Here’s a live performance of my original parody song, “Hoochie Caucasian Man,” from last fall. Is “original parody” an oxymoron? I suspect the ghost of Willie Dixon will set me straight…
Thanks to Steve Skinner and the Natives for backing me on this song, and to Skip Naft for shooting the video.
My birthday was a few days ago, and I rode around town and took some pictures. Not on purpose or anything, sometimes it just happens that way. For example – see this building?
Well, I’m no psychic, but something tells me that during the winter months, snow may occasionally fall from this building. Just a hunch.
Since I live in a small town, I like to sit at Zele, the corner café, and stare at the scenery and say hello (or whatever) to people I know as they come and go. Check out the view from where I sat on my birthday:
Amazing, right? Really, I’m constantly amazed, even after living here for 15 years, at how beautiful Aspen is. This scene was marred only by the sight of this piece of shit bicycle…
…which, in all fairness, is mine.
I talked my friends into taking me to lunch, because it was my birthday. And they did. Here we all are, at that lunch. I made everyone put on their sunglasses because I thought it might be cool or funny or something. I was wrong on all counts, except for the “or something.” But still…here we are…
But the REALLY amazing thing that happened was this: There were three of us dining, and when the bill came I ignored it, just as I’d promised I would. I did, however, catch a glimpse of the total as they were throwing down their hard-earned cash next to it. When I saw it, I let out an involuntary and embarrassing squeal.
I mean, come on! Look at that! I nearly peed! There were three of us, and the total was $33.33!
It’s cool enough on its own, but then when you consider that it comes out to $11.11 per person…?! Holy shit! I asked the waiter if I could keep the receipt, or, if not, could I get a copy, and I was noticeably excited as I did so. A little TOO excited for a guy who only wants a receipt, if you know what I mean. But telling him why I wanted it would have only made things worse. I know that. And because I know that, I’m led to believe that I’ll be OK at some point.
And yes, one of the Arnold Palmer’s was mine. Pointless detail, really…
Oh, and do you know why it took me two days to post this entry? Because I had to scan the receipt, and my scanner was still in my van from my Fresno trip, which I completed over a week ago. Yep, I travel with my scanner. Last call for the Goober Express! All aboooooard….
It’s my birthday today – as of an hour ago. I’m now 41. Below is a picture of me 31 years ago. I was an Olympic hopeful in many sports, most of them involving potato sacks. My dreams and hopes are all dashed now, of course, but I still have those ribbons as proof of my glory days. Well, I have ribbons that look a lot like those in the picture. Turns out you can pick up ribbons like that pretty cheap at most office supply stores…
Here’s a short comedy video called JAM SESSION I made with my buddy Kevin Keelty about 10 years ago. At least we thought it was a comedy.
Kevin doesn’t have a blog, or else I’d link to it. He has created a blog for his cat, though, and I suppose if I were a better friend I’d link to that, but, well…I just can’t do it.
Maybe he, or his team of attorneys, will thank me one day…
OK, I’ll admit it. I want it. I want geek cult status.
But the thing about cult status is that if you want it, then you aren’t really cult, right? You’re just another mainstream attention-seeking toady. So, with that in mind, I couldn’t care less if you go HERE and check out the most recent short film I’ve written and directed.
In fact, I kinda hope you don’t go HERE.
Really, I don’t even remember what we were talking about…that’s how cult I am…
So, back home from Fresno and the Rogue Festival now, but I wanted to post a few misc. photos that I took during the trip before moving on to what’s next.
Let’s begin…
I was perfectly content to just lift the handle and wait, but after reading this sign I really wanted to pump.
I like fitness and health and exercise and stuff, but the prospect of looking like this guy makes me want to swear off all physical activity.
I’m glad to see that Heath has branched out a bit and no longer focuses on JUST typewriters.
OK, so if you are making a flyer announcing the visit of the immunization van in your neighborhood, what kind of clip art would you choose? Well, the skipping, happy nuclear family silhouette, of course. Duh.
I was perfectly content to close the door gently and carefully, but after reading the sign I really wanted to slam. Twice.
And finally, a shot of me, taken by me, of me scanning old pictures of me (while watching myself in the mirror) and video taping myself while doing so. More photos of this nature coming soon. Lucky you.
(continued…)
I slept that night at the Glendale, Nevada motel. Well, in the parking lot. Specifically, in a parking space right in front of the hotel.
Since I slept in the van, I didn’t get a chance to check out this newfangled “Color TV” thing that I’ve been hearing so much about.
I went into the café, attached to the motel, for some breakfast. There were only two other people there, one of them pictured.
While I waited for the server I read the rather odd story/sign on the wall.
Rather than make you squint your way through it, I’ll synopsize: “I’m the guy who goes into a restaurant and waits patiently while the waitresses finish their visiting before they help me. I don’t say a thing, because I’m a good guy. But I don’t ever eat there again, because if restaurants want my business, they have to earn it.” Something like that. It is basically a short story that says hey, we appreciate your business, and we are just totally service oriented.
I read it. Twice. And then I realized that I’d been sitting there for about 5 minutes and no one had even said hello. I looked over and saw that the waitress was chatting with one of the customers. Not taking his order, just hanging out. Now, I’m not exactly a customer-is-always-right kinda guy. In fact, I like to think I’m way too patient. But there was just something way too telling about reading “The Good Guy” saga while the server ignored me. But maybe she was following the policy of the other sign in the café.
Whatever the case, I got up, bought a cup of coffee from the store next door, and hit the road.
Drove, drove, drove…got bored and took pictures of myself driving….drove, drove, drove…
… then stopped to check my email. And yes, I did find that I got a stronger signal the closer I was to the sign.
Drove, drove, drove, and then I saw the welcoming sight of Mt. Sopris around sunset, meaning home is just around the corner. Cool.
When I moved to Southern California from Mississippi in 1980, I took a photo from the top of Haven Avenue in what was then Cucamonga, CA. It’s now known as “Rancho Cucamonga,” which I think ruins the whole mystique …
Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d take the 27-years-later version.
So – 1980…
And 2007 …
I guess it got a wee bit smoggier in the past 27 years…
I have one very important rule for myself for this trip, and especially for my upcoming Canadian tour – NEVER get out of the van without the camera. I have broken this rule a few times, but never on purpose. Each time I was just a bit tired from driving for a long stretch, so I forget it on the van console. And every time that happened I paid for it by seeing something I wanted to shoot and being camera-less. About an hour after leaving my parent’s house on my trip back home to Colorado, I stopped for gas and saw that someone had graffiti-ed (sp?) a gas station toilet seat. And not with a pen. They had actually carved stuff in the seat – the part your butt touches! That’s hardcore graffiti commitment. But, no picture for you or me, as my camera was in the van, and I just didn’t have the heart to run get it and return to the toilet. I have to teach myself a lesson, right?
One thing I failed to mention in the previous post is that when it came time to leave Fresno and the Rogue Festival, after a wonderful 10 days, I started up my van for the first time since arriving and this is what the clock read:
I know, I know…could mean anything, right? Well, I don’t care what you say, I LOVE that numbers-lined-up shit…to me, when I see “significant” numbers (a flexible and ever-changing qualification) it means that everything is going exactly as it should be. And 11:11 is the best you can get.
So, imagine my surprise a few days later – just about an hour after the missed graffiti toilet photo op – when I find myself parked here, about 6 inches from the right lane of the northbound 15 freeway.
Ahhh, how relaxing to have 18-wheelers whiz past at 75 mph. And why was I parked here? Well, perhaps this next picture will help explain.
Pepe (I guess that was his name) gave me a tow to this fine place in Victorville, CA (thank you AAA!).
As soon as the van was offloaded from the tow truck IT STARTED AT ONCE, something it refused to do while on the freeway shoulder. And, get this, it refused to NOT start, meaning that any diagnosing was pretty much impossible. How do you fix a van that runs perfectly? Well, certainly a less moral mechanic could find a way, but the owner of this shop was totally cool – he poked around under the hood with a flashlight, left the van idling for a while to see if it konked out again, then eventually gave up and sent me on my way, no charge. Hardly a total waste, because when I went in to use the bathroom (camera in pocket) I found this – the worst bathroom ever!
My stream of urine actually stopped halfway down, looked around, said, “Dude, I’ve got standards,” then retracted back into my bladder. Readers of this blog know by now that I’m a fan of “Employees Must Wash Hands” signs, so you’ll be as shocked as I was to find that this bathroom was totally devoid of such health reminders:
If anything you’d think an “Employees Must Amputate Hands” would be appropriate…
Anyway, soon I was back on the road, following this truck…
Because of this sign on the back of it…
I remember well the day I discovered, as a child, that if you could see someone in a mirror, they could also see you. It seemed like a magical, Columbus-like discovery. So glad was I to see this childhood memory so beautifully represented on the open road that I thought a bit of tailgating was in order…for a good long while.
OK, OK, the whole Fresno pun thing is so lame, I know. But I just had to write that “What Part of FresNO…” thing down so I could get it out of my head. I think it would make a great T-shirt. Which is to say, it would make a totally lame T-shirt and nobody with any taste or sense of humor would ever wear it. But there, it’s done. I can move on.
Final “Jesus In Montana” show at the Rogue Fest – sold out, good show, great crowd. I even had real live Jesus groupies, which I probably don’t need to point out is a bit of a dream come true for me.
Thoughts on the Rogue Festival – in all honesty I didn’t expect too much from this fest. I hadn’t done my show since November, so I thought it would be a nice little warm-up for my upcoming tour. I took it seriously, preparing and planning and such, but I’d heard so much about central California being the Bible Belt, and people telling me that a show about Jesus that is not REALLY about Jesus would upset people, and was I prepared for that, blah blah blah. I was a bit spooked, and thought my reception would be mediocre at best. However, all my expectations of Fresno were exceeded – great people, great festival, great audiences for my show. I can’t wait to return to the Rogue Festival in 2008, not only to perform but also to revisit all of my new friends.
I’ve had way too much coffee on this trip. I’ve managed to map out my coffee intake, from first sip to last, on an actual cup.
After the first sip I think I’m cute, a few more sips brings bliss, then I think I’m clever, etc…If I were to stop high enough on the scale I would be OK, but I always drink each cup down to the point where my stomach hurts enough to make me think I may have an ulcer. Then I eat a banana, get another cup and start all over again. Yee haw.
The Rogue organizers held a nice little lunch for staff and performers. Here they all are.
Then it was off to Southern Cal for a few days, where I proceeded to turn my father’s hyper clean and organized guest bedroom into an extension of the mess that is in my van.
This may not seem all that messy to you, but my dad has certain cleanliness criteria that I do not meet. But he was cool about it and let me do my thing. Here he is doing an Internet search for how to tolerate family visitors.
I spent the next two days scanning in old family pictures for my new show, “American Squatter,” which is, among other things, about my relationship with my father and his passion for neatness. That’s irony, right? And not the saying-irony-when-it’s-just-weird kind, but real live irony.
I brought along my own scanner, an external hard drive, and I scanned well into each night.
Because that seems to be what I do…
So, “Fire Code Violation” is a big and serious clump of words, so I won’t be using them here. But it is worth mentioning that the number of people who attended last night’s performance of “Jesus In Montana” at the Rogue Festival fell somewhere in between these (arbitrary, no doubt) numbers determined by the Fire Marshall:
People weren’t exactly dancing (given the nature of my show, if people start dancing during it, this means that things have gone very, very wrong), nor, thank God, were they “DINNING,” which dictionary.com defines as “to sound or utter with clamor or persistent repetition.” Extra chairs had to be brought in and unfolded up front, there was standing room only in the back and sides. People were seated on the floor down front. The side curtain had to be ripped down so those in the wings could see the screen. In the words of Mojo Nixon, you couldn’t fit more people in there with a crowbar.
And a whole bunch of people in line got turned away because there just wasn’t enough room, which is bittersweet for me. Obviously it’s kinda cool to say “people had to be turned away,” but the whole point is for people to get to see the show, so…
My camera wasn’t capable of capturing the size of the crowd outside, so you have to look carefully to see it fading into the distance.
And it was a great show, just as I’d hoped and felt. Actually, I don’t know why it wasn’t my best show thus far. I really enjoyed performing it and felt like everyone was there with me. Amazing, really. Some people I actually recognized from earlier shows – they’d come back again, just like me, going twice to see the bellydancer show. I sat up front, on the carpet for both of the performances of the Tanjora Dancers, with a smile on my face for an entire hour. It was just so beautiful and sensual and breathtaking. I actually wept at one point, I was so moved by the beauty. Sheesh…what a baby…
One of the dancers came up to me afterwards and said, “It was so great to see you there up front…you were obviously enjoying it, and not in a creepy way.”
Yes! For a small window of my life I was NOT being creepy, and someone actually noticed!
And I get to do it again today – my show, that is…not NOT be creepy – in about 6 hours. I think it will be my best show ever. Again. In fact, a stream of “best shows ever thus far” would be a pretty cool life. I think I’ll set that goal for myself.
Oh, and the girl mentioned in the past two posts did show up, and told me she liked the show, and thanked me for putting her on the list. So I was wrong, wrong, wrong. It feels pretty good to be so wrong.
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Clarification: The Bellydancing was a performance by Tanjora – a separate performance, one of the 100 acts at the Rogue fest. And I went to see it twice. Sorry for the poor transition above…
