This is not due to age, diet, or lack of exercise. It is medical and there is no cure or control. But gee, for a 200 pound guy, at least I carry it well, ahem. And I always did look good in a shirt and tie. The photo is posted because it reminded me of those mirror shots people put on dating sites. The reflection here is not glass, but highly polished metal.We had an early AM practice today, more of a continuation of techniques. Things are moving slowly, yes, but we’ve put too much in to back out now. We plan to record some of our work in the next week or so. Trent has a Tascam which for me should be like riding a bicycle. Watch closely, you will see that a sense of urgency will descend upon our practices shortly. We have a winning combination and barring the unforeseen, I have paid my dues once again.
A review at management level shows us to be behind schedule. We should have 16 tunes completed by now, where in reality that is around the total we’ve played. Only eight are anything like ready. Mind you, the majority of progress has been since I called for three rehearsals per week. My intention is to negotiate a three-hour gig instead of four. Didn’t I already write that somewhere? Anyway, we are not ready, nor have we played anything through a PA system yet.
I filled out some legal papers which caused me to reflect on the women I’ve dated in my life. With one or two exceptions, I never met one that could keep up with me in any department. That’s why I settle for the young and pretty. What else they got? Although I’ve dated women over 26, I point out that they turned that age during our time together. The oldest gal I ever dated more than a year was 33 when we met at night school. Even though she was young compared to me, I hope I never go through that again.
Although she disguised it for a while, she had every last one of those “old lady” problems that I’d previously only heard of. That obsession with commitment, the bizarre attachment to her mother, the hesitancy to let go during sex, and the tendency to blame men for all problems, to name a few. It is common knowledge that I’ve met four women in my life who were not like that. That’s four, gals, but any one of them constitutes proof that such stereotyped head problems are not a natural or inborn part of being female. If you got those bad qualities, they are your own doing.
Those four women were (past tense), Beverly G., Judy M., Robyn S., and Julia K. Even that is a bit of a sliding scale because most of the others only had twinges of such behavior. But every gal I ever dropped stepped over the line once too often. I could point out that the four above are the only ones who ever dropped me. The first two because I was too young, the last two because I was too honest. These days, I’ve become neither. And I’d give anything for such a woman again. Line forms to the left.
You may not know I went to a club two weeks ago as a Beta male. For once, just another face in the crowd. The whole situation horrified me and I won’t be doing that again. It was every man for himself and I found I had no experience lying to women, at least not on the scale of the so-called men around me. Think of it this way, you know how Wallace could easily pick up a hooker fifty times faster than I ever could? Well it was like that in spades. I was disgusted by both the men and women present. And this was an Art Show.
Around 7:30 PM tonight, I said enough. Better to perform in Hell than be an audience in Heaven. I grabbed the Ibanez and took the scooter to Jimbos. I ran a 90 minute show of just me. Everything went wrong. Broken cables, dead batteries, wrong settings, blown fuses, grouchy patrons, sweltering air, bad lighting, but goddam it, I was on the stage and not in the peanut gallery.
So it doesn’t really matter how I did, only that I did it. I’ve decided to step up the first appearance as a duo. Next Friday sounds good. You never know what kickstarts a show. I’ve never been disappointed or afraid of throwing everything to the lions. But one thing is sure, I did not enjoy the experience of being just another guy in the crowd at a club, using pickup lines (they won’t listen to you unless you lie) and spending money.
Being a spectator is for losers and worse than losers, I hated it. It dumbfounds me that the majority of men behave that way. I’ve got two brothers who think it is normal to lie to pick up women. Before I’d ever settle for being like that, I’d grab some oranges and learn to juggle. Anything. But I plainly could never stand being part of the rabble. It was scary.
