Friday, March 31, 2006
Confessions Are Supposed To Be UglyI love foreign films. If you watch enough foreign films you begin to realize how much we are all the same. Puts a face on the rest of the world. We'd be less likely to want to bomb the living crap out of everybody if we all watched a few foreign films a week instead of commercial TV. Oops, there I go again. We rent them so we can watch the parts that go by too fast. Body language is amazing. We all do the same kind of stuff. It's pretty damn universal, Supreme Court Justice Anthony Scalia aside.
Last night we watched a Spanish/Argentinian flick called Common Ground. One scene especially resonated with me. The protagonist, Ferdinand, was a sixty something college prof who was deeply in love with his wife, Lily. He encountered an attractive librarian while doing research. There was some honest flirting between them. Ferdinand explained that he wasn't trying to start anything other than to pay respect to the librarian's charm and the charm of women in general. "Lily always wins," he said. That helped me to clarify what I was aiming for in a lyric I started a few weeks ago.
You may remember me telling you about a potter who visited one of my gigs and requested a Lion Russell song I didn't know. I was in the middle of doing very familiar cover tunes for a dinner crowd. I went home and learned it and she showed up at my gig the next night in a different place, just to see if I liked it. She didn't stay to hear me do it. I found nothing attractive about this woman. But when I wrote down what happened and tried to turn it into a song, I realized I needed to invent something to make a story. It lead me to what Ferdinand was trying to show me.
The elements of what happened are in bold below. A parallel story or metaphor is in italics. The first draft lyric follows:
Playing the familiar to an appreciative crowd: I give you only what you want, the easy and familiar, I don't challenge you to accept more than you're used to.
An oddball request comes from the corner: An idea comes from a stranger. A stranger entices me.
A promise to investigate: I'm surprised at the allure
Discovery that there are very good elements among the unlistenable: I look for ways to please you with it
Stranger returns to see if I looked up the song: The stranger appears again to see if I agree with her
Oddball turns down offer for me to perform it, satisfied knowing that I did what I said I'd do: I'm surprised by her refusal to get it on with me.
I do some self examination in the elements of a great song: I take stock in what appeal I might have buried deep inside me
Wonder if I have what it takes to produce one: I try to bring out the best parts of me I didn't know I had
Conclude that a great song is unique BUT grabs you and doesn't let go over time: Realize we grab each other in ways that are totally unique and therefore infinite.
Here's a first poke with no chorus yet. This thing needs a hooky chorus and an even hookier beat/tune
Spent our life keeping it smooth
Stripe for stripe, groove for groove but
When you have what you wanted, you forget when you needed
So I was easily distracted by one who pleaded
For something new to me, something strange to you
Just blew through me, wonder what a change would do
I give it some thought, you don't even notice
Getting caught would surely explode us
But she's strangely enticing, promising things
Cake with just icing, bombs with no strings
Next time she appears, I show her my game
She reverses her gears, But she's glad I'm inflamed
Her vanishing gift I bring home to you
I knew I was done before I was through
Michael Manning mailed me a copy of Cyndi Lauper's Live at Last DVD which features, by the way, some amazing moments by our blogger pal Deni Bonet on violin. Half way through, Cyndi tells how she tried to write a fitting song for a dying friend. She finished the song but by her own admission it was not a success. Then she came upon the song True Colors written by another songwriting team.
The lesson? Sometimes we try too hard. That's why often go through my usual process and put songs aside for a long time and let them kind of percolate in my subconscious. It helps to get feedback too. The other lesson, although not stated is that songs have a habit of becoming different that you intended. They do this on their own. To force it to mean something based on a preconceived notion, is begging for failure. I know this is happening when I have to work too hard. If it doesn't spill out in one intended direction, I know now that the song wants to become something else. Sometimes only part of it will survive, attaching itself to another song.
This is, after all, another Confession of a Singer/Songwriter.
Happy weekend, everybody.
posted by Bud @ 6:42 AM
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Mind CancerMy distaste for commercial television and Hollywood style movies is legend to those who know me. My lack of knowledge leaves me out of so many conversations I have to wonder if I'm the one who doesn't have a life. Thanks god for the holocaust for dispelling me of that notion. I don't mean I'm glad there was a holocaust. I can't even bear to see one more stinking movie that even mentions it. It just makes me too sick. I promise, I'll never forget. If I ever got caught making out during Schindler's List (obvious TV reference there derived from watching Seinfeld DVD's) it would be so I wouldn't have to watch it. Not out of disrespect. But of such profound respect, I can't bear to have it in my head any longer.
Cathy has an odd habit of sneaking in DVD's that are holocaust-grade depressing. Last night she sat me down to watch one innocently called "Paperclips." The minute the narrator mentioned "six million jews" twice in the opening lines, I was out of there. I hid in my studio and turned on the TV. That's how desperate I was to escape any mention of the Holocaust. I was all played out musically for the day and my internet was down so I watched two sitcoms in a row. This is another cruel form of torture that I hope they are not using at Guantonamo.
I'm not gonna mention the shows by name. They are both highly regarded by some. They even made me laugh once or twice but mostly I was just amazed that millions of people, way more than 6 million, voluntarily submit their minds to this form of mass murder on a daily basis. TV just SUCKS. SO. MUCH. Real life is way funnier and more interesting. Honest it is. Try it sometime. The key thing is that it is real. And there are no commercials. Well sort of. But I don't have to look at billboards and such. There are always interesting people to watch. I provide my own laugh track. I'm good like that. I know what's funny without a reminder.
Yeah, I know there's some good stuff on TV. Most of it on HBO, which means I rent it a year late. I don't care. It's not gonna come up in any conversation of mine anyway. Nor will I be writing about it. TV is killing live entertainment. And , did I mention that it sucks?
Having slaughtered that sacred cow. I will now disappear for a few days. I think I know where Dick Cheney hides. I hope his cable is out.
posted by Bud @ 7:21 AM
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Of Finger Rot, Aneurisms, Collaborations and Catastrophic FloodingAnother weekend done. Fingers still sore. Still using a flat pick. Still miss full use of my five fingers. Lot of lessons and three gigs this week. Hope to spend more time on harmonica and maybe some faux lead work with the T5 electric. That should save my fingers.
Bitching bout this is ridiculous. We went to see the Neil Young movie, Heart of Gold. It's a must see for his fans. He performs his whole new album and a bunch of his classics. Best concert footage I've ever seen. The real story is, though, that during the recording of the CD in Nashville, he discovered he had an aneurism that had to be operated on PDQ. So he finished the recording, went to New York and had the surgery. Came back and rehearsed the concert and performed it. Jonathan Demme filmed it and we now have an amazing movie. He never mentioned his surgery. He talked some about the passing of his Daddy. He sang a lot about his family throughout the years. He was flawless. So I'm just gonna shut up about my fingers.
When I first heard Neil Young my reaction was, "What is up with that voice?" He became an acquired taste because his music was so damn good. His voice is still the same, by the way. A college roommate of mine, Greg Mitchell, the current editor in chief of Editor and Publisher, was once a rock 'n roll writer. As associate editor of the now defunct Crawdaddy Magazine, he got to meet all the legends in their prime. He told me some long detailed story back in the seventies about meeting Neil. All I remember is that I asked him if Neil talked the same way he sang. The answer was "no" and I wondered about that. I'm still not sure how that's done without sounding strained. I also remember a story Greg told me about Joe Cocker throwing up on his shoe in the elevator. See, that's the life I gave up to become a teacher instead of a journalist like the rest of my J-school roommates. But I loved teaching and I never would have become a singer songwriter if I became a journalist. The kids made me do it.
I'm still teaching guitar. And to teach is to learn something every day. One of my "students" is actually more of a collaborator. Carie Pigeon is teaching me harmonica. I'm just showing her how to write with more and varied chords. Her playing and singing is truly wonderful. You really have to check out her sound. Visit her site. We'll most likely do some things together. Kind of feeling our way around that. She'll be in Tuesday and we'll see what we can put together. The last lesson of that day is another collaboration with my student Jim Salhoff and his wife Diane who is an amazing singer. Jim has written some fine songs and Di is gonna sing some at my gig on Saturday at Bella Luna. So we'll rehearse that. I hope to just play some harmonica.
Also getting out to try to book the month of May and the rest of the summer. Oh, yeah, It's basically summer here already. Had a few cool days this week but that's just the inverse side of the US Government's unrecognized global warming. We're all very cheerful here on the Florida coast about the current news of the melting ice caps. There goes the property values. I know I shouldn't have laughed off the idea about buying beach front property in the Smokey Mountains. I've already written two songs about environmental disaster. If I do another, it'll be disguised as a breakup song. You know ice cap breaking off. Giving in to a flood of emotion. That sort of thing. Most likely not this week, though. Have a splendid Monday, everybody!
posted by Bud @ 3:04 PM
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Live Music Matters.Its excruciatingly, it's heartbreaking when an institution like New York University callously shuts down a musical institution like the famed Bottom Line. An article in April's Paste Magazine reminded me. I tend to shut my mind off to such unpleasantness after I've been whacked in the head with it once. NYU is famed for it's devotion to the arts yet foreclosed on The Bottom Line in 2004 to open a new lecture hall. The story goes on to discuss the shutting down of other Manhattan music halls where I saw legendary rock bands. Don't make me recall them. It hurts too much.
As I approach the last month of the busy tourist season here in south west Florida, I know I'll be coming face to face with venue owners who just can't afford live music in the off season. Some won't be able to afford to stay open nights. My most lucrative steady work will cut their prices back just to keep enough people coming in to pay staff. My favorite spot will be breakfast, lunch and out until the fall. Those of us who want to stay busy will be moving around three counties looking for hungry little upstarts who won't put out much and show small tips. Mmmm, I like the way THAT sounds. You know it's gonna wind up in a lyric. 'Cause it sounds pretty sexy but it's desperate. What could be more alluring than desperate and sexy? And while small tips are discouraging, I've always been partial to their obvious rhyme. Small tips are vindicated by kind words.
I don't expect to have as many gigs in the off season, which is fine because I need to get some recording done. But it's important to hone your songs in live performance. I'll keep busy but it's just as time consuming to look for work as it is to do the work.
That all brings me to something like this:
I spend too much of my day looking for the night
I worry too much about getting it right
I don't really need wild dance halls, tattooed hips
I'm just as happy with hungry joints and small tips
Speak to me kindly , nod your head, purse your lips
And I'm perfectly happy with your small tips
I have days when my ambitions run dangerously high
I make them think musicians are the strangest guys
But when I strap it on and turn up the sound
I know everything I need has been found
Speak to me kindly , nod your head, purse your lips
And I'm perfectly happy with your small tips
I'll work on that some more. Haven't been that spontaneous in a long time in this space.
Just two gigs this weekend and I hit the road looking and booking on Monday. Have a fun weekend, everybody.
posted by Bud @ 8:25 PM
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
From The Excuse FactoryI'm playing hooky from yoga today. My ass hurts. My legs hurt. My nails would not survive the first pose. Guess that requires some explanation, huh?
Had a terrific training session yesterday. I love my trainer. She makes me do things I ordinarily would have five excuses to avoid. Maybe because she's so damn cute? Or maybe because if I'm paying her, I feel compelled to get my money's worth? Whatever. It works. She makes me balance on this big squishy ball and lift weights. When she thinks I get too comfortable, she "tests" my balance by giving me a shove. Interesting how I can find something so amusing that would have resulted in a fight in seventh grade. Yesterday, she had me doing leg thrusts around a regulation basketball court. With a 15 pound bar suspended in front of me. My arms held out but I'm sitting rather gingerly this morning. It would seem counter productive to do yoga while in pain.
My finger infection is gone. My thumb is still a little sore but improving daily. I removed the acrylic from my nails. They are paper thin and I need the length for when I put new acrylic back on tomorrow. No way I'm playing two gigs this weekend without them. But I'm doing it myself. So they're getting a good airing out and I'm avoiding anything that could snap them off. Like picking my nose or doing certain hand intensive yoga poses. Typing, I have to tell you, is a real challenge.
So today I'm playing a lot of harmonica. With a rack. Look, Ma, no hands!
posted by Bud @ 8:07 AM
Monday, March 20, 2006
The World Gets a Little SmallerMy blogger pal, Michael Manning, stopped in on his way up the West Florida coast, Friday. What a fun time getting to know each other better. I was already deep into my dinner gig when he arrived and Cathy brought him over to Altheas's. They had dinner while I tried to avoid doing Irish tunes. I got away with only three. I don't do seasonal songs well. Probably because I only get to do them once a year. I also lack the enthusiasm for them.
Michael and I stayed up way past my normal bedtime. But that didn't stop me from getting up too early. Had a ten minute nap and a jug of coffee before my Saturday gig. It's always a a pleasure to meet a blogger face to face you've only cyber met before. Michael is now number five. I have a good shot at connecting with a few more this year. When I get to NY sometime this summer, I'll try to hook up with Deni Bonet and Golfwidow. Do I know anybody in Austin? I'll be there in May. How about San Francisco or SanDiego? That will be June. I think Kim of I Wasn't Always Like This will be in my area at some point this summer. And Mrs. Mogul is moving to Orlando at some point.
Michael is an exceptional guy who has a long and varied career as a broadcast and print journalist. Those of us who know him well look forward to that day when we see or hear him on the air again. A champion of many humanitarian causes, Michael, deserves a good measure of luck in his current job search. If you've never checked him out, I hope you'll go over to his site and get familiar. If you are at all familiar with the the needs of the working broadcast media scene or public relations needs of local agencies, Michael would appreciate any info you could send his way.
On Sunday, Cathy and I threw a small party for people who were interviewed on my promotional video. As the DVD is five minutes long, I'm having no luck uploading it to this site. But I'm not giving up on it. We had terrific fun with some of the folks from Bella Luna, where we did the shoot, Nancy and Mark Zampella who did masterful shooting and editing and with other friends and fans who were interviewed. Missing was my daughter who is out in San Francisco, visiting her brother and her new niece. If you are enamored by baby pictures, here is my granddaughter, Stella.
My guitar student Jim, who is a very good songwriter, and his wife Diane, an excellent singer, performed a Styx song. They asked me to play lead guitar and harmonica. I'm not a lead player so I kept that to a minimum. Had to teach myself cross harp that morning when I realized I didn't have an E flat harp. Neccessity IS the mother of invention. They sounded great to me. No idea what I sounded like. But a fun time was had by all. Or at least they had somethng to laugh at.
This week I'll begin shopping it around to pick up some off-season gigs. Those of you living in the Frozen Shadows may not realize that tourism in this part of Florida, the non-Disney part, comes to a halt after Easter. My music venues stop hiring and the stiff competition for gigs becomes a battle for scraps.
My finger infections have abated, thanks to antibiotics. Thanks for all your words of concern. My thumb is still sore and I'm using a pick. I kind of suck at that. I'm toying with the idea of removing the acrylic on the thumb and forefinger and limping through the rest of the season with the pick. I'll have to eliminate certain songs. Hopefully I won't have to go looking for gigs with a "Hire the Handicapped" button on my T-shirt. Have a splendid Monday. No, I really mean it. Don't wish your life away.
posted by Bud @ 6:40 AM
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Picky PickyThis is day one of a four gig week that also includes a lot of other hectic stuff. I hope this doesn't sound like a complaint. I'll work four out of seven anytime. It's just that my picking hand is disintegrating.
I have brittle nails. Always have. But I play fingerstyle. I suck with a flat pick. Please don't suggest fingerpicks. I'm not banjo player. If you've ever played any instrument, try to imagine getting used to fake finger extensions. So like many finger style guitarists, including James Taylor and my mentor Helen Avakian, I have acrylic nails on my right hand only. They work perfectly. Except when I can't find a competent nail tech.
Up in New York I was fortunate enough to have Helen find the perfect techs. We each went through some bad ones but she always came up with the best. When I came here I started doing my own. You ever try to do precision work with your off hand? That is, my clumsy left trying to paint acrylic goo onto my right nails. It is the definition of clumsy and ugly. But at least I never infected myself. Since I started going back to nail techs with questionable language skills and even more questionable sanitation skills, I've had several infections. Antibiotics, please.
That's it, I'm done with them. I'm doing my own. Ugly or not. Save me a ton of money too. In the meantime, I've been wrapping my hand in lidocaine/prilocaine and a surgical glove, one hour before I arrive at a gig. This dulls the pain. I'm sure it's not good for my skin or my liver which eventually has to process whatever I absorb. JT and the rest of us will someday be the first documented cases of Fingerpickers Disease. There will be a public outcry. Proposals for FDA regulation. Benefits to support the families of the stricken. And acrylics will join the ranks of other restricted drugs like the morning after pill. Pat Robinson and his ilk will proclaim that God has punished us for creating the Devil's music. And of course Bill O'REALLY and the other right wing talking head crazies will defend him while at the same time supporting Rush's propensity for obtaining carloads of prescription painkillers.
You're watching a songwriter at work here. If this becomes a song, you'll never recognize it as the same argument. It'll be about a person's right to the self abuse of a love affair nobody can understand. That's the way I try to work anyway. Sometimes I let something blatant get loose, though. Like in my song Underground. I don't enjoy the discussion I get into when I do that. 'Cause I'm an underground kind of guy. With infected fingers. It figures.
posted by Bud @ 9:24 AM
Monday, March 13, 2006
Suitable for FramingI've found a twenty dollar bill in my tip jar the last couple of weekends at Althea's, my dinner gig. I never saw it go in so I didn't know who to thank. Until Friday night. A very sweet little old lady who is always accompanied by her son. They always come to listen and eat and are complementary afterwards. Always tipping. But twenty bucks a night? I found out that she tips the wait staff big too so I guess she can afford it. I don't feel like I'm taking her social security money or anything. I'm really flattered that she likes my performance that much. This is the craziest business sometimes. You just never know how you're gonna go over with whom. It's really important to remember that. Especially if you are in a position where people judge your work. It's just a reality that some will love you and some will hate you. Some will be totally indifferent.
In my studio I keep three dollar bills of different denominations. I keep them as a reminder of the people who do appreciate me. I need them in case I have a really crappie night. The first one is a one dollar bill folded into a swan or some kind of bird. Hopefully it's not a turkey. It was the lone tip I received one night in a bar I auditioned in. I showed up there on an hour's notice after the bar tender assured me I was great and had the job. The manager, however, insisted on this instant audition. I hate auditions. The ceilings in this place were about 20 feet high. I thought I was gonna work the other room that is more conventional with no acoustic problems. I never got to sound check properly. I was either feeding back or I couldn't hear myself through the monitor. Those were my choices. It was a brutal night. The manager refused to take my calls after that. But one young couple listened for a while after I tamed the problem to end the feedback. I still couldn't hear myself. The young lady gave me a big smile when they left and she put the origami dollar in my jar. That saved my night, replacing an otherwise very bad memory for me.
Then there is a five dollar bill I keep from the manager of a start up cafe' who couldn't afford my usual fee. I had agreed to take less money depending on their crowd just to help get them started. She paid me a lot less money than I normally get but probably more than they could afford that night against their gross. On one of the bills, she wrote, "Enjoyed the Music!" So that's a fiver I can't spend but it's worth much more to me than five bucks. I also wound up getting steady paying work there which has been very satisfying.
Then there is my $10 bill signed by Cathy's Sister and Brother-in-law, Carol and Jack. It's the first money earned on my CD. I had given them a CD but they insisted on giving me a signed and framed ten spot. Extremely sweet. Especially in light of the fact that my immediate family has been very spare on any comments about my music. I've grown accustomed to that, though. That's just a family thing. But I don't imagine the Osmans tell each other they suck. Mormons don't use that kind of language. I wonder what the Jackson's are saying to Michael these days? How would you react if you were the parent of somebody like, oh, I don't know, Marilyn Manson? Or some porn star?
So now I have several twenties from this nice little old lady. My plan is to hang one of them with a picture. I hope she'll let me take her picture. Friday night she wore an adorable straw cap. She said she was having a bad hair day. I told her it was a fortunate break 'cause the hat made her look so cool. One night a fourteen year old gave me a ten for singing a Dylan song. I wish I had thought to keep that one. Guess I'll have to write a song about it instead.
posted by Bud @ 5:42 AM
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Classical GasI'm deeply sorry to admit that I know NOTHING about classical music. Blogger pals like Deni and Michael would be justified in looking down their noses at me but they aren't those kind of people. But the ugly truth is that I don't know a concerto from a symphony. I don't know Chopin from Schubert. I listen to classical music gratefully from time to time. Grateful in that it's not some form of music I hate. But I've always recognized it as music played by the most skilled and dedicated musicians.
It's a matter of record that I was told in no uncertain terms by nuns that I was stupid musically and couldn't sing. It's a matter of record that a bunch of talented fourth and fifth graders got me back into music after a long long layoff. I've decided to forgive the nuns and blame the institution they worked for and believed in. I'll remain grateful to those kids forever.
Cathy surprised me and took me to a screening of "Music From The Inside Out" which was hosted by the Sarasota Film Society with guest appearances by members of thePhiladelphia Symphony Orchestra, who were featured in the film. They were also playing a gig, er... performance, later at our performing arts center.
We were treated to a three piece percussion performance before the movie that was actually a very intricate rhumba. Cathy sitting through what can be loosely called a drum trio is a miracle in itself but she loved it. I was enthralled. The movie was a documentary that took five years to shoot and edit. It is meant as an educational piece for students but goes much much farther than that. Through interviews, performances and the cleverest bit of film editing I've ever seen, they managed to hook me on classical as a form I need to get acquainted with. As director Daniel Anker says, "It's not about the craft of playing in a symphony orchestra. It's about music as it is experienced by all of us. There's no conductor when you sing in the shower."
The film left me speechless. Absolutely inarticulate. Unable to explain how and why I feel the way I do now. I can say I'm deeply humbled. I can say I'm deeply grateful for the little bit of music I can do. I can say that I'm eternally grateful to the youngsters who encouraged me to get back to music again. Grateful to my teacher Helen Avakian, classically trained and patient with me beyond what I thought was humanly possible. As well as her husband Terry Champlin who has been a friend and supporter forced to listen to me from time to time. Grateful to Cathy who endures my constant practice and interruptions to her social life because of my gigs and recording.
I can say I'll rededicate myself to sharpening my skills but remain ever humble in the shadow of people I saw in that film and have known. I can also say that you all should see this film. PBS will have it in May and it'll be released as a DVD in the fall, I'm told. I'll remind you.
posted by Bud @ 9:09 PM
Monday, March 06, 2006
It Doesn't Cost To Be Nice and Pay AttentionDawn at Tiny Voices in My Head was lamenting the fact that the only band in town, who she sees regularly (because they are the only band in town) are a bunch of stiffs. As she is a regular at their gigs, Dawn rightfully feels they could at least acknowledge her presence when they sit next to her at the bar. I totally agree. But they ignore her. That's just stupid and rude.
It's been my practice when I play a dinner gig, which I've done twice a week for three seasons, to keep talk to a minimum while I perform. People eating and having dinner conversation don't want to hear me chattering away between songs about how I came to write a particular song. Or even who wrote the cover tune I just did. But I found out this season how to keep them happy. Establishing eye contact when they come in and asking them if the volume level is okay, makes them very happy. Happy enough to show their appreciation. They are very giving with the complements even if not with the tips. Complements keep me working when the owner hears it or hears about it from wait staff. Never piss off the wait staff or bore them to death with the same songs every nght. It would be like death by Musak
I am continually surprised by how friendly and supportive some diners get when I take this approach. They may look grumpy and disinterested until I check in with them. When I break the ice they often become my biggest fans in the time it takes to smile and say, "Is this sound level good for you?"
Dawn's hometown band members act like they know they are the only show in town. That will work until an other band comes along who knows how to please a crowd when they move through it rather than just making noise at it from the safe distance of the stage.
Of course conversation often leads to requests. And requests from people ten or fifteen years or more older than me are often pretty out of my range. I could make a living doing standards from the 30's to the 50's down here. If I wanted to do that stuff. And I don't have a problem with a lot of it. It's just not what I do well. I try to keep a song or two from each era or genre so I can at least say, "No, I don't know that one but how about this?" People my age and younger also ask for things I don't do. I try the same approach but sometimes they suggest a particular song I should learn. I promise to research it and learn it if I think I can do it well.
Recently a potter from a traveling crafts fair asked me to do Leon Russell's "Love Song For You." I couldn't recall it. She said she'd come back tomorrow night if I gave it a listen on the web. Just to see what I thought of the tune. She was a total Leon Russell groupie. I went home and bought an iTunes copy. I also found a semi accurate chord chart. She was right about the song. It's very moving. Very pretty tune. Leon's vocal style is not one I care much for but I remembered that I had heard that song done by Willie Nelson. Willie, is also not always pitch perfect but not many people seem to mind. So I lowered the key a step and learned the song. The potter came back to see me at a different venue just to ask me if I heard the song. She was that dedicated to spreading the Musical Gospel According to Leon. I told her what I did and that I dug the song. I told her I could give it a try but it wasn't too polished yet. She was very happy but said no that's okay and took off. I thought it was odd but I moved on to keep my crowd happy.
She just kind of blinked into and out of my life to give me this song I never would have bothered with. I thanked her for the tip about the song. She didn't leave a tip in my jar that I'm aware of on either night. But I got a lot more. Hell, there must be another song in the experience alone.
Teaching all those years taught me that I can learn something new every day. Every couple of minutes if Im really paying attention.
posted by Bud @ 6:48 AM
Friday, March 03, 2006
Eggs in Space
Can smelling like eggs be a good thing in the outer reaches of the universe? I'm betting it's a good thing. After all, eggs are a symbol of birth and life. What can be bad about that? My Blog has once again, for at least the third time, been transmitted to space and I can't be sure from the following notice but it's possible I'm being read out there. What do you think? Here's what I got from the Blogs in space people today:
Ok, we're going to get right to it. We don't know what you wrote in your blog, but on February 28, 2006 at approximately 4:00pm EST the Blog in Space headquarters in Orlando, Florida began rattling worse than a wrestling match between Anna Nicole Smith and Star Jones fighting for the last bar of chocolate covered pizza with a thick candy shell topped with cheese. What does this mean??? We aren't sure yet.
We do know while Adam, main transmitter for Blog in Space, was chowing down on Thai Hot Chicken Pad Thai, while reaching into a brown jar for extra spicy peppers, a flashing light erupted ignited the words, "Tell Bud Buckley their blog smells like eggs." Eggs? Is this an insult? Is this a compliment? Do aliens eat eggs? Again, we aren't sure. But we aren't taking any chances, and we therefore have invested all of our stock into Mr. Jiffles chicken farm.
All eggs aside, your blog was transmitted at the approximate direction of 200 degrees Azimuth, and to commemorate this great event, we encourage you to pick up your certificate below. Remember, the more certificates you post, the more you mark your territory into space blogging. We're hoping in the coming weeks we make sense of all this. If you have any clue as to what this "egg" mess could mean please email us at firstname.lastname@example.org. We'll give Adam the heads up.
Until then, Blog in Space encourages you to continue in the fight for Intergalactic Freedom. The more blogs transmitting, the better the galactic coverage and the better the galactic coverage, the better the alien response!
Friendly Green Wishes,
- The Blog in Space Team
posted by Bud @ 12:12 PM