the elderly

Elderly! Elderly! I need some help here. There is a stain. Me. I'm stain. Can't seem to fully leave. Have a foot out the door. A meter. A meter ever chance I get. Hehe heh. I am a Codger. I am not yet incontinent, but as soon as I get off this boat, I will be. As soon as island. The only...ONLY... important question to which I need an answer is: Is winnipeg ready for me? Or not, hair I comb! A brush with destiny. Not likely to be owned by a codger. The elderly are stupid. The elderly are not wise. That's an old wise tail. Curved back, stupid old offensive linebacker. Old Gold. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. Light 'em first. Many hands make light work. Dammit this is not stream of conscientiousness I'm talkin here. This is about the elderly, late to his shift. Shifty.
If you care about somebody, you think about them, but you don't do anything to help them. People don't need help. They need a little ice floe on which to be set. Give me my ice floe and I will be set. I will (reluctantly) leave Winnipeg and go out out out, until I hit the place where Lisa P and Steve J and Arthur and all those people who had to live through the last depression went. I guess I choose cremation, 'cause I don't want to be buried alive. Dad burnit.

Trail of Bodies

It's all becoming clear. There is a trail of bodies. I have dumped them while semi- or even un-conscious (sometimes abbreviated "ucs".) Some of the bodies are dead, incinerated, interred. Some are very much alive. Breathing. Having trouble sleeping, worried about this or that. Can you believe some even worry about money? Personally I just make sure to keep a few benjamins around. Wards off the evil eye.

Fear not all you live ones. I mean you no harm. It's just a new version of the old recovery quip "I don't have friends, I take hostages." But I feed them. I rub their backs. I buy pet food. Whatever the foo they want.

No one lives forever. Except God. And he's so cracked up all the time (laughing), he turns out to be largely ineffectual. "All in God's time" means "not any time soon."

I have no regrets. Just astonishment. I feel no guilt. Just amazement.

I have a new resolution: Try, try like the dickens, not to play gigs with old people who suck. Which does 2 things. It means I have to say no sometimes. And I have to practice.
These folks I say no to should feel lucky. They will likely leave the trail. My trail.
But I digress. Try this: Think of the people you care about the most, and decide to spend 5 minutes thinking they're not so great. And further that they don't care beans about you. Try that. Then go back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Luck.

excitement!!

It's exciting fersure. I spent about 20 minutes resetting the password for my (never used -- well, almost never used) gmail account, blah-di-blah-di-blah.

I had a great thought for a new post, but I got so wound up in google support windows and emails that I have completely forgotten my awesome poetic intriguing not-to-be-missed thought....

Maybe it was about the craigslist ad I was thinking about posting. I've heard of craigslist and know you can post things there. There's nothing I really need except a whole whole lot of $ would be good, because then I could buy my way out of this box I'm stuck in. This lovely box.

What I was going to offer in the ad was companionship. And the cool thing about that is that if I succeeded in selling or giving away some of that, I would get some in return.

I would be sorry.

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]