantastical female with the feminine mind
waved goodbye at the cowboy with hat in hand
who decided to stay in No Promises land
And the fantastical female moved through the door
Craving a land of so much more.

THANKSGIVING LEFTOVERS

Thanksgiving day I ate out with friends at a scrumptious buffet. It was fine.
But Friday after work, I lamented the absence of leftovers. So today I went to the grocery store to get fixings for a roasted bird and stuffing.
I discovered that the Saturday after Thanksgiving is a great time to bargain shop for food. I may have a new personal tradition of cooking the big dinner right AFTER the holiday.
I got a great deal on the bird, super deal on bread for the stuffing, and I paid two dollars for a blueberry pie. Another plus was there was hardly anyone in the store. I guess most people’s refrigerators are already stuffed with food after the holiday.
I came home, prepared the dressing, stuffed the bird, and roasted it all afternoon. It came out lovely, with a crisp brown crust and moist pecan bread stuffing with crunchy bits and pieces.
I ate a little bit when it came out of the oven, and now I have leftovers in my fridge. And blueberry pie for breakfast.
I am one with the masses
Happy Thanksgiving however you feel it.

Blurbs

background
My name is Candy and I was born on Valentine’s Day. I have one brother, Stripe. He was born on Flag Day....
I grew up in rural Ohio, in the mid-west. Yes, I was raised by cows....

Being raised in a farm community, I must tell you that cows DON’t give milk. You have to go in there and take it from them.

My mom never let me eat candy at home. I finally got to eat a chocolate bunny one Easter. It was okay. It tasted like chicken.

presently
At my age, my dating criteria has changed a little bit. It’s nothing major, just simply I would like for my date to have a car and a home. And preferably they’re not the same.

Do you ever do stuff that you normally would be to scared to do but you’re doing it with someone who’s the scariest person you know anyway?


Insight
"I hope I never have to go to rehab for anything but I hear you meet some real quality people there.” Alli Hilfiger

THE REASON I CALL GENE TAYLOR A MASTER ACCOMPANIST

Floating in the Caribbean, on the top-most deck of a cruise ship, off the coast of Puerto Rico, I was sitting at the fancy piano bar.
It was after midnight, and I was listening to Gene Taylor playing just for the fun of it. It was his down time from performing with the Fabulous Thunderbirds.
It was a very intimate atmosphere. The ocean seemed to surround us in the small, heavily-wooded, glass-walled bar.
There were four of us sitting around the piano, three others at the bar. Taylor’s music flowed from ragtime, N’awlins-style boogie-woogie to standards like Georgia on my Mind.
Right outside the piano bar, a bandstand was set up for any ‘wandering minstrels’ to act on their urges. Only a glass wall separated us from the electric instruments. During Taylor’s soothing performance, a few people outside started playing reggae rhythms that boomed into the piano bar. I was getting irritated at this invasion of discordant sounds. But I underestimated the master musician at the piano.
Taylor adjusted his key, changed the tempo ever so slightly, did other things beyond me and continued playing in the vein he had been, only now the previously invasive sounds were his rhythm section.
I looked at him in amazement. How easily he had made that transition, in mere seconds.
In that moment, I totally understood his value as a sideman, and how lucky any band would be to have a magical keyboard man like Gene Taylor.

Now That I’m Old and Often Ignored..

...it’s nice when someone asks for my advice, especially younger people. But it’s hard to admit my experience may be lacking. I hate letting them down by revealing that I really don’t know if Sammy Hagar is a better front man than Diamond Dave. So in their eyes, I've lost touch and credibility.
As we age, do we make our playing field smaller by choice or neccessity?

How come they never have blind people on Blind Date?


I feel sorry for young people these days. With all the plastic surgery, you never know for sure what you’re getting when you meet someone new. You won’t know till the baby pops out what your partner physically brought to the table. We coud be breeding a nation of Alfred E. Neuman's.

How come it’s always old blues musicians that are obscure and found at age 60 as a "hidden treasure." You never see old obscure rock guys emerging from the shadows at 75. Can you imagine?
Maybe all the aging rockers who hadn't been discovered started singing the blues.
There might be a lot of undiscovered, old jazz artists but when people hear them playing they just think they’re crazy and don't know what they’re doing....

THE BAR SCENE

Someone once said "You can either be a good example, or a horrible warning."

Sometimes I'm one, sometimes the other. It makes for an interesting life.

Is This the Horrible Part?
Too many times I’ve heard, "I don’t want to meet people in a bar." Since I go to bars, I wonder why so many people have such a poor attitude towards "people in bars." Isn't that a generalization of the worst kind? Or am I delusional?
I love blues music, so I often go to crummy little joints to hear a good band. Even if no one talked with me all night, the music still soothes my soul. Does that make me undesirable?

Magnificent Obsession
I didn’t like the band so much, Anthony Gomes, but he’s good at what he does. Most of the crowd was real enthusiastic for him and he did have a great personality. He is very Robben Ford-ish but more Hendrix rocky....The blues will come later.
What was best about tonight was the company I kept and a conversation I had with a man (Dennis b/f of Cathy) about him being half a woman. He had no qualms about stating this rather obvious fact, once you think about it. He is indeed, born of a woman impregnated by a man, and isn’t he really half a woman!?
We’re not talking parts, of which I’m sure he was all man. We’re talking PARTS of our beings here.
He mentioned God and asked me my beliefs. I told him I believed not in Jesus Christ but that God is Love-Love is God, there is no ‘physical being’. I said he would be a 'better man' than I if he could define Love for me, because then he could define my god.
Dennis immediately replied “God is a blonde with big tits. Some people bow down and pray to an old man with a long grey beard, I bow down before a woman with big tits. Love is a blonde with big tits.”
He had me there. He had no doubt who he adored.
It's good to be god.