The oak and weed together rise along the common ground

Once again, I am lacking energy as I sit to write. I'll get through it, though, so don't fret. It is Monday, after all, and after an eventful weekend that ended with me going to bed way too late, I'm entitled to be a little sleepy.

The weekend. Shane and his girlfriend, Jenni, came by in the early afternoon on Saturday. It was a few hours before his gig at the Lizard Lounge, and by gig I mean to say his participation, along with a couple of dozen other performers, in the final round of a songwriting competition.

We ate an early dinner replete with good conversation. It's not often we get to see Shane; it was a treat. And it was just as much a treat getting to know Jenni better. They left around five and headed over to the club. About an hour later, Mike arrived at the house. The two of us walked over to the club, with the idea that Janelle would meet up with us later.

Mike and I had a beer at the Cambridge Common, which is situated above the Lizard Lounge. When we headed downstairs, we met up with Shane and Jenni and it was only a few minutes before the show began.

The performers. I have to say I was disappointed in the lack of variety. Most were good at what they did, but what they did was so derivative that it didn't matter how good they were. Most of the male performers sounded like Damien Rice, Jack Johnson, John Mayer, or any other male singer/songwriter you're liable to hear on adult contemporary radio. And the women, especially if they were at the piano, sounded just like Feist, Jewel, Melissa Etheridge, or any other female singer/ songwriter you're liable to hear on adult contemporary radio.

I wasn't expecting pure originality, pure inventiveness -- that's not easy to come by anywhere -- but I was expecting variation. Mind you, there was some -- there was a guitar and bass duo (guy on guitar, tiny cute girl on bass which was taller than she was) that had a punchy post-industrial vibe on at least one of their songs; a guy with a basso profundo voice that sang/spoke in the vein of Lou Reed or Bill Callahan, but way more mainstream -- closer to that fuck Shawn Mullins; a young buck with a raw manner and throaty bellow that pulled his muse from the fiery bowels of his being- an unexpected treat; and there was Shane, the shining light, the most refreshing of the bunch. And that's saying something, considering he's the only one I'd ever heard before.

Where was the blues player, the bluegrass performers with fiddle and mandolin, the Elliot Smith fan, the Joanna Newsom-inspired harpist, the Mark Kozelek devotee, the Joni Mitchell girl? Nowhere to be found. Disappointing, I say. This was supposed to be a representation of the best of the best, locally speaking? I don't believe it, they're out there. Somewhere. I'm sure of it.

As the night progressed, so did the length of the host's rants between performers. He wasn't so bad, seemed like a nice enough guy, but whenever you combine the manic intensity of Robin Williams with alcohol consumption, you're in for a long, sometimes frustrating night. If Shane had been eliminated early on, we would have bailed and gone off into that good night, but that wasn'tj going to happen -- he pressed right on to the final round. Boo yeah, son!

We were so proud watching Shane progress through the rounds. Not so much because he was defeating other performers -- that really didn't have much to do with it -- okay, just a little bit -- music, like any art, is subjective and who's to say who's better than who-- but it was cool, thrilling really, seeing one of our own excel. Sure, we were partial as fuck, but I'm confident each one of us would have voted him the best performer if we didn't know who he was.

As I said, he made it the final round. He had beat out his biggest threat, a Paul Simon-esque performer named Reed Waddle, who was actually quite good and had defeated Shane in a prior competition, in one of the middle rounds, and I figured he was going to be a shoe-in for the grand prize, which was five hundred smackers, in case you were wondering.

By the time the final round hit, it was nearing two a.m. Everyone -- the performers, the judges, the host, the spectators -- was exhausted. The host ushered in the final round laying on the floor with his eyes closed.

Shane was up against the deep-voiced guy, who wasn't so bad, but did not hold a candle to Shane. Fuck, he couldn't even hold a match to Shane. That is the incontrovertible truth. It just is. So did Shane win? Hell, no! The judges fucked up, made a huge mistake, committed a grave injustice that will be felt throughout the farthest reaches of the cosmos.

Know what, though? It didn't matter. We still had a blast. We were still proud as proud could be of Shane, who performed flawlessly, and for whom this contest wasn't so much about the grand prize, but about making connections and challenging himself to excel at his craft.

Janelle, Mike, and I walked home through the post rain Cambridge after hours, buzzed and a little outraged at the injustice we'd just witnessed. But it was done in good spirits and with humor. Hell, Shane made it to the finals. Nothing to sneeze at. And, even if he was eliminated in the first round, would that have made him any less than the phenomenal talent that he is?

Nope.
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For me, it's music, music, music. On the verge of completing a trio of songs and, hopefully will have at least one finished for Wednesday's practice. And, in between music, music, music, I'll watch some Office: Season Five and maybe some Six Feet Under. Oh, and I'll for sure read from A Betrayal In Winter because it's such a gorgeous read.

The living, it is hard, but it suits me well

Yesterday, Marcy told me I needed to go into Boston before I came to work this morning to pick up some legal documents. Fine with me. What wasn't so fine was when five o'clock rolled around and she still wasn't exactly sure where I needed to go to pick up the docs. She found out fairly quickly -- the Cleric's Office in the Suffolk Superior Court House -- but spent the next half hour trying to sort out directions for me. I tried, as gently as I could manage in my increasingly agitated state, to suggest I do the leg work when I got home. She was determined, however, to figure it out on her own.

I picked up the docs without a hitch this morning. I expected, mostly because the directions I had to the court house were rudimentary at best, to have some issues, but I found the place easily. It was noon by the time I got back to Andover and I had a lot of work waiting for me, all of which, I managed to complete by day's end.

I'm pretty beat. Though it was a short week, it was draining. In a good way, though; I like being productive, and I most certainly was, but it can make a guy sleepy. I will, after working on some music tonight, relax, and most assuredly fall asleep before I intend to.

Luke Warm and I had another good practice the other night. The songs are taking shape, especially the new one I've been fleshing out over the last week or so. I'm really pleased with it, especially the manner in which it's come about. I've put a lot of focus on it and it shows.

It's 9/11 today and it's a terrible thing that justice has not been served yet. Despite overwhelming evidence that elements within our government orchestrated the mass murder that occurred this day eight years ago, we are still a long way from a real investigation. I'm not sure it will ever happen. That said, I tip my hat to the true patriots of our country, the 9/11 truth activists in all their different manifestations. Our founding fathers would be proud.

Been reading from three books lately: The Brothers Karamazov, A Betrayal In Winter, and The Pillars Of The Earth. All three have been enjoyable. I imagine I'll finish A Betrayal In Winter well before the other two concrete blocks masquerading as books. We'll see.

And we'll see if I've got anything left in the tank beyond this sentence.

Nope.

We heard that song while watching the skies

One of the cuter women at the Registry in Cambridge was checking me out today. I say this with confidence. I was about ten feet away from her and she was staring right at me. I did the obligatory look-behind to make sure no one was there. No one was there. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties, which is not a deterrent with a capital D, but one all the same. Doesn't matter, it was a nice moment and I'm going to keep it.

The other day, I made some dinner and sat down in the living room to eat. I put on the TV with the intention of abandoning it if I didn't find something decent to watch. After skimming through a lot of trash, I saw that Charlie Rose was about to begin. Good sign. Let's see who his guest will be. Werner Herzog -- nice! I struck gold. Great interview. Can't wait to see the new films he's got coming out. His remake of Bad Lieutenant should be interesting to say the least.

Whenever I leave work at the end of the day, I get all giddy, like I'm just let out of school, or something. It doesn't have anything to do with the job -- I've been like this at just about every job I've ever had. No, this is about freedom and about... well, about being like a kid for at least a small portion of my day. I can't help it. It could be said that this act of giddy exuberance sums me up as a human being. How exactly is beyond me, but it could be said.

Practiced yoga again today after work. I'm on a roll.

Man, am I digging Sandy Denny lately. I've been studying her voice, trying to pick up tips, that sort of thing. It's been an education, let me tell you. Listen to this and you'll know what I'm talking about.



Ok, off to watch some Office: Season Five.

Let your loss be your lesson

The bulk of the long weekend is over and it's been a good one. The cookout at Tracy and Ray's on Saturday was well worth leaving the city for. Being among an all-star lineup of friends, perfect weather, and an abundance of food and drink -- well, you can't get much better than that.

Scott broke out a couple of guitars, one of which was his new, sleek and buttery Taylor. Pat and I played together at one point, smoothly, in fact, which bodes well for our future collaboration. The lineup is beginning to take shape.

When it grew dark, those of us who remained, and there were still a good many of us, sat around the fire pit and talk about the present and reminiscences of our collective past coalesced into a fine weave. Love these people.

Hung around yesterday in layabout fashion, though I did practice yoga and tackled some laundry. Speaking of yoga, Friday marked my return to it after a longer than intended hiatus, and boy, did my legs feel sore on Saturday. To be expected, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

In the evening, Mara and I went into Davis Sq. and saw Inglorious Basterds. Glad I saw it again; there were a bunch of things I hadn't picked up on the first time around. I thought for sure Mara was going to sleep through portions of the movie. She had just returned from Florida the night before and shot a wedding a few hours before I met up with her. She looked tired.

Before the movie, we went to Mr. Crepes so she could eat dinner (I had already eaten, in case you're wondering, which I know you were because you care about my eating habits). I could tell by her demeanor, which was bordering on catatonic at times, that the evening might end up being a one-sided affair. Several times during the meal, in response to her unresponsiveness, I asked her if she wanted me to take her home. She replied that she'd be more alert after she finished eating. I had my doubts, but accepted her word. Sometimes she gets like this -- was like this on our first date, even --and, while I don't take it personally, I've taken the nip it in the bud philosophy, which is to say, if you're going to be like this during our time together, we should reschedule, because otherwise, there's no point. Might as well be by myself.

She perked up, though, like she said she would, and managed to stay awake during the film. Frankly, given the fact that it was a Tarantino film we were watching, I would think it would be virtually impossible to fall asleep, but if anyone could do it, Mara could.

After the movie, I asked her what she thought about it. "Oh, I thought it was great. Could have done with a little less scalping, though", she said.

"Wow, we are so different", I said, shaking my head. "See, I was disappointed there wasn't more scalping."

To herald the onset of Autumn, I've been listening to a lot of Sandy Denny's self-titled solo effort and her work with Fairport Convention. Especially her solo album. So good. Can't believe she died so young. That's what falling down stairs will do for you.

On Friday, I finished Abraham's A Shadow In Summer, which was a great read, and surprisingly refined for a first novel. I stopped over at Porter Sq. Books and picked up A Betrayal In Winter, the next book in the quartet. It's been hard putting it down. He's the real deal. While his writing gives a nod here and there to traditional Fantasy tropes, it is one of the most refreshingly unique voices in the genre. Has more of a feel of medieval Asia than medieval Europe, which most Fantasy novels are modeled after.

Today, I plan on working on music, reading, and who knows what else. All after a run, which I'm about to go on once I finish up here. And, guess what? I'm all done with you, so off I go.

So sad to watch good love go bad

You'd be amazed -- maybe you wouldn't, how the fuck would I know -- how much material is filtered out of this blog. Good material? Well, that would depend on your definition of good. The bulk of what doesn't make the final cut is mostly of the "man, my life is bottom of the barrel" variety. Well, perhaps not so neatly summed up as that, or quite as negative, but in the ball park.
Today, I assessed my life as it stands and I barely got a passing grade. It'll get better, it is getting better. So, I will not transmit my melancholic thoughts, my worries, my concerns in this blog. Correction: I will do such a thing -- I'm not about to deny the sour that runs counterpoint to the sweet. To do so would be a mistake. I'm just not going to give it a ton of air time. Ya dig?

Just finished The Sea today. Beautiful, if morose, piece of literature. I handed it over to Maureen who's been dying to read it ever since I described it to her. "Oh, and he's an Irish author? Well, now I'm even more intrigued." Be prepared to have your heart squeeze dried, dear lady.

On to The Brothers Karamazov, another cheery affair. I probably should have picked something by Dave Barry or David Sedaris to read next. Well, at least there's Six Feet Under to provide me with sunshine. Ok, maybe not. I'm wrapping up season three, Lisa's missing, Claire had an abortion, Nate's crying all the time, Billy tried to make out with his sister....No, not much glee to go around. Well, no wonder I've been gloomy. Time to bring the funny back, and you know what that means: Larry the Cable Guy, son! I'm laughing already.

One of these days, I'm going to travel to Bigfoot country, I'm thinking Pacific Northwest, and go on an expedition in search of the elusive great ape. I am absolutely not kidding. Oh, to hear the wood knocking, to see some tracks, hear it's calls, or, better yet, to even see one -- what a time that would be. Who wants to come?

I'm loving the new song I'm working on. It's got a ways to go, but I've been plugging away at it and I think, before the weekend is through, I'll have finished it. Luke Warm played some great stuff over it last night. It's more refined, a little more sophisticated, than a lot of my other songs. Progression, I love it.

A good run tonight. Tomorrow, I hope to get back in the habit of practicing Yoga. I miss it.

Tonight: music, of course; Six Feet Under; A Shadow In Summer; clean the tub (brown, filmy residue galore -- yuck!); and maybe figure out where District 9 is playing so that I may go see it, alone or perhaps with a friend or two.

I'm so lonesome, I could cry

Just completed a fine rehearsal with Luke Warm. We're solid on at least three of my songs. I expect, in the coming weeks, we'll work our way up to a healthy set of material.

I find myself in an empty apartment for the first time in a while. Rich being the sneaky wraith he is, could be home only I don't know it. Always hard to tell with that one. He has the ability to stay in his room for hours and hours on end without making a peep. What he does in there I'd pay a healthy sum to know. On second thought....

Last night's dream wasn't that bad. I was in NH with some friends and was ready to go home and, instead of getting in my Taurus, I drove off in my other car, which was gold. I think it was an Element. Anyway, it was a fine ride and the fact that I owned it, in addition to my other car, spoke of prosperity. Things are trending upward. In tonight's dream, I hope to find myself in that same vehicle, parked on some ocean shore at sunset, making out with my one true love. Upward, upward, I say!

Time for Six Feet Under and, if time permits, finish A Shadow In Summer.

I've smoked my friends down to the filter

My fucking phone, still relatively new, has begun the annoying habit of shutting off at random and inopportune times, like today when I was at the courthouse in Nashua trying to get information from Marcy. I'll be monitoring the situation closely.

Speaking of libidos about ready to burst, mine has reached that point, without doubt. If I don't get laid soon, I....I...I don't know what I'm going to do. Actually, I have a pretty good idea what I'll do, and so do you. Let's leave it at that.

I have reached a new level of bookworm. The other day, I came up with a smashing way to decide which book I'll read during lunch break, once I've completed Banville's The Sea. Because I've got a ton of books kicking around that need to be read -- some I've put a dent in already, others I haven't started -- I organized a playoff-like bracket of thirty two books to determine which book would be next. A flip of a coin decided whether a book would advance to the next round or be eliminated from the tourney. I'm not going to lie to you, I had a lot of fun. The winner: The Brothers Karamazov. I can't wait to finish it so that I can do it all over again. Get a life, you say? Hrumph! You're jealous, son. Jealous of my good times, jealous your life is mired in bland routine, jealous that your lips move when you read (that's a sign that you're a dummy, if you didn't know that already).

My dreams of late have found been kind of lonely, even though they've been peopled with friends and family, and even the wonderful and missed dog of my youth, Mandy. I feel as if I'm on the precipice of a significant change in my life. The problem is, I can't tell if it will bode well for me or not. Ah, but isn't that life in general, this uncertainty?

I've missed every episode of Madmen this season. I'll have to see if they're archived online. In the meantime, I'll continue with The Wire and Six Feet Under.

Music, music, music. I've been making some headway with songs old and new. And playing with Luke Warm and soon with Scott, has been great for the creativity. Soon I'll be playing out regularly, often with accompaniment, if things go well. Stay tuned.

Ok, I'm off.