TODAY

Is National Talk like a Pirate day.

I love the world, just when I’m feeling a little blue the world presents me with something so amazingly wonderfully stupid and silly that arrrr Jim lad, I’d be a scurvy dog indeed if I did not join in….

One thing to remember about pirating – pillage then burn.

Here be the web site blind Pew: http://www.talklikeapirate.com/

Open mike went well Sunday however we visited by the creepy poet guy. He’s a frail little guy, with sharp features, who always seems to be trying to hold back the onset of a violent psychotic episode. There is something off in the way he moves, very sudden movements and there’s a little hint of recognize my specialness or I’ll kill you in his manner – the whole package creeps you out.

Anyway typically he does poems – this time, I guess cause he’s an actor he decided to do some dramatic monologues. But he didn’t bother to explain or set up the monologue (it’s wasn’t that hard, something like “this is a man talking to his wife about why he is leaving” would do) we didn’t know who he was supposed to me or what the hell was going on. He’d just start talking and you didn’t have the vaguest idea what the hell was going on – it was a moment of pure dada - performance stripped of any attempt to connect with the audience. I started to drink heavily (my apologies to all of those I told how much I loved them – bourbon can make me sentimental). It seemed the right idea at the time. By the time he was done (he did two monologues and a poem) I was ready to confess to stealing the crown jewels and killing the queen if he would just shut up.

Anyway he finally ended – and we had half the crowd we had had before he stared. Some to go home, some to go throw themselves in the east river, some simply to bash their heads with rocks until the pain stops and they fall into sweet sweet oblivion.

And then night was redeemed by some songs from Emily. She’s a young woman with a voice you want to sleep with. Simply fantastic. Why the hell she isn’t famous and rich and making records right now is utterly beyond me. And I’m not the only one to think this, while she was singing one of the other players at the open mike said, “Compared to her, we all suck.” I’d listen to her sing the phone book.

What we need to do is send creepy poet guy to the Coffee shop open mike night; I’m willing to bet several people there would chew off their legs to escape. Attitude wise he’s a perfect fit. Arrr Jim lad.