Archive for the ‘Personal History’ Category

Rock & Roll Hoochie-Koo

Wednesday, October 14th, 2009

Playing Covers in the ‘Burbs for Small Change and Big Fun

Craigslist is magic.  Where else can you find a new job, a car to get you there, an apartment to sleep in, a bed to sleep on, and a lover to sleep with — all in one place?   Craigslist is also where I found my band, by answering an ad in the Musicians community section.

I had spent a few years playing original acoustic music around town, both solo and in a trio, for free coffee and not much more.  In this market, the “good” coffeehouse is the one that puts in ten bucks of their own money to start off the tip jar.  Of course, this is the same place that double-booked my date, let me put up posters, and didn’t tell me I was frozen out until I showed up with all my gear the day of the show.

So in the fall of 2008 I was ready for something different.  Instead of playing originals for love, I wanted to play covers for money.  Instead of being an acoustic player who owned an electric guitar, I wanted to sharpen my chops and hold down my place in a four-piece band.  And I wanted the energy that comes from a group pushing and pulling together, instead of sitting alone in my living room wondering what to do next, or who would care.

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Insomnia

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

The green light of my new alarm clock
spreads, lapping at
the blackness of our room.
I am fidgeting, fluffing the pillow.
Sleep swims an elusive swell.
The lime-colored rays squirming from
those digital numbers
leech your cheeks, sagged with slumber.
You look sour,
painted that macabre green,
the lines of your face
blackened, carious.
Your arms drape like noodles
across your supine figure;
but for the hiss of breath,
an image of death.
I wish I’d opted for the red one.

Summer 1989

Monday, August 31st, 2009

One beautiful summer evening as I was driving home from work, the inside of my vehicle became the meat in a twisted three car sandwich. The resulting brain damage left me often unable to understand simple language or know the names of my children.

A few months later, a tumor in my neck needed to be removed. The surgeon spent four hours to complete an estimated ninety minute surgical prodecure removing a fibrous growth wrapped around my vocal chords. I was told that the only side affect I might suffer as a result would be the inability to sing.

Fearful that I might never sing again, I bought an accompaniment tape of a medley including this song. I was drawn to the beautiful instrumental arrangement. Daily I would sing with this tape; soon for hours. I had to read the words… I was unable to understand or memorize them. The neurologist could not reassure me that I would ever recover.

Now, years later, I can truly say that everything I am and can do is a result of my precious Lord’s tenderness and mercy. He healed me and gave me back my life and my voice.

He also gave me this song so that I would always remember.

Just as I am without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee
O Lamb of God, I come
I come

The Invisible Scar

Thursday, August 20th, 2009
Our story begins here. Note the ghost to the left of the door.

Our story begins here. Note the ghost to the left of the door

The house I lived in when I was very young was 3468 Wyman Street, Oakland California.  One of the things I remember about it was that it was a house of circles.  Inside the house you could run from the living room, past the fireplace into the dining room; take a hard left through the door into the kitchen and barrel straight ahead into the hall; then another hard left to take you back into the entryway and the living room.  On rainy days, this well-worn track was our own personal Indy 500 of endless childhood energy.

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the long bark

Monday, August 17th, 2009

Dickey and Johnny

There is a photograph. Two boys stand
in straw hats, their arms draped
over each other’s shoulders, freckled
faces grinning into the camera. Behind them,
I remember, is a leaning barn, and an ancient orchard
scattered through pines. I can still feel
the summer heat blowing across the creek,
picking up the fragrance of tadpoles and rattlesnakes.
The older boy is ten, and is me.
My brother John is eight. He has already lived
more years than he has left.
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Ashes: First Kiss

Friday, August 7th, 2009

I hadn’t seen you in nine years. A mutual friend suggested that the three of us get together for “closure.” A week later we met at Black Angus for dinner.

The two of you were already there and seated. I went into the bathroom and freshened my makeup, brushed my hair, pulled down my shirt and sucked in my stomach. Don’t show any emotion; you can always get up and leave, I told myself as the hostess walked me back to the table.
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Ashes: Sidewalk and First Kiss combined!

Friday, August 7th, 2009

When it was time for you to leave, we would stand on the sidewalk by your car and say goodbye for an hour, two hours, longer. We would just hold each other. I think I held you tighter, to keep you from leaving. Maybe you held me tighter, to keep yourself from leaving. Eventually the leaving came. I don’t remember much of the times you weren’t there.

Once you came to see me on my birthday. I was eighteen when we kissed. To hell with all my resolutions, they seemed so silly now. We knew our future was together.

Sixth Grade Lit

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

Oldie but… well, annoying.  Names changed to protect the guilty.

Mrs. Fitzpartridge-Bilgehorn
was my sixth grade literature teacher.
Piping hot from the college oven,
she had the distinct impression
we were all top I.Q.
scholars parading around
as twelve-year-olds.

If we learned to say her name right,
we were allowed to call her
“Mrs. F-B,” for short.
Oh the insults we came up with
from that acronym!
None of them were nice.

Mrs. F-B gave us maddening assignments
in the hope of stuffing our fat little bodies
full of love for The Classics.

Once, she wanted each student to read
eighty-eight poems in a month!
Not only that, but each poem was to
have a written report and an illustration.
All the reports and illustrations had to be
bound together in a little homemade book,
complete with dust cover.
In a month!

I couldn’t even find eighty-eight poems to read!
Not for a twelve-year-old.
I resorted to reading a lot of Jimmy Stewart’s poetry.
I had no notion of what it meant,
and it had a lot of cuss-words.

I remember my twin brother crying,
and my parents staying up into the wee
hours, gluing pages.

Moms and Dads everywhere sent tireless complaints
about Mrs. Fitzpartridge-Bilgehorn’s teaching methods.
Mrs. F-B said she didn’t care what the parents said.
She could treat us kids however she wanted–
she was Mrs. F-B!

Towards the end of the year,
she bloated heavy with child
I never saw her after that.
I always wondered how her baby turned out,
or if he had to call her “Mrs. F-B.”

Tube Mommy, Iso-Boy, and the NLW (London, 2002)

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

I rode the Tube alone back to the hotel the first night.  Peter was there to hold my hand (not quite literally) on the way down in the morning.  The Tube station has two doors to the street, and they were shutting one down with a folding steel grate when I walked up at 10:00 p.m.

“Oh shit,” I thought, and hurried around to the other side of the building, which was still open.  Phew.  I was a little nervous about the Tube, since it played on two classic travel fears: Lost In A Strange Town, and Not Knowing How We Do Things Here.  But after some fumbling with buying and presenting a ticket, I found the right platform and was headed north. 

The route was clearly marked on wall charts, and current and next stops were announced by electric marquees and a friendly recorded female voice.  She had just the right accent to make her sound educated yet approachable.  She’s the sort who would give you clear directions you could trust — not that a guy could ever bring himself to ask.  Best of all, with her you didn’t have to.

With Tube Mommy guiding me home, I had little chance of missing my stop at Belsize Park, so I was able to relax and enjoy my journey more.  That’s when I noticed Iso-Boy.

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Ashes: Sidewalk

Thursday, July 30th, 2009

We hitched from Oakland. At first we were together but could not get very far… having trouble getting rides of any length. You told me to stand out on the road alone to get someone to stop and then you would jump in behind me. When the semi stopped, you ran up to the door after I had scrambled in and blurted, “meet me in Hollywood at (blah blah blah)” and slammed the door shut.
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