Thursday, November 30, 2006

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.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

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.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

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

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

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.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

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....

Saturday, November 18, 2006

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.