Saturday, June 27, 2009
Billy Jean
Michael Jackson is dead. Well, officially now. He has been absent from the human race for quite some time. Now he's dead, and for the last two nights I have been getting requests for every Michael Jackson song he ever recorded. I'm working in a large bar in Missouri with a couple of other guys. It seems that I am the only one that knows any Michael Jackson and the only song I know is Billy Jean. So at the beginning of last night when the bar owner came up to us and told us he wanted us to play a Michael Jackson song every hour on the hour I knew the night would be interesting. There's an electric bass on stage and one of my partners can play it well. The first hour when it came time to do the song I began playing it as a soulful ballad, and it actually works. After one verse and a chorus out of tempo the bass kicked in and my other partner was at the drum set, and I have to say we rocked the hell out of that little song about 5 times last night. I really should learn another M. Jackson song this week though. I'm thinking ABC or Rock With You. The NY Times is doing a survey of peoples' favorite M.J. songs (not including the Jackson 5 stuff) and so far the top songs are: 1. Billy Jean, 2. Rock With You, 3. Man in the Mirror, and 4. Beat It
iPhone arbitrage
Last week during my show I was jumped down from standing on top of a piano my iPhone popped out of my breast pocket and the glass touch-screen broke. So now I have to figure out a way to replace the screen since it is not covered by warranty. But during my research I discovered that once again there exists an arbitrage opportunity with the new model iPhone 3GS going on sale. Since you must activate service when buying a new iPhone, people who want to “jailbreak” the phone to use on unapproved networks are buying up the (used) older models privately for more than I will have to spend to purchase the new model. So once I replace the touch-screen, I will sell the old 3G model on Craigslist for $300, and spend $200 for the new 3GS model.
Update: After a visit to the Apple store and a long phone call involving supervisors, I got Apple to agree to replace the phone because of a problem I'm having with a sticky home button.
Update: After a visit to the Apple store and a long phone call involving supervisors, I got Apple to agree to replace the phone because of a problem I'm having with a sticky home button.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
New Roomate
Yesterday I got a roommate, which has resolved my east side apartment difficulties. He is a 27yo hottie that is working through his Doctorate at Princeton University. He looks like Justin Timberlake. He wants to spend a few days a week here in NYC, so our arrangement will be a 50/50 share. So I will get to live in my own apartment, which I love, and when I’m traveling he will live there. Occasionally we will overlap which is fine, since he seems very relaxed and fun to be with. Super intelligent goes without saying. Anyway, this relieves a lot of financial pressure on me to be constantly working and I will have plenty of time to be traveling. I am also throwing my current roommate/best friend/ex-lover a couple hundred a month so that I can lay my head there a few days a month just to make the math work out. I’m really happy to get the apartment situation resolved. And, no, I have no intention or desire to sleep with Justin Timberlake.
In other news, I got more work from my video from a club out in Wisconsin. I will be going out there 3 weekends this summer. It sounds like a fun gig and they will be putting me up in the Hyatt, which will be Grand!
In other news, I got more work from my video from a club out in Wisconsin. I will be going out there 3 weekends this summer. It sounds like a fun gig and they will be putting me up in the Hyatt, which will be Grand!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Wasps
After the show, I wasn’t able to fall asleep until 5am, but I slept through until 1pm. I woke up, feeling rested even though my the cold had expanded into my sinuses. I took my second dose of Prednisone and the antibiotic and laid in bed watching CNBC. I saw the news about Ahmedinijad loosing the Iranian presidential election by a huge margin, and then claiming that he won. What an ass. I wish he would just go quietly into that good night, but I guess that’s wishful thinking…after all Cheney hasn’t.
I spent the better part of the day resting until I noticed a big long ugly black wasp flying around my tiny bedchamber. I hate wasps. And they scare the shit out of me. So I ran out of my room and one of my partners asked what’s wrong. I told him and he volunteered to slay the evil beast. So into the room he went armed with a rolled up newspaper, while I crept in, (bravely) behind him. Within a couple of minutes he had beaten the wasp to shit and I was again safe to power lounge in bed all day. This lasted about 5 minutes, when I noticed a second wasp buzzing around, no doubt searching for my tender flesh to bury it’s deadly poison inside, or perhaps to lay it’s eggs to gestate in my epidermis. I fly out of the room and call the club owner and tell her the story. She explains that there is wasp spray in the closet, I told her, there is a larger problem besides the single wasp. It’s clear to me that there must be a nest outside the (2nd story) window. She said since it was 5:00 on a Fri she would not be able to get an exterminator, and I said, well, I will not be able to sleep in that bedroom wondering if I will be stung. She sighed the Big Sigh that only club owners that are being put upon by a needy piano players sigh (you know the one) and told me she would call the landlord. The landlord arrived within the hour with a can of wasp-nest remover. He went into my room and we couldn’t find the second wasp and figured he must have found his way back outside. He then borrowed a neighbor’s ladder and climbed up onto the roof outside my window where there was indeed a nest that he proceeded to exterminate.
The landlord left and I wandered back into my tiny bedroom, safe at last…until I see the second wasp has not, in fact found it’s way out. It was there all the time. I again bravely and speedily exit the room and get my partner with his rolled up newspaper to once again slay the nasty beast.
I am such a pussy.
I spent the better part of the day resting until I noticed a big long ugly black wasp flying around my tiny bedchamber. I hate wasps. And they scare the shit out of me. So I ran out of my room and one of my partners asked what’s wrong. I told him and he volunteered to slay the evil beast. So into the room he went armed with a rolled up newspaper, while I crept in, (bravely) behind him. Within a couple of minutes he had beaten the wasp to shit and I was again safe to power lounge in bed all day. This lasted about 5 minutes, when I noticed a second wasp buzzing around, no doubt searching for my tender flesh to bury it’s deadly poison inside, or perhaps to lay it’s eggs to gestate in my epidermis. I fly out of the room and call the club owner and tell her the story. She explains that there is wasp spray in the closet, I told her, there is a larger problem besides the single wasp. It’s clear to me that there must be a nest outside the (2nd story) window. She said since it was 5:00 on a Fri she would not be able to get an exterminator, and I said, well, I will not be able to sleep in that bedroom wondering if I will be stung. She sighed the Big Sigh that only club owners that are being put upon by a needy piano players sigh (you know the one) and told me she would call the landlord. The landlord arrived within the hour with a can of wasp-nest remover. He went into my room and we couldn’t find the second wasp and figured he must have found his way back outside. He then borrowed a neighbor’s ladder and climbed up onto the roof outside my window where there was indeed a nest that he proceeded to exterminate.
The landlord left and I wandered back into my tiny bedroom, safe at last…until I see the second wasp has not, in fact found it’s way out. It was there all the time. I again bravely and speedily exit the room and get my partner with his rolled up newspaper to once again slay the nasty beast.
I am such a pussy.
Friday, June 12, 2009
What to do, what to do?
This weekend I’m working in a small college town in the Midwest, right in the tornado belt. I was very excited to get this job, because the booking agent is in a position to get me more work. Perhaps a lot more work. So it was important for me to do well.
Two days before I flew out I began getting cold symptoms in my chest. The next day the cold moved up into my upper chest. That following night I got no sleep, and finally got up out of bed and got ready for my flight. I was in a full-fledged cold. I checked out my voice, and it was working but fragile. I decided to continue with my trip. By the time I arrived at my destination and was safely installed in the bandhouse, the cold had moved up yet again into my throat. As I lay on my bed, all I could do was worry that I was going to loose my voice during the show. Since we were only doing a three-way, that would mean that my other 2 partners would have to finish the weekend without me, and they would be onstage the entire 6 hour night with no breaks, which is a really really bad thing to ask of anyone. In addition, I would probably never get work from this agent, and I would also sour my connections here and word would get around that I had screwed up this gig. So this big drama is playing out in my head, and adrenalin is coursing through my body as I envision this big embarrassing scenario with a colossal on-stage fuckup at a crucial moment, followed by me slinking away from this town in shame.
I finally decided to let everyone involved know what was up. I spoke to my partners, and I called the agent. I told them that I would work tonight, but that there might be a possibility that I would loose my voice for real and have to bail. Everyone was very understanding, especially the agent, and that lifted all the worry that was weighing on me.
Earlier in the afternoon I had started taking prednisone (steroid, anti-inflamitory) and some pretty strong antibiotics on me that I always travel with. By showtime, I felt much better, and although still fragile, I was pretty sure I would make it through the night alright.
The show went well, surprisingly well. It was a long night, but it went by fast, I had fun and I knew that I had pulled my weight and would be standing to fight another day. I also got to play drums which has been my guilty pleasure of late, since I am entirely self-taught over the past couple months using Playstation’s Rockband.
Two days before I flew out I began getting cold symptoms in my chest. The next day the cold moved up into my upper chest. That following night I got no sleep, and finally got up out of bed and got ready for my flight. I was in a full-fledged cold. I checked out my voice, and it was working but fragile. I decided to continue with my trip. By the time I arrived at my destination and was safely installed in the bandhouse, the cold had moved up yet again into my throat. As I lay on my bed, all I could do was worry that I was going to loose my voice during the show. Since we were only doing a three-way, that would mean that my other 2 partners would have to finish the weekend without me, and they would be onstage the entire 6 hour night with no breaks, which is a really really bad thing to ask of anyone. In addition, I would probably never get work from this agent, and I would also sour my connections here and word would get around that I had screwed up this gig. So this big drama is playing out in my head, and adrenalin is coursing through my body as I envision this big embarrassing scenario with a colossal on-stage fuckup at a crucial moment, followed by me slinking away from this town in shame.
I finally decided to let everyone involved know what was up. I spoke to my partners, and I called the agent. I told them that I would work tonight, but that there might be a possibility that I would loose my voice for real and have to bail. Everyone was very understanding, especially the agent, and that lifted all the worry that was weighing on me.
Earlier in the afternoon I had started taking prednisone (steroid, anti-inflamitory) and some pretty strong antibiotics on me that I always travel with. By showtime, I felt much better, and although still fragile, I was pretty sure I would make it through the night alright.
The show went well, surprisingly well. It was a long night, but it went by fast, I had fun and I knew that I had pulled my weight and would be standing to fight another day. I also got to play drums which has been my guilty pleasure of late, since I am entirely self-taught over the past couple months using Playstation’s Rockband.
Friday, June 5, 2009
It's a small world
This evening after I went to the gym wandered around the village near NYU past all of these cool bars with live music and live comedy. So I found myself in a free comedy show, drinking $4 Corona's in a basement somewhere, where several 3rd rate comics tried out their new jokes. It was fun, and cheap, and since I had never gone to a comedy show alone, it was a new experience. The MC was asking everyone where they were from, and I had to be a smart ass. When he asked me, I told him I live on the streets. The room was silent as he paused for a couple beats, and then said, "So, how did that joke work out for you?"
I return home to find my roommate's email program open on the computer that we share. Now it's not my habit to go routing through anyone's personal email, but he had told me 4 hours prior that he was going out to meet someone he met on Craigslist for a "hookup". Since he was not yet home, I texted him asking if he was ok. He didn't respond. After 10 min I decided to poke around in his email and get more info about this hookup. I immediately see the requisite 20 back and forth emails replete with descriptions detailing who's going to do what to whom, and for how long, and with what, etc., etc., etc. There's an address and a phone number, so I felt better that at least I could tell the police where to find the body. I further noticed (um...no, I looked for) the email that sealed the deal; you know the one...it's got the paperclip, indicating that there is an attachment. In the interest of the forensic investigative work I was doing for the safety and well-being of my roommate, I clicked on the attachment to find myself staring at the picture of...another piano bar musician! My roommate was screwing one of my colleagues and he didn't even know it! I texted my roommate again, and said, tell B. that E. R. says hi! He came home about 30 minutes later and we had a good laugh about it.
I return home to find my roommate's email program open on the computer that we share. Now it's not my habit to go routing through anyone's personal email, but he had told me 4 hours prior that he was going out to meet someone he met on Craigslist for a "hookup". Since he was not yet home, I texted him asking if he was ok. He didn't respond. After 10 min I decided to poke around in his email and get more info about this hookup. I immediately see the requisite 20 back and forth emails replete with descriptions detailing who's going to do what to whom, and for how long, and with what, etc., etc., etc. There's an address and a phone number, so I felt better that at least I could tell the police where to find the body. I further noticed (um...no, I looked for) the email that sealed the deal; you know the one...it's got the paperclip, indicating that there is an attachment. In the interest of the forensic investigative work I was doing for the safety and well-being of my roommate, I clicked on the attachment to find myself staring at the picture of...another piano bar musician! My roommate was screwing one of my colleagues and he didn't even know it! I texted my roommate again, and said, tell B. that E. R. says hi! He came home about 30 minutes later and we had a good laugh about it.
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