ok, so i lied, technically.
my convictions didn't come to fruition.
i didn't win the lottery, we're not moving to canada.
...yet.
went to davey's uptown on saturday after work, saw Malachy Papers again. talked to mike dillon. he always recognizes me but never remembers my name.."what was yr name again?"
told him my story about my historical difficulties with March, and he kinda freaked out about me getting whacked on st. patty's day 2002...we talked about the spiritual evolution it forced into motion within me, we talked about percussion and how it strengthens the soul by connecting a person to the heart of earth, from the hands, through the drum. such a cool person. maybe i could convince him to hire me as a personal chef in exchange for a percussion apprenticeship. hah. in my dreams.
jammed with a new drummer on sunday. i was playing bass and guitar. this cat is good. he's got vision and skills that were unheard of in the last drummer i worked with (FLAKE). i entered the situation thinking that this guy and i probably had completely different musical tastes, he more techno/industrial, me more world/jazz/weird.... but we seemed to hit it off pretty well. we both had a blast, and when i busted out of the distortion and into the drunken NOLA infused riffs of "bitch you be trippin", he got wide eyed and told me to keep up on that...a good sign, indeed. now to just find more people to fill the sound and actually get to work.
been thinking about performance art lately. maybe thats my calling. i got this image of buying a chicken costume, strapping on some timbale drums and just walking around, dancing and playing drums. i figure i could make quite a name for myself doing this in westport as the chicken guy who just comes into clubs and starts jamming with whatever band is playing... how funny would that be, anyway? when there was no bands playing, just seeing some dude in a chicken suit walking down the street playing drums and a cowbell strapped over his shoulders, dancing to his own rhythms.... perhaps, like many things, the thought is more satisfying than the action....
me and my head.
my convictions didn't come to fruition.
i didn't win the lottery, we're not moving to canada.
...yet.
went to davey's uptown on saturday after work, saw Malachy Papers again. talked to mike dillon. he always recognizes me but never remembers my name.."what was yr name again?"
told him my story about my historical difficulties with March, and he kinda freaked out about me getting whacked on st. patty's day 2002...we talked about the spiritual evolution it forced into motion within me, we talked about percussion and how it strengthens the soul by connecting a person to the heart of earth, from the hands, through the drum. such a cool person. maybe i could convince him to hire me as a personal chef in exchange for a percussion apprenticeship. hah. in my dreams.
jammed with a new drummer on sunday. i was playing bass and guitar. this cat is good. he's got vision and skills that were unheard of in the last drummer i worked with (FLAKE). i entered the situation thinking that this guy and i probably had completely different musical tastes, he more techno/industrial, me more world/jazz/weird.... but we seemed to hit it off pretty well. we both had a blast, and when i busted out of the distortion and into the drunken NOLA infused riffs of "bitch you be trippin", he got wide eyed and told me to keep up on that...a good sign, indeed. now to just find more people to fill the sound and actually get to work.
been thinking about performance art lately. maybe thats my calling. i got this image of buying a chicken costume, strapping on some timbale drums and just walking around, dancing and playing drums. i figure i could make quite a name for myself doing this in westport as the chicken guy who just comes into clubs and starts jamming with whatever band is playing... how funny would that be, anyway? when there was no bands playing, just seeing some dude in a chicken suit walking down the street playing drums and a cowbell strapped over his shoulders, dancing to his own rhythms.... perhaps, like many things, the thought is more satisfying than the action....
me and my head.