Depression, songs, & unnatural Koala acts

Well last night at the Open Mike was – well the place can be kind of hit or miss and last night was a miss. One problem was the crowd – or the performers actually – I swear to god it was like the entire depressive ward at the local hospital had come over to sing as part of their therapy.

“I want you all to take a guitar and write a song that illustrates what feeling clinical depression is like – emphasize the utter hopeless ness of what you feel, the isolation, the inability to make any contact with another human being “

Well okay

“and I want you to not look at anybody when you performing – make sure you sort of lean sideways into the mike and then mutter your lyrics so people can’t really figure out what the hell you are saying”

Ahhh

:”and all you songs must be long long long strings of depressing lyrics while playing a repeated finger picking pattern over and over and over again”

Are you sure Doctor Jones sent you?

“Now before you go off and write these songs – I want you all to drink a bottle of cough syrup and listen to Lou Reed’s Berlin at least 7 times in a row.”

Ah, Sir, I don’t really want to make much of a fuss, but could I see a copy of your accreditation?

Meantime the host – not the regular host but some stand in – was prattling on – I think he was a comedian of some sort but – his interruptions seemed more of the hey look at me kind of deal.

He also runs a beer tasting of some sort that he was pimping along with some kind of blueberry beer thing – like he was getting cut he was pimping the damn thing. Also when talking about the beer tasting he referred to the tasting as sampling of yummy beers which frankly just seemed creepy. Really grown people shouldn’t refer to things as ‘yummy’, especially beer.

Now I like beer – any body who knows me or hell has seen a picture of me can attest to that. But while I do enjoy the micro brews – I try not to be a snob about it – I mean come on it’s beer kids.

Anyway we played after the second break to a pretty much empty room. Everybody who had played in the first and second sections fled as if they were being chased – or more probably they needed to get back to the ward and get more meds.

“Yes I’d like to see something off the anti-depressant cart”

“Yes sir – here’s a lovely Prozac tart.”

Then there were the host’s buddies – all of whom looked like they had been popped out of a time warp from the early 70’s – they all looked like Neal the hippy from the young ones.

Then there was the playing with the order of playing.

After the mass exodus the host came up and asked us if we would let someone else play before us (we were scheduled to be first) he said that the guy typically was last and played to just him. We, against our better judgment in a moment of kindness, said yes. And it was a mistake – the fellow – long hair beard – strummed his guitar and mumbled some lines then went off in a high sing song voice. There is a reason he’s only played to one guy – he sucks. The man could be used to induce narcolepsy.

And what was worse by the time we got up – the host didn’t bother to introduce us other than by saying I didn’t like blueberries – why do people flip out about that, I don’t like the taste, texture or the smell of the damned things, so I don’t like them simple as that. But people don’t get this. My mom, upon hearing me tell her I didn’t like blueberries said “you’re wrong” which was a Zen inducing moment for sure.

Anyway we didn’t play well at all – we’ll do better next week sorry for that, we could blame the night, the host, the procession of boring psychopaths with guitars (and how do you be boring when a psychopath that’s what I want to know) but we are professionals and hell we should do better than the stoners who came on after us.

Random Neural Firings:

I see that the government has responded to the publication of stories detailing the horrific conditions that wounded G.I.’s have to put up with at Walter Reed Hospital by ordering patients not to talk to reporters. Hell even Captain Blood treated his wounded pirates better.

This is from New Zealand Herald via crooks and liars and far too good not to share:

“Female koalas indulge in lesbian "sex sessions", rejecting male suitors and attempting to mate with each other, sometimes up to five at a time, according to researchers.

The furry, eucalyptus-eating creatures appear to develop this tendency for same-sex liaisons when they are in captivity. In the wild, they remain heterosexual.

Scientists monitoring the marsupials with digital cameras counted three homosexual interactions for every heterosexual one.

"Some females rejected the advances of males that were in their enclosures, only to become willing participants in homosexual encounters immediately after," say the researchers.

On several occasions more than one pair of females shared the same pole, and multiple females mounted each other simultaneously. At least one multiple encounter involved five female koalas.”

Lesbian Koalas – now there’s a phase you don’t come across every day. I can only assume that the male koalas are all either filming this on little video cameras or watching the closed circuit TV feed drinking eucalyptus flavored yummy beer.

“Oh yeah. Oh yeah baby. Ohhh. Anybody got a towel?”

I’m rather surprised the Lesbian Koalas don’t have a my space page yet. Only a matter of time I guess.

Peace, Love, Sappho