The Digital Beest: 03/27/2005

The Big Day

Today's the day. I've made chili for an army, and other folks have cooked probably four or five times as much food. We've gathered gifts, purchased plates, and bought a band. Now it's time to ge set things up and wait.

You see, I'm part of the group of folks throwing a benefit for our buddy Jacob Obletz. Jacob's a horse-powered logger who managed to drop a tree on himself this winter. He's OK, but his medical bills are every bit as crushing and suffocating as the tree was.

So we're throwing a party for him, partly to celebrate that he's alive and reasonably well, and partly to try to raise money for his bills. We'll see how it goes. If you're interested in coming, it's from noon 'till five at Zar's Melodee Bar (corner of Klaus road and Hwy. 112 south of Ashland's Airport). There's a five-dollar cover at the door and includes all the indian tacos, chili, spanish rice, and desert that you can eat. There's also a silent auction with a bunch of cool stuff for sale. Maybe we'll see you there!

Finger dents

So I did something tonight that I've almost never done before, even though I've been a musician for twenty years: I practiced.

*Gasp!*

Shocking, I know, but this afternoon, I had a long conversation (so long that The Wife paged me on my cell phone to ask where the hell I was and if I was planning on coming home at some point) with a fellow musician who owns a store in town (no, it's not Josh)and I found myself holding forth that either you choose to make time for music in your life or not; either you play or you don't. And it got me thinking that, hey, for a long time now, almost for as long as I've been a musician, I've been pretty half-ass about it.

Oh sure, I can pick up the horn (that'd be a 1994 vintage Selmer Super Action 80 Model II tenor saxophone with an Otto Link 6* and Vandoren Java 3s for those of you not in the know) and rip off a couple scales. I can read down most basic charts at first sight with about 80 percent accuracy, and I'm more than happy to solo over any changes that are remotely blues based. But all that's easy, and is hold-over from high school when I spent a hell of a lot of time in the band room messing around with music.

While I don't have to be furrowed-brow-hermit serious to play, I was thinking that maybe I should make a practice plan for myself, and carve out a little niche each day so that I have time to play, and a plan for what I'm going to play.

OK, so I'm still planless, but I played a little guitar tonight. I'm right at the very beginning stages of that instrument, and while it's frustrating, it's also fun to figure out things as I go. For example, I found a C major arpeggio tonight not by ear, but by figuring out what the hell I was doing. It was cool. But now I have dents in the tips of my fingers from the strings.

Raining

I'm wet. The dog is wet. Jaques-the-Rock, who spent the night outside, is wet. The entryway, however is dry after the roofing job that our contractor buddy did for us a couple months ago. Hooray.

And Moo, one of the cowboys, was giving us hints this morning. I went downstairs to let the dogs outside and there he was, sprawled across the top of the water heater.

Dumb Questions

Conventional wisdom (and a whole passel of primary and secondary teachers) says "there is no such thing as a dumb question."

I disagree.

Today, while looking at the empty chair of my boss, someone asked if he was around. Hmmm... Yeah, he's just covered with invisible paint.

What's the dumbest question you've been asked or asked lately? (Yeah, and this one doesn't count, PITA)

Spooky

Yesterday, probably at about three in the afternoon or so, while I was building stairs for our deck, some random person pulled into the field behind our house in a red Ford Ranger stepside and parked and sat there, listening to *really loud* heavy metal.

Said metal head was still there an hour-and-a-half later, after a minivan came, stayed just long enough for either a friend to do a health and welfare check or a dealer to unload a dimebag, and left.

The really spooky part was that the person was *still* there at 1 a.m. when I got up to reload the wood stove. I almost called the cops right there. I decided to wait until the morning, though, and now the nutjob is gone and all is right with my world again.