secrets

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sexy candy

well. Not really. I just had that urge to say some smart stuff. I thought maybe the truth about sex (there's a lot of it, but never enough). Thus, getting candid about sex. Or, the more comfortable option: getting sexy about candy.
That goes back to Halloween, when I had the fun time of T or T'ing with my grandson. Keaton. Kick or Keat! All aboard! Anyway, it was obvious that this was a big, sexy if you will, or just fun if you won't....thing for him. A wildly successful business. You go door to door, in a small flock. People open their doors and give you stuff. Your job is to walk around with a plastic pumpkin.
Now I want to know: Will this perhaps work on other evenings? or even mornings? I definitely want to rejoice with Keaton in the existence of the H'Ween tradition. And then explain to him that the business of it is pretty much restricted to that once a year.
Thing is, the whole point of all business is to trick or treat the folks in the marketplace EVERY SINGLE DAY. I knock on your door; you give me stuff. Mostly chocolate. I try to remember to say something. Something smart. Like: The universe is large (not really so smart...more, meaningless). How about My Hair is Thinning. Perhaps true on the surface (of my skull), but not particularly meaningful. Let's see. I guess what I've mostly done for about 40 years is provide melodies and smiles. And my plastic pumpkin stays somewhat full. I play a descending diatonic scale in Bb. You give me a new pickup truck.
I've blogged down, it seems. What can I say that's really smart? Oh. That you should skip the houses with the lights off and no pumpkin out front. Something about not everyone OBSERVES the holiday. Next year I want to trick or treat with creatures I can see clear through. They aren't hard to find.

the shortness

I really don't know why, but I think I do. Cable channels are a big part of it. And, yes, this will be another old fart remembering the good old days and bashing the now days. Not really. Just a curiosity. In the old days, we got a gig. It was probably 4 hours long. We did it in 2 or maybe 3 sets, with breaks. Sure, maybe long breaks. Now it's a bit of a battle to get a gig. Or not. But you don't have much when you have one. It's usually just a "show," 2 hours tops. There are still restaurant and hotel gigs (?) which might go 4 hours. I dunno. It doesn't matter much. Except I guess partly I'm jealous of all the young acts coming up in Austin now learning how to kick ass in 90 minutes or so. Instead of having to slug it out trying to make people dance and drink for the eternity-seeming four hours in a dance hall. I miss the old Austin. I miss the old Austinites who were here when I got here 36 years ago. They were really friendly, drunk or sober. And they supported me. I really like some of the newer venues. I like Flips. I still approve of the Continental. It's still really loud a lot. I'm glad it's still there. And something about me likes that the band is gonna play 90 minutes and then rotate the heck out of there and go to their other gig of the night (with a different band).
But there seems to be something difficult about getting a group to hang together for very long in this environment. A gig is just not much of a commitment. And if you're a little late to it, you miss a lot of it.
And sometimes you're glad you did

dizzy from disdain

the blog of dizziness. I need money. I have been stashing money in my business for 18 years. I am told I am not allowed access to it now. My first step will be to quit doing my job. I get paid whether I do it or not. What is my job anyway? Boss? Yup. Maybe I can pick up some paying freelance work. Simultaneously I will commence to have an excellent time. I still don't drink or smoke, so it'll just have to be babes and bow rehairs out the wazoo.
Wahoo!
And baby-sitting (for free), i.e. playing with my wild grandson. CHild of Firee Skies. Afraid, like his ma, of thunder.
I fear nothing. And I don't care what you think

I will write the music I want to write and sell it to 6 people. Or more!

[insert latin text here, please]

Kerrville Folk Festival 2010 Photo Gallery - Photo 8 of 25 by Fireants - MySpace Photos

Kerrville Folk Festival 2010 Photo Gallery - Photo 8 of 25 by Fireants - MySpace Photos

fun

The fun part. Dancing. Like when the bad guys ride into town and grab the shop-keeper and shoot the ground around his feet and say "Dance Shop-keeper!"
The fun part. Checking the mail. Like when you get a royalty check. 'Cause you are the king. Of Rock and Roll.
The fun part.
Checking email. So many little prizes, always. Well no not really. Whenever I check email, I have to respond to it. So if I get 40 non-junk emails (not uncommon in a day), that adds up to 40 little chores I have to do. At least.
At least I'm writing. And I think it's wonderful that all these young people have picked up their old Royal or Remington and vented their thoughts in English and other languages.
The fun part.
Like overeating, shooting heroin, shooting herons, shooting heroes and heroines down in their prime.
I was down in my prime, but I'm so much more down now, brown cow, there's not a yard-stick long enough.
No, really things are fun. I live 2 minutes from the Broken Spoke, where I always am made to feel welcome by James W, proprietor and outspoken man older than me.
I didn't ask any girls to dance with me. I didn't want to have fun really. I did drink a coke.
That rocked.
On my grave, there will not always be flowers. On my grave there will not always be grass. Into my grave will I be put by higher powers. And I will lay there forever on my ass.
The fun part.
Like doing the laundry. Not folding it.