Not enough work and no play makes me a dull boy

The past five years I have gigged more than I thought humanly possible.  I’m averaging five gigs a week, but there are weeks in which I work every night, and sometimes I will have doubles, plus the occasional triple. Throw in teaching and sundry other projects and it makes for a full schedule.  Not only that, I have to practice every day.

Last week I had three nights off (not in a row) which was a rarity.  You would think I would relish the free time.  Instead I practiced more, took care of some errands, and moped.

The dating sites I’m on are annoying me.  I never knew that so many women were into scuba diving.  I had my friend photoshop me into a scuba diving outfit but it did not help my traffic so I removed it.

The obsession with height confounds me, especially now that we’re into middle age. Why does height continue to matter so much to women?  You would think that by their 40s they would want more substantial qualities in a man, such as intelligence, to name one. By stating that they’ll only see people over 5’10” women have eliminated thousands of possible good matches.  They’re also increasing the chances of dating someone who is arrogant and feels entitled.  Tall men who are reasonably good looking never had to work that hard to get dates, consequently they never had to hone their humor skills, or even feign intelligence.

On the other hand, height aside, I’m not such a great catch.  I work every night – the last thing I want to do on my night off is go out.  Plus, these aren’t corporate dollars that are coming in over here.  My apartment is a shoe box, and as I mentioned before, I’m moody.

Plus I don’t scuba dive.

Vestibules now!

Folks, here is concrete photographic evidence of a clear and present danger in the Bay Area: An alarming lack of vestibules.

When people observe jazz in their overcoats they are not enjoying the music – they are counting the minutes until they can be reunited with their heater. Head colds and gig-related illnesses are predicted to spike in future years.

Stop the madness. #vestibulesnow!

Just another night at the office

There are so many louts at our gigs that it’s hard not to go all Stockhomy and start liking them.  When your office is a dive bar expectations had better be low or you could go crazy from frustration and aggravation.

At last night’s gig there was ultra loud couple sitting in the booth right across from the band. This guy must have been the funniest thing since Sid Caesar because every ten seconds there would be an ear-piercing cackle from his date. He had this nasal voice that could penetrate the loudest decibel, like a knife slashing through butter. We could have been Led Zeppelin and you would have heard this guy.

Needless to say they stayed the entire night. After the gig I noticed they were making out in the booth so I decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. “GET A ROOM,” I screamed. Then I approached them: “How do you like it when I intrude on your business?”

Fight the power

People we stand on the precipice of a slippery slope: Adult connect the dots books have arrived and the world is a scarier place.

Are we going to allow ourselves to be infantilized by Big Coloring Book ™ or are we going to dig deep and find the resolve to act like adults?

 

https://instagram.com/p/4pXu8Pw2ig/embed/?v=3

 

 

 

 

In his cups

Yesterday somebody climbed Trump Tower using suction cups.  Who could have been so attention starved to have attempted such a stunt?

Singer’s choice

Imagine that you are a singer living in a world that has known composers such as Duke Ellington, George Gershwin, Jerome Kern, and Richard Rodgers. Now imagine that between these (and other) composers that there are hundreds, if not thousands of great songs to choose from. Finally, imagine that from this wealth of repertoire you select Van Morrison’s Moondance.

Pokemon Go-time

I have to say that this Pokemon Go game is really dangerous. Why, I was just playing it the other day when… [Flashback music]

I’m driving to the post office when I hear a beeping coming from my phone…a Charizard! I spring into action. I’m driving into oncoming traffic, onto the sidewalk, just missing pedestrians, and I end up crashing into the dry cleaner’s window.

The next day I’m playing the ap and all of a sudden I find myself in the ladies room. Of course everybody starts screaming, “What the hell are you doing in here, you sicko?  Get Out!”

“But there’s a Squirtel…”

“WHERE?!”

Everyone whips out their phones until we discover him cowering by the XLerator.

I’m really going to have to delete this thing. It’s just not saf…WAIT! There’s one by the PGE transfer station… To the Pokemobile!

 

 

2001: The Keitho Way

I’ve always felt that 2001 A Space Odyssey would have been a much better film had I written the screenplay. Take the dawn of man scene, for instance: (In my version the monolith talks.)
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Now let me tell you something you damn, dirty apes…you think you’re hot shit sharing that water hole with these warthogs and antelopes and that rival ape tribe? Well you’re not. If you puke-faced cro magnons would cut out your humble bragging for a second and listen to me, the monolith, you might learn something.

YOU! Yeah I’m looking at you, Moongazer. Grab that bone over there and USE IT AS A WEAPON. Now go kill an antelope and before you know it you will have invented the internet. And cook the meat, for Christs sake. What are you, a Freegan? COOK THE MEAT. How? Do I have to show you nimrods everything?! WITH FIRE.

Shit, I don’t get paid enough for this gig…

 

 

My first night in New York

I arrived at JFK airports in New York City on April 10th, 1984.  I took the subway from the airport – read express A train to Manhattan –  but when it came time to change trains I discovered that the uptown IRT was out of service.  I emerged from the subway and immediately discovered the reason why:  a rain storm of biblical proportions. This was my introduction to the charm of New York weather.

I tried to hail a cab but this proved to be no easy task in midtown Manhattan during rush hour in the middle of a subway outage.  Finally I was able to share a cab with a couple of strangers and I was able to travel the mile and a half to 74th st and West End Ave in a mere 45 minutes.

My cousin, who I would be staying with until I found a place of my own, lived in the old Hotel Esplinade. I arrived, dropped my bags off and went in search of dinner. I walked a few blocks up Broadway until I came to The Pizza Joint.  There I ordered the best meatball hero I had ever tasted.  Of course this could have been me, fresh off the boat,  over-romanticizing New York.  Over the years, however, I would return to the Pizza Joint, as well as its cousin, The Burger Joint, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t make some of the best meatball heroes and burgers ever.

I returned to the Esplinade and my cousin still wasn’t home from work.  With nothing to do I sequestered myself in his bedroom and turned on his clock radio hoping to find a baseball game.  The Yankees had just finished and the Mets were off that night (Monday) so I was out of luck there.  Turning the dial I stumbled upon a Rangers/Islanders playoff game that was in overtime.  What luck!  Ten minutes later the game came to an end on an Islander goal.  All of a sudden, out of one of the adjoining bedrooms I heard this blood-curdling scream.  If I hadn’t have been listening to the game I’m sure I would have thought somebody was committing murder.  Later I would discover it was my cousin’s sullen roommate, Rothstein.

And that was my first of 9,490 nights in New York City.

The night before I moved to New York

The night before I moved to New York City I walked into the living room to discover my brother sitting by himself on the couch.  I asked him what he was doing there.  A minute went by when he said in a choked voice that he was going to miss me.  After 23 years of sharing a room, fighting for stereo supremacy, arguing over what to watch on TV, and competing in cut-throat, sibling rivalry-infused games of basketball, or whatever sport was in season, we were saying goodbye.  He broke down in tears, as did I, and we stood together in the darkened living room embracing for the first time ever.

The next day I moved to New York City where I remained for the next 26 years of my life before moving back west to Bay Area some six years ago. During that time I met my wife and we had three children.  My brother moved all over the country before settling in Chicago.  There he met his wife and had two children.

Now both of our parents are gone and those days when we were a family with all of the security and angst that went along with it are but a distant memory.  My oldest son, just as I did in my early 20s, has moved to New York City.

Time is moving too fast.