DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN!

Okay so I’m in something of mood anyway yesterday (9/11 and all that) and I get this e-mail from Otto’s saying there’s been a double booking and we’re not going to play on 10/7.

Great just f-king great (I’m really really trying not to curse) – right now I have a call into the lady at Otto’s (names I’m so damn bad at names – it’s a good thing everybody calls me Bob all the time, I’d be in trouble otherwise.) asking why don’t you bump the other poor dumb son of a bitch – we’ve been promoting this gig and we need this gig so we’re sharp for Florida.

I don’t expect much but at least I will get my say. I suspect that the other group was booked first. They have two bookers and confusion ensues.

You know if I win the mega millions tonight (fat damn chance that) – not only will we set up our own studio – I’d buy a club so we and other people can play music without having to deal with this kind of gibberish - yeah we’ll lose money hand over fist but hell – we win 135 million we can afford a loss leader for a few years. Hell record your cd with us and have the release party at the club – one stop service. Yes?

Well that’s just silly revenge fantasy – what will probably happen will be that we’ll get bumped and we won’t win lotto and we’ll try not to play Otto’s again – this is the second time we’ve had problems there - excellent Mai Tai’s notwithstanding. So it’s looking for other places we do the next few weeks.

Yesh – first the recording gets pushed back, the Art or Something Like it deal gets pushed back, the O’Hanlon’s open mike is drying up and now a gig gets knocked out from under us – it’s like the world keeps tossing up delay after delay at us. I know the whole idea of what does not kill you makes you stronger (a very dubious idea I have to say – see the Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail) but I have to say this kind of shit just pisses you off.

And gives me a headache.

Random Neural Firings:

Did the owner of the Minnesota Vikings go to his people and say “gentlemen I want you to design the ugliest uniform you can.” It sure looks that way to me.

I hate romance advice columnists – I ended up reading one today – guess I wanted to finish the bad mood off – topping it like off like adding some cinnamon on the top of a cup of capo chino. Anyway this heart doc gives the usual advice – you have to go get out there “Join a club, take a class, or go on a getaway for single people. Practice small talk wherever you are—in a bookstore, at a café, and anywhere else where people gather.”
She also says you must refuse to be a victim.

To quote a Bill Cosby “Righhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhht”

Babe I’ve done that – to the point where I’m just sick to death of it, Sick sick sick sick sick. At this point in my life, I’d rather write demented rock songs about Pandas with guns robbing the 7-11 again than deal with that nonsense.

Cause it doesn’t work for me. Really. Trust me on that. I’m sure for others this stuff works like a charm. Of course they don’t get their gigs canceled either. Me? Well for me my small talk efforts go like this.

“Hi”
“My boyfriend says hi a lot.”

“So do you like the class?”
“I was just telling my boyfriend how much I like this class.”

And so on.

Yeah yeah I know – keep trying, don’t give up, yada yada yada, there is someone out there (by the by I really really hate when people say that, considering that the population of the earth is 6.6 billion or so, my chances of meeting the one are small, about the same as the odds that two gnats flying in the grand canyon will collide head on) – and there comes a point were you just get tired. Tired of the rejection, tired of your ego getting beat down like a wack o’mole, tired of the whole chase. I don’t want to end up talking to my food like the guy in the Milky Way commercial. I have a little self respect.

And hell it’s not like my relationships have been such wonders that I’m all hot to get back into another one.

So I’ve decided to just be me – bad movie fetish and all.

And oh yes – work stinks today.

Last note – Daffy Duck is becoming something of a personal avatar. That’s not a good thing.