Music soothes the savages
I didn't make it out to ride on Saturday (my apologies, Chancellor).
Too many fish (and a couple of cold ones and the pulled-pork sammich at the Billygoat Tavern in Mount Shasta).
I did, however, make it to the new music showcase (after a slight nap and a shower).
New signer/songwriters doing an all-acoustic set in front of a live audience at a packed bar.
It was totally cool.
My buddy Jim was there, just two weeks after his mom died. He dedicated a song he wrote for his wife to his mom, and mentioned that there was a couple of people in the audience that had recently lost their mothers as well, so he dedicated the song to our moms. Well, on the eve of Mother's Day, my eyes filled with tears. It's not a fun fraternity to be in, but the support system feels pretty good (and I so want to be there for Jim, when the days get the darkest).
Every single singer/songwriter was an inspiration.
It was powerful to hear these people sit in front of a packed crowd and belt out original tunes.
I decided that this was an outlet I needed to explore.
"I want to write a song with you," I said to Jim.
"You're such a good writer, that would be great, we should do it," he said.
And right there, right then, I decided what I really wanted to do was learn to play the guitar and join in.
Write songs and perform them (and I can't sing worth shit, but I think that's kind of secondary anyway).
"That's what you do when you hit a mid-life crisis, you pick up a guitar and learn how to play," Jim said jokingly during his last Klub Klondike show.
Certainly, it's not a mid-life crisis thing; it's another extension, another outlet to explore things in my life.
To be open and out there.
And speaking of open and out there, I fell in with a couple of women at the bar during the show. I didn't feel like sitting down - I was in a canoe for like five hours - so I stood and we got into some really good conversations.
I really wanted to get a telephone number from one of the women. Tall, beautiful smile, haunting blue-gray eyes. Yeah.
(And without Wing-Gal to keep me in line - she's in D.C. and promised not to cause any radical trouble while visiting - I completely forgot/ignored her last telephone conversation about meeting women at grocery stores. And bars. And Wing-Gal's implicit instructions to find someone who compliments me and my activity level. Oh, well.)
I was somewhat at a loss on how to ask one woman for her number, when the two of them came together, and were hanging out together. Maybe it wouldn't happen, but I knew enough about her that I could seek her number later (I am, after all, a journalist - and good at tracking down information).
She went to the restroom; I casually asked her friend if she was single. She is.
The evening ended. We shut down the bar. I didn't have a number, but was OK where we stood. I escorted the women to their car.
Where she presented me with a bar napkin with her number on it.
And gave me a great hug.
She drives a truck. She's educated and has a career that makes a difference.
She fishes. She hikes and backpacks. She has a bike, but admitted that she needed to dust it off.
Now, do I call today, or wait a day?
Too many fish (and a couple of cold ones and the pulled-pork sammich at the Billygoat Tavern in Mount Shasta).
I did, however, make it to the new music showcase (after a slight nap and a shower).
New signer/songwriters doing an all-acoustic set in front of a live audience at a packed bar.
It was totally cool.
My buddy Jim was there, just two weeks after his mom died. He dedicated a song he wrote for his wife to his mom, and mentioned that there was a couple of people in the audience that had recently lost their mothers as well, so he dedicated the song to our moms. Well, on the eve of Mother's Day, my eyes filled with tears. It's not a fun fraternity to be in, but the support system feels pretty good (and I so want to be there for Jim, when the days get the darkest).
Every single singer/songwriter was an inspiration.
It was powerful to hear these people sit in front of a packed crowd and belt out original tunes.
I decided that this was an outlet I needed to explore.
"I want to write a song with you," I said to Jim.
"You're such a good writer, that would be great, we should do it," he said.
And right there, right then, I decided what I really wanted to do was learn to play the guitar and join in.
Write songs and perform them (and I can't sing worth shit, but I think that's kind of secondary anyway).
"That's what you do when you hit a mid-life crisis, you pick up a guitar and learn how to play," Jim said jokingly during his last Klub Klondike show.
Certainly, it's not a mid-life crisis thing; it's another extension, another outlet to explore things in my life.
To be open and out there.
And speaking of open and out there, I fell in with a couple of women at the bar during the show. I didn't feel like sitting down - I was in a canoe for like five hours - so I stood and we got into some really good conversations.
I really wanted to get a telephone number from one of the women. Tall, beautiful smile, haunting blue-gray eyes. Yeah.
(And without Wing-Gal to keep me in line - she's in D.C. and promised not to cause any radical trouble while visiting - I completely forgot/ignored her last telephone conversation about meeting women at grocery stores. And bars. And Wing-Gal's implicit instructions to find someone who compliments me and my activity level. Oh, well.)
I was somewhat at a loss on how to ask one woman for her number, when the two of them came together, and were hanging out together. Maybe it wouldn't happen, but I knew enough about her that I could seek her number later (I am, after all, a journalist - and good at tracking down information).
She went to the restroom; I casually asked her friend if she was single. She is.
The evening ended. We shut down the bar. I didn't have a number, but was OK where we stood. I escorted the women to their car.
Where she presented me with a bar napkin with her number on it.
And gave me a great hug.
She drives a truck. She's educated and has a career that makes a difference.
She fishes. She hikes and backpacks. She has a bike, but admitted that she needed to dust it off.
Now, do I call today, or wait a day?
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