It's April 17. Taxes due tomorrow. I haven't started. Not that I have that complicated of a filing mind you, if you know what I mean. And the tax people, they don't seem to understand songwriters. It's so much fun sitting there, trying to explain to them, or not. Makes me wonder if I'd rather go to the dentist... That's a tough one.
Either way a good drilling!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
a dimly lit, but inviting corner...
I've discovered I have a knack for unintentionally pissing people off. I've spent a lot of time berating myself and wondering... how does this happen? I'm such a nice person? Probably has a lot to do with the Aries "Ram" thing, you know the directness (lack of tact?), impulsiveness and I couldn't lie to save my life. But I am at heart a fighter, I believe in things, things matter to me. And the less and less "beige" my life has become, the more this may happen... (Although I am learning, you can't lose a fight you don't enter.)
To some, the art of conversation is arguing, to me it's a highly enjoyable pastime. Fun is a night of comrades having a few and discussing things... throw in some cards, maybe a couple instruments, music? You've got yourself a party! Loud, noisy, pick-up bars? Rather be shot. Give me a stiff drink and a spirited conversation, in a dimly lit but inviting corner...
I was so inspired by a fellow musician's blog, that I've decided to do that here... since I am at heart also a writer. This will be a place for ideas that may or may not fit on my music page. Writing is a vacation for me. A head trip, literally, but a good one. A weekend getaway if you will, to recoup, before heading back out to battle.
So let's head out to the countryside... There's an old house... Close to the water... More rustic than elegant... The kind that my dad described going to with his family to play poker and fish. Over the wooden bridge, clackety clackety clack clack clack, turning right, down the gravel road. The lights are on and you can hear laughing from inside. Laughing of your grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles and friends. Yeah, you'd recognize Grandma Henderson's laugh anywhere! My place would have a big den with dark hardwood floors and a deep red, oriental rug under a thick wooden coffee table (perfect for games)... an old, worn-soft, leather nail head couch... an over-sized fabric chair with an ottoman... books... lit candles... open french doors heading out to the deck... and another door leading to a kitchen, filled with lots of food... and wine. We can sit on the patio for a smoke or just breathe in the stars and the cool night air. Oop! Did you hear that fish jump? Shhhh, there's a hoot owl... I could stare at the moon and it's reflection in the water all night... I can hear somebody in the kitchen whipping up a midnight snack, a Ziska smorgasbord! Deal a couple hands of poker, I'm in! And I play a mean rummycube...
If you like loud, noisy, pick up bars? Bet you can leave now and still make it... They're always open, somewhere in town.
Me? I gotta get back to that stiff drink and spirited conversation, in a dimly lit but inviting corner...
To some, the art of conversation is arguing, to me it's a highly enjoyable pastime. Fun is a night of comrades having a few and discussing things... throw in some cards, maybe a couple instruments, music? You've got yourself a party! Loud, noisy, pick-up bars? Rather be shot. Give me a stiff drink and a spirited conversation, in a dimly lit but inviting corner...
I was so inspired by a fellow musician's blog, that I've decided to do that here... since I am at heart also a writer. This will be a place for ideas that may or may not fit on my music page. Writing is a vacation for me. A head trip, literally, but a good one. A weekend getaway if you will, to recoup, before heading back out to battle.
So let's head out to the countryside... There's an old house... Close to the water... More rustic than elegant... The kind that my dad described going to with his family to play poker and fish. Over the wooden bridge, clackety clackety clack clack clack, turning right, down the gravel road. The lights are on and you can hear laughing from inside. Laughing of your grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles and friends. Yeah, you'd recognize Grandma Henderson's laugh anywhere! My place would have a big den with dark hardwood floors and a deep red, oriental rug under a thick wooden coffee table (perfect for games)... an old, worn-soft, leather nail head couch... an over-sized fabric chair with an ottoman... books... lit candles... open french doors heading out to the deck... and another door leading to a kitchen, filled with lots of food... and wine. We can sit on the patio for a smoke or just breathe in the stars and the cool night air. Oop! Did you hear that fish jump? Shhhh, there's a hoot owl... I could stare at the moon and it's reflection in the water all night... I can hear somebody in the kitchen whipping up a midnight snack, a Ziska smorgasbord! Deal a couple hands of poker, I'm in! And I play a mean rummycube...
If you like loud, noisy, pick up bars? Bet you can leave now and still make it... They're always open, somewhere in town.
Me? I gotta get back to that stiff drink and spirited conversation, in a dimly lit but inviting corner...
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