You broke my will, oh what a thrill

Another post? Sure, why not. I don't have much to relate, however, so you're going to have to bear with me. I suppose you don't want to hear about my cool new running shoes, do you? Or the great deal I got on swordfish the other day at Market Basket? No, you'd rather hear about my daily struggles and the pain and despair that has finally, after years of my fighting it, devoured every last thing that was good in me. Well, let's see if I can accommodate you, leeches of the soul.

There's this girl at work who doesn't seem to like me and I can't figure out why. Why would anyone dislike me? Ok, there are multiple reasons, but she doesn't know about those; she barely knows me. She's the only one in the office who won't acknowledge me. Whenever I say hello, she doesn't respond. Early on, I thought I'd be closer to her than anyone else because on my second day I spent half of it going to various registries of deeds with her. Kind of like on the first episode of a new Real World season, when the producers pair up house mates and have them travel to their new digs together. They always seem to think that, because of their head start, they'll get along better with each other than they do with anyone else in the house. Doesn't seem to happen very much.

Anyway, I'm about sixty four percent sure Laurie doesn't like me and that's fine---I'm only thirty two percent interested in building a relationship with her---but I sure would like to know why. I know you're thinking that the obvious reason is because she has a pretty deep crush on me, like anyone would, male or female, who'd spent a day going to registries with me, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't. She's pregnant for one thing. And, you're going to think I'm bullshitting here, but I am dead serious--- the father of the child is Jim Rice's son. There's a pretty interesting story there, but I want to stay on point. Perhaps I should---and I'm not even sure I haven't---regale you with it in some later post, when I'm really fishing for ideas, but not now.

So, if it's not a deep crush, then what is it?Is she afraid of me, of my inner brilliance, of my pure heart? I think if I was as common as the rest of you, I'd be intimidated and yes, fearful, of me. I'm not too sure, though, if that's what it is. Maybe she overhead me telling anyone who would listen about the hand job she gave me in the car on the way to one of the registries. If that's the case, then she needs to lighten up.

I'm going to go listen to some Teitur, a songwriter from the Faros Islands, who sounds to me like a much less whiny Damien Rice. And he's a better songwriter. With each album he puts out, he becomes more and more eclectic. I love it. By the time he gets to his sixth one, I anticipate he'll sound like James Taylor doing Captain Beefheart by way of Rush. Stay tuned, bitches.

Once we had an easy ride and always felt the same, time was on our side and we had everything to gain

Friday night, Spira, Mara, and I went to see Jennifer Greer play at the Middle East. She played in the dining room, which was nice because me and my companions were effing hungry. I ordered spinach pie for my appetizer and, because it's one of my all time favorite foods, I should have ordered two or three helpings and made that my meal. But, in the interest of variety, I ordered the grilled salmon with couscous. Delicious, but next time I'm just going to stick with the spinach pie. It's in my top three, for crissakes! To designate it an appetizer is irresponsible and counterintuitive. Don't worry, spinach pie, I will learn from my mistake and grant you exalted status from now on.

Jennifer is the boyfriend and band mate of Spira's friend Andy, who I know as well. I'd never seen her play before and I thought they all played well. I was very attracted to her and tried not to make it obvious with Mara right next to me. Am I a pig? No, I am not. People don't stop being attractive once you enter into a relationship. Anyone who tells you different is a flat out liar. It's the decisions you make based on the attraction that can render you a pig. All the same, I had a few dreams that night where I cheated on Mara. They weren't very pleasant.

I abhor cheating, but I can understand how it happens. It's easy, when you have some distance from it, to say you'd never, ever cheat on your mate, and that people who do are sinners of the highest order. I bet a lot of people who have cheated on their mates have said the same thing. But, in the end, we are human beings, which means we are not infallible and are capable of all sorts of things we'd never thought we'd entertain. And, anyhow, there is such a thing as situational ethics.

So, why am I seemingly making an argument for cheating? Am I about to admit something startling? Sorry, but no. I don't plan on cheating on Mara, even though, as I stated above, I believe we're all capable of it. Having said that, it's still a choice, and I'd like to think, if presented with the opportunity, I'd choose not to engage in that illicit act. My rule of thumb is if I find myself thinking about doing it with a certain amount of frequency, it's probably time to end the relationship. Before I do something stupid.

As I was leaving Mara's yesterday, I told her I wanted to have some time to myself today. She didn't take it too well. She asked me if I thought we were spending too much time together and I replied that I did. We'd just spent portions of almost every day that week together and with other things I needed to attend to, I barely had any time to myself, which I need. It wasn't easy telling her I didn't want to see as much of her, but I had to do it. I really like her and seeing her sad hurts me. But....well, I'll finish that thought some other time.
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I watched a ton of Monster Quest on You tube this weekend. Specifically the Bigfoot related episodes. Good stuff. I also got to see Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science, a show I'd been dying to see for a long time. An all Bigfoot weekend.

Going to watch In Bruges tonight. I'll let you know how it was. Ok, I'm out.

Stormy weather, just can't get my poor self together

So I said I'd go into more detail about the show and I will, but not tonight. I've fallen behind in the things I need to do and won't have the time to go on and on about how a bunch of people got drunk and had a good time listening to the most magnetic, handsome, and dangerous performer. Yes, that performer is me, in case you were wondering. Anyway, may as well do this thing now because if I don't, I probably never will. And, quite frankly, there's not that much to sum up. I'll give it the ol' lightning round treatment all the same, though, so I can go off and be merry.

--Before he went on, Foley told me what an incredible vocalist his friend who was going to sing with him on a couple of numbers was. He had just returned from the south where he had performed in a countrified musical adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. Foley gave him the star treatment and I was excited to hear what all the fuss was about. When I did, I was underwhelmed. Heck of a nice guy and not a bad vocalist, per se, but not that great, either. Maybe I was expecting the next Josh Groban.

--Krissy, on the other hand, sang beautifully. Love her voice. We talked, and not for the first time, about playing some songs together. I think our voices would mesh well. I wonder if Josh Groban ever does duets.

-- The bartender at the Abbey was the worst I've ever seen. Not only did he abandon his post frequently---there was talk that he was snorting coke outside--- but he had to be told at least a couple of times during people's sets to shut his mouth. At any given moment, I could have walked around the bar and poured myself a tall one. Too bad I have a pure heart which prevents me from doing such things.

--Most of the people in attendance were friends, which was a great thing, but the only problem with that is it becomes a party and no one's really interested in paying attention to the music being played. I'd say about ten percent of the crowd were actually listening and the rest would only acknowledge the musician at the end of a song, when they were cued to applaud. Am I bitter about this? No. It's just something that happens. I had enough people paying attention to my playing to make me happy, and the important, essential thing, was the that anyone came out at all. A great group of people.

--When I completed my final song, Mara jumped up on the stage and gave me a big kiss. Nice! I was a little let down when the rest of the hot chicks in attendance didn't follow suit. Oh, well. I found out Spira dared Mara to do it. She also should have dared her to give me a hundred bucks. Hey, a brother's got to eat!

--Foley was drunk. Real drunk. Don't see him like that too often. Well, he is Irish, after all. Ouch!

--In the scummy rest room, I saw a xeroxed flier with a familiar face on it. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was Patrick Moraz, the Swiss pianist who played keyboards on the under rated Yes album, Relayer. He only stuck around for that one record. Man, things must have gone south for that guy if he was playing The Abbey. I bet he wishes he was invited to play on one of Yes' reunion tours. I hope Josh Groban never sees his career plummet like that.

So that was pretty much it. I left out a couple of minor details, like the big time record producer who talked about signing me to his big time label and the knife fight between Luke Warm and Foley's wife, Tamsyn, that almost sent one of them to jail for murder. G'night, bitches!

And who would have thought that I owe it all to Tulsa

Had a great time last night at the show. There were a good amount of people there and most of them friends. Everyone had good sets and the mood was festive.

I'm beat and am going to end this post before it grows legs and takes up too much of my precious and important time. I'll follow up tomorrow with more details about the show and other stuff that's been going on, like the passing of the great George Carlin . I think I'm going to watch Grindhouse tonight if I can stay awake. If not, I'll do some reading and maybe watch the Pixies documentary or a segment of Planet Earth. I have my options and they all involve relaxing. So, with that, I'm out of here. I'll leave you with a nice little Tom Green bit.

A troubled cure for a troubled mind

Had a terrible dream last night. Truth be told, it wasn't really terrible for me, but for someone else. Well, I guess it was terrible for me, too, but I mostly had fun before the guilt set in. Ah, dreams can be complicated and Ido believe I made an oath a few posts back--- one that right after I made it, I couldn't keep--- not to drown you in the vagaries and boring details of my dreams. So, it's essential that I man-up and at least try to be true to my word. Bad timing, though, because this particular dream had a pretty good story arc and would have made a good Lifetime flick.
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Went to see Spira play at the Gulu Gulu in Salem on Friday night. The plan was for me, Luke Warm, and Craig to go down together. Mara had other plans, but they were abruptly canceled, so she made her way over to my place. While waiting for her to show up, I got a call from her asking me to meet her outside. Once there, I couldn't find her. What game is she up to, I asked myself. It was then that I saw her up the street a bit.

I went over to her and saw right away that she stood at the scene of a car accident. Her car was pulled up to the sidewalk and the right side of its front end was crumpled like a ball of foil. About fifteen feet behind her car was the car she hit. Its driver-side door was mangled and rested perpendicular to the car. And on the sidewalk, next to Mara, was the girl who was driving the car. Everyone was alright. What happened was Mara was driving by and the girl opened her door wide to get out of the car and SMASH! Happens all the time in the city.

The girl had never been in an accident before and was pretty shaken up. Didn't help matters that her car had been unregistered for almost a year. The cop was especially kind to her and didn't cite her, at least monetarily, for the offense. Something tells me that if that was me in that position, I wouldn't have gotten off so easily. Sometimes it helps being a frightened, good looking, young lady.

Mara managed to get her car in my driveway and there it remains until she can get it assessed and then towed. We almost didn't go to Salem. Luke Warm was itching to get going---it was already about ten minutes past the time we intended to leave---and Mara thought she was going to be tied up a bit longer with the traffic cop. She told me to go with the guys and she'd just hang out in the house until we returned. That didn't sit well with me; if I were to have done as she suggested, I would have felt pretty lousy about it. So, I told her I'd stay, but I wasn't too thrilled at the prospect. I was looking forward to going out, most especially because I needed to hang out with some friends. And frankly, I needed some time away from Mara. We don't see each other every day, but I confess to feeling a little crowded sometimes. So, a night alone with Mara and away from my friends wasn't quite what the doctor ordered, but I was prepared to do it, because, let's face it, it would have been the right thing to do. The poor woman had just been in a car accident!

Turns out, she finished with the cop in time to go to Salem with the boys. It was great seeing Spira play. The band she plays with, Machine 475, I didn't really like when I first heard them, but have since witnessed a lot of growth and become impressed with their music. The night wasn't all good. Our group had splintered off into two camps: Mara and me and Craig and Luke Warm. Part of the reason for that was because of lack of seating. The other, and more substantial, part was due to something else entirely. I made a decision that night that wasn't easy to make. We'll see if it sticks, and if it does, what the ramifications will be.
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I'm off to rehearse a little for this show tomorrow night. Hope perhaps to see some of you there. Don't expect to, though.

If drinking don't kill me, her memory will

I saw Bibi Anderson (see my post about the career workshop) at Shaws today. I got in line behind her at checkout and almost embarrassed myself the way I gawked at her when I realized who she was. Surely this, in the grand design, must have meaning, I thought. What was I meant to do, though? Strike up a conversation? "Hey, remember me from the workshop? Yeah, I was the guy blanketing you with stares for pretty much the entire time. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a cross between Helen Mirren and Bibi Anderson? Not fifty-fifty, though. I'd say thirty percent Helen Mirren and seventy percent Bibi Anderson. So, anyway, since I know you so well, want to start a life together?"

What actually happened was what you'd expect: nothing. She paid for her groceries and left. I noticed she was wearing the same black frilly dress. Why not? It looked good on her. I discovered, seeing her out in public, that she was a bit more ordinary looking than I originally thought. I guess context accounts for something. Still a looker, though.

I watched Super High Me with Craig and Rich last night. Doug Benson is a very funny man. He's a natural, effortless comic and watching him get high constantly for a month was hilarious. If you like to laugh, which I think at least a few of you do, I suggest you see this film. As far as I'm concerned, ninety percent of comedic entertainment is rubbish, so when I see catch something genuinely funny, like Super High Me, I hold on to it.

Ok, I need to start getting ready for this show on Monday. I'm looking forward to it. I just hope I can piece together a worthy set.

I've never felt magic as crazy as this

When it became apparent in the third quarter of last night's game that the Celtics were going to be champions, I thought about, and not for the first time this season, how dramatically different things were last season. If you had told me then the Celtics would win it all this year, I'd have chalked the prediction up to wishful thinking. Even when it appeared likely we'd draft either Greg Oden or Kevin Durant, two of the highest touted prospects in recent memory, I'd still have thought there'd be no chance the C's could do what I watched them do on the living room TV last night.

Luke Warm and I watched the Celtics play a lot of bad basketball last year. The only highlight I can remember is when Gerald Green won the slam dunk contest at the All Star game. Sure, there were things to enjoy about the season: with so many young kids on the team, there was a kind of parental joy in watching them develop, and even though we weren't awarded the opportunity to draft either Oden or Durant, it was fun for a while there envisioning either one of them in a Celtics uniform.

Missing out on the top picks in the draft was the final nail in the coffin of a horrible season. It portended more sub-par basketball for years to come. And then everything changed with the arrival of Kevin Garnett.

I'm tired and can't maintain much focus. There's more I'd like to say about how gratifying and surreal it was watching my team go all the way this year, but I fear I won't be able to convey my feelings in any tangible way. I'm kind of like KG was last night after the game when all he could was issue primal scream after joyous primal scream. Apart from the screaming, which I have thus far not engaged in, I share his inability to articulate how much it all meant to him. It'll come out incrementally in future posts, I'm sure, but now, now I just want to put my earbuds on and go for a walk.