I suppose, since I spent all of my time last week recounting the Bob TV fiasco, I should recap other events that transpired. Not that they merit retelling, but what else am I going to write about? Spirituality in the age of technology? Boriiiinnnggg. Nah, I'll stick with writing about myself, which, as you've come to discover, is far more rewarding than pretty much anything else you're going to read. Now that I've shown some modesty, let's do a little recapping.
I played a show in Boston early last Sunday evening with Sean. The place was called Kennedy's Midtown, a somewhat ritzy Irish restaurant and lounge. I was able to convince my roommate Rich to come with me and good thing, because he was the only one who showed up, at least as far as my friends went. Sean didn't fare much better on his end, but the four people who came to support him seemed like a hundred in that desolate environment.
Before Sean and I performed, we had to sit through some preppy guy's R&B band. He spent half his set introducing his band. "Give it up for Terry Maddux on the sax! (applause from his four friends in the audience) Let's here it for my Uncle Perry on the guitar! Uncle Perry, everyone! (applause) And Pat Dougherty on the drums. Give it up for Pat Dougherty!! C'mon, give it up for Pat!" Now, I'm all about giving credit to one's bandmates, but to do so over and over and over again is a bit much, especially when you've only got a handful of people in attendance, and one of them wants you to hurry up and finish your set before he gets sick all over himself.
After preppy guy's set, Sean got up and performed a great one. I was glad he played after the other guy, because my inspiration boner had wilted like fern in September. Even with the benefit of Sean's set, I wasn't having the best time in the world during mine.
I played well, I think, but as there were only one or two people paying attention, I hurried through the set and looked forward to going home. After completing one song, there was dead silence for a few seconds until the sound guy, who was stationed a few feet in front of me, gave me a courtesy clap. I found that to be pretty funny.
I wasn't pissed--no diva, me--at the poor turnout, I actually didn't care very much. If I had known that no one was going to show up and that I wasn't going to be payed for the gig, then I would have preferred to stay home. However, I committed to playing the show and, as Sean pointed out, at least we got to play through a good sound system. There was that.
I wasn't pissed--no diva, me--at the poor turnout, I actually didn't care very much. If I had known that no one was going to show up and that I wasn't going to be payed for the gig, then I would have preferred to stay home. However, I committed to playing the show and, as Sean pointed out, at least we got to play through a good sound system. There was that.
I didn't expect many people to show up to the gig. I had just played in August and almost all of my friends had showed up for that. Expecting them, especially the ones traveling from New Hampshire, to drive to Boston a month later wouldn't have been fair. Consequently, I focused my attention on inviting friends who missed the last show and those who lived near the city.
Everyone I invited, with the exception of a couple of people who got back to me and said they couldn't attend, had vanished off the face of the earth as far as I was concerned. Emails and phone calls were not returned. Can't say that I was upset: this type of thing happens and I can see why people wouldn't want to drag themselves out to some bar in the financial district of Boston, especially on a cloudy Sunday night. The only thing that irked me was the lack of response. An aknowledgement of my existense was all I was looking for. And perhaps something in the way of a "Sorry, dude, there's an "I love New York" marathon tonight. I'm not going anywhere" type of excuse. I've missed my fair share of friends' shows, so I'm not holding any grudges.
After quitting multiple times, after tantrum after tantrum, Gio finally turned in his keys for good yesterday. I say for good, but who knows with that guy. If he attempts to come back again and if Karen lets him, then I'll know for a fact that they're both stark raving mad. Well, I couldn't be more happy that Gio and his disruptive behavior have left the building for good. We have a new guy who looks to be a good candidate starting on Monday. It would make my job so much easier if he was a good fit.
I've been having good dreams lately. In some of them, I even get the girl for a change. The dreams haven't quite represented my waking reality and I'm hoping they're harbingers of things to come. In last night's dream the mystery woman I'm prone to write about and I had a nice, intimate time together. It wasn't a fuck fest, if that's what you're thinking, but something more intimate and special. Wow, with that sentence I think I just salted the earth of whatever masculinity I had in my possession . I'll have to watch a lot of football on Sunday to see if I can get any of it back.
Last night after my run, Kreg and I walked to Yoshi's for some Japanese food. I was ravenous and ordered the vegetable and fish tempura. It was ok, but I've never been a huge fan of Tempura.
Afterward, Luke Warm stopped by and we watched "The Impossible Kid", starring Weng Weng. As riveting as it was, I kept falling asleep during it. There was a scene on a yacht where Weng Weng got caught spying on the bad guys. They put him in a bird cage hanging from the ceiling and after they were finished making fun of him they lowered the cage into shark-infested waters where he would surely meet a bloody end. Right when the cage hit the water, I fell asleep. For that to happen at a heart-pounding moment like that was a clear indication of how tired I was. Anyway, I found out later that a hot chick saved Weng Weng by dropping a rope with a hook attached to it into the water and pulling him up to safety.
Now that you know Weng Weng's alright, I can finish this and go lay in bed and day dream about my new toilet seat.
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