My
internet
connection
at
home
is
painfully
slow
right
now
and
I
don't
know
why.
I wanted to recreate the experience, for you, dear readers. Let's move on.
My Olympic Fever is dying down, thanks to lots of clear liquids and tylenol (which, by the way, is "lonely t" spelled backwards). I have a burning desire to play volleyball after watching the U.S. mens team beat Brazil, but methinks it wouldn't be good for my nimble, yet breakable fingers. Instead I'll just have to pine for a time when I could've been a gold medalist in the freestyle 120 bpm scale relay.
Impending downtime from the road has gotten me motivated to get more students (I teach saxophone, guitar, piano, etc.). With some help, I've written my first ever resumé. I'm all growns-up, apparently. If you or someone you love/know wants to take some lessons in meedley, meedley, please send them my way.
In other news, Friday (8.29.08) I shall play the Hotel Cafe at 11, and I juuuust added an acoustic gig at Saint Rocke in Hermosa Beach on Sunday. Details for Sunday will be posted on the profile just as soon as I get 'em.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
burning gas
I'm thinking about starting my own music company called Nabadybies Records.
I survived a cross country trek/mini-tour. Chicago was gently decimated. Omaha was slightly laid waste. Denver was spared. I was supposed to play a Drake Bell show there, but Mother Nature said "oh no, you di'n't" so instead we fled to Los Angeles, 14 hours straight putting us in after foe in the moe-nin.
The purpose of the trip was two-fold (much like my wallet). My friend Dan needed to move from Chicago to LA, and I needed to rock!
Downside: my guitar started crackling like an old-timey phonograph during my show at Uncommon Ground. During the set at Mick's in Omaha all heck (maybe just some heck, or heck-some if you like) broke loose. I had to finish "Two Times Two" in an a capella style. Fortunately, new friend and formidable talent Korey Anderson saved my ax, as it were, and let me use his guitar (which sounded much better than mine, hmm...).
Upside: to the many friendly faces in Omaha and Chicago, I thank you.
Tropic Thunder: totally ridiculous and highly recommended.
On the drive home we stopped at the same gas station that we previously stopped after a Drake Bell gig. That gas station stands out in my mind because a family followed us to that same service station for at least thirty minutes to get an autograph. Upon return I can only assume that this same family burned the gas station in our honor:
I know gas prices have been heating up, but that is just too far.
Now after a morning on hitting tennis balls I'm back in the swing of things. I'm excited to conquer the Hotel Cafe on August 29th. I hope you'll be there if you can.
I survived a cross country trek/mini-tour. Chicago was gently decimated. Omaha was slightly laid waste. Denver was spared. I was supposed to play a Drake Bell show there, but Mother Nature said "oh no, you di'n't" so instead we fled to Los Angeles, 14 hours straight putting us in after foe in the moe-nin.
The purpose of the trip was two-fold (much like my wallet). My friend Dan needed to move from Chicago to LA, and I needed to rock!
Downside: my guitar started crackling like an old-timey phonograph during my show at Uncommon Ground. During the set at Mick's in Omaha all heck (maybe just some heck, or heck-some if you like) broke loose. I had to finish "Two Times Two" in an a capella style. Fortunately, new friend and formidable talent Korey Anderson saved my ax, as it were, and let me use his guitar (which sounded much better than mine, hmm...).
Upside: to the many friendly faces in Omaha and Chicago, I thank you.
Tropic Thunder: totally ridiculous and highly recommended.
On the drive home we stopped at the same gas station that we previously stopped after a Drake Bell gig. That gas station stands out in my mind because a family followed us to that same service station for at least thirty minutes to get an autograph. Upon return I can only assume that this same family burned the gas station in our honor:
I know gas prices have been heating up, but that is just too far.
Now after a morning on hitting tennis balls I'm back in the swing of things. I'm excited to conquer the Hotel Cafe on August 29th. I hope you'll be there if you can.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
drunken, serial killing, cab thief
Sunday night I played saxophone on a jazzy gig that was a stone's throw from my apartment. I walked the mile or so to the gig, attempting to shrink my carbon footprint (don't tell anyone that my footprint went clown-sized by flying to Chicago a day later).
The gig got done about 12:30 AM, and I wasn't pleased about the prospect of walking home that late with my saxophone. I hailed a cab after a few quick minutes. When I got in the taxi's meter was at $30. This was my first indication that something strange was afoot.
The driver, a youngish dude, was chummy. After exchanging pleasantries I asked, "aren't you going to reset the meter?" To which he replied "oh yeah!" because it had apparently slipped his mind. He hit the button on top, which turned the meter to "off".
This is where I calculated that there were three possible reasons:
1. He was a serial killer and wanted to turn me into house slippers.
2. He was high/drunk out of his mind.
3. He had stolen the cab and didn't know how to work the meter except to hit the button on top.
Of course it's also possible he was a drunken, serial killing, cab thief. In fact, I think that's the most likely outcome.
The rest of the two minute ride climaxed with him zooming upwards of 50 MPH in the right lane to pass a bus. Fortunately, we didn't die in a fiery crash and the ride was over after our near Back-to-the-Future-level venture into the non-passing lane.
We screeched to a halt, and I said "how much do I owe you?"
"Whatever you think is fair." I calculated that I was leaving with my life in tact, and not as a pair of house slippers and decided that five bucks was a fair fare.
Tonight I play Uncommon Ground in Chicago.
Tomorrow I play Mick's in Omaha.
Zoom!
The gig got done about 12:30 AM, and I wasn't pleased about the prospect of walking home that late with my saxophone. I hailed a cab after a few quick minutes. When I got in the taxi's meter was at $30. This was my first indication that something strange was afoot.
The driver, a youngish dude, was chummy. After exchanging pleasantries I asked, "aren't you going to reset the meter?" To which he replied "oh yeah!" because it had apparently slipped his mind. He hit the button on top, which turned the meter to "off".
This is where I calculated that there were three possible reasons:
1. He was a serial killer and wanted to turn me into house slippers.
2. He was high/drunk out of his mind.
3. He had stolen the cab and didn't know how to work the meter except to hit the button on top.
Of course it's also possible he was a drunken, serial killing, cab thief. In fact, I think that's the most likely outcome.
The rest of the two minute ride climaxed with him zooming upwards of 50 MPH in the right lane to pass a bus. Fortunately, we didn't die in a fiery crash and the ride was over after our near Back-to-the-Future-level venture into the non-passing lane.
We screeched to a halt, and I said "how much do I owe you?"
"Whatever you think is fair." I calculated that I was leaving with my life in tact, and not as a pair of house slippers and decided that five bucks was a fair fare.
Tonight I play Uncommon Ground in Chicago.
Tomorrow I play Mick's in Omaha.
Zoom!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
A trip in pix
It's a blur, for sure. I'm back from New York. Here's a photo essay to show how I spent my Summer vacation.
Woodstock, NY is a magical place with antique, yet funky drum machines.
It's good to stay indoors and use drum machines when it looks like this outside...
Although back in Brooklyn, it's bright when you're staying in the living room.
And scary when there's a bloated pigeon blocking the door.
I played basketball for the first time in a long while. The gym had no air conditioning and the sweat flowed like wine.
On the way back I flew over a farm where they grow records.
On Monday I'm off to Chicago...
Woodstock, NY is a magical place with antique, yet funky drum machines.
It's good to stay indoors and use drum machines when it looks like this outside...
Although back in Brooklyn, it's bright when you're staying in the living room.
And scary when there's a bloated pigeon blocking the door.
I played basketball for the first time in a long while. The gym had no air conditioning and the sweat flowed like wine.
On the way back I flew over a farm where they grow records.
On Monday I'm off to Chicago...
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