Quote of the day

"It's weird. Lately when I sit down somewhere I don't really think about the other places I could be."

-- Katie Miller

Her quote blows my mind. On one hand it is soooo ZEN. It indicates a calmness in one's life. On the other hand, is it accepting one's fate in life? I'm not speaking about Katie's personal life here, I'm just speaking philosophically, and as it would relate to me, because it's ALL ABOUT ME!

I wonder if I had that feeling. I wouldn't be so tired. I'd feel calm in my center. But wouldn't I also feel complacent? Is it resolve, surrender, acceptance, giving up? I suppose if I was exactly where I wanted to be, then feeling that way would be a good thing. It would be a zen moment.

But if I felt that way being where I am now, then I would know I had given up. Gone would be the very drive that urges me to something better, to fulfilling this ridiculous dream. But the trade off is this battle that rages within my body, this holy war of living my passion versus living comfortably. Do I get to live a passionate life, or do I just get to live?

I could win the battle, but lose the war.

Hello.

Been in my own little self-pity world, and have neglected to call or e-mail anyone, nor have I blogged holiday greetings to anyone. So I'm wishing you all a Happy New Year. Be safe tonight.

Quote of Last Week

"If we ever did have children, you could be our God-Lesbian" - Julia C.

My new motto

Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.

- Ecclesiastes 7:3, 4

Didja know I went to Toronto last weekend?

Kelly had purchase one of the SARS packages - well, I call them the SARS packages because after SARS decimated the tourism trade in Toronto they started giving away these packages that include a theater show, your hotel, full dinner, and one extra event(ball game, gift certificates, etc.) for el cheapo prices, like 120 US bucks. And we ain't talking La Palacia Cucaracha and McDonald's either! It was such a deal. So it was Kelly's X-mas gift to me to see the Lion King.

Have you seen the Lion King?

Good lord, I was not prepared for it. I had NO idea so much puppetry was involved. And I didn't know how fantastic the music was going to be, and the singing, and the costumes, and...all of it. I was beyond moved. How moved? I was bawling during the opening scene. Yes, the beauty of it was so intense that it shook the edges of this bitter old hard-assed heart and I couldn't stop crying during the entire opening number. Weeping like a baby. Rafiki is my hero. Well, at least the actress who played her.

Well, we had a grand old time in T.O. Went up the CN tower. There was some Arab woman who was selling the tickets and Kelly said "Nice Do-rag!" under her breath. I chuckled helplessly. So bad. We're going to hell. With the rest of the Arabs. But I digress.

We had gift certificates for this store called Roots which has a buncho nothing in it, but we met this really cool dude named Garrick who "spotted" us as a couple and made sure he told us all about the dyke bar and district in town. He was sooo nice. A really truly decent guy - we talked to him a long time. After that we noticed this HUGE porn store across the street so we went in, without the benefit of ice cream! Bought....nothing.

The night after the show I was getting all snuggled in bed and I was getting all paranoid about not being able to sleep. I'm an insomniac, you know, and I hadn't been sleeping most of the week. Well, I ain't gonna say where I got it, but I just happened to have XANAX with me. Oh, you want to know where I got it? Let's just say I've been supboenaed to testify in Rush Limbaugh's trial. So Kelly comes out of the bathroom with a glass of water and says "Here's your happy pill, dear!" I take it and I go to bed. And except for one brief moment of awaky-ness to pee, I slept the whoooole night! AAAHHHH!

And the next day Kelly was all "Where should we eat?" and I'm all "Wherever!!", and "What would you like to do?" and I'm all "Whatever!" and it was cold but I didn't care and we walked forever and I didn't care! And about 3:00 I saw something or someone, I think it was the homeless dude with the five pet rats, and I went on this RANT! Then I stopped mid-rant and said "I think my happy pill wore off." And Kelly laughed her ass off because she was silently thinking the same thing!

Anyhoo, it was a great excursion, and Toronto is hardly crowded, even at Christmas time. And DO see the Lion King if you get the chance. The giraffes will blow your mind.

Story Telling 101

They say there's a fine line between a good story and a bald-faced lie. Rule #1 for telling a good story: Start with truth, then embellish mightily.

Take a fact, a true event. Don't just say "Here's a true event." No. Put it in a suit. A FUSCHIA suit. With silver glitter buttons. And Puce accents. Put a propeller beanie hat on it. Then some clown shoes. Or stilts, better yet. Dress it up. The more outrageous, the better. It's still the truth, it just looks like it missed its lithium dosage that day.

That being said, I'm either

1) a BRILLIANT storyteller, or
2) y'all think I'm a loose cannon.

Because just about everyone thought that story was true!!! Do you think I'd make such a scene in front of children in a mall? I guess you wouldn't put it past me. True, I've yelled at bratty kids and their bratty parents in the past. I have said to people "I'm a dyke- ya gotta problem wit' dat?" But doncha think I'd have the sense to RUN when the fuzz showed up? And I certainly wouldn't divulge Santa's little penchant for ladies panties.

I started the story with factual events so you'd all think it was true, but I figured once I got to the part about Santa with bail money waving his hand and transporting me, that would give it away. So here's the truth. I went shopping at a mall. I was looking for an elusive kitchen item. I walked the whole frickin' mall, the kitchen departments are indeed in remote locations, everyone looked like a zombie, I did see a Goth couple, I did pass the Santa area, and I ate a Tom Wahl's burger with fries. See how boring that recitation was? So the rest of it? That loud, tacky suit. A little fantasy I dreamed up while eating said burger, because I couldn't stand listening to that god-awful holiday music anymore, so I needed to disassociate.

I'm glad everyone enjoyed the story. But perhaps I SHOULD see a shrink.

Never send a bitter lesbian out shopping by herself during the peak of Christmas rush...

Well, it all started when I was out serving papers in the area of a certain mall, so I said I may as well pick up that one item I need. So I went to the BIGGEST mall in two counties. The particular item I was looking for today is a kitchen accessory. I suppose those of you who shop regularly at malls like normal people already know this, but the damn kitchen accessories in EVERY department store are in the utmost remote section of the store, regardless of which entrance you come in.

As I said, I was looking in department stores, which I suppose you also know are those "anchor" stores, which mean they are at the VERY ENDS of each tentacle of said mall, and of course, I had to go to every last store to find what I was looking for.

So I had walked the ENTIRE mall, and by now my blood sugar was dropping, and I'm remembering how I hate this Christmas pressure obligation bullshit called holiday "giving" and I'm watching people glide along the mall like zombies which, except for the Goth couple I saw, they're not supposed to look like. So I suppose it was all that combined that made me lose it at last.

I was walking by the Santa area with all these pasty-faced parents saying "how cute..." when I saw this little boy tugging on Santa's beard and saying "gimme this and gimme that and I want I want!!!!" and he's yelling at Santa and calling him names and throwing a tantrum and nobody's saying anything. And I'm looking at Santa and he's looking at me helplessly. And they're all snapping pictures.

So I go up to the kid and I say, "Hey! Shut your mouth you little ingrate and be glad for what you have! And show Santa some respect! He's SANTA!" Then I turn to the mother and say to her "And you should be ashamed of yourself letting your child act like that and not disciplining him!" And the mother tells me "Go To Hell!" And I say, "I'm already going to hell because I'm a big dyke and I'll be you and your kid's guide down there!!" And someone yells "Security!" and the kid is cowering behind his mother now and Santa is giving me the ol' thumbs up like "Thank you!"

I see the dudes in the gray uniforms getting closer but I feel like I haven't finished my mission, because they're all still standing there waiting for me to go away so they can continue torturing Santa, as if I'M the crazy one, so as the guys are clasping the handcuffs on me I yell "Santa's not real! And the sooner you all realize that the sooner you can all be prepared for the bitter realities of life that await you! And underneath Santa's pasted-on beard and pillow-stuffed red suit, he's wearing ladies underwear!"

Well, that did the trick, because it was that last part that made all the parents look sideways at Santa and pack up their kids and leave the Santa area and go home. And I'm thinking, darn, now that they're all leaving I could be shopping in less crowded conditions, but I'm going to jail now, how's that for irony? An hour later I'm sitting in the Ontario County Jail contemplating whether I should call an attorney or a shrink, when who but Santa should appear. With bail money.

And he looks at me with his twinkling eyes and his little red cherry nose as we're leaving the jailhouse and he says "That's the first time anyone has done anything for me. It's always been take, take, take, until today. Thank you." And we go to Pickering's Pub and he buys me a few cold ones. Of course the topic turns to women, and I promised to keep our conversation private, but suffice to say, turns out that Mrs. Claus is one hot tamale in the boudoir. Who knew.

We finish our beers and with a wave of his hand, he's gone and I'm suddenly sitting in the food court shoveling down a Tom Wahl's burger and fries, with my kitchen item all wrapped up in a Bon-Ton's bag.

Now that's a Christmas story!

Addendum to the last post

I forgot to tell ya!! I had to teach a couple of students before the party, and as I go to the students' houses, I had about an hour to kill before my last student and the party itself. So I went to this restaurant and drank a couple of beers playing Yahtzee like a big loser to waste the time away.

When it was time to go to the party I thought I should proceed to the convenience store, buy some gum and not walk in to the party smelling like the lush I am. So I tossed the gum on the counter and said "Need this gum! They can't know I've been drinking!"

And the woman behind the counter says "I hope you're not going to an AA meeting."

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

And I hope you're all sitting down for this one.

You'll never, ever, ever, ever, ever believe what I did yesterday. Something that I haven't done since I was in early high school. Something that anyone who knows me won't believe it, even after I tell you. You'll just die.

I went sledding.

(*pause for dramatic effect*)

Okay, you still sitting?

I actually had fun.

(*longer pause*)

So how did it happen? Well, Kelly's a bad influence on me. She seems determined to take this ultra hard-assed bad temperament that I've worked YEARS to hone to this glorious level of... well... badness, and shake it all up. Perhaps it was the promise of the warm soup with garlic bread that awaited upon our return, or the hot tub and the fireplace, or even the flagrante delicto I knew would be my reward. I dunno. But I did it. And I enjoyed it. So there. And I didn't even get hurt. Too badly.

All right, you can get up now.

The Twelve Fucking Days Of Christmas

So I had to play this stupidfuckingretardchristmasparty last night. And I was hired through the teaching company I work with, and the woman I work for said "Oh they just want some background music. You can do whatever you want. They're just happy to have some music there and it'll be no big deal." I said, great, I'll even throw in a Christmas song or two.

Then I talked to the people at the place where I'd be playing on Tuesday and they said, OH, we want to you sing all Christmas songs. Well, I don't know any frickin' Christmas songs except Silent Night. I don't know the lyrics, I don't know the chords. I'm not the most festive person around this time of year as you may imagine. Gimme a hot toddy and keep pouring, and I'll be the life of the party. Or, put sheet music in front of me and I'll sight sing it. But actually perform this stuff? I think not.

So I spent THREE FUCKING HOURS yesterday downloading lyrics and listening to these songs to get the chords and learn the melodies, then I go to the stupidfuckingretardchristmasparty.

Number 1: There are a dozen children running rampant. Number 2: There's no place for my gear. Number 3: They've rented a Karaoke machine. So I put ALL my gear back into my car and just go unplugged. And I even printed out lyrics sheets for people, so they turn off the karaoke machine and say "go."

Have you ever tried to compete with a Karaoke machine?

So I start singing these stupid fucking christmas songs and nobody's singing except for about 3 people. And the kids are picking up the karaoke mics and banging on them and blowing into them and nobody is stopping them. So I turned the damn machine off. I spent three fucking unpaid hours learning these songs, you're damn well gonna hear them. So after about 8 songs (maybe a half hour), these stupid kids started jumping rope with the mic cables. So I said, well, it's time to get back to Karaoke! I'm sure there are Christmas songs on it! And I packed up my guitar, grabbed some free food and the biggest honking piece of fudgy chocolate cake you could imagine, and left the stupidfuckingretardchristmasparty.

And for this I was only paid 23 bucks an hour, my normal teaching fee, for just the performance. Time to learn the songs not included. So I padded the hours. Too effin' bad.

FINALLY!!

THEY'RE HERE THEY'RE HERE THEY'RE HERE!!!! I GOT MY CD'S! CIGARS ALL AROUND!

Quote of the day!

"All I know is that God made Barley and Barley makes beer and I'm not gonna get in the way of that divine order. All I'm gonna do is praise its holy name."

- My buddy Deb, a/k/a G.O.D. (good ol' deb)

Why can't I have normal cats like everyone else?

Farris and Puddy have both decided not to eat. I think they're sick of that overpriced, prescription cat food crap they have to eat. Yesterday Farris puked (again) and didn't eat all day. Today he's hungry but won't eat. So my mom force fed him, in the gentlest of mommy ways. He's on my lap purring now, sure, but he's making me more neurotic than I already am. And Puddy is getting FATTER AND FATTER! So I'm not too concerned if she won't eat all her food.

And while I'm on the blogging path....

As Promised #2

Grease was just swell. I suppose. I mean, again, so inspiring to see special needs people doing something like this. They did a great job. But I must say...

I was a diva.

Ever since I went on two tours I'm like all full of myself. Like I'm some hot shit thing. But really, what I am is tired of having my time wasted when I'm not being paid for it. The "musical director" (another musical half-wit) was calling all these band rehearsals which we don't get paid for, so I said I couldn't be at those rehearsals because I needed to be earning money, in other words, work. But I said I'd be at tech week.

So Tuesday comes along and I get there at 5:00 p.m. to set up and tune and get situated in the pit so I'm ready for downbeat at 6:00, which is when rehearsal starts. So 6:00 comes along and I'm all set and and tuned and situated....and no downbeat. I sit around for a half hour until we finally start playing. It takes us three hours to get through act one, because the MD is such a moron. Anyway, 9:00 rolls around and we've gotten through the act, but he wants us to hang around to play this song or that and I said I had to go. I packed up and left.

On Wednesday I arrive early again to be all ready to play at 6:00 for the scheduled downbeat. 7:00 rolls around and the band still hasn't played. When we finally start playing we get through about 4 songs, then he stops at a scene and STARTS BLOCKING IT! Usually, you've blocked all the scenes long before you get to tech week. So the band sits around for 45 minutes while they're putting together a whole scene. What a waste of time. I told the drummer I could be having SEX right now! The MD should have called the band for 7:00 and blocked that scene at 6:00. So, what's a band to do? Drink, of course. I happened to have beer in my trunk (yes people, it's getting THAT bad...). So, at 9:00 I left, and we weren't even halfway through Act 2. Keep in mind there are two added songs we haven't even rehearsed as a band.

Thursday - dress rehearsal. They day it's all supposed to be together and you go end to end without stopping. I'm ready for downbeat at 6:00...aaaaaaaaaand.....no downbeat. The MD says, oh, we're adding a song. It's the day before opening and he wants to add a song. So I say, well give us the music. And he says, I don't have the music, but you know the song. And here's where I was a total diva. I outright told him no. Not that I'm the band leader, but I have the big mouth. I said we have 2 songs to play that we still haven't rehearsed and you want to add a song without providing music? You have a band here that's been rehearsing all week for free who all have to go to work tomorrow morning. At what point do you want us each to go find a recording of the song, sit down and figure it out in time for tomorrow's opening? Put the music in front of us and we'll do it. So that ended that idea. And the irony? I had given him a copy of that piece of music 7 months ago. Now he's thinking of it the night before curtain? So, I hung around all night, didn't leave at my self-appointed hour because it was dress rehearsal and we were being paid for that night. But the band DID drink during the break. FYI, by "the band", I mean the rhythm section. We took turns bringing beer each night.

Okay, so we do the shows, blah blah blah and get to closing night. Kelly, Maria, and Mary Rose came. I warned them that closing night is usually the weepy love-fest where all the producers get on stage and pat themselves on the back and tell us how wonderful they all are, but I didn't expect this. The entire show lasted FOUR FREAKING HOURS!!!! The intermission was 45 minutes long because the raffle nazi was giving away all the final prizes and they were pushing booze and flowers and the whole thing. That's when my patience ran out. I suddenly remembered I had BOURBON in the car (yes people, it's getting THAT bad...).

I run out to get it, grab some cups from the bar, and pour shots for most of the band members, except for the couple of sissies who were trying to be "professional"! So we're slamming and we finally start act fucking 2. It ends and the love fest begins. I start packing up, right while they're all talking and handing out awards to themselves. 30 minutes later they say let's play that one song again. I'm like have at it, because I'm packed up and ain't playing. Then the MD, who is the most flamboyant closet case egomaniac ever gets on stage and starts doing jumping jacks. All along he'd had this way of upstaging the cast. I guess nobody told him he has to be unobtrusive and pay attention to the music. No. He was too busy finding moments of glory for himself during the show, including making the very first entrance on stage, as well as programming a solo song for himself at intermission. But that's another rant.

Anyway, I was packed up by the time they were all offstage, and Kelly, Maria and Mary Rose looked like they'd been at a week-long chess match. Maria and Mary Rose's problem is that they DON'T DRINK, and they could have easily endured if they were lushes like the rest of us. Kelly wasn't so bad off, but ya know, she'd had a beer or two. So that was that. I'll spare ya the story of the really drunk. red-faced, old guy spitting in my face while talking to me, and about how they totally spelled my name wrong on my check (III'm not Liiiiiii-sa...), etc. etc. because I've babbled enough.

No more theater shows for awhile. I need to de-diva myself.

Quote of the Day

(And let me just say...I LOVE her!)


"It costs alot to look this cheap!" --- Dolly Parton

As Promised #1

My take on this Michael Jackson thing. I mean, beyond the expected statement that he's a fucking nutcase pervert who needs to be locked away forevah...

I'm wondering about this kid's mom. Supposedly this kid was with the Make A Wish Foundation and his dying wish was to go to Neverland and meet Chester, I mean, Michael. I think you have to be an idiot to not know of Michael's questionable past with boys, so what mom would say okay to their kid on that, even if he is dying? What mom would send her kid there? That having been said, one would think probably the mom is hoping for a big payoff in hush money. But she says she doesn't WANT money, she wants to prosecute. So here's what it looks like to me: that she used her kid as bait. Why else would she have let him go there in the first place???

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Check out Friday's Buffalo News

I may be in an article about gay marriage and the MASS ruling. I heard a reporter was doing an article about it and I sent him my blog posting on this subject. He thought the angle was interesting and different than the typical party-line homo stuff, so he interviewed me on the phone today. I happened to mention as well that I was releasing a new CD...

My two favorite girls...

Good Kitty!

Gone for the weekend!

See ya next week! Coming soon:

Posting about Grease, The Musical, in which the band drinks at intermission...again.
Posting about this weekend's gig.
Posting about Michael Jackson with my own unique perception...i.e. the irony of a mom who is fighting to protect her kid, yet let him go to never(tell)land in the first place...

AND MORE!!!!!

Am I the only homo who sees it this way???

The Massachusetts ruling was NOT a victory for gay people.

The most sensitive issue running around America today is the gay/marriage issue. In my opinion it has at this time replaced abortion in terms of the "current moral issue", ever since Hawaii and Vermont started making moves in this direction, and especially since Canada has made it legal.

Since gays are a tiny minority in this country, a humongous percentage of Americans will not support the idea of gays being able to get married. And the debate is a semantical one: i.e. the term "marriage" is what everyone is getting all weepy about. Many politicians and citizens support "civil unions", but want to maintain "Marriage" as a union between a man and a woman.

The Massachusetts judiciary did not legalize marriage for gays. All they did was say that the Mass. constitution does not specify that marriage is exclusively for straight people. All they did was READ the wording of the constitution literally, noticing that "marriage" is not defined as either het or homo. That's ALL.

So why do gay groups think this is big deal? Because we haven't been specifically excluded in this ruling? Well, thanks to the gay groups who are trying to move us forward, you can be sure we'll suffer a great setback when the Massachusetts (and 49 states after that) legislature decides to define marriage as a het institution. Because that is exactly what will happen. And gay constituents don't have the numbers to persuade our representatives to go against this concept. Gay groups have showed great lack of foresight in trying to pass this idea off on a hostile America, because this is one battle we will not win. Even our supposed hero Bill Clinton passed the Defense of Marriage Act.

So here's my suggestion to them all:

1) Get out of your Ivory Towers and fantasy worlds. You are not as powerful or legitimate as you think you are in the grand scheme of politics.

2) Forget the whole idea of legalizing "gay marriage".

3) Instead, focus on getting municipalities at grass roots levels to allow "civil unions".

4) Focus on getting municipalities to start passing laws that give gay couples the same benefits as het couples.

5) Remember that the whole marriage thing is about the church and god and religion which doesn't really mean shit. What matter are the civil laws which grant us the same rights that other Americans are granted, but we are not.

6) Remember to highlight the fact that gays are being DISCRIMINATED against.

7) Remember that just because women and blacks were able to get Federal legislation to end discrimination against them doesn't mean gays will. Keep in mind that being a woman and being black are not moral issues. Remember that the USA is a very emotional country and when it comes to moral issues, there will never be true acceptance because people will always be screaming about god and sin and morality and family values.

8) Spend all the ridiculous amounts of money you have funding local gay lobbies who will fight for these rights, because that's how we will be successful: one city at a time.

Today I'm bitter about....

Roadrunner. Which has been running sooooooooo slow this week that I've been unable to get on the computer and blog and check email and all that shizzle. And I find it's only MY computer. Everyone else's cable modem is just ducky.

Onward to Buffalo tonight. I'm going to be on some cable TV show tomorrow. Wearing black, of course, which should make me look like I only weigh 200 lbs, instead of 250. I hate being on TV.

Other than that had a lovely day with Kelly today. Slept in late then went to Applebees for really fattening ribs and fries and bloody marys and beer and watched the Bunglings Bills lose AGAIN!

See ya Tuesday!

Read this, then fasten your effing seat belts...


Illegal Immigrant Workers Sue Wal-Mart

FREEHOLD, N.J. (AP) -- Nine illegal immigrants who worked as janitors at Wal-Mart until they were arrested during federal raids last month have sued the company, accusing it of discrimination.

The nine say they were paid lower wages and offered fewer benefit because they are Mexicans, and they accuse Wal-Mart and its cleaning contractors of failing to pay for overtime, withhold taxes or make required workers' compensation contributions.

Their lawsuit, filed Wednesday in Superior Court in Freehold, seeks more than $200,000 in back pay.
******************

This is what the fuck is wrong with America today. People enter the country illegally, work illegally, don't pay taxes, enjoy the benefits that America has to offer, then turn around and somehow think they have any civil rights in this country, and take full advantage of our system to bite the hands that feed them because somehow it isn't enough, even though it's far more than their shithole little country ever gave them, otherwise they wouldn't be here. They think America is their ticket to winning the fucking lottery.

Then you get some piece of shit lawyer who says sure, let's sue. Then some dumbass judge will probably say these people have some sort of case, instead of deporting them immediately. ONLY IN AMERICA CAN AN ADMITTEDLAWBREAKER WALK INTO A COURT ROOM AND HAVE THE PEOPLE IN CHARGE OF UPHOLDING THE LAW IGNORE THAT FACT THAT HE'S A LAWBREAKER.

And these fuckheads will be all "poor immigrants, treated like shit. let's give them access to civil rights they shouldn't have as ILLEGAL non-citizens, and let's give them driver's licenses, and let's just show them how fabulous the USofA is", while tax-paying, law-abiding queer LEGAL CITIZENS can't even get the fuck married to our partners.

What are they gonna do with MINE AND YOUR 200K? Give 66K of it to that greasy slimeball lawyer, then they'll each take their 14K and what, use it to legally apply for citizenship here???? I somehow doubt that. Who the hell is in charge of the INS anyway? Like to see the house that asshole is living in, with all the kickbacks he's no doubt getting.

The inmates are running the asylum!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We have a convert!

I feel accomplished, and I'm sure Julia does, too. We made one of my readers re-think her non-voting position. But she asked where she could find info, so I'm going to post some. I don't spend scads of time reading papers and following all the candidates out there. Here's how I find out who's running and what they stand for.

First, I go to either of these two sites:

DemocracyNet
Smart Voter

You type in your address and it will find out your voting district and tell you who's running for what position. On D-Net, you can click on the candidate's names and they'll tell you what party line the candidate is running on, and sometimes there will be links to their websites, as well as other info.

After that I search for the candidate's website. Depending on the party of the candidate and the level of office (county, state, federal...) I'll go to county's dem and gop websites, the state's dem and gop sites, and if necessary, the national dem and gop committee sites.

Usually the weekend before election day, the local paper will have a voter's guide with all the candidates, their platform, etc. etc. Sometimes I'll also watch debates on TV, but that's not always necessary.

And that's all I do. I don't have to spend months trying to read papers or watch news or pretend to be knowledgeable about every issue. I have specific issues dear to my heart, and I spend just a couple of hours on the computer, maybe watch a debate, maybe read a story in the paper if the headline interests me. Not a whole lot of time spent, but I can still make an informed decision. I don't vote like most people do: they saw a commercial and believed the bullshit it was saying. Never watch campaign commercials.

And sometimes you can't decide because you dislike both candidates. I've done "write-in" candidates before (I voted for Bugs Bunny), and once, I was so undecided that I went into the poll booth, flipped a coin, and voted accordingly. Really.

So that's all there is too it. It's not that daunting. I hope this helps!

Two Women's Passionate Pleas for Voting

Okay, so I have to go on a rant about voting. This is not a lecture, rather an attempt to persuade you all to go out, register, then actually show up at the polls. I've also asked Julia, who works in politics, to be a guest blogger on the same subject. I hope you'll indulge both of our posts.

Leah

It was Marjie's comment that motivated me.

"I totally do NOT do politics. People will do anything to keep power once they have it, including sell out their values. I hate to be cynical, but I have no choice in this case."

Mar, I'm not picking on you, but I chose your comment because it voices the opinion that so many people feel about politics.The reason people can keep that power and sell out their values is precisely because people who are pissed off at the system DO NOT go out and vote those power mongers out of office. And I beg you, you DO have a choice. Cubans don't have a choice. Iraqi's didn't have a choice under Saddam. South Africans didn't have a choice under Apartheid. Uprisings and wars have been fought to get that choice, that freedom: in Poland in the 80's; the tearing down of the Berlin Wall; Chechoslovakia; most of Russia; and how about the United States in 1775? How about Black Americans after the Civil War. Women at the turn of the century?

I think it's especially important that women, blacks and 18-21 year-olds vote. When this country was started, the entire premise for the Independence of this country was based on the vote - that each citizen had a say in the affairs of this country as it fought against the tyrannical rule of the governing body (the King). That is to say, each white, male citizen. Blacks did not have the right to vote until 1870 (after a war), who were then met by shotguns at the polling places. They had to fight and die. The Suffragettes fought for two decades to give women a fair say. We've only had that freedom since 1920, not even a hundred years. And 18 year-olds couldn't vote until 1971, even though they were old enough to fight in wars. Those of us who were not immediately granted this right upon Independence have even more of an obligation to exercise our votes, simply because we cannot take it for granted, ever.

This country becomes more fascist every day. Don't agree? Remember this when you want to light a cigarette and you can't. With this new law that passed, it is illegal to smoke in your own house for some people. Want to exercise your right to bear arms? See how many hoops you have to jump through in NYS to get a gun. Want an abortion but you're four months pregnant? That's gone, as of yesterday. Need to talk on your cell phone while driving? Do you own an SUV? You're 18 and can vote and fight in a war, but can't drink a beer?

Voting is the single most important freedom we have in this country. It is also the only time we have the most say in the political process. How do you feel about the war in Iraq? Find out where your representatives stand on it and if you disagree, vote them out. Or keep them in if you agree. Paying incredibly high school taxes? Go vote on the bond issue in your town the next time the school asks for more money. Property taxes too high? Vote for a new County Executive. Your city is turning into a salvage yard? How about a new mayor or city council members? Wanna have a say in who's going to oppose George Bush next term? Register as a Democrat and vote in the primaries next September.

Yes, this system is highly flawed. There are all kinds of backroom dealings going on all the time, and people sell out their values to play this game in order to get what ever funds they can appropriated back to their communities, because if they don't tow the party line, they'll get nothing at all. It's the hard truth. But this will never end until enough pissed off people start making their voices heard at the polls, like they just did in California by removing the governor.

And for those of you who don't register because you're afraid to be summoned to jury duty: They also get your name from the DMV. And if you're one who is always trying to avoid jury duty, then don't ever bitch about the O.J. verdict again. And if you don't vote at all, don't ever, ever bitch about the president, or the war, or your senator, or the latest freedom-restricting law. You gave up those rights when you gave up your right to pull the lever.

Julia

As someone who has a job that requires me to be active during the political/election season, I've heard just about every excuse for why someone hasn't voted or doesn't plan to vote. It's an incredible farce and sorry statement on the citizens of this country.

For those of you who claim, "My vote doesn't count." Consider some recent events: The 2000 Presidential Election was so close in Florida that we didn't know who was going to be our President for months. Media outlets who counted the ballots after the Courts made their decision on the matter concluded several times that Al Gore probably should have won the state, thus won the seat of President.

In Chautauqua County, the 2001 elections resulted in absentee ballots being counted for at least two County Legislative races. In one case, the person who had the lead on election night lost. In 2003, there is one race in the balance where the incumbent County Legislator is only ahead by 14 votes. Absentee ballots will have to be counted in this race as well and whoever wins that race will determine whether the Democrats or Republicans hold the majority in the County Legislature.

In the city of Jamestown, absentee ballots had to be counted for a Ward 2 and an At-Large seat in 2001 to determine the winner. In 2003, the Ward 1 seat race is still undetermined due to a close vote. Whoever wins that race will determine whether the Democrats or Republicans hold the majority on City Council.

Your vote does count. It matters very much to each candidate that is running and it matters when it comes to the final outcome of a race.

And that's just talking about pure numbers.

As a citizen of the United States of America, it is your duty, if you meet guidelines, to register to vote and then vote, whether by showing up at the polls on Election Day or by submitting an absentee ballot. Do not complain that you don't like the candidates. You can always write in a candidate you feel would do the better job. And you can get active
by supporting a candidate that you feel will do the better job. Or you can run yourself.

As a citizen of this country, take responsibility for your actions. Do not whine that the political system is corrupt, full of lies, full of people who are only in it for themselves, or whatever else you think is the case. There are honest, decent people with integrity out there who are working hard to do a good job for you. They deserve your support. Or maybe they just need to be convinced to run if they do not hold a political office. If you don't like who is in power and you don't vote, you only have yourself to blame. The elected officials who mislead our communities, or do it as a benefit for themselves and their friends, are essentially put in power by people who do not vote. If even a small
group of previous non-voters rallied around a more honest candidate and then actually voted, it would make a huge difference.

You only have to look to Presidential Candidate
Howard Dean to see how he has worked to get people involved. Maybe he won't reach his goal of becoming President, but he certainly gets high marks for getting people involved in a way where The People have the power to make change happen.

You have nearly a whole year to set yourself straight. There are usually village elections in the spring. If you're a New York State resident, there are school board elections and budget votes the second Tuesday of the month of May. In September, there may be primaries. In November, Election Day will fall on the first Tuesday of the month. It is a Presidential Election year. You have plenty of time to research the issues, the candidates, and to get involved. Do not fail your country, community, and yourself by not participating in this right.

Be STILL my heart!

She votes Republican. I think I'm in love!

My heroine!

Can we all please give a standing ovation to Cheryl, who fixed my friggin archives somehow! Props 'n shit to her!!! Now, in her honor, go look at her work:

Her web design site
Marc's site -she did the template
The It Zone -her best work, I think.
Her main site.

Cheryl, feel free to plug some more in the comments!

I finally took part in a castration.

Ya know, my friends and family always made jokes about me being a castrating dyke. "Cut their balls off!" my father used to say was my motto, laughing. But today, it became true.

My friends Katie and Char have a new cat that showed up at their door a few months ago. They ain't got a pot to piss in, and Kelly made the offer to them to neuter the cat. So they came in today with the kitty and guess who got to help???? Me. I did nothing really, except hold the mask over the cat's face. But I got to watch it, and it was cool.

My ex was a surgical tech. Occasionally she'd be on emergency call and get called to go in the middle of the night for emergency procedures, and she'd bring me with her. And we'd dress me all up in scrubs and she'd tell the doc I was a nursing student and he'd let me observe. I got to see three surgeries, all done laparoscopically, so I'd be able to stand back and watch it on video. I saw a D&C, a cholesystectomy (gall bladder removal), and an ectopic pregnancy removal. Very cool.

So, I love this shit. And when it was all over, I got to dissect the testicle. My apologies to my male readers. I did it truly out of scientific interest, not because I like to mangle balls. The whole thing took like 10 minutes, and it was really cool to see Kelly do her thing.

After, we went to lunch and caught up, then K&C came back to Kelly's and we hung out and had a beer, and Katie and I sang a bunch of songs. Noah, the kitty, decided that being under Kelly's bed was the cat's meow, and that's where he stayed, until they went home. The girls finally left, and I had a family event I HAD to go to, but I didn't want to! Whaaaa! And my grandmother gave me shit for coming late. And I said "Grandma, I'm here now!" Can never please a passive-agressive Italian matriarch!

Radical Diet

Today, I forced myself to eat something green. Funny looking things, like olive drab limp twist ties. "Green Beans" I think they're called, and it said "French Style". Loathe as I am to indulge in anything with the word "French" in it, I ate them, nonetheless.

We'll see how my body reacts.

No go on the Archives

Well, Marc's fabulous ideas on the html didn't work. I have NO idea why my archives are "java script", and so if anyone else wants to try, lemme know!

With it being Sam Hain and all, I'm going to do my best not to eat pounds of chocolate. Thanks God I'm not PMS today. What a bad timing situation for a woman that could be. Tonight, Nicola is playing a free show at Daily Perks and Kelly and I are going! Anyone else joining????

Okay, I give up.

If anyone wants to try and fix my frackin' archives, step forward. The archives on my other blogs work, so I compared HTML and I see no frickin' difference. I tried this. I tried that. Mercy.

Anyone game?

Those gusty winds...

...are my sighs of relief.

Today I finally sent off the CD to the manufacturer. I got both the artwork and the master today, and had filled out the forms last night. Proofed the artwork one last time, then put it with the form in one carefully marked, sealed, padded envelope. I listened to the master to be sure it was okay, then put that with the log form in another carefully marked, sealed, padded envelope. Then I wrote one of those credit card checks for 2 grand and attached it to all the other damn forms they require. Put the whole thing in a pile. Then wrapped the whole pile in bubble wrap.

Took it to the UPS store and put it in one of those indestructible, overnight envelopes and shipped it under my account number. Double checked the contents before I sealed it. Made the lady put tape over the already sealed flap. Stood there until I saw her attach the shipping label to the envelope. Then I pressed down on the label again to make sure it was really stuck to it. And did the same to the tape on the flap.

Then I asked her if their sprinklers worked, and was anyone smoking in the back, or were they harboring hazmat materials back there? And is their UPS guy a safe driver and a conscientious worker or is he disgruntled? Do they keep alot of money on site, making them a target for robberies? What time does the UPS guy pick up?

I feel like I've just sent my child off to finishing school. She better come back perfect.

Words of truth...


-"I don't know what to do. He's so unhappy."
-"Of course he is. He's a musician."

From the Arturo Sandoval Story

Did I say boring???

First it started with breakfast with a certainbeautifulwoman. Some garlicky scrambled eggs on flatbread smothered in chili that a certainbeautifulwoman had made the evening before, garnished with olives and jalapenos and a dollop of sour cream. Then it was all snuggled up on the couch with said certainbeautifulwoman and her cat watching a little TV. But how long can that last? How long can you lay in the arms of such a certainbeautifulwoman without eventually deciding to assist each other with your respective ICF's? Not very, that's how. Hardly boring, for sure.

Alas, I had to go home eventually, around 4:00 or so, which is when the boring part started. Printing out 200 flyers and paying bills and looking at this overdue tax bill that will be the death of me when the penalties and interest are added up, thinking it's probably cheaper to pay this on a high interest credit card compared to what the IRS will gouge me for.

Then it was the Bills game, which anguished me to no end. It was like I was watching Jim KELLY again with all those interceptions. And I didn't even drink any beer. In fact, I watched an hour of the game from the treadmill.

Boring, indeed!

It's a good day to do nothin'

Oy, it's raining like a muthafuckah here, and it's also 5:30 and dark now. I love getting the extra hour but I don't like the darkness that comes with it, especially since I sleep through most of the daylight, getting up at 10:00 a.m. as I do. I want to get one of those lights that people use for S.A.D. I don't have SAD, but I love sitting in front of those lights. It's always dark in this house and I usually have every light on. I just like alot of light. But those lights cost a small fortune.

Glad the Marlins won - not that I'm even a baseball fan but I'm sick and tired of the Yankees always winning. It takes the excitement out of everything.

Don't have too much to say. I'd rather be in bed. But ya know, stuff to do. I'll probably watch the Bills game tonight and drink a beer while I'm at it. A rather boring day. A rather boring post.

Basta, allora!*

Okay, *enough already about the bodily functions postings. What would Freud say? Well, the real question is what would I say back to Freud, the fucking misogynistic pervert that he was.

Saw Kill Bill today. Doesn't seem to have had much of a point but I will say I loved it. But that's because I love all that gory, slasher shit. I love B movies, the bloodier the better, so this movie appealed to that side of me. And we really won't know what the point of the movie is until VOL II because we don't even know why the bad guys wanted her dead in the first place. So, like....whatever.

But I must say, it was beautifully filmed. The camera shots, the unique elements in it (such as the anime section and the fight scene in the blue silouette). The fight choreography was amazing, the comic relief was so campy. Blah Blah Blah. If you aren't sqeamish, go see it. If you're looking for a redeeming message, stay home.

Leah's fave B Movies:

The Basket Case Trilogy
Frankenhooker
Bloodsucking Freaks
Night of the Living Dead
Dead or Alive
Vegas in Space
Chopper Chicks in Zombie Town

I enjoy being a girl

Didja ever forget you had your period, until your overburdened tampon slipped right out?

Me neither.

It's all about Marketing and Perception

Let's say one day I become seriously depressed. So depressed, in fact, that I decide to kill myself. That's right. Suicide. Say I'm suicidal. So I take a bunch of pills. Or I tie my shoelace around my neck and jump off a stool. Or I shoot myself with a pellet gun. But say also that I'm such a total loser that I can't even succeed at dying. And someone finds me and calls an ambulance and I go to the hospital. So what happens then? I'm branded as a nutcase and sent to the loonie bin for awhile and pumped up with medications.

So why does this DUMBASS MOTHERFUCKER who happened to survive his leap over Niagara Falls called a "DAREDEVIL" and is suddenly being paid gazillions of dollars to appear on Good Morning America and the like? MAYBE I SHOULD JUMP OVER THE GODDAMN FALLS TO PROMOTE MY NEW CD!!!

Quote of last night

"You don't poop, you can't sleep, and it takes forever for you to have an orgasm. No wonder you're bitter!"

Said completely tongue in cheek of course, by my dear Kelly. Gee, how did we get on the conversation of pooping? Well, if you MUST know, but you'll be sorry you asked. I was merely mentioning that, as I have a constipated personality (no comments, please...), I don't poop a whole lot as a rule, EXCEPT WHEN I HAVE A FRIGGIN' HEMORRHOID THEN I GOTTA POOP EVERYDAY ALL WEEK! motherfuckingouch.

And it only takes me 15-20 minutes, but it seems like a long time. (I'm referring to having the big O here, not pooping...)

Okay, let's all file this one under TMI!!!!

AAAHHHH! Home again.

Well, I was just a little edgy there yesterday, wasn't I?

We played the final WSS and we did the whole show stinkin' sober. And we sucked worse than all the other shows. And by "we" I mean the musical director, not the rest of us. He achieved a new record of the most wrong notes ever played in one show.

Alan and I were so punchy and silly that at the finale we were playing with his magna doodle and we made some silly pictures and comments that made us laugh so friggin' hard we were crying. But we had to stifle our laughter because it was the FINALE, with Tony dying (some would say he died on opening night...), and Maria crying and everyone all sad and shit. And here we are guffawing like it's The Producers or something. So I think that brings to THREE the number of theaters who WILL NEVER, EVER HIRE ME AGAIN BECAUSE OF MY BAD ATTITUDE!

After each show someone some band member knew would come back stage and talk to the band and say "What the fuck was that? That's not only the worst production of WSS I ever saw, it's the worst production of any show I ever saw!" Except for a friend of mine who's a director who said that as ghastly as WSS was, it was still a gazillion times better than the production of Evita this company did a few years back that I played for. That was the show where a little old lady sitting riiiiight in front of the orchestra leaned over to me while I was playing, and said "Honey, can you tell the orchestra to turn down a little?"

I think Tom, the good keyboard player, said it best when he said, "Well, guys. We did it. An orchestra show with a Godspell pit."

Oh, and to add insult to injury. The producer gives me my check and says "You can't cash it until Wednesday."

Two beers left to go...

Er...I mean, two acts left to go. Only one show left of WSS. Thank God for small favors. The audience reviews are in and it's two thumbs down, for sure.

At any rate, pit musician and friend of the band, Bridget, came to last night's show with a box of those liquer candies - you know the little chocolates that are filled with Jack or Kahlua or SoCo, etc. She called it the pit survival kit. So we eat those during the show. Last night at the bar I sat at a seat and there was right in front of me a bar chip - you know, good for a free drink. So I pocket it, because times are hard and getting harder, and I came to Buffalo with only 11 bucks in my pocket, and it has to last.

So I use it today during intermission, saving myself 3 friggin' bucks. Then Alan and I decide we want wings after the show, so we tell the barkeep at intermission to put in our order at 10:15. A double order of Garlic Parm, extra Garlic. Yeah, baby. So we play the second act, and at the finale, the "musical director" gives us our downbeat and leaves, because he has some fag fundraiser to go to. Lo and behold, the three of us play, and we are thrilled to finally have a GROOVE! Syncopation, a little bossa nova beat, and a steady tempo. I'm so excited, I get a little wet-on. We do a little snoopy dance when we are finished. Then we pack up.

But before we go to the bar for our wings, Alan says, Leah, follow me... hmmmm...I go to his car and he brings out Guinness, which I can't stand. Too rich for this girl. He pours a glass and says "Hold this"! Then he pours a mixture of Kahlua, Bailey's and Jack in a shot glass. He makes another one for himself. We drop the shot into the beer, let it sit, then guzzle the beer. It's called a Car Bomb. And the sweet liquer cuts the strong Guinness taste, and it's very yummy. Then we go to the bar for our wings and sit at an empty seat. And right there in front of me is a Cold, Full Labatts Blue. "Whose beer is this?" I ask the bimbo barkeep. And she looks at me like "Duh, someone who's sitting there". And I'm like, duh, well who the fuck is sitting here? So I decide that if that beer isn't claimed in 10 minutes it's mine, and if someone says where's my fucking beer, I'm saying I don't know. This one's mine and it ain't like this is the only blue left in the world so fuck off!

So Alan and I split the beer. Then our extra garlicky wings come, and we are loving life. I give Alan my last 8 bucks, some of which comes from underneath the seat of my car, and we pay the bill and go home. Fat, happy, and reeking of garlic. Yum!!!

One show left tomorrow. Probably no drinking. I think I need a 12-step program after this show. And a treadmill.

Quote of the Day

"It's such an effort being you."

- Kelly, to me.

The National Organization for Who?

The National Organization for Women has once again showed itself for what it really is: A party-line mouthpiece for the Democratic Party dedicated solely to its own agenda, and not as a supporter of women.

Here in Rochester, NY, N.O.W. has endorsed Bill Johnson for County Executive and Mike Green for District Attorney. Both men are Democrats. Both are running against women. Both women are Republicans.

It seems to me that an organization supposedly dedicated to the advancement of women in society would support women running for office. Or support women in general, regardless of their political affiliation.

Nearly 20 years ago, when Anita Hill was boo-hooing over the fact that Republican Clarence Thomas mentioned the words "pubic hair" in her presence, NOW was all over that issue hard. But where were they when Juanita Broderick claimed that Bill Clinton raped her? Or when any of the other gazillion women made sexual harrasment claims again him? In the oval office, blowing him with Monica, that's where.

I heard the news of these two endorsements on the radio. Just now I've just spent a half hour searching several area N.O.W sites and can't find any information on who else they've endorsed in local elections. The only endorsement I can find on Rochester NOW's site is of Bill Johnson, and that's it. I've sent an email requesting the info. We'll see what comes back.

In case you're wondering, Maggie Brooks (the current Monroe County Clerk) is running for County Executive, and Ann Marie Taddeo is running for D.A. Can't find websites for either one of them. In fact, in an upcoming rant, I'll probably bitch about what a crappy job the local parties do in providing candidate info on their websites. Been to both the Dem and GOP sites and their ain't much there.

Perhaps my friend Julia, political news maven, could help?

West Side Story #4

Tonight we didn't suck as bad. Which ain't saying much. We were less than mediocre. And the most obnoxious thing is that tonight we played "Cool" as best as we ever had, which was still only barely okay, i.e. there wasn't a train wreck. And when we finished, the musical director was huffing and puffing and beaming and smiling as though he himself had just finished a gold-medal figure-skating performance. Because for him, mediocre is excellent. But for the rest of us, it just means that we didn't suck as hard as we have been. And the reason it went as well as it did is because the three musicians in the pit have rehearsed the song without him, so we know what goes where and how to fit it all together. Meaning we keep it together and he finds us. Mediocre is definitely an improvement. But it's still bad. And that ain't acceptable to us. But what are ya gonna do? A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

Another openin', another show!

Well, to say we sucked would be kind. I would have blogged so much more, except that out of the blue my sweetie called to say she was on her way to Buffalo! So she came to visit overnight and hung until the afternoon. What a nice surprise! Kind of makes all the WSS torture bearable. That, and the "band meetings" at the bar between acts.

West Side Story #3

Don't know if any of you were planning on coming to this show, but let me say this: Don't. Save your time and money.

Only come to this show if:

1) You're related to someone in the cast and they can do no wrong in your eyes.
2) You like watching bad theater in the same way you like watching bad "B" movies.

On a ligher note, the band has started a new tradition. Old tradition #1: Twizzlers. In every show. Old tradition #2: Junk food of all sorts, especially chocolate, that the rhythm section eats while playing, while at the same time making fun of the wind players who cannot eat while playing their instruments. New tradition: Drinking between acts!

There's a bar literally right outside of the stage left back door, and Alan and I don't play the last 40-50 measures of the final song of Act 1. So as soon as we're done playing, we sneak out the back door and run to the bar where we order drinks for ourselves and the rest of the pit. We have 10 minutes to slam them down. As Alan says, the only time you'll ever see musicians RUN is on their way to the bar! Alan has particularly good rants about this wretched show. Please visit his blog.

I don't know what else to say about this show that hasn't already been said in my previous post. Times 10. This ranks one step behind MacSuds, except that Suds was completely and totally cursed, while this show is just badly done from the top down. I just keep telling myself it's $300 bucks and it's better than serving papers.

Except I will say this. Today Alan, my boyfriend, made Muddy Buddies, and I love him for it.

West Side Story #2

Rules for putting together an excellent musical production of West Side Story

1) Be sure to cast a male lead character who isn't tone deaf and who can act.

2) Do not cast a boy who looks Puerto Rican to play Riff, the leader of the white gang.

3) The choreographer should not choreograph the show using the CD performed by the NY Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein himself, then expect the half-assed, four-piece pit band made up of part-time musicians to play to that level. If we could, we'd be playing with the NY Phil, not rotting in Buffalo.

4) The director should never, ever scream at the cast and band hysterically at the top of her lungs threatening to cancel the show because she can't hear the singers over the band when we're all miked through a sound system and the sound tech is sitting on his fat ass right behind her.

5) The producers should start putting the band in the orchestra pit in the front of the house instead of backstage, and not cater to the morons in the first row who complain that the music is too loud. Instead, warn patrons that the first row of seats is right on top of the pit and the music may be loud, and they may prefer a different seat. Also, take a moment to teach them that the closer they are to a sound source, the louder it is.

6) The music director should:

-accept his own limitations as a pianist and hire one who can play this infernally difficult score.
-be able to count.
-remember that he is a singer and dancer, not a musician, and take as much advice as he can from the musicians in the pit.
-not show up to rehearsal 4 days before opening night saying we don't have a bass player and think we can find one. Any bass player who can learn this score in 4 days is already gigging somewhere else.
-not try to make a four-piece band sound like an orchestra. He should rework the score to make it sound like a grooving small ensemble and highlight the important musical themes.
-not keep telling the band "that's the tempo on the CD" when the band keeps telling him the tempo is too fast and doesn't sound musical. Again, that CD is the NY Phil, and they know how to groove. This band cannot groove at that tempo.
-advocate for the music and not cater to the dancing or action. He should insist the action and dancing cater to the music.



A word on the word MUSICAL:

The first five letters of that word say it all. It's about the MUSIC. If you put together a musical and you don't have a band, well, that would just be silly, right? Similarly, if you put together a musical and you don't put the emphasis on the music, you may as well not have any music. The end result is the same -- suckass. The chorographer may decide that she wants a dance to go at breakneck speed, but if the music sounds stupid at that speed, then too bad for her. You don't play a shuffle blues prestissimo. You don't swing a funeral march. You don't play a Tarantella at Derge tempo. IT'S ABOUT THE MUSIC, PEOPLE! Start from the music and build your show from there.

West Side Story #1

Well, we had a band rehearsal Monday and then we got into the theater last night with the cast. Tech week is always a nightmare for many reasons, but of course my MAIN PEEVE OF LIFE continues to taunt me, and that is: THERE ISN'T A SOUND ENGINEER IN THE WORLD WHO 1) KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK HE'S DOING and 2) ISN'T DEAF!

These morons think that because they buy a sound system and learn how to plug it in and turn the knobs, that means they know how to shape sound. Have you ever studied music? Have you ever played an instrument that required nuance and dynamics (not one that came with Marshall stacks), have you learned about the EQ spectrum? Phasing? The proximity effect? The direction certain frequencies travel? Do you know a crossover from a hangover? A cardioid from a hemorrhoid?

So last night we're running through the show and we can't hear the singers because our backstage monitor isn't working. So I go out to the house to listen through the house speakers and you can't hear any of the band except the piano. And there's this horrible, loud hum in one of the speakers buzzing through the whole house. And I'm wondering why nobody is saying anything to the "sound guy". And all night we keep telling him we can't hear the singers, so we don't know where we are and can't follow them. And the producer says "Well, we're not worried about sound tonight". And the band is all like, well, WE ARE! And I'M thinking well, what the fuck else does the sound guy have to do tonight???? Is he painting sets, doing lights, sewing costumes? No. He's sitting up there in the sound booth staring into space. HE'S A SOUND GUY. He has one fucking job!!! It's tech week. That means the technical stuff gets done. Give us some good, clean sound, people!

Okay, having said that, let me end with this. I have one job to do and it's to play guitar. And right now I'm stinking up the joint. So I'm gonna go practice. See youse!

Today's silly quip

Jillina: Do you feel like you're losing it?
Me: No, I feel I never really had it.

On the road again...

Sort of. Going to Buffalo all week for West Side Story, which I suspect will be completely horrendous. There will be blogs-a-plenty on this, I'm sure. I'm already having anxiety dreams about it, and we haven't even started rehearsing! Last night I dreamt that I drove to Buffalo in time for rehearsal and realized that not only did I forget to pack any concert blacks, I forgot to bring/take my guitars!

But, Farris was with me! Go figure.

I'll keep y'all posted on this latest musical adventure. Perhaps even tonight after rehearsal. Let me just put it this way. Let's say you're a surgeon. You have the simplest of procedures, like burning a wart off a hand. Then you have, say, a heart/lung transplant. West Side Story is the heart/lung transplant of musicals. And let's just say that Frank Burns is doing the surgery.

Is is tacky to make myself the Quote of the Day?

While watching the Bills today some player from the Bengals got hurt and they took him off on a spine board. Looked pretty serious so the Bengals teammates got on their knees to say a prayer, which led to my quip:

"When they're not doing drugs and raping women, they're on the knees praying to Jesus."

And the point was?

I went to see The Swimming Pool last night, and I'm sorry, but what the fuck? I shouldn't have to work this hard to get it. Now, I'm not a dumbass and, in fact as a songwriter, can usually see right through the most heavily couched metaphor. But this was way over my head. The movie ended and I was all, "Wha'fuck?"

I had to have someone else explain it to me. It would have been okay I guess IF the director didn't do such a boring job, or IF he'd made more metaphor of the swimming pool itself, or IF there weren't so many flaws in the script, or IF the director didn't make it look like something else was going to happen, such as the authoress (lead character) being set up for a murder. And they alluded to some relationship between the authoress and her publisher, but let that drop like a lead zeppelin. No conflict, no awkward moment, no passion. It's too bad, too, because the authoress was a very intriguing character: Bitter, uptight, impatient, and unyielding, yet complex. Remind you of anyone you know?

Anyway, the best part of the night was the theater itself. It's a little Indie theater and there's a black tabby cat who lives there, and he slept on MY lap the whole movie! Awww. Bibo kitty loving me up! Poor Kelly, because I couldn't hold her hand much, since I had to hold the kitty securely on my lap. Couldn't "cough" while surreptitiously reaching my arm around her shoulder. None of that romantic movie stuff.

So there ya have it. Anyone else see the movie? Did you get it, did you like it?

Chocolate is the best medicine

So in addition to all that chocolate that Marty bought me on Tuesday....

I came home yesterday to find a little gift bag waiting here for me from Kelly. A little get-well cheer. Filled with those fancy-schmancy chocolate bars. We ain't talkin' Hershey's here, folks (not that there's anything wrong with that!)

1 Large Toblerone bar
1 Sarotti Truffle bar
1 Cote d'Or Sensations - Intense Belgian Milk & Dark Chocolate Bar
1 Ghirardelli Chocolate/Almond bar
AND
1 Ragusa chocolate bar with praline filling and hazelnuts.

And may I just say, if you've NEVER had one of these Ragusa bars, RUN OUT IMMEDIATELY AND GET ONE!!!!!! These are the most orgasmic things you'll ever taste.

Who knew Kelly was a chubby chaser? 'Cause that's what I'll be when I'm done eating all these things in the next 10 minutes. If you were all here, I'd share them with you. Really.

You guys crack me up!

Well, in answer to all your hysterical comments on the last post: No, they didn't let me keep the alien baby. I had to give it up for adoption to the pathologist. They didn't even give me a damn picture of it, even though I asked for one. Yes, pinky, you can make art out of it. I have the original sonogram here. Or did you mean "it" literally? The only reason I could still enjoy the X-Files after Scully and Mulder were mostly gone was because Annabeth Gish is a babe. I never had a sex dream about Krycek, but I did have one with Gillian, Annabeth AND Lucy Lawless, all in the same dream, I swear to GOD I am not making that up.

After my surgery my friend Charlene picked me up from the hospital, being all loopy as I was, and she babysat me. Made me soup, brought me water, let me sleep, chatted in general and kept me company. Then her wife Katie came. Then Marty got home and he and Char made dinner: Chicken Pesto Pasta...yuuummmm....They all drank beer in my presence, mocking me because I couldn't. But they made up for it when Marty said "We need chocolate". And out he went to Wegmans to buy a chocolate mousse cake with ganache frosting, as well as two bags of Hershey's Treasures! Then we played Euchre while eating candy, and all was well with the world. I was truly feeling the love.

Drove home today and I feel really good, thank the good lord jesus, because I was a little paranoid about hemorraging again. But I think I'm over it.

See youse soon!

Have a cigar!

Well, I've birthed my alien baby, and Dana Scully didn't show up. Not even under the veil of anesthesia. Oh well. But I'm up and around. Didn't have any problems, started eating as soon as I got home, including a fabu chocolate mousse cake that my buddy Marty bought for me, no pain, discomfort, nausea, crop circles, etc. etc. Was just a little shaky on my feet for a few hours after I got home, being all loopy and stuff. But I'm better now, and will drive home tomorrow.

Never saw the doctor after the surgery though, so I guess no news is good news. I'll talk to him in a week or so for the pathology report, which should confirm that this was indeed an alien baby and not say... that nasty black oil that infects you to which only that bastard Krycek has the cure.

So, does anyone else miss the X-Files?

Eek!

Okay, I just got a call from the doctor, and he wants to change my surgery date from Thursday to TOMORROW! Say goodbye to my alien baby!

Quote of the Day

"We had this guy come into the clinic and he was so happy and positive about EVERYthing. Everything was just great and wonderful. It was annoying. I mean, where's the joy in that?"

- Kelly



HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Observations on Canada

Well, I can't really say Canada, per se, because I've only ever been to Ontario (well, to Quebec once, but they don't count. They act like they're their own country). Then again, I'm really basing these observations on the area I've been coming to since December, which is Kitchener-Waterloo. So I guess these are really observations about one region of Canada. And I mean no disrespect to my Maritime blog-buddy, Marc!


1) Seems like all Canadians are blond and fair-skinned. The one's that aren't are clearly foreigners from another country with an accent and everything, or are....me.

2) Across the board, whenever you order take-out food, they never, EVER get the order right.

3) There are alot of bad teeth up here.

4) They drive like little old Florida ladies on regular roads, but on the highway they'll mow yer ass down.

5) There are not alot of diners up here.

6) They have the nerve to make fun of my accent.

7) They have the best beer ever.

Need a tissue for your issue?

Greetings, all, from beautiful Canada. We've mixed three songs so far... 9 to go.

But I thought I'd just give you this little rant. Check out this first line from an e-mail I got.

It's ______, Remember me? i'm the one who asked you out for coffee a few months ago and you turned me down...
because you are focusing on your career :) We talked about you performing at _______ a few months ago and I'm wondering if you're available in November.....

D'YA THINK SHE HAS ISSUES????

She didn't say "Remember me? We talked about you performing here in the past. Sorry for the delay in getting back to you..." Or "Remember me? We sat together at so-and-so's concert in Ithaca..." No. Hi Leah. I'm the girl you turned down and you're damn right I ain't over it!

Good lord, people. Just calm down, already, all of you! I've already run into TWO women I turned down while out with Kelly. In fact, one of those women had also asked Kelly out at one time and had also been turned down. So, imagine her attitude when she saw the both of us clearly together! That was entertaining, I must say. Poor thing.

Well, anyway, just felt like ranting that. Not really a rant though. Actually I find it all amusing. I could have told them the TRUTH about why I was turning each down, but that would be, well, cruel frankly. And even I don't have that in me.

Be back soon. If any of you locals feel like checking in on Mary Rose, she's house/cat sitting for me! No wild parties! But you can drink my beer.

Smooches!

Blogging for blogging's sake...

...because I can't stand that jerk's picture anymore, I needed to push it down the page a little.

Random thoughts:

* I'm going to Canada to mix the CD and I'll be gone two weeks. I don't know if I'll get a chance to blog. You never know.
* I have too much to do, only one day to do it, and I'm getting all anxious and neurotic about it.
* My booking agent talks too much about ideas that aren't in the realm of booking, and hasn't actually done any booking.
* I'm tired of getting screwed by people.
* I need a new car.
* I wish people would just take the bull by the damn horns, instead of calling me and asking me how to do it, or worse yet, asking ME to do it. Nike's slogan is "Just do it". Leah's slogan is "Just fucking do it yourself!"
* My mom makes really good soup.
* Farris wants me to feed him. RIGHT NOW!

So, I gotta go.

Addendum to the post below...

Here's a photo of the freak who did the penis sling dance. Except in this photo, he's wearing clothes and is doing some other dance with a lofty, indecipherable message.



Read the following post for the full story. And yes, I used this photo from the D&C without permission. So sue me.

Art for ego's sake.

You know what I don't like about most grass roots art? It's usually pretentious and self-serving. And if you have to EXPLAIN your work to me, then you've failed as an artist. Shouldn't the art speak for itself?

That being said, Kelly and I went to Artwalk today in Rochester. What a weird day. The whole event was a testament to mediocrity, yet I still had a great time, probably because the whole thing was so bizarre and well, laughable.

Firstly, it wasn't the type of street festival where you walk along and experience whatever is happening as you go. No. The organizers had arranged it so you went to one thing at a time: "Okay, direct your attention here while we make boring speeches patting ourselves on the back. Okay, now go over there and listen to this poet, or that singer, or whatnot..." I'm not sure I liked having my artistic experience dictated to me, especially if I didn't like the performance.

There was an African drumming/dancing troupe (with a bunch of non-African/white people in it) who was great. Then one of my favorite groups, The Hayseeds, performed, and did they give them a sound system? No. The boring poets were blasted for blocks, but this hysterical satire on white trash bluegrass couldn't be heard for five feet. Then there was this "dancer" who "choreographed" a piece which was nothing more than him practically naked (only wore flesh colored underwear), hooked up in a sling so he's suspended horizontally in the air, writhing about in said sling to the song "Please Release Me". I laughed my ass off thinking it was a sarcastic statement of bitter heartbreak, but then Kelly said she didn't think he meant it to be funny. Hmm...that didn't even cross my mind because it was so fucking absurd. Not to mention his big huge distracting basket poking out from the sling. Giving himself a big hard-on over his own stupid performance. Egomaniac.

Then there was the belly-dancing troupe. Except for one stunningly gorgeous woman who danced beautifully, the rest were middle-aged, out-of-shape, hefty women with bare midriffs. Two of the women were wearing costumes that concealed their bellies, and a little girl behind me said to her mom "They're not wearing the belly shirts". And her mom said, "No, they're old! They won't be wearing those". And oh yeah! The pretentious dance by the dancer doing the "womb" dance within a diamond of branches and leaves.

THEN, my friend's duo was playing in front of a big audience, and they'd just started their third song when the music organizer interrupted her while she was singing and told her they had to stop because some poet had to read. How rude. So after that they started their set again but now they had no audience. And in the middle of the same song, the sound system started blasting Spyro Gyra or some 80's fusion band like that. Well, they just packed up and left, and I don't blame them. That was beyond infuriating and rude treatment for a free gig.

But the best part of the day was the grand finale. And I don't mean this sarcastically, I truly loved it: Four payloaders and 10 dancers. The payloaders, decorated festively, did this whole choreography with each other with the dancers accenting the dance. It was fun and fresh and unique and just plain lighthearted. Brilliant, I thought.

And no beer to be bought anywhere.

General bitch.

1) Full Moon last night, still feeling the effects.
2) Moon in Aries today.
3) Mercury in retrograde.
4) Can't get shit done, no matter how much I work, I still never get to the bottom of the pile.
5) Stuck on lyrics for a new song.
6) My brother never fucking pays me for work done on time and I have to wait and wait and wait. That's nice for him in his quarter-of-a-million-dollar house, but I'm out of money.
7) I'm out of money.
8) Producer changed the studio dates on me, now my mom and I are gone at the SAME time and now I have to board the cats.
9) Farris is now incontinent.
10) I am totally neurotic, more uptight than I thought, high maintenance, and I need to get the fuck over myself.


Don't get me wrong. Despite all this, I'm not feeling badly. Just a little stressed and overwhelmed.

Quote of the week

Me: Must cramp your style, me living with my mom.
Kelly: Better than a husband!

Hey, I'm back!

1) Finished recording all the parts in Canada last week. The CD sounds FUCKING AWESOME! I go back next week to mix it, master it, then I can get it manufactured. Woo hoo!

2) Hung with my girls this weekend at a friend's cottage. These are my Buffalo buds, and once a year we get together at the cottage for girls' weekend which involves much drinking, boating, and tarot card reading. Last year's tarot reading basically said, "dump the girl you're dating". This year's said "You're finally about to get some payback, and it's about fucking time". Well, I may have added the last part of that sentence. Funniest moment of the weekend:

We were talking to our friend Lisa who has, I am not making this up, West Nile Virus. And Katie was talking to her about it and said "Isn't it true that now that you've had it, you can never get it again?" And Debbie (a/k/a G.O.D.) said "Isn't it true that once your leg has been amputated, it can never be amputated again?" Well christ, I literally hit the ground I was laughing so damn hard. Debbie is about the funniest woman I know, and when I'm around her I have to wear depends or something, because she makes ya laugh so hard you can't help but piss yourself.

3) Things with Kelly are going smashingly. Did I mention I really, really, really like her? Big surprise to me this whole thing, but good. Really good.

4) Here's about the only thing that will ever grow in my uterus:



Follow the lines: The red line outlines my uterus. The blue line outlines the POLYP that is growing there. Maybe it's one of those cool dermoid cysts that has teeth and hair and eyeballs on it. Wouldn't that be cool? Too bad they wouldn't let me keep it. I could put it on a shelf with it's cyclop eyeball staring at people, and I could name it "Belial". Just like in Basket Case.

Anyway, I go get it taken out Oct. 2.

So, what's up with all of you?

The big date that wasn't!

Well, it was, just not quite like we planned it.

A couple of weeks ago Kelly asked me to accompany her on this boat cruise that was hosted by AIDS Rochester to benefit "Helping People With AIDS". Sure, I said! Tickets weren't cheap and it was a big homo event, so I planned on dressing to the nines. So lemme just tell you people: I tweezed. I shaved. I Naired. I waxed. I clipped. I trimmed. I showered. I brushed all my teeth. I even went shoe shopping.

So I'm all a-primping for two hours, like any good femme, and I'm all ready and shit. Even wearing earrings, people! I'm talking girdles, stockings and slips. You get the picture?

So we get to the launch location of the ship (The Harbor Belle), and "Joyce", the docent of the Harbor Belle greets us, wearing this lime green dress from 1964, complete with stains all over the front. She's half in the bag. "The ride will be delayed for an hour, as the Stutson St. bridge is stuck and the ship can't get under it to return to the dock." So there are some groans as we realize we will miss the beautiful sunset on the lake. But troopers that we are, we see this as a great opportunity to go drinking, which we do. Later we head back to the boat launch and nobody is there. Except Joyce. Who is now totally in the bag and lighting up a Marlboro. "The ride has been cancelled. The Coast Guard had to rescue the people off the boat and it's still stuck in the bay. But the party has been moved to 3028 East Ave." Then someone else says, "What's that address?" And she says "3208". And I say, what's that address again, because you just said something else. She says 3208. It's now a house party at some gay boy named Tim's house.

We head for the house, but decide we are damn hungry by now, and we roll through the Wendy's drive-thru for cheesburger's in our Saturday evening finest. Somehow I managed not to spill food on myself. We scarfed down the chow and headed for the party.

Now, I'm gonna make a long story short and skip to the part where dozens of lesbians are traveling up and down East Ave. for an hour looking for an address that doesn't exist. We try 3028, 3208, 3280, 3820. I call my brother, who works in the legal field, to do a skip trace. He can't find anything either. Now I do crap like this all the time as a process server, looking for addresses that don't exist and trying to guess the correct one. I think maybe it's 328? But we've had enough guessing and decide to go to a gay martini bar and drink some more. We get there and there are about 6 fags hanging there, so Kelly just says, anybody know Tim with HPA? Well, of course, someone does, and tells us "It's 328 East Ave." Never trust a drunk docent wearing dirty old clothes.

So we find the party, and it's 100 fagolas, 9 dykes, and one drag queen. And stale booze. And little finger foods that have been manhandled by little gay boys who are probably strippers at Muther's homo bar. But the booze is free, so we take advantage of that. We girls all chat, then decide we've had enough.

But I gotta say, it was still a fun adventure, we still had a nice evening, and we looked FABulous! See for yourself.

The Universe has a cruel sense of humor

So I always see the number 1111. And recently I heard that if you see it in time format, it's a blessing from the universe and everything is working in your favor and you have a whole minute to ask for what you want. So the other day I glance at the clock and it's 11:11 a.m. So I'm thinking I need money really bad. But I didn't want money with crap attached, like money from friends who then hold it over you, or borrowed money or credit card money, etc. I'm thinking the lottery would be nice, or a benefactress who loves my music. But I didn't specify that. I just asked for it like this: "I need easy money that has no strings attached".

So last night I'm logging a bunch of receipts into my ledger, and out of the blue this little piece of paper falls out among them. Here is that little piece of paper:



I suppose someone is laughing, but it ain't me.

Board shorts?

What the fuck are board shorts? Ya'll act like I know something about clothes and fashion styles.

Well, kayaking went well, anyway. It was really beautiful and peaceful going along these marshes. I saw a couple of painted turtles and swans and great blue herons. I looked like a loser but what can I say? Her friends couldn't come after all, so it was just us, and she seems to think I look good, but she wears glasses. Lust is blind, what can I say?

So, someone send me a photo of board shorts.

Kayaking.

She wants to go kayaking.

Now keep in mind that this body of mine is the result of years of cultivating the perfect musician's body: pasty and flabby. Years of greasy foods and beer; sleeping in the day and gigging at night. But now, this. Kayaking. With a couple of her friends. Oh, the humanity!

I don't even own a pair of shorts.

What I do have are those skin tight athletic shorts that you wear to work out in and jeans. Can't kayak in jeans. So I have to do the fat girl thing: Wear those athletic shorts, which hug every dimple, and put on a big ol' t-shirt to cover the fat ass and love handles. And lemme just say there's a reason why I cover these legs of mine all the time. It ain't pretty on any day of the week.

I've finally reached the point where people say "She has such a pretty face".

Perhaps I can keep my dignity by drowning.

Cyber Menopause

I have no period

This is to say, in the punctuation sense

Remember the beer incident of yesterday, whereby my little Puddy's tail knocked over my beer onto my computer keyboard while I was picking her up?

Today the keys are a little sticky, except for the period

It is stuck completely

Hence, no period

So where do I begin?

Well, I guess I'll take it one topic at a time.

Never DID make it to NYC, thank the good lord jesus about that. But you already read that posting. So the next night I'm in Worcester, MA playing at the Java Hut. May I say in my best Bette Davis voice "Wh-at a dump!" And what a waste of a gig. They let people smoke in public in MA. What a concept. But here's the brilliant part of it: Massachusetts, who surpasses NY in it's ability to tax its citizens up the ass and back again, has figured out a way to make MONEY off smokers, unlike NY, who just across the board said "BAD children! You can't smoke anywhere anymore because we say it's bad for you!". But MA has brilliantly decided that if you want to allow smoking in your establishment, you must now get a license to be considered a "smoking emporium" which costs lotso money. Kind of like a liquor license. So Java Hut had smokers blowing in my face and all.

I got there soooo early, like by 2:00, and the gig wasn't until 9. So after I set up my sound system, I just hung around forever, wasting time and being bored. I checked out the two town newspapers to see if they'd listed my gig. One listed it on the wrong night. And there weren't too many people there, but there were 3 people who totally loved me, yay. One of them was this really nice young woman who made a collage (while I was performing) that related to my performance and music and me in general, even though she didn't know me. And let me say how kind of psychic she was! She gave me the collage and when I scan it I'm gonna put it up at my website - maybe here too. I got $11.00 in tips. That's it. Oh, and they fed me up to $8.00 worth of food. Never mind that the coffees are like 5 bucks. Whatever.

Anyway, I tore down my system so friggin fast and loaded up. It was about midnight and I just hit the road, headed back to Ra-cha-cha. I drove until 3:00 a.m., high on the Mocha Mudslide Smoothie with the double hit of espresso until I had to stop. I pulled into a roadside station along the thruway and slept in the back seat of the car. I felt like that Dixie Chicks song where she says "Living out of tip jars, sleeping in my car". At 7:00 a.m. I was back on the road and got home around 11:00 a.m.

I hit the sack for a couple of hours, then went to my gramma's for dinner. Then I met up with Kelly (the vet...) and we hung out for awhile. She graciously offered for me to bring my cats to her clinic the next day for boarding. I was supposed to take them to a boarder who lives an hour away. Her clinic is around the damn block. Wasn't that nice? Ya see, my mommy is on vacation and I was heading to Canada the next day to work on the CD, so these high maintenance sicko kitties needed some help, ya know?

Then I went to Canada the next day and we put the keyboards down and it was fabulous, and that's all I need to say about that. Because I just spilled beer all over my computer keyboard and now I have to clean it up. Beer at 3:00 in the afternoon? Why not? It's Friday. And it's beer-thirty!

See ya!

Sorry, Everybody!

It's my fault. I caused the blackout.

Well, not caused it, per se, rather manifested it. Because I SO did not want to go to NYC. I was totally neurotic about it. I'm sorry, but I just don't think NYC is the great city everyone thinks it is. What? Paying 2K a month to live in a shoebox surrounded by 10 gazillion people? Spending a quarter of your life waiting in line or in traffic? Not being able to get from point A to point B in under 15 minutes? See, everyone thinks NYC is soooo great because there's Broadway and great food and diversity and great shopping, blah blah blah. But to me, what makes a city great is its quality of life, not what you can buy. I can get great food of any kind here. I can shop at Nordstrums or Macy's in White Plains. I can see excellent theater when the National Tours come to my hometown. I could own a mansion for 2K a month.

So, the thought of going into NYC with my gear and having to drive through Manhattan traffic, hoping I find a place somewhat nearby to park, having to pay 20 bucks to park, walking how many blocks several times to get my gear loaded in, then praying to god neither my car nor my gear gets stolen or vandalized was just too much for my nerves to take. And for weeks I've just kept saying, God, I wish I didn't have to do this gig. Man I hate gigging in NYC, I wish I didn't have to do it. So...then this little blackout thing.

Now the positive way to have manifested not having to do this gig would have been to, oh, say, get a call to open up for the Indigo Girls or something like that. But, no, Miss Negativity has to be all dramatic and take half the East Coast with her. Well, so, like I said: Sorry.

But on the bright side, I was staying with my friend Melinda in New Paltz, and she had a gig tonight, and when I got the call that the gig was cancelled, she dragged me along on her gig, a little campfire thing at this beyond-swanky castle resort called Mohonk. La-di-friggin-da! And we sang campfire songs and ate s'mores and I made 50 bucks, which was more than I would have made at this NYC gig.

So, sorry about the blackout, but it all worked out for me! And you all wanted a long weekend, anyway.

I have so much to say...

But I won't.

SEE-YA

Gone for a few days, then back for half a minute, then off to NYC and Worcester. Then home for a whole minute, then back to Canada. Gonna be a rough 10 days for this old lady.

In the meantime, here's a place I'D like to go! Who's with me????

A new blog for you all....

Hi Everyone! Just wanted to let you know about a new blog by a friend of mine. She's a theater-mama who is also undergoing chemo treatments and may I say, she is kicking ass. Never met anyone with resolve like hers. Anyway, her blog is called Cancerggrl (she's born under the sign of cancer, too...). Go read and offer her some lovin'.

You can also see this cool website I designed for her....The Ellen Fund. We used it to raise funds for her from the theater community in Buffalo.

See youse!

I pick the strangest things to be optimistic about

It's this whole music scene that makes me so bitter in the first place. But every time I go do a gig I expect it to be all rosy and perfect, like everyone has promised, and I never cease to be disappointed. So why do I always expect the best? I don't get it.

I'm talking about this NYC gig this weekend called Est Fest. It was three days of chick rockers, blah blah. And of course I wasn't being paid because it was for charity, and I'd been told the following: It was sponsored by Women Who Rock magazine and they'd be there; WLIR (big radio station) was going to be broadcasting all about it and would have representatives at the show; there was going to be all kinds of press on it; a couple of indie radio programs would spin my CD and promote all the singers and the event. And it was all for charity. I was told to send CD's to get to the radio stations and to send posters and they'd hang them at the venue, which I did, immediately.

So a few days before I leave I get the playlists from the two indie radio stations. One doesn't mention Est Fest at all, let alone play my CD. The other plays only two of the singers on his show and mentions they'd be at Est Fest. No mention of me.

The show starts at 8:00, so I get there at 6:30. Not a single one of my posters is to be found, let alone any poster about Est Fest. In the lobby are about 5 different arts magazines. I grab one of each to look for press material. Nothing. Not a single, stinking article or ad save for the single ad the venue itself took out, advertising the "ESP Festival". No psychics here. No brain surgeons, either. Not even a mention of the performers.

So the show starts late. An hour late. The sound guy is a fucking deaf moron who clearly believes that all chick singers don't know dick about sound and should be completely ignored. I didn't bother to tell him who my father was. Dick. That is, my father. His name was Dick. Back in the days when the perfectly acceptable diminutive form of "Richard" was "Dick". But I digress.

The show starts late. Act one goes on. Then me. There are 20 people in the audience who care, but they're all part of the festival. The other 50 are drunk Long Island bimbos trying to get laid by dumbass boys who have had too many happy meals. Whatever. They could give a shit about the...singers? Oh, there are singers? Anyway, it's almost my turn and the emcee tells me, well, we're running late so I have to be a bad girl about the clock and try to get us back on track with the time. And I say, "I've been here since 6:30. I was here on time, and I'm not cutting my set".

Perhaps they should have called it the "Mediocre performers with undeserved big attitudes" Fest. Can I just tell you about this one band that was soooo fucking bad? Not gonna mention their name, but this band sucked so hard, the chick couldn't carry a tune, and her drummer couldn't keep time, and the guitarists were awful. One of them was so bad it looked as though he'd been playing for like 3 months. Even his body was stiff as a board, nothing musical in there. He couldn't tune his guitar, he couldn't keep time, his solos were beyond abyssmal, and these people are getting gigs. Wanna know why???? SAY IT WITH ME PEOPLE!! The lead chick singer is hot. So who listens? Music, a listening art? Don't be silly. She's all with her combo Natalie Merchant/Mary Ramsey wannabe style, her skinny body, her short skirt and fishnet stockings, all writhing on the floor and being all sexified. Well, apparently they all think she's sexy, ergo, talented. To me, a girl who can sing in tune is sexy, no matter what she looks like.

The only light in the night was Nicola. She is so fucking phenomenal. Go check her out. Even my set was mediocre. Guitar wouldn't stay in tune, again. Screwed up my patches on my processor. Sang the songs too fast and never found the groove. Whatever.

And not once in the evening did the emcee mention any charity. Not once. But at least Women Who Rock magazine showed up, and the woman representing them was very nice. And the owner of the venue was nice. That's a rarity. Didn't sell a single CD.

And I get to do it all again next weekend.