The Dueling Pianist

Bieber battle. Dueling Pianos on the NCL Epic

2011-12-06T16:46:00.001-08:00

Working through laryngitis

2011-11-05T08:53:00.001-07:00

3 days ago I awoke with laryngitis. It wasn’t a surprise really, as I’ve been nursing a minor cold for a couple of days, and it hasn’t helped that I’ve been breathing the processed, dry air of the cruise ship nonstop. When I get a cold, if and when it moves into my throat my vocal chords (larynx) swells up (-itis) make it difficult for them to vibrate normally to produce the sounds necessary for singing. For a dueling piano player this is one of the most frustrating problems we deal with since we use our voices for everything we do. I spent the day resting in my room, reading and watching TV, while I mega-dosed on vitamin C, and drank lots of lemon tea with honey. I gargled with apple cider vinegar, a well-known “secret” among professional singers, and did gentle vocal exercises to try and prepare for my 4 hour show. While all of those things are important, they really don’t directly address the swelling of the larynx that is the root of the problem.

At night I went in to do my sound check, and realized that I really had no voice to speak of. Working on the ship I have the luxury of having a sound tech in the booth throughout the entire show. I told him I would need him to boost my sound both in my monitors and in the main mix whenever I was singing. I began the show with Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, a common song dueling piano players start with because it’s familiar, and it’s a good warm up song, easy on the voice, and on the audience. I think the high note is a “D”, well within my normal everyday range, but I was cracking all over the place. In my mind I started to panic, wondering how I was going to get through 4 hours of a high-energy show. I mentally reviewed my repertoire and catalogued the songs that were the least vocally demanding. Luckily the average age of this audience is mid to late 50’s, so I was able to pull out all the old chestnuts like The Gambler, Stand By Me, Under the Boardwalk and the like, rather than the more vocally challenging material required for young crowds.

At one point when it was clear to everyone in the room that I was struggling, I made it into a running bit with the audience, telling them I could only sing country music and other low register songs and that they had to take up the slack in singing, as “tonight you audience members can sing better than I can.” The audience responded beautifully, singing for me whenever it was asked. It wasn’t a rowdy crowd, but people came and they stayed, and they paid attention, and obeyed singing commands and laughed at the jokes.

The following day was not a show day, and I took it easy, sleeping in and resting throughout the day. I continued with the Vitamin C, the tea with honey and the gargle. When I woke up the day after that, and my voice was still unusable, I set up an appointment with the ship’s doctor to see if I could score a prescription of Prednisone, a very powerful steroid that would almost guarantee a reduction of the swelling of my vocal chords. The ship’s doctor saw me that afternoon, and spent the better part of the meeting trying to convince me that antibiotics would be the better course of action, and telling me all of the nasty side-effects of Prednisone. I politely nodded my head, and continued to ask for the miracle of Prednisone. So with great trepidation, the doctor gave me the requested drug, along with a course of Antibiotics. Today after just one day of Prednisone (and no Antibiotics), I woke up able to sing more or less OK. My next show is tomorrow night, and I have no doubt I will be in better vocal health.

Naples for Pizza

2011-10-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went out into Naples with Vanessa from Spain who is one of the female acrobats that works in the Cirque show. We went out searching for the oldest pizza restaurant in Naples, called Pizzeria Da Michele. We found out later that this restaurant was part of the movie, “Eat, Sleep, Pray” with Julia Roberts. The day was overcast and we kept expecting it would rain. Along the way we stopped for Coffee, and we both ordered Lattes and sat outside and watched the bustling world of Naples pass by. When we finally arrived at the pizzeria, there was a line of people out the door. We went in and took a number (21) and waited about 30 minutes until they called us. The noisy restaurant was lit by unforgiving florescent lights hanging from high ceilings, and we were sat at a plain cafeteria style table with a bunch of other people we didn’t know. They served only two kinds of pizza, Marinara which was basically just tomato sauce, seasoned with garlic cloves and oregano, and then the second kind was Margahritta, which had tomato sauce, slabs of melted mozzarella, and basil leaves. Each pizza was only 5 Euro (about $6.90). We got one of each as well as a bottle of Coke, served in the old-fashioned glass bottles. The Margahritta pizza was outstanding and the mozzarella so fresh and flavorful. The Marinara was good too, but I didn’t like that it was missing cheese.

When we left, we walked through the narrow back streets, paved with stones smoothed by the traffic of centuries, and occasionally had to move aside for a moped or a small car. We passed a lot of stores that had small replicas of ancient town scenes, where you could buy tiny handmade brooms, pots, water wells, trees, spinning wheels to scale. I picked up a couple trinkets for some people back home. We stopped for another coffee in a piazza (square). I walked into the coffee shop and the menu at the counter said that it was 1.30 Euro for a Cappuccino, so I ordered two of them directly from the counter man. The waiter came up to me and told me to sit outside and he would bring them. When he did, he dropped a check for 5 Euro. Apparently in Italy the price doubles if you opt for waiter service.

After the Cappuccino, we continued walking back to the port, where I remembered that I had a postcard in my cabin that needed to be mailed in Italy, as I had already affixed the proper Italian postage on it. So I went back to my cabin and retrieved the postcard, went back through customs and security, and found a mailbox. This was our last day in Italy. Tomorrow we go to Mallorca, Spain and on Sunday back to our final Barcelona whereupon we will set sail for Miami and the Caribbean. Europe was fun but I’ll be glad to be home soon.

Living the Life

2011-10-14T05:19:00.000-07:00

Living on a cruise ship is like a suspension ofreality. Other than the 14 hours each week that I am doing our Dueling Pianoshow, the rest of the time is free for whatever. It’s very easy to sleep untilthe afternoon, and stay up into the morning hours drinking or just chattingwith your ship mates. You make friends very fast, and then they disappear astheir contracts finish, or yours does. This particular ship is a bit of aprototype in that they are the first cruise ship in this company to offer thetype of branded entertainment you might see in Vegas or New York. Every nightthere are 4 or 5 shows that the guests can choose from in addition to the standardlounge acts and bands you would expect to encounter on a cruise ship. As andueling piano entertainer, living and eating (and if you get lucky, sleeping) with all ofthese other musicians, actors, dancers and entertainers, is a rich life. Mostof my on board friends are in the entertainment staff and have made names forthemselves outside of the small world of ships, and are truly interestingpeople.

Of course it’s not all fun and games. Not everyonegets along with everyone else, and we all bring our personal demons with us,some of which can be pretty hard to hide. Right now, there have been twoseparate incidents of very talented guest entertainers having too much to drinkand bothering the guests with their behavior. One entertainer got so drunk thathe bit (yes, with his teeth) one of the guests. I’m sure he thought he wasbeing funny, but the guest complained and he was thrown off the ship thefollowing day, along with his innocent partner that worked his two-man actwith. In another incident only a couple of nights later, one of the guestentertainers got blind drunk and insulted a guest so much that the guestcomplained to management. The only reason this entertainer was not firedimmediately was because he was a member of a 4-person tribute act that wouldnot have been able to function without all 4 members. The fallout is affectingall of the guest entertainers, but that’s a separate story.

Sometimes all of the travel can be lonely too. Inspite of the fast and interesting friendships I’ve made, there are moments whenI long for my dear friends and family back home. At night when I’m lying in mybed alone, I think about how sweet it would be to have my lover in my arms.Yesterday I had made plans to go to Capri with a couple of new friends who hadto bail at the last minute. I decided to take the ferry over and go by myself.It was a solitary and introspective experience, that gave me time to think andenjoy this new place without the distraction of another. I was alone, but notlonely.

Florence, Rome and the Vatican

2011-10-07T06:49:00.000-07:00

Aside from the Dueling Piano shows I'm contracted for, I signed upand was chosen to be an escort for a couple of the ship’s official guest tours.The first was an all day tour to Florence. My job as an escort is laughablereally. All I have to do is wear my nametag and just be present. The localguides do all the work. So, it’s basically a free tour for me, and theseall-day tours cost the guests $230 - $300.

Florencewas like a picture postcard. There are statues and mosaics everywhere, and thestreets are lined with old stones that have been polished by centuries ofpedestrians, horses and cars. All the buildings are adorned with ornaments andbeautiful shutters on colored Italian stucco. The City of Florence was more or less the center of theRenaissance, so it’s history of Art is deep and broad. They have a plaza thatfunctions as their outdoor museum, and is full of marble sculptures by some ofthe greatest sculptors to ever live including perhaps the most well-knownsculpture ever, called The David by Michelangelo, which is of the beautiful youth, David right before he fights Goliath. So beautiful in fact,that I bought a cheap plaster reproduction.

Thefollowing day I was chosen to escort a full day tour to Rome and the Vatican.TheVatican museum is quite a grand affair, and is absurdly crowded. You aresurrounded by a streaming mass of humanity just flowing through the largepassageways that house perhaps the most extensive religious art collection inthe world. There was so much to look at and so little time to see it. I wouldlove to go back again when I had more time, but I doubt I will. Part of themuseum is the famous Sistine Chapel where Michelangelo painted the ceiling fresco.As you exit the museum you are allowed to go into St. Peter’s Basilica, whichis the most important church in Roman Catholicism as it is built upon theremains of the first very pope, the apostle Peter.

AsI type this, I’m sitting at the coffee bar on Deck 5. A couple of the Blue Menactors just came by and we’re talking. One of the things I love about this shipis how much of a community the entertainers have. It’s like we’re all in thesame boat…umm…yeah. Anyway, I’ve made a lot of friends.

Ok,was interrupted again by a passenger from Scotland asks me if I play “The Eyesof Texas” (The University of Texas fight song) [yes] and “We Didn’t Light theFire” [yes] at our piano show tonight.

Cruising with Dueling Pianos

2011-09-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

I’m doing a Dueling Piano show on a cruise ship out ofBarcelona for a few weeks. I only met my other two partners the night before we weresigning on. One of the guys is a vet of about 8 years, and is super nice. Theother is a younger kid with about 3 or 4 years under his belt and a greatattitude. Actually, I think we all have a great attitude. I don’t mean to gush,but this particular gig is a real privilege to work. You get to travel throughItaly and Spain on one of the largest ships on the water, get well taken careof, have sound and light guys, great equipment and audiences that are onvacation and are already predisposed to having fun. All of that, and you getpaid.

So far we’ve played 2 shows, both of which have gone well. Iwas pleased to discover that both of my partners have solid shows and are verysupportive on stage. The audience this week is somewhat older, averaging 45-55years old, and this bunch isn’t very energetic, but they give us love in areserved way.

The first show that we played we had very little time to do asound check as the room was in use until 45 minutes before our show began, andthe techs wanted to wait for a third tech to come and help them move thepianos. Then there was a problem getting one of the wireless mics to work, andso we rushed through a sound check in 10 minutes and it just wasn’t enoughtime.

The following day we helped the techs move the pianos ontothe stage, and got right into the sound check, as we already knew what theproblems were the night before and could tell the techs exactly what we wantedto change. By the time the sound check was over, the monitors were perfect, andI was really pleased with this.

During my first break, while my partners were up on stage, Iwas working with one of the techs and we were able to get the main room soundjust about perfect as well.

Our schedule on the ship is 4 nights on followed by 3 nightsoff. Tonight is my second night off, and I’m about to go out and check out someof the other entertainment on the ship.

Disturbing

2011-09-26T03:32:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I copied a picture that a friend had posted onFacebook onto my own Facebook status. Here’s the picture:

Most of my friends are like-minded and 16 of them “liked” orcommented on the picture. The following morning one of my Dueling Piano friends,a guy who I had worked with one weekend about 2 years ago (and don’t know allthat well) private messaged me as follows:

[Dueling Piano Guy:]
you`re kind of full of yourself
[Me:]
what do you mean
[Dueling Piano Guy:]
you are
think you`re better and smarter than everyone else
I think you`re arrogant
[Me]
why?
[Dueling Piano Guy:]
why?, you just run your trap about people`s beliefs and opinions like you`dknow more than they would...you don`t even have fucking kids
somehow the NY and Cornell thing and allthe breaks you get are some kind oflicense to run your trap.....since nothing matters to me anymore youdon`t wantto crossme
[Me]
Are you talking about the picture i posted?
[Dueling Piano Guy:]
I ought to kick your ass
I think you are full of yourself
[Me]
I think you are off your meds.
[Dueling Piano Guy:]
what the fuck makes you think you know even one iota more than anyone else
Tell me that to my face puke
[Me]
Well are you?
[Dueling Piano Guy:]
Fuck you...best NEVER cross my path
you`ll need meds
asshole

........................................................................

About 8 hours later he sent me the following:

[Dueling Piano Guy:]
sorry Eddie...bad night. You did nothing to deserve any ofthat. Sorry again.

[Me]
Forgiven Sir. Please take better care of yourself.

[Dueling Piano Guy:]
Thank you from the bottomof my heart Eddie.....good luck overseas....I`ll try and take better care ofmyself. I`m just so sorry for acting that way.

Budapest guest house

2011-09-22T17:23:00.000-07:00

First of all it's pronounced BUHD-a-peSHt, with an SH sound before the last "T". The city is divided geographically by the Danube River, which separates Buda from Pest. I stayed on the Pest side which has a more happening nightlife scene. I rented a room at a guesthouse online while I was still in New York City on a break from a Dueling Piano gig. When I arrived at the building, I had to take an antique tiny 2-person elevator up the 4 floors to my "guesthouse". I entered a very large apartment, and was shown to my room. It looked like something that a minor Hungarian nobleman from 1850 might have been lived in. It was very Gothic with lots of tapestries, over-sized

furniture, a full scale reproduction of Michelangelo's David, marble pedestals, ornamental accents, lots of brass candle sconces and a 9 foot tall glazed ceramic wood burning stove that looked like a piece of art. It was in a very old building that housed large apartments surrounding a courtyard. My windows faced the courtyard and because I wasn't on the top floor, I didn't get that much light, which added to the already slightly spooky effect.

Every time you entered the guest house you needed to key in, and then when you shut the door from the inside you needed to use your key to lock it. The same hassle for the beedroom door, except with a key and lock that was from the late 17th century, and that I never did get the handle of.

The only thing missing was a grand piano, vampires and organ music. I shall put that on my online review.

A week in Berlin

2011-09-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I leave Berlin after having been here 8 days. I've enjoyed this city. The Berliners are extremely civilized and polite, and don't strike me as uptight at all. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I always found the language to be rather harsh and in-your-face. Of course, being an American, I can't help but think back to the not so distant history where the German people succeeded to overrun all of Continental Europe. Pretty aggressive stuff. And yet the people are polite, they look you in the eye, and are very easy to live with. The city is clean, and there doesn't appear to be violent street crime. It's rare to see police, and everyone seems to behave. I suppose that's to be expected from the number one economy in Europe, but still, refreshing.

I have met some very interesting people here, out at restaurants and also online. One couple from Prague helped me with a German menu, and ended up joining me for dinner and giving me a map and a complete rundown on the cool places I must visit. I met a guy named Zack in a sidewalk cafe and we bonded discussing the failures of the European Central Bank and the IMF. (It's my not so secret pass time. I'm an economics geek. It doesn't come up in conversation with my friends, because none of them are into that. Many are creative types and couldn't give a damn about monetary and fiscal policy.) Zack and I became friends and we went out to dinner a couple of times. The first was an Austrian restaurant recommended to me by an American friend as his favorite restaurant in the world. I have to say, it was pretty outstanding, and the conversation with Zack, who I suspect has near-genius intelligence, was smart and lively.

The second time we went out together, we tried a chicken restaurant recommended by the couple from Prague. It was a German Pub, and they only had one thing on the menu: 1/2 Chicken. It was the specialty of the house and was cooked to perfection. My guess is that it was initially boiled, and then the entire chicken was deep fried. Of course the German potato salad that was served with it was rich, creamy goodness. Towards the end of the meal I noticed an upright piano was sitting near us, and after a word to the owner, she unlocked it, and I sat down and played. There weren't that many people in the place, but everyone who was there clapped after every song, and when we finally got our check, the owner had taken half off, "For the music."

The other day I crashed an art opening. Free beer and cheese.

Today was my last full day in Berlin and I decided to rent a bike. It's a very bike-friendly city, in a way that I wish New York was. There are dedicated bike lanes on most streets, and the car traffic respect the bicyclists. Even the taxis! Very different than New York. I drove all around, including the big city park, the Tiergarten, right in the center of all the buzz, just like Central Park at home in New York City.

A couple of other random notes about Berlin. The traffic light cycles to yellow before it goes to green so that traffic is ready to go when the light does go to green. Prostitution is legal, and quite available from what I see on the streets. There are blue laws on Sundays, meant to uphold the Lord's day, and apparently the only types of businesses that are allowed to be open are bars, clubs, casinos, houses of worship and houses of prostitution. All VAT taxes are included in the prices quoted by restaurants and shop pricetags, so you know exactly what you're paying before going to the register. Taxi's in Berlin are run, it seems, mostly by Germans, and I always felt safe in any cab I was in. The public transit system, the BVG, seems to run more or less on the honor system. You buy your ticket, and it's up to you to time stamp it. Once you time stamp it, it is valid for 2 hours on any train or bus going away from the original time stamp machine. But, the thing is no one ever checks to see if you have done this. Apparently there are police that are supposed to do this, but my new Berliner friends have never actually had someone ask to see their stamped tickets, or for that matter, seen it happen. Could you imagine this working in NYC??

Anyway, Berlin is a wonderful city, very inviting of tourists, safe, interesting and easy to navigate. Definitely a city I could live in. A world-class city for sure. I wonder if they'd enjoy dueling pianos here? Hmmm...

A Fresh beginning

2011-09-07T10:08:00.000-07:00

It's been way too long since I updated my blog, and I've been inspired to write again. As most of my readers know, I now make my living as a Dueling Piano player. It's been over four years since I saw my first dueling piano show in Austin Texas. Since then I have completely devoted myself to this craft, and now I can say that I more or less know what I'm doing. If you look at some of my past entries on this blog you know some of my struggles and obstacles as I tried to master this very specific and unique entertainment form. Well, I continue to try to master it with every new performance and every new dueling pianist that I meet.

I travel pretty much every weekend now, flying in on Thurs to some town or city in the Midwest, or the south, doing a show Thurs night, Fri night and Saturday night, and then fly back home to New York City where I spend 4 days at home, before doing it all over again. I've shared the stage with over 100 dueling piano players over the past 4 years, and have learned something from most everyone of them, even the bad ones.

Today I am flying over to Berlin. I was invited to play on a major cruise line as part of a dueling piano headliner act for 7 weeks out of Barcelona. I've already done this gig on this ship, but in the Caribbean. This will be different as the crowds are more European. I didn't think the Dueling Piano format would work in Europe but every one of my colleagues that have done this gig before me tell me differently, so I'm excited to see how it works. I don't sign on the ship until the 25th, but the cruise has agreed to fly me over 2 weeks early so I can explore Europe before I begin my contract. So I will be blogging about my travels. Feel free to make comments.

Democrats vs. Republicans

2010-10-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

I see so many threads on Facebook where Republicans blame Obama for the deficit, and Democrats blame the previous administration for inheriting problems they didn't create. The republicans have always claimed they were for smaller government, and yet all they have done is increase it when W was in office. And the Democrats are continuing to do the same. It should not be about Democrats versus Repulicans.

Ultimately, who should be responsible for our fiscal well-being? Should it be my job to take responsibility for my own welfare and that of my family, or should it be the job of my government?

I say, each of us should be responsible for our own well-being and that it should NOT be the government's job. Their job should be protecting our right to three things only: life, liberty, and property. Period! This means that whenever they levy a tax, they are violating two of those rights, because we don't really have much of a choice (violating liberty) in paying those taxes (violating our right to property) right? The more bloated the government gets, the more they take away our property and disburse it as they feel is good. This is never what our country was founded for! Quite the opposite, in fact. I wish people would begin to realize this and realize that the national dialogue shouldn't be about Democrats vs. Republicans, but rather something altogether more profound.

Reflections of 9/11

2010-09-11T12:16:00.000-07:00

Nine years ago I got a phone call at 9:10am telling me to go up on my roof in Jersey City. There, less than 5 miles away I saw my two favorite buildings dying. THe thing that struck me about that day was how great the weather was in NY. The sky was blue, the sun was shining brightly, and the temp was about 70. I also remember wondering how much this event would affect my life. Profoundly, I realize now.

I remember vividly the papers people posted all over the city in the coming days, asking for information about their father/brother/spouse/girlfriend who was last seen in Tower 2 or 1 on the 89th floor or the 101st floor. As the days progressed, these notices became more and more painful to look at.

I remember working a piano bar up town on Sept 12, and everyone wanting to sing happy broadway songs at the top of their lungs. I gave them what they wanted and felt like a dirty cheap whore. I hated my job that day.

I remember working a piano bar in the village, much closer to ground zero, on Sun Sept 15th, and everyone was desperately clinging to each other as we tearfully sang God Bless America, and the National Anthem and the song Anthem from Chess, and Billy Joel's Miami 2018. I felt the healing begin that day, and such gratitude that I was allowed to channel that healing through my music and my chosen career.

Subway stories

2010-08-03T11:18:00.000-07:00

I was riding the 6 train downtown yesterday. It was crowded but I got a seat. There was a man standing in front of me reading the script for "Death of a Salesman". He was about 50, needed a shave, was perhaps 40lbs overweight, and unkempt in a defeated sort of way. As the train neared the 33rd St. station, the girl next to me got up and this guy went to sit down. The train lurched to a halt and unceremoniously deposited him into the seat. Once he uncrumpled himself, I looked over, and said to him, "You'll make the perfect Willie Lowman." We both laughed all the way to 14th St.

Crazyness in the Markets

2010-05-06T13:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I decided to short the S&P500, which is essentially a direct bet that if the broad US markets go down, this trade will profit. Today, everything seems to be falling apart with everyone worrying over possible contagion from the Greek bond markets (Greece is going bankrupt and their bonds are becoming worthless). Also, when I got off my plane in St. Louis today and turned back on my iPhone, all my stock charts had a strange and very deep "V" in the middle of the afternoon. WTF? Apparently all the major markets lost 8% of their value in minutes and then immediately gained it all back. It makes no sense. Something's very rotten. Anyway, the markets closed down close to 3% for the day. I suspect until all of this stuff with the European capital markets figures itself out, investors are in for a rocky several months. I'm tempted to increase my bet against the market tomorrow.

3am swim

2010-05-05T22:19:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday night I found myself doing a NYC bar crawl until 4am with my best friend Link. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it just seemed to unveil itself without any planning or intention. 3 bars and several vodka’s down the line we were sitting at the bar when Link decides to try and balance his iPhone on the rim of his martini glass. (Of course, for those of you that have iPhones, you know that this would be akin to seeing if your pacemaker works in a strong electromagnetic field just for the fuck of it. And of those of you that don’t have iPhones and are most likely jealous of those of us that do, yes, even you probably can’t fathom such heresy either.) As he begins to remove his hand from the completely unbalanced phone on the rim of the glass, I ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing as, predictably, the phone takes a 3am swim in an espresso martini. The bartender, a close friend to both of us, immediately pulls the phone from back from it’s soggy grave, where upon the phone displays the following message:

This accessory is not made to work with this version of the iPhone.

Amazingly, after drying off the phone as best we could, and letting rest overnight, it still works with no glitches, although there is a subtle coffee smell.

UPDATE: 9 days later and the phone is fine.

booking the summer

2010-04-25T16:42:00.000-07:00

I have been talking to two venues for a few months now, either of which would have made for an interesting summer. One was in a coastal resort town in Mexico, which would have been great fun, and the other was much closer to home in a resort on the jersey shore. Both jobs would have taken up most of the summer, and so I stopped booking other dueling gigs to see what would happen with these two. It turns out that both of them fell through, and I was way behind on booking my summer schedule as a result.

So, one morning as I was having my customary cup of French roast, sitting in front of my computer in my underwear, I sent out 5 emails to clubs and agents I work with, explaining that I was seeking to book May, June and July. By 10pm, I had confirmed 8 weekends of work in 5 different clubs.

This is light years away from where I was only 1 year ago when I would struggle with each booking, as I was only beginning to establish my reputation as a dueler. This day, being able to secure so much work with so little effort, is an arrival of sorts. I’ve been working so hard over the past 3 years at this, that it’s nice to get such a material recognition of my accomplishments.

Dueling at the Waldorf Astoria??!!

2010-04-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

In October I was contacted by a large restaurant chain to put on a dueling show at their annual corporate conference that they were holding in NYC this year. It was to show appreciation to all of their managing partners, and there would be over 500 of them at this 3 day conference. We were scheduled the second night as one of three “nightlife opportunities” available to the conference particpants. (Aside from us there was also a “dance club” and a Swing Band.) It was a big deal and they were the kind of client that we all dream about. They pay great money, and you can almost make your entire month on one job like this. When I was told that the conference was being held in the Waldorf Astoria in NYC, I almost shit myself. A dueling piano show at the Waldorf??!! There couldn’t be a more inappropriate location for dueling pianos that the stuffy and venerated grand old dame that is the Waldorf. Imagine doing the Gang Bang song, or Bang Bang Lulu next to Cole Porter’s original piano (which is grandly displayed in the lobby)!! And yet there we were!

I subcontracted out two guys from out of state: Jason, a veteran that was driving up from Baltimore, and a very new player, Brian, who had access to all of the equipment and piano shells I needed to put this gig together.

The day before the gig I met with the client’s production manager who walked me through the hotel and showed me how to get to where we would be storing our equipment during the day and where we would then be performing at night. It was quite a trip to navigate from the service entrance to the place where we were to store our equipment, involving winding passageways, two elevator trips, one to the 3^rd floor, then carting everything through a large kitchen, only to take another elevator back to the lobby, and then another winding and narrow hallway that led us through yet another kitchen, and finally to the storage room.

Brian arrived in the city with his Toyota 4-runner packed to the gills with amps, stands, cables, keyboards and of course the two baby grand wooden piano shells in which the keyboards would hide, completing the illusion of dueling “pianos”. I met him out on the street as he was driving by and somehow managed to squeeze myself in his front seat between the gear shift and a casio keyboard. I directed him to the hotel, where we began the laborious process of unloading everything and carting it through the byzantine back passages of the Waldorf. It took us well over an hour but finally we finished and then went to my favorite Vietnamese place for lunch.

Brian and I spent the afternoon walking around midtown, where I showed him Rockefeller Center, St. Pauls, Bryant Park, Grand Central Terminal, and the shops on 5^th Avenue. Finally we retired back to my apartment and waited for our partner Jason to arrive. He arrived at 7:30, and at 8:10, the exact time I had planned for us all to walk over to the Waldorf, I get a call saying the gig has been moved up a half hour! So we rush over to the hotel, and as we are getting close Brian remembers that he may have left 2 pieces of the piano shell outside the elevator in one of the hotel’s kitchens. He goes flying off to try and find these while Jason and I move all the equipment out into the lobby where we set up for our show. 15 minutes later Brian calls me on my cell saying that the pieces are no where to be found. I tell him to get down and set up the sound and Jason and I will scour the hotel to see if we can locate them. These pieces were integral to the set up of the piano shells and had three basic functions: 1. To support the electric keyboard that sits in the wooden shell, 2. A place to install two of the three legs of the wooden shell, and 3. A ridge that would block anything that might be spilled on top of the shell from reaching the keyboard.

After walking through all the passages that we had had to move the equipment through earlier, I set Jason about the task of coming up with an alternative way to set up the piano shells so that we could still do the gig. I then contacted security, and tried to track down the missing parts. After 25 minutes of being escorted to the carpentry shop, the paint shop, every dumpster in the place, and all the many hallways they might have been put, we finally spoke with the kitchen manager who informed me that she had them thrown out as they were cluttering up her kitchen all day and no one knew what they were. She took me to the main trash compactor where she said they would have been thrown, but of course by this time there was no retrieving them.

I returned to my partners in the lobby, where with the assistance of the slick but very helpful hotel manager, they had enlisted the house carpenter to drill new holes to attatch the legs to the piano shell, and had stacked up milk crates to rest the keyboard on. A black table cloth was draped over the milk crates to hide them from view. The piano shells, now with all three legs were strategically placed in behind the keyboards, so that if you didn’t look too closely, and from exactly the right angle, you might think that we were playing baby grand pianos. Of course the illusion was destroyed the moment you walked towards either side of center, but at least we were able to go on with the gig.

Finally it’s time to start and Jason and I begin playing as the lobby fills up with conference participants. I found out later that Brian went into the bathroom and vomited, because he was so upset at having lost those parts. I on the other hand was so happy to just be playing and doing our show, having worried that we might not ever get it off the ground! About 2 hours into the show, a woman comes up to the piano that I’m playing and trips and spills an entire glass of white wine INTO the keyboard. Both my partners immediately come to my aid, and try and wipe off the keyboard while I continue spewing out the words to the Sir Mixalot hiphop song, Big Butts, while unwrapping my microphone from it’s stand and moving my act to the dry keyboard, never missing a lyric. Shortly thereafter, we take a break, where my partners inform me that the soaked keyboard is completely unplayable, as it would launch into demo mode, playing through it’s repertoire of demonstration songs, without any warning whatsoever! (I was wondering why my partner was playing Clair De Lune during my Great Balls of Fire solo!!)

We all agree that Jason, who is the most experienced of the lot of us, would play the working piano, and I would, with great fanfare and grand gesticulations, pretend to play the broken piano. When it was my turn to do a song (every 2^nd song), I would just tell Jason the song and key and hope that he knew it. It was pretty funny pretending to play in front of 100 or more people who never had a clue that my keyboard was completely silent. At one point Jason yells at me, “Get off the bass!!”, a common complaint among duelers when your partner hijacks the bassline of the song you are playing. This was funny since I wasn’t playing anything, of course!

Finally the show is over, the client happily hands over the check, none the wiser, and I make an executive decision to march all the equipment right out the front door onto Park Avenue rather than go back through the employee area and kitchens and elevators. As Brian tries to load up his 4-Runner at 3am, he can’t get everything to fit, because the lost pieces were integral to supporting some of the load in order for everything to fit just so. Jason and I are standing on the sidewalk, trying to be helpful, but not really able to be, waiting for Brian to figure out this puzzle. Finally, it’s all in, and Brian and I go back to my apartment, while Jason begins his long drive back to Baltimore, all of us a bit worse for the wear.

Be very concerned. This is a big deal:

2010-03-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

New York Times article today:

Credit Agency Warns U.S. and Others of Risk to Top Rating

...The ratings of the Aaa governments — which also include Britain, France, Spain and the Nordic countries — are currently “stable,” Moody’s Investors Service wrote in the report. But, it added, “their ‘distance-to-downgrade’ has in all cases substantially diminished.”

Growth alone will not resolve an increasingly complicated debt equation,” Moody’s said. “Preserving debt affordability” — the ratio of interest payments to government revenues — “at levels consistent with Aaa ratings will invariably require fiscal adjustments of a magnitude that, in some cases, will test social cohesion....

This is a big deal people. If the US Dollar looses it's status as a reserve currency, there could be economic chaos, out of which a new economic world order would arise. Big scary statement, I know. And those of you that know me personally, know that I'm not prone to hysteria, but rather that I think with a rational, well-ordered mind.

This is the scenario: The first step is increasing our sovereign debt to dangerous levels. We've already done that, thanks to our leadership for the past 25 years, Republican and Democrat alike. The second step is for the credit agencies to downgrade our bonds. That's what this article is portending. The third step is a rush to the exits as people try to get out of the US dollar, and Treasury Bills. That's when the shit begins to hit the fan.

A great change is beginning and at the end, the US will not be the premier economic power that has been for the past 70 years or so. The only question now, is how long is this process going to take, and how orderly or disorderly will it be.

A letter to family and friends

2010-02-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

I've been giving this a lot of attention and though in the past 2 years. I've been doing a ton of reading in the past couple of years trying to understand what has happened with the economy, why, and where we are headed. I read entire books, financial blogs, economic blogs and of course the daily financial news (the least informative of the four). I think my opinion is based on some solid information and analysis.

As a country we are in a debt crisis, and what now seems to be the beginnings of a recovery is merely the effects of stimulus actions by the government and the fed, and this recovery is untenable because there aren't really jobs being created, and our economy isn't really creating more products and services. So, I don't see the stock market moving much higher in the next several years based on fundamentals. Here's the problem: As a nation we have racked up so much debt, much of it prior to the stimulus began in Sept '08, and our ability to pay off that debt (through increased tax base due to increased Gross Domestic Product (GDP)) isn't improving, and yet we keep piling up more debt and doing it faster than ever before. The US is like the family that keeps refinancing their house and taking all the equity out, and then one day they wake up, and don't have the money to pay the mortgages and the bank takes the house back. The difference is that the US Government can always print cash to pay their monthly debt service, but printing money always leads to inflation.

By keeping the interest rates so low, and adding money into the money supply, without a real recovery based on fundamentals to increase Government revenue, we are setting the stage for inflation. Because our National debt is so very high, and getting higher faster than ever before, we have already set the stage for hyper-inflation. There is solid research that states that throughout recorded history, when sovereign debt gets to a certain point, serious inflation is always the result. We are past that point. The Government has been printing money (by selling government bonds) like it's the last night of the world to fund what it can't pay for in actual tax revenue, and our Government has been living beyond it's means for decades.

But there's more. As inflation takes hold, it becomes more and more expensive for our government to restructure it's debt. Today they issue bonds (T-bills) that they have to pay back in 2 years at 0.82% interest. In 2 years they will try get that money to pay this debt by selling more 2-year T-bills, but by then maybe they will have to offer 8% for anyone to want to buy them. And in 2 years from then, maybe 15% or 20%. At some point the market will just stop buying them, and that's the day everyone realizes that the emperor has no clothes.

What does this mean to you, the investor? It means that when the shit hits the fan, your cash will loose much of it's value. With hyper-inflation, if that occurs, your cash will essentially loose ALL it's value (think Wiemar Republic in the 1930's or Zimbabwe in the past 10 years). Your stocks will perform better than cash only in the sense that the stock prices are driven up by inflation, but because inflation is so bad for the economy, the companies won't really be doing well, and thus the share prices after adjusting to inflation will really be loosing money too. Any bonds that you hold will loose value as the interest rates increase (interest rates increase with inflation), so they are not safe. Real Estate value will raise as inflation takes hold, so that's good for homeowners, but will there be any buyers in a currency crisis?

Can a currency crises of this magnitude really happen to the United States of America, where the currency essentially becomes valueless?? Yes, I believe it can. Will it? I don't know. What I do know is that we have gone well past the point of fiscal responsibility with our National balance sheet and that if the US Government was a publicly traded company, it would be a terrible investment.

Here's what I really hope you consider, and not as an investment, but as insurance against a serious devaluation of the US Dollar, and/or high inflation. Buy gold and silver and put it in a safe and forget about it. Really...forget about it. This is not a short-term investment. Precious metals are notoriously volatile in the short run. No, this is an insurance policy against the devaluation of our currency, and in my opinion, our currency will continue to loose value over the next 1-10 years. This is your kids college education in 10 years. Even if doomsday doesn't occur, there is no way that given our ever increasing Deficit and our huge debt load, that a dollar in 2 years or in 10 years will buy anywhere near what a dollar buys today. But hopefully an ounce of gold will. A note of caution: buy the actual physical bullion and put it away. Don't buy futures or ETF's. There are reputable companies that will sell you physical bullion delivered to your door for about $25 or $30/ounce over spot price.

Also, be very careful about how much you put into stocks and bonds. I'm slowly decreasing my exposure in the stock market. Also, since I don't believe in the long-term viability of the US Currency (or US Government Bonds), I'm investigating other currencies to keep my cash in. (The Euro isn't one of them...they are in bad shape too.)

I don't expect you to take what I say as Gospel, and drink the Koolaid, as it were...but I do hope that you take some steps to protect yourself should this come to pass. What happened in the past couple of years has been awful, but I'm afraid there's much more to come.

Working in the deep south

2010-01-26T11:28:00.000-08:00

There was some drama this weekend at a gig I did in the deep South, as one of the other fly-in piano players was asked not to perform on Saturday night because his vocals are just too weak, and he is very difficult to understand. It sucked for him, for sure. He's been doing dueling pianos for over 10 years, and the past 3 years he's had to have several vocal surgeries, and his voice is a shadow of what it must have been before. Anyway, he was a total professional about it, and my remaining partner and I did the entire gig, with a bit of help from a local trainee who was understandably nervous, but made up for it with enthusiasm and got the job done. Meanwhile, me and my remaining partner put on an amazing show doing our 2-way, which was immensely satisfying to me. It was a packed house, over the fire code limit for sure. They were the type of audience that gave you so much love and enthusiasm that you feel like a rock star. By the end of the night 2 fights broke out just in front of the stage, but even with that, it was such a great night for us and I that it all was good. Because we didn't have to split the tips 3 ways, we each made more in tips, plus extra money from the house for having to play without a third, in addition to our regular salary. While feeling bad for our third partner, Jonathan, that was sidelined, I couldn't help a guilty feeling of glee as well. Jonathan has always been generally nice to me, but I've always felt an underlying current, subtle perhaps, but undeniable, that he was the experienced dueler and I was the upstart, with so much to learn. So as I said before, it was satisfying to put on such a well-received show, even as we were handicapped with losing the third man, and knowing that Jonathan was watching us do it. Don't get me wrong, I don't want bad things for Jonathan, truly I don't, and I hope over the next year or so he is able to rehab his voice. Loosing your voice is a danger of this profession, and it's one of the reasons I am glad I don't have to work 5 or even 6 nights/week like some of the house players I encounter in my travels.

Massage and friends from the road

2009-11-10T16:08:00.000-08:00

When Link and I returned to the hosteleria after the horseback riding trip I immediately scheduled a massage for my hands and feet (which were still sore and crampy from crawling around mountain tops the day before) and my legs. I decided to throw in a facial since I had been exposed to a lot of sun in the past few days. Link went first while I trolled the book exchange in the hostel and left behind the book I had just finished in exchange for a novel called “Stonehenge.”

When Link was finished, I met the girl at the spa, which was a tastefully spare building just down the path from the restaurant, overlooking a hill. First the massage. She had music playing…the kind that all the massuses must be issued with their liscense: the meandering wooden flute music. I much preferred silence so she turned it off. While I laid there I meditated as she relaxed the knotted muscles in my body. I counted my breaths and thought of very little as I experienced the sensation of skilled hands working my body.

After dinner and a glass of white wine Link and I met our horse riding guide, Mauricio at the bar for a game of pingpong. We also met a 22 yo traveler from Scottland named Grant who was traveling south america until his money ran out. The four of us had a lot of fun playing pool, pingpong and then finally chess on a 10 foot board built out of stone on the ground. Grant was the type of person that if I had met in New York I would want to be friends with. But we all knew would would never see each other after that night, and maybe that´s why we were all so relaxed with no agenda other than enjoying the night, the beer, the games and each other´s company.

On Caramelo´s back

2009-11-10T16:03:00.000-08:00

The day after we completed the Mandango Loop, we scheduled a four hour horseback riding trip. The guide, Mauricio came for us in a pickup truck and drove us 2 km into town where a boy had three horses ready for us. My horse was the youngest, only 3 ½ years old, and his name was Caramelo. We began at a walk, taking quickly to the paths outside of town. I’ve been on horseback probably 15 times in my life, but I’m not a very good rider. Soon we were trotting and finally galloping. I kept my one hand on the saddle horn to keep balance, an amataur move to be sure, but other than that, I felt pretty good.

We traveled paths in the foot hills around town, taking breaks occasionally for the horses to rest and drink. It was a nice ride, and the views by any standards were wonderful, although having hiked up on the mountain ridges the day before, I now knew what a really amazing view could be. Our guide was a 25 year old wrangler and 7 time bull riding champion. He was very pleasant and I was able to practice my Spanish with him. Mostly Link and Mauricio spoke though.

Although I was third inline, we all switched positions, at times riding abreast and a couple times where I was the trail leader. As the youngest horse, Caramelo was very energetic, and would have no problems breaking into a trot or gallop. Any fear of falling off the horse was completely eradicated by the ridgeline hike yesterday. I just enjoyed the ride…until I didn’t.

It happened after about 2 ½ hours of riding. I began to quickly feel uncomfortable, then sore, then really sore. The constant bouncing up and down of the trotting was hurting my back and my legs. The ride ended an hour later, after only 3 ½ hours. I was happy to get off Caramelo, even though we had paid for a full 4 hours.

After eating a meal at the little town square, we ran into Mauricio again who had already showered and changed from our ride. We set up a tentative meeting at the bar at our hostel for later that night.

The Mandango Loop

2009-11-10T07:49:00.000-08:00

Since I’ve arrived in the Andes Mountains here in Ecuador, I’ve been enthralled by the dramatic slopes, peaks and ridges that appear everywhere. The scope and scale of these features is not well described unless you’ve actually witnessed it. Most towns up here are in valleys with the mountains towering above and all around the town or city. Vilcabamba is no different. Link and I choose a German run Hosteleria a couple kilometers out of town which our guide book gave good notices. This particular "backpacker resort" boasted a restaurant with sweeping views, a bar, a spa, a spring-fed pool, WiFi (a rarety, although becoming more common) and most importantly an entire set of trails they designed for the guests to hike the mountains, ranging from 3 hours to 3 days.

The hike we choose was called the Mandango Loop and promised 5 hours of sweeping views of the mountains, a ridgeline hike and finally a decent along a mountain streambed. The description warned the prospective hiker that it is easy to die while hiking the Andes. It also said that you may not want to do this hike if you were afraid of heights. Well, I do have this fear, but it is not disabling and the innkeeper suggested that there was only a very short distance along the ridgeline in which I would really feel exposed. “How short,?” I asked. “Oh, from here to that chair over there,” he points 15 feet away. OK, I think, let’s do it!

We walked along the road about 15 minutes to the trailhead where we were told people might try to stop us as the entrance was on private property, but that we should just ignore them by smiling a wide Gringo smile and saying, “Gracias, gracias!” and just walk past them. We found the entrance, no problem and luckily there was no one to stop us. We immediately begin ascending a gentle slope among trees. I noticed a brown bull that perfectly blended into the backround. He was lying down and we carefully walked around him.

The slope gradually increased and soon we were ascending towards the foot of the nearest mountain. Predictably, the angle of ascent continued to increase until we were climbing up a more or less vertical wall at points. Then we found ourselves on a narrow path that was essentially a ledge that wound up the edge mountain. At points the ledge was only 18 inches wide, or even partially damaged. The drop off from this ledge was almost vertical and would be certain death with any misstep. This would be the theme for the rest of the hike. At points where the ledge was damaged, Link, who was leading, and had no apparent fear of falling to his immediate death, would reach back for me, so that I could use his arm to steady myself as I hopped over the damaged ledge. At one point, while we were doing one of these manouvers, Link lost his balance and because I had grabbed on to some stubborn vegetation with my other hand, I was able to pull him back to his center of gravity. We continued winding up the path/ledge sometimes having to climb vertically, until we reached the first milestone, which was a white crucifix planted on the first mountain top.

The view from this place was exactly the type of view that I had traveled 3,000 miles to see. There were dramatic mountains and green slopes that seemed to go on endlessly. Perhaps I could see 30 or 40 miles. I was high, and it was good. The next marker was a second cross that we could see on a distant mountain top, much higher than the one we were currently standing on. To traval to it, we had to walk along the ridgeline and then climb up to it.

[This photo was taken from the first cross, looking to the second cross which is located on the highest peak in the center of this picture]

The walk along this ridgeline is probably one of the most spectacular hikes on the planet. Walking along the ridge, the mountain fell away from you on both sides by such a steep degree that to go off the path would again be certain death. Much of this ridge was perhaps 3 feet wide, but at times it got as narrow as perhaps 18 inches. To add another thrill, it was windy, which freaked me out. Much of the path I was either crouching or downright crawling along. When the path would widen to 3 or 4 feet I could walk upright. These were times that were the most powerful for me. I could feel the deep fear, but being at that place, so isolated from anything, with such commanding views of the most dramatic spires and valleys for so many miles, … {at this point, I am at a loss as to how to articulate the feelings I experienced. I hate the use of superlatives, as they are so overused and therefore diluted, and yet my mind and my spirit was full of these superlatives as I stood on top of the world. Saying I was one with the planet, or that I was supremely connected sounds like a hackneyed attempt at some new-age bullshit. I refuse. I know that when I stood there, finally managing to get completely upright on that windy ridgeline the fear in the pit of my stomach transformed into something I suspect was as close to enlightenment as I may ever achieve in this body. At that moment there was only that present moment, and how that moment was Present! I was Present.}

We continued to walk/crawl/stoop/climb up along the exposed ridgeline until we finally reached the second peak, which was decorated with another cross, this one brown. After taking some pictures, we continued along the ridgeline. Not too far along, the ridgeline dropped about 12 feet, and we had to descend down a rocky spine, exposed on all sides except the immediate rocky spine we were descending. (Understand that even at the bottom of this decent we were still on the top of a mountain ridge.) After we successfully navigated this, we looked back and named it Angel’s Spine, because Link felt that he was so close to being able to fly like an angel (I wanted to name it The Spine of Lucifer!).

As I continued to navigate this ridgeline, I slowly became more confident and was able to walk upright more and more. I continued to be present with my fear, but also present with my walking and many times I treated it like the walking meditation that I do in New York. One foot in front of the other, feel the ground, feel the wind, hear the wind, breath, feel your breath enter your body, feel your breath leave your body. In this way, I wasn’t focused on the steep slopes on either side of me.

Soon enough the ridgeline became a mountain slope that became gentler as we began our descent. All in all, we were up on that ridge for about 2 hours. Maybe if I did this hike 4 more times, I could completely cure my fear of heights. But, there is no time. On to the next great adventure.

The Drive to Cuenca

2009-11-07T06:46:00.000-08:00

Getting ready to leave Guamote I was afraid that we may have to ride in the back of a crowded pickup truck, but we got lucky. Upon walking out to the Pan-American Highway (this is the one road that connects the mountains of Ecuador, North to South and goes down into Peru) there was a tour bus going our way. The bus was only half full and so we were able to stretch out. There was a small Quitua boy of about 11 or 12 who was traveling alone. He was covered in dirt and grime, and no doubt had any parents to take care of him. Even though Ecuador is a poor country, this was the first abandoned child I had seen. He left the bus after about 45 minutes beside a small village. I wondered who or what he had in that place.

The bus took us South to Chunchi, a quant mountain town surrounded on all sides by the towering Andes. We grabbed a cheap meal (they are all cheap meals) by the bus stop and waited for a bus to take us further south to Cuenca, the third largest city in Ecuador. Finally a pickup truck came by and the driver was shouting out “Cuenca! Cuenca!” so we got in to the two seats in the back of the cab. Another passenger piled into the passengers seat and a fourth guy hoped into the bed of the truck.

The truck driver took off like a bat out of hell. He was extremely aggressive and very stupid. Up in the mountains all the roads are windy. Luckily this road was very well paved, but he would take the inside curves with his wheels riding on the very edge of the paved road. He would take the outside curves in the opposing traffic lane. He was driving too fast and whenever he came up on traffic in front of him, he would tailgate them, weaving back and forth into opposing traffic until he found a way to pass. I looked behind me out the window to the poor guy in the truck bed. He was sitting on the edge of the truck, holding on for dear life. We smiled at each other. He got out after 25 minutes. The other passenger left 10 minutes after that and it was just the three of us. Link and I were terrified that we would get in an accident and go flying off a mountain, and finally after a particularly harrowing swerving exercise the guy did to avoid some potholes, I yelled at him in Spanish, but Link had to translate, which was kind of funny. After that, the driver seemed to tone down his erratic driving, and we made it without further incident to Cuenca.

The Market in Guamote

2009-11-05T17:52:00.000-08:00

Thurday is market day in Guamote and it is the largest market in all of Ecuador. People come from all over the country to buy and sell anything and everything. Items on display included kitchen ware, fabrics, clothes, hats, tools, padlocks, cell phones, chickens, wheat, vegetables, rice, eggs, cows, pigs, sheep and of course many restaurants and food stands. Every street in Guamote was lined with vendors and buyers. The majority of the attendees were the Quechua, where farmers came to sell their goods to retailers, distributors, other farms and restauranteurs.

L and I found ourselves in a large dustbowl where people were selling their sheep and pigs. They were leashed up and you just walked among them and asked the person holding the rope how much the animal cost. Then if you agreed to pay say $25 for a small pig or $50 for a medium sheep, you handed over the cash and they handed you the leash. Sometimes the animals didn’t want to be separated from their family and would squeal as they were dragged away, their legs locked, and the buyer might have to hit their backside with a switch or actually lift up their butt and push them down the street in this way.

the Quechua people

2009-11-05T17:51:00.002-08:00

We then made the long journey from the little village of Salinas, back through Guarandas, to the city of Riobamba to catch a small van going to the small village of Guamote where we spent the night in an eco-lodge run by Belgians. We stayed in a dorm room with 10 beds, but there was only one other person in the dorm besides us. I stayed up chatting with the young Belgian innkeeper. We talked about the economy, people and traveling.

He described the indigenous people (Quechua) as very shy and hard to get to know, but also as friendly. He told me that after 8 months working with them, he only just felt as though he could joke with them. My experience with these people is that they mind their own business and never hold your gaze, but if you smile at them, they smile back. They seem to be very sweet people with a strong sense of family and of community. Perhaps they are shy because they descended from the very proud Incans, but have been beaten down so much by the white men over the last 5 centuries that they have forgotten who they are and are afraid of anyone outside of their own. I don’t know.

Salinas

2009-11-05T17:51:00.001-08:00

The next morning after a hearty breakfast we took a cab to the village of Salina, about 30 km to the north. Salina is a cooperative that manufactures everything from Cheese, chocolate, textiles, salami, wool, essential oils, packaged medicial herbs, and probably 10 other things I can’t recall now that are sold both in and out of Ecuador. It was a very clean town set in an idyllic mountain setting, and everyone seemed to be happy and friendly. We took a tour of many of these factories and then hiked a mountain path and got lots of pictures and found the cement cross that overlooked the town from a nearby mountain. L climbed to the top of this 15 foot monument. It was scary because if he fell, not only would he fall off the cross, but he would probably fall off the mountain as well. But he survived and when we went back down the mountain, we realized everyone in the town square probably saw his escapade. Before we left we had trout served in a café on the square by a lovely woman. It was like getting fed by your mama. Near the end of the meal, her 14 year old daughter arrived back from school and mama grabbed her by the shoulders, gave her a quick tight hug, put her back at arms length and made the sign of the cross on her forehead and shoulders and then embraced her once again. The expression on the woman’s face made it clear that this young girl mattered more than anything else in her world. It was beautiful to watch.

Guaranda and dinner with a hole in my mouth

2009-11-05T17:48:00.000-08:00

We have been moving a lot the past two days. After leaving Ambato we took a bus to the town of Guaranda. My handy guidebook, which L and I have been affectionately calling “Pepe”, a name we assigned the Quechua Indian that is pictured on the cover, told us to sit on the left side of the bus for views of the volcano Zimborazo. The views were, in fact, quite spectacular and we got several pictures with our iPhones on the way. We uploaded some of these pictures to Facebook through a rare wifi signal that we got from our hotel in Guaranda. Even though Guaranda is the provincial seat, it is small (20,000 people) and quaint. I saw no other westerners. My dentist told me I was not allowed to eat rice, meat, milk or coffee for 24 hours after removing my tooth, So we found a cool café that served me a nice salad of lettuce, tomato and mushrooms. Still hungry, we went to the restaurant in our hotel where the very kind woman listened to my dietary restrictions then cooked up a meal of pasta, tomato, mushroom, and pepper with a side of boiled potatos. Perfect.

Dental work South American style

2009-11-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

About 5 years ago I found a dentist in New York who gave me 6 crowns on my top front teeth. I was so impressed with his work that I recommended him to L (my best friend and current travel companion) who was also looking to get some crowns. As much as I liked his work, his prices have gone higher over the past several years, and he now charges almost $350 for an exam and a deep cleaning. So 2 years ago, when I had traveled to Ecuador last, I got my teeth examined, cleaned and one filling for $65, and was determined to do it again this trip.

This morning after swiftly vacating our lousy hotel in Ambato, L and I wondered around town, looking for breakfast, and most importantly, cafe con leche to start the day. After a $3 breakfast of perfectly cooked eggs, fresh passion fruit juice, a ham and cheese melt, and a fresh fruit salad, we started walking towards the bus station when I saw a sign for a dentist office. We rang the bell, and got buzzed in to an upstairs office where we were told the dentist had time to see me. I was pleased to see that he specialized in orthodontics.

He poked around my mouth with a hi-res camera which was attatched to a flat-screen monitor mounted next to the chair so that both of us could see it. He noted the cosmetic work I had had done by my fancy Park Avenue dentist, specifically the 6 crowns on my top front teeth. He showed me on the monitor exactly how the work was flawed, and strongly suggested that I get myself another dentist. After seeing it on the monitor I couldn't help but agree.

He also showed me an advanced cavity in my upper left wisdom tooth that was too large to fix. He recommended pulling the tooth, since it couldn't be repaired and was bound to cause me great pain in the very near future. I reluctantly agreed after seeing the gaping hole that used to be the side of my rear molar. He began by injecting novacane into my gums. Having been through this process before I knew how painful these shots would be, but suprisingly, they weren't that bad. After I was comfortably numb he began to remove the tooth. I have never had the pleasure before, but it felt as though my bone was going to separate from my face before the tooth separated from the bone. I was honestly scared. And it's a violent process, with your cheek being pulled back far enough to expose the tooth and the dentist using all the strength of an large adult male to separate your tooth from your head. I was seriously questioning why I had chosen to go to a dentist in a developing country, even though by this point I was beginning to think he was better than my NY dentist. I had thoughts of my face being ripped apart and needing reconstructive bone surgery or perhaps the tooth flying out of my mouth as his plyers ripped through my cheek.

At one point I stopped him and asked him if there was any chance that the separation of my tooth from my mouth could fracture my bone. He gently laughed at my ignorance, but in a way that made me believe that I was in competent hands. I finally surrendered and allowed what will be to be.

L, who was watching the entire process said he used a tool that looked like a chisel to separate the bone from the roots, wedging it between the tooth and the bone, and rocking it and forth to loosen it. Then he would use plyers to pull at the tooth, and then go back to the chisel tool, then back to the plyers, until finally, even with my mouth completely numb, I felt a profound movent of the roots finally letting go as he dragged the tooth out of the bone. It felt SOOOO wrong! But it was done, and the dentist was pleased with his work. (As I type this, it is now 10 hours later, and aside from the gaping hole in my gum, I feel no pain.)

After I was done, L decided he would get an exam and a cleaning, even though he had just had one only 6 weeks ago by our NY Dentist. Almost immediately the Ecuadorian dentist identified the same flaws in L's implants as he had in mine. He also found 3 cavities that apparantly the NY guy didn't catch only 6 weeks prior! He filled the cavities and we paid him for all of his work. I was charged $60 for my exam, cleaning and tooth pulling and L was charged $90 for his exam and 3 fillings. I'm guessing this is about 10% of what we would have paid for this work in NY. And I do believe that the Ecuadorian had exactly the same quality equipment and perhaps better education and skills than our fancy Park Avenue dentist.

Quito

2009-11-02T08:01:00.000-08:00

Photo: Santo Domingo Church and Plaza Bolivar, as viewed from my breakfast table in Hotel restaurant.

Two nights ago my best friend and I hopped on a plane from New York to Quito Ecuador, by way of Bogata, Columbia. We will be in Ecuador for 11 days. It was a 1am flight and I was unable to sleep. We arrived in Bogata where we spent 3 hours in the aeropuerto drinking cafe con leche (sort of like cafe au lait) waiting for our connection. Thankfully our travel karma was good and all the planes were on time. Upon landing in Quito we found a cell phone shop, and spent $40 on a handset and charged it up with $20. We will sell the handset to someone arriving at the airport as we leave. I always like to do this when I´m overseas so that I can have a local number to call from for hotel reservations, travel arrangements, etc. We have one of the many backpacker guide books, and we were able to find a nice hotel for about $50 in the Historic area of the Old Town. I was here 3 years ago, and it is a comfortable and very historic city and I was glad to return.

After a 90 minute nap in the hotel we went out in search of food. We found this restaurant that was located on the huge wrap-around balcony of an old palace, and we ate like kings. My favorite part of the meal was a deep purple drink called Colada Morado. It is a traditional drink, only served for one week at this time of the year for some unexplained reason. It´s has a fruity taste, but is also spicy with hints of clove and cinnamin, and there are small pinaple chunks floating in the thick, sauce-like concoction. The smell reminded me of a fine mulberry candle.

We then took a taxi across town and found the backpacker area, where there are many travel agents, hostels and laudry shops. There are always cool restaurants and bars in the areas that cater towards younger travelers, and we found the busiest restaurant/bar and sat out on the patio drinking whiskey and eating dessert. After a couple of hours we left to return to our hotel back across town since I hadn´t had much sleep in the past 36 hours and had a little bit of a headache.

We woke up refreshed at 8:30 and ate breakfast at the restaurant in our hotel which overlooks a beautiful old stone plaza with a church and a monastary. There were book sellers in the plaza and the occassional Fransican monk with their brown hooded robes and white rope sashes. We are leaving town today by bus, to travel south along the spine of the Ecuadorian Andes. We did some of this 3 years ago and came back to complete the journey.

Ragtime

2009-10-30T11:32:00.001-07:00

A couple nights ago I saw the musical Ragtime. It was revived from 12 years ago and is still in previews. I hadn't even known it was coming back until a few days ago. Apparently the year it opened was the same year Lion King opened and of course Lion King took all the Tonys that year. Ragtime was a brilliant show, and its revival is true to the original. I was lucky to get the best seats in the entire house (7th row, center orch). Not sure how that happened, but I was thrilled. Right before the curtain went up, the actor, Frank Langella (Frost/Nixon) sat down in the seat directly in front of me.

As the curtain went up, the entire cast of about 35 people was already onstage and the theater broke out into thunderous applause. I'm sure that many of the audience were friends of the cast and of the show, but many had seen the show 12 years ago and were so happy to see it again. At any rate, the energy from the audience was the best that any cast could ever want, and the show seemed to float on top of that love. Not a cue was missed, everyone gave great performances and everyone had a real voice, something that seems more and more rare in broadway musicals these days. It was a great piece that was executed flawlessly. You laughed, you cried, you cheered and when it was over you gave an immediate and enthusiastic standing ovation. It was indeed a memorable Broadway experience. I highly recommend this show. The last time I felt this strongly about a great show was when i saw Wicked 5 or 6 years ago.

Ghosts from the past

2009-10-30T11:13:00.000-07:00

I saw an advertisement for a show that I recognized as the show a friend of mine had written 25 years ago. I haven't seen this friend in a couple of decades, and so I bought tickets hoping that he might be at the performance. The performance was wonderful. I had the demo tapes from 25 years ago, and I was familiar with the music. Of course they had reworked it, but the skeleton was the same, and as the music and the show washed over me, I was brought back to my college days. I had loved this music back then and I had associated it with my friendship with this guy, who was instrumental in my life in a way that he wasn't even aware. We had met as counselors in a childrens sleep-over camp that was geared towards musicals. One night when I was stuck doing bunk duty and all the other counselors were going out drinking, he gave me the tapes and libretto for Sweeney Todd and told me it would change my life. It did. After that summer, I spent a weekend with him at Eastman School of Music, where he studied. His dream was to be a composer of pop music in LA. I returned to my engineering studies after that weekend knowing beyond all doubt that I was supposed to be a professional musician. It took me 10 years after that to actually get around to it, but I finally did.

After the show was over, I was able to locate my friend. He didn't recognize me at first. Once we did the reintroductions, I told him how instrumental he was in my life, especially the weekend I visited him at Eastman. I told him that I now made my living performing, and that my love of Broadway had initiated from the night that he had given me Sweeney Todd to listen to. It was so great to talk to him. He told me he did make it to LA but that he no longer does music. He has been working as an Engineer!

Total Eclipse of the Heart

2009-10-11T21:42:00.000-07:00

Roommate 2.0

2009-10-03T10:15:00.000-07:00

You may remember a previous post where I got a part time roommate to help me defray expenses in the midtown apartment. Well, after 2 months he left. He claimed it was a money thing. It was upsetting because I was really seeking someone for a long term situation. But C'est La Vie.

I put another ad on Craigslist and quickly got 6 or 7 pretty solid interested parties. I met with 4 of them and was just about to make a decision when I get yet another person emailing me about the apartment. In her first email she tells me that she is a porn star based on the West Coast. She goes on about how responsible and quiet she is, and that she is under contract with one of the major Hollywood studios (not porn) for a TV show. She tells me that she will arrive in NYC the following Weds with all her professional references, a copy of the TV contract, her bank statements, landlord references, cash in hand, etc. etc. etc. She is interested in a part-time long term commitment. I immediately think, well she's a vapid, big-breasted, straight porn star; I will hate her! But, the business part of my mind says, well, not so fast. She's coming at me correctly, let's see where this takes us.

I called her, and we had a really good conversation, good enough, in fact, for me to delay my decision until she came to town on Weds and we could meet. She went on to tell me that she was my age (somewhere between 35 and death), the mother of two, and she has a friend that she likes to visit a couple of times a month here in NY. The more we talked, the more I was drawn to her. Although she had the porn star voice, and she giggled like a girl, she was not at all vapid. In fact she has a pretty solid sense of business and some amazing life experience that she shared with me with no apologies. As one who appreciates directness and hates all things fake, I was under her spell. After the phone call she texted me that she was going to stalk me via text until our meeting Weds, which she did, but not in an obnoxious way.

By the time she arrived, I had pretty much made up my mind that she would be my next roommate. My biggest concern was that she not cause a scandal arriving in my conservative east-side lobby with her big porn titties and skin-tight jeans telling the doorman she was here to see me. When she arrived, there was some protest going on and the streets were all blocked off, so I had to fetch her from the corner to get her past the cops and their barricades. She was tastefully dressed and we recognized each other immediately. We went up to my apartment and had the nicest evening, drinking wine and eating sushi, which she insisted upon paying for. My only last concern, since she was in the adult entertainment industry, was that she not entertain tricks in the apartment. (A week prior I actually had an inquiry about my apartment by a couple of professional girls that wanted to "entertain friends that make living in New York more manageable!") After a very long and honest conversation, I was convinced that escorting is not part of her business model. By the end of the night we were best friends and I invited her to share my apartment and she agreed. The following day she came with the cash, signed the papers and began her 4 day stay. I had to leave for the Midwest the next morning but when I got back to the apartment on Sunday, the fridge was stocked, the apartment was immaculate, there were scented candles and new linens on the bed. She flew out before I got back, but after about 9 days in CA, filming her show she'll be back in NY for 6 nights. I can't wait...we'll have a blast.

My second Hash

2009-09-20T17:10:00.001-07:00

Yesterday (Sat) afternoon I went to my second "Hash", which is a sort of team sport/race where everyone (about a hundred of us) runs through the streets and follows clues of chalk marked arrows. Sometimes the clues are misleading and you have to go back to a certain marking and find the correct lead. There is a lot of shouting and silliness, and people are staring at us wondering what in God's name we are doing frantically running in one direction, then another as a very loose group. The runs are designed to last about 4 miles or so, and at the end if you follow the course correctly, you end up at a bar where everyone drinks and sings silly drinking songs while making playful fun of each other.

What made yesterday's run special was that it was the Annual Red Dress Run, so all the participants (half men and half women) had to wear a red dress. My friend and I found a really cheap clothing store way uptown and got two identical red nylon numbers that were probably just glorified nighties. Cost: $8.95 each. So there we were with 100 other hashers, running through the crowded streets of Soho (right by the Zendo where I meditate, coincidentally), Washington Square, The East Village, the West Village, Union Square and back down through Soho again. It was a beautiful sunny day of about 72 degrees and the tourists and shoppers were out in full force. It was so much fun to see their faces as all of these men and women in red dresses and running sneakers ran by. Some would ask what we were running for and we'd shout out things like "It's the Red Dress Run!" (as though that would explain everything) or "for Menopause Awareness Month" or "for Breast Cancer" or my favorite, "for Beer!" Some people would get excited and start hooting and hollering. Some would just laugh. Most reacted with a combination of bewilderment and amusement, with the tourists leaning towards the former and the natives, the latter. At one point we were running down crowded Broadway and we realized that we had missed a clue so we all turned around and ran right back through the same crowd we had just assaulted 3 minutes prior. As we ran past a sidewalk cafe I held my hand out, red nylon sleeve waving in the wind, and I high-fived several of the diners. It was complete lunacy.

Brilliant!

2009-08-20T07:14:00.000-07:00

What is he doing to this turtle? Riding it?

2009-08-16T20:29:00.001-07:00

It's about fun, dammit!

2009-08-15T10:05:00.000-07:00

I'm in the mid-west this weekend, working once again with 2 partners that I've never met before. I always look forward to this aspect of my work, as I have met some really cool people this way. The three of us are staying in a small band apartment with only 2 bedrooms, so the last one to arrive is stuck with the futon in the common area. It sucks, and it's an inadequate arrangement, but what can you do.

My one partner who arrived last is 30-something, and has been playing the gig for a long time. I think he was irritated about having to sleep on the futon, while my other partner and I got private bedrooms with proper beds. He was standoffish to me from the first introduction, and it only got worse.

On stage he demonstrated technically solid piano skills. I also found him to be just as standoffish to me on stage as he was offstage. When I would finish a song, he never once, made any reference to what I had just done, and he never once introduced me to the crowd as is standard stagecraft. He was only slightly more animated with my other partner. He appeared as though he had been in the gig much too long and was utterly dissatisfied. He rarely got up off his piano bench to support either of his partners with hand-clapping or riling up the crowd, preferring to do these things from the comfort of his seat, with an decidedly unenthusiasic bent. At one point after I missed a rather simple chord change, he shook his head back and forth in disgust sitting opposite me on-stage. I have yet to see a genuine smile or for that matter an authentic connection with his on-stage partner of the moment. It was almost as though there were two shows happening on stage, his and that of his partner and rarely did the two intersect.

I found out from my other partner, who has a strange history with this guy, that he was a serious cokehead (I didn't witness this), and that he's always been a miserable human being. I certainly sensed his unhappiness. I know that he was unhappy about the sleeping arrangements, but it ran deeper than that. He has not put together 5 complete sentences for me since we met 2 days ago. Had he not been so cold to me before we ever got onstage, I might have thought it a case an inflated sense of self. Certainly he has much more experience than me, and his piano skills reflect this. I know that there are guys in this gig that feel put-upon when they have to play with lesser experienced players, and perhaps that's part of it. But his bitterness seems to run deep, and for this, I am not taking his coldness personally. I think that what he completely misses is that equally as important (or as many would argue, more important) as keyboarding skills, is an on-stage presence that involves charisma, positive energy, a sense of humor, a skillful reparté with your partner and...FUN!! Ya have to be able to have fun!!! If you are so wrapped up in how much better you are then both your partners...um...you're not having much fun, and the audience picks up on it. You can throw out all the stock jokes and funny one-liners, but if you look bored or put-upon when you say them, you're second rate, and worse than that you are wasting the time of everyone in the club.

It miserable people like this that can't summon up an ounce of visible human kindness, that are the cold-prickly thorns in the side of this gig. The flip side of this is that my other partner is a really cool person and we've made a nice connection that will last well beyond this gig. So, all in all, this weekend was a wash.

Musician humor

2009-08-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

I pissed her off good

2009-08-09T13:07:00.000-07:00

There was some customer drama in our show last night. There was a request slip on my piano with $25 attached asking for me to call down Jenny who was celebrating her bachelorette party. Over the microphone I asked for Jenny to come to the stage where I began to roast her. After 3 minutes into it, one of her friends whispered in my ear that her name was not Jenny, it was Ashley. I quickly realized that Ashley was another bachelorette roast request that I also had on my piano and was only accompanied by $7. Now you must realize that part of format of the show with every partner I have ever worked for is that we do the calldowns with the most money first. This is part of the education process with all of our audiences that encourages them to tip higher. And seven dollar Ashley had clearly cut the line, so to speak, usurping Jenny’s rightful place. So over the microphone I say, “Well if this is Ashley, then where is Jenny?” Ashley is looking pissed now, but I said to her, no, it’s ok, I want you to stay onstage too. She must not have heard me, because she came over to my piano and grabbed my mic and angrily yells something about not being able to get called down unless you tip the piano players a lot of money. I tried to calm Ashley down, and as Jenny came to the stage, I told her to go over to my partner’s piano, and I asked Ashley to sit with me. I then set up a roast for the two of them, where me and my partner would trade rude knock-knock jokes at the girls’ expense. But only 30 seconds into it, Ashley gets up off the piano bench, grabs her request slip with her $7, and her and her 6 friends march out of the bar, indignant. She was pissed that she had to share the stage during “her” calldown, except that it wasn’t her calldown at all. It was Jenny’s call down, and when I asked for “Jenny”, Ashley came to the stage. So of course, I had to go through all of this with the entertainment director who was one of my partners that night, but not onstage at that moment. He had seen it all and absolved me of any wrongdoing, which was good, since he could have chosen to be a prick about it.

When I went back into the employee break room, there was a big drama happening because one of the waitresses' wallet was stolen out of her purse she had stored in the break room. She was out $300, and the management was taking it pretty serious. They eventually found the wallet but the money was missing. The cops were called, and from what I could gather, they actually did pin down who did it. Turns out the culprit (who had worked for the club for 6 month) had a couple prior arrests for petty theft.

Connections

2009-08-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile since I’ve updated you. Life as a traveling minstrel continues to treat me well. Last weekend I had off and enjoyed a relaxed schedule knowing I didn’t have to deal with airports and carry-ons. I spent lots of time with the people important to me, and always seemed to make time to travel uptown and visit my piano every day. I finished up two critical and arduous projects: the memorization of both Bohemian Rhapsody and Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. This weekend I traveled out to the Chi-town area where I played for 2 nights. As I type this, I am flying over Lake Michigan, headed back to New York.

GOOD: I was inexplicably upgraded to business class, which I was pleasantly surprised and happy about, until...

BAD: the young woman who was to be my seat-mate arrived with her little 2 year-old bundle of joy. The baby is a very active child and expresses himself very loudly. But as the plane took off,

GOOD: the child feel asleep. It seems that the Lord givith and the Lord taketh away, and givith yet again. I’ll update if anything changes during the time it takes me to finish this entry.

The last time I worked in this city, I went onto the community section of Craigslist and posted an ad to see if I could find anyone that wanted to show me the city, or just hang out and socialize. It worked out famously. I met a 44 year old married guy whose wife was working out of town, and he had nothing to do for the weekend. He called me as he pulled up to my hotel and I came down and hopped into his BMW convertible and he drove me to this street festival where we walked and talked and sat and drank and ate the afternoon away in comfortable conversation. So this weekend when I arrived, I texted him to see if he was around, and sure enough his wife was out of town, and he had the entire weekend free. We met for a seafood dinner a couple hours before I started my show next door. The following day (yesterday) he picked me up at 2, and we drove out to the Wisconson state fair. What a great time that was. We watched pigs being judged; we saw every kind of prize sheep, rabbit, pig and heifer in the state; we ate cheese, creampuffs, pork chops on a stick, ice-cream smothered with fresh local cherries; we listened to some great bands and just had a great day. I love the fact that I am able to make such a great connection with a total stranger in a strange city.

Well, the little bundle of still sleeping. VERY GOOD!

Like a bad dream

2009-07-25T10:14:00.000-07:00

So I'm doing this gig last night, across from a veteran of almost 20 years, someone who I respect and who can get me lots of work in the future. They've paid a lot of money to fly me here to perform for 2 days and have put me up in a downtown hotel. It's near the beginning of the night when the entire room is still paying 100% attention to the show. My partner throws over a request for Billy Joel's "Only the Good Die Young," a song I know well and have performed hundreds of times. I play the right hand introduction perfectly, but instead of landing on an F as the ultimate chord of the intro, I land on a C, which puts me in an entirely different key. So I start singing the verse, but my chords are not matching up to what I'm singing. Not even close. So after about 3 or 4 lines, I had to stop cold, and sit and figure out what's wrong. After about 15 or 20 inexorably long seconds, I still haven't figured it out so I decide to start the intro all over again, in the hopes that I will figure it out as I go along. There is sweat pouring off of my forehead and into my eyes. My face is buried in the piano yet I can feel my partner across the stage from me, wanting to be helpful but not knowing how, and of course the audience just watching to see how this will play out. Somehow my hands land on the correct chords this time and I'm off and running, and then do the song absolutely perfectly.

The rest of the night went great and I'm sure that little moment was forgotten about by everyone except me. You can never ever get complacent with this gig. I have about 200 songs that I consider memorized, and even though I have been performing every weekend, I still must (and do) practice all of these songs on my off days to keep them fresh in my memory, and yet still, some aren't there when I need them.

More apartment drama

2009-07-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

Well after 3 weeks, my new roommate has decided to end our arrangement. Something about his partner's mother getting into a car wreck, and his partner needing to buy her a new car, so he can't afford 2 rent payments...blah, blah, blah. It really pisses me off because he knew that I was looking for a longterm commitment and before I met him I had already turned down several offers for short-term rental of my apartment. But, he gave me 30 days notice as he is required, so what can I say. Somehow I knew this situation was too good to be true. At least I haven't moved the piano back. So now I'm putting the apartment back on the rental market, and also searching for another part-time roommate. A major drain of time.

This weekend I'm back in the midwest, near Chicago, working two nights. I realized my September calender is not yet booked, so I sent out a couple of emails today, trolling for work. In other random news, I'm toying with the idea of taking a couple of weeks of in Dec and going to the Philippines.

About 13 days ago I got some kind of virus, and last weekend I dealt with some major intestinal problems while working in KS. I don't think the virus has actually completely left my body, even though I'm feeling much better.

One last note. You don't arrest someone in their own home just because they are indignant and raise their voice. I don't care how right the cop may have been up to that point, but once he determined that Gates was the owner of the home, he should have respectfully removed himself, no matter how angry Gates was. I don't believe it was a race thing. I think it was an ego thing. This is why I really detest most cops. So many things turn into pissing contests, and if their ego is threatened, they use the power of their office to make themselves feel better or more powerful, with total disregard for what is best for society at that moment. By their very actions, they create many of the problems that we pay them to solve. And they do it in a way that, at first glance seems correct (sort of like passive-agressives), but underneath is a seething cauldron of arrogance and complete lack of respect for the very society they swore to serve. They should take lessons from flight attendants. These folks know how to handle difficult people without anyone getting arrested.

workin'

2009-07-16T06:23:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I worked in the Chicago area with guys I've never met before. Both shows went really well, and I came away with a couple things. First, a continuing sense of satisfaction at seeing something that I've worked so hard at, really come together. Second, and probably more important, was a more specific sense of some of the weaknesses of my show. Both of these things have inspired me to continue my work in refining my act.

I returned to New York, and spent a couple days in bed with a mild fever and some rapid trips to the bathroom. I swear it's all this flying I do, being couped up in that recycled air with 100 other bodies, carriers of God knows what.

Today I fly back down to Kansas City, where I'll be working for the next three nights. Current songs I'm learning: Walk the Dinasaur (1987 song used as a staff-dance-along showtime, and also featured in the new Ice Age movie), Bennie and the Jets (crazy difficult synchopation), Fat Bottomed Girls (a Freddie Mercury anthem to pedophilia and fat chicks--check the lyrics yourself), and Hallelujah (a Steven Lynch song about big titties).

kicked out

2009-07-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

Everything is going smoothly. I have a paying roommate in the midtown apartment who seems to be pretty easy to get along with, although we haven't stayed in the apartment together yet. The plan is that I won't be there when he is, and vice versa. Meanwhile, I've cut the telephone service and the cable service to the apartment, and renegotiated the internet, cutting my monthly expenses by about$85. If I want to watch a TV show, I can do it from my computer, online, and the roommate says that he doesn't watch TV.

I'm trying to work out my travel to and from the job I have this weekend near Chicago. I had put off buying the ticket and now it's much more than it was when I negotiated my travel expenses. The problem is the flight back on Sunday. So I've booked the flight out to the job and will wait until midnight Wednesday when all the airlines release more seats to try and book a flight back. Another option would be to stay and explore Chicago for a couple days, but of course that would cost even more, but I could justify it as a vacation rather than a business expense.

Yesterday I was way uptown in the apartment that still houses my piano when I got "kicked out" by my roommate at 12 noon because due to an incoming hookup he had. I decided to go to the gym, which I haven't been in over 4 weeks, since I got really sick with a cold. After a good 90 min workout, I was told I still couldn't return, so I walked over to Inwood Hill Park and meandered down through upper Manhattan into Fort Tyron Park, finally landing back at the apartment at 5:00pm. It was a glorious day, perhaps 78 degrees, sunny and breezy. I was happy to be outside all day, but of course I got no practicing done whatsoever. 10 min after I returned we were both invited to an outdoor concert down in Central Park. Then we ended up in a beer garden on the upper east side, and finally I arrived in my (piano-less) midtown apartment at 9:30pm. A good New York day!

Billy Jean

2009-06-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-27T10:31:00.000-07:00

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.

New Roomate

2009-06-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

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!

Wasps

2009-06-13T10:47:00.000-07:00

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.

What to do, what to do?

2009-06-12T16:43:00.000-07:00

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.

It's a small world

2009-06-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

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.

uneventful

2009-05-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

I don't have much to tell you. I've been leading a rather boring life these past weeks. During the week I practice and go to the gym during the days, and have just been chillin' out in the evenings. I've been working some weekends up in New England, and that's about it. I had a chance to do Dueling Pianos on a cruise, but that has fallen through. I'm booked pretty much every weekend up until the middle of July and I still don't know what the hell I'm going to do with my apartment. That's it. That's all the news fit to print.

Clarification

2009-05-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

As a writer, even of a humble blog such as this, I believe that I am responsible for not misleading my readers. Journalistic integrity and all that. Not that I don't occasionally bend the truth if it suits a good story. I do. But not much that the original truth is unrecognizable or completely bent out of shape. So one of my readers felt that I was misleading on a previous entry (click here) and I think it's important to clarify.

I never meant to imply that my friend who is in prison uses sex to score drugs, or for that matter, even uses drugs (Haldol) illicitly. Furthermore, when I wrote that entry I didn't believe (and still don't believe) that he ever did those things personally. When I wrote that entry I was trying to colorfully illustrate the contrasts between my life as a freeman, and the things he routinely lives with as a prisoner. I can understand how it could be interpreted that he was the one doing these things and for that I apologize.

Medical Scare

2009-05-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

Following up on a previous entry, my close friend was sent by ambulance to the hospital by her cardiologist for a possible heart problem, and they discovered a tumor in her lung the size of a cell phone (comparable in size to one of those flip phones the cell companies give you for free to lock you into a 2 year contract, as opposed to, say, a Blackberry or an iPhone). It seems that golf balls are SO 1990's. My friend was told she probably had cancer. They kept her in for a week while they mapped the tumor, and performed every possible test, scan and biopsy, giving her the million dollar work over. At the end of the first week they did another lung scan, and found that the tumor had dissappeared! Apparently they had begun to treat her with antibiotics somewhere after the first 4 days on the slim possibility that it was pneumonia. And miracle of miracles, that's exactly what it was! This is indeed good news, although it should be noted that she has top-notch medical coverage, and the hospital and the doctors probably made their fiscal quarter with her case alone, even though all she ever needed was some good antibiotics, had they diagnosed her properly when she first came in. Of course they are saying that, given how she presented initially, they were correct in not suspecting anything other than cancer. But then, what would you expect them to say?

I'm skeptical. I think it was inferior diagnostic skills of the admitting physician. But no one will ever investigate it. The medical industry will take their pound of flesh where they can get it. The insurance company will pay, and we will all suffer as the insurance industry raises their rates and decreases their coverage for the rest of us in order to balance their books.

Oh, and as far as the heart problem that caused her to be sent to the hospital in the first place, after several EKG's and a cardiac cath operation, well...it seems her heart is just fine.

Sick

2009-04-30T15:27:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I woke up with a scratchy throat, stuffed up sinuses, a headache and the energy of an overcooked noodle. I did nothing except for about 15 minutes of half-hearted practicing before giving up. I spent most of the day in bed, sort of sleeping, sort of not. Around 7pm I began watching Grey's Anatomy and didn't stop until the wee hours. 6 episodes, 2 hot showers, 4 Tylenols, twenysevenhundredthousand vitamin C's, 3 netti pots and 1 Atavan later I went to sleep for the night.

This morning I woke up feeling better but still stuffed up. I spent about a half hour in a hot shower with the netti pot before I finally unclogged my nose and could breath like a human being again. I am still not well, but today I have much more energy than yesterday and was able to get four solid practice hours in preparation for this weekend's shows.

If I'm wrong what do I loose?

2009-04-27T10:49:00.000-07:00

I had a conversation with a "born-again" Christian last night. He rattled off one of the worn out Christian mantras I've heard before, which goes something like this: "If you are wrong (as a non-believer), you burn in hell for eternity, but if I am wrong (believing in Christ) I loose nothing."

I think that is an extremely arrogant approach. I told him, suppose the experience of God exists only in the present, as I believe. Suppose the past and the future are completely irrevelvant and even more, distracting from this God that exists in this moment. If you live your entire life with a religion that asks you to focus on a God that walked the earth long ago to save you from yourself, and also to focus on the future, of how you are among the chosen people who will be saved when God comes again, are you really ever in the present moment? Furthermore, if your religion is evangelical in nature, doesn't that take the focus away from yourself and put it on others? If you believe as I do that God can be found with inward focus, then you won't find God.

So, if you are wrong, what have you lost?

You've lost God.

Hell on stage

2009-04-19T16:14:00.000-07:00

On Friday I was at the gym, working the lower leg machine when my phone rang. It was a call from the club in New England that I worked at 3 weeks ago. The Entertainment Director, Bill said he had a mix up in the schedule and asked if I come up and work the following night. I agreed, and 24 hours later I was onstage with 2 players I knew, and one I that I never met until he came up on stage opposite me.

It was a decent crowd, and we were all putting on a good show. After an hour I was relieved and stepped down for an hour. After a Chicken Caesar and a Corona, I was back up onstage when I noticed that my piano was playing wrong notes. The pianos, as with most dueling piano shows are actually digital stage pianos that sit inside a wooden shell built to appear like a grand piano. Not only was it playing some wrong notes, but the notes that were wrong, were also inordinately loud, which made the instrument impossible to play. The only person that could correct this was Bill who was, at that moment, on the piano opposite me, playing a rousing rendition of Sweet Caroline. I wrote a note to him on the back of a request slip telling him the problem. Then when he finished, I began doing an accapella version of Queen's We Will Rock You, getting the audience to stomp their feet and clap their hands while Bill went over to my piano and tried to fix it. He realized quickly that it needed to be replaced, so he brought another digital piano out of the office and we installed it into the wooden shell while one of our other partners came up and played on Bill's piano.

Once that was done, I again sat back at my piano and began playing Dancing Queen when in the middle of my song, this second digital piano completely cut out. I powered it off and back on again (think ctl+alt+del), while still singing, and the piano worked...for 30 seconds, before it cut off completely again. Bill came back over as my partner took over the show, and we installed yet a third keyboard into my piano shell. This one worked, but this was a much cheaper instrument and the keys were not weighted and the piano sound was not very realistic. As I began playing on this junky keyboard, the wooden finger guard (the clapboard) for the piano shell fell down from vertical to about a 45 degree angle, hanging over my fingers. I pushed it up and it immediately fell back down. I guess as we had a different sized keyboard inside the shell, the mechanics were different and the clapboard was no longer supported vertically. I was afraid it would fall on my hands, breaking my fingers, but I found out later that it was designed only to close halfway. Finally my hour set was over, and I practically ran to the bar.

Trouble

2009-04-18T07:17:00.000-07:00

One of my closest friends is in trouble. She went to the cardiologist for some tests, and I guess her EKG was irregular and she had had some heaviness in her chest and this was enough to the doc to send her speeding in the back of an ambulance to the local hospital. Once there they did more tests, including a cardiac catherization and a CT scan. Although they found no blockages in the heart when they did the cath, they did find what they think is a cancerous tumor in the lungs when they did the CT scan. So although the immediate danger seems to have passed, she is very scared, and stuck in this hospital until Monday when they can biopsy the tumor and get more clarity. It took me a day to recall that several years ago I agreed to be her medical proxy, which means if she were ever to become unable to speak for herself, I would be the one to make the medical decisions.

Susan Boyle...really??

2009-04-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

Here's the link to the video in question:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Il5TBgD9kHI

This video has gone viral. It's of a 47 year old frumpy homebody that is auditioning for Britain's Got Talent. I've had no less than 4 friends post this video on their Facebook pages. So in the beginning everyone is kind of secretly laughing at her, rolling their proverbial eyes as she says she wants a career like Eileen Paige. Then she sings. And you see all the judges mouths drop open. The crowd goes crazy wild, especially on the high note (which, by the way, is completely unremarkable in this alto song). Everybody on two continents begins posting this video on their Facebook and Myspace pages. Why?

Her singing is good. It's solid. It is not great, and it is not inspired. There are thousands of singers in NYC and London that can sing as well or better than Susan. So why does this video go viral? I think because first of all, the public doesn't really know what good singing can be. But more than that, I think that it's people's expectations that deceive them and make her performance seem better than it is. On the surface, Ms. Boyle is as frumpy as they come, with frizzy hair, a double chin, overgrown eyebrows and bags under her eyes. She is wonderfully naive and hopelessly optimistic as she confidently answers Simon's question of why her singing career hasn't worked out so far, by quipping "I haven't been given the chance before," as the camera pans through an audience that is alternately rolling their eyes and giggling behind their hands.

When she begins to sing, it's obvious to everyone that they have underestimated the disheveled Ms. Boyle. She can actually sing. But here's the problem. Everyone mistakes their amazement at this beautiful voice coming out of this bland, boring housewife with brilliance. It frustrates me how the music-listening public can be so easily fooled. If you, like some of my friends, have espoused her magnificence on your Facebook page, I invite you to take another listen, this time, don't look at the video. Then listen to ANY recorded version of I Dreamed a Dream from any production of Les Mis, and compare and contrast.

And while I'm at it, if you are one of those people that cheer and applaud at high-notes or notes held for a long time regardless of their beauty of tone, would you please just knock it off! Instead, cheer at the end of a song you were moved in a meaningful way by the artist's intelligent treatment of the music. Cheer after the brilliant use of nuance. Cheer if you were moved by the sheer beauty of a note. Stop fucking cheering just because they hit a note loud and high. That's not art, that's trickery, and sadly, sometimes it's not even good trickery that can so easily get an enthusiastic response from today's audiences.

A strange afternoon

2009-04-08T23:11:00.000-07:00

About 8 months ago, the guy who was training me in Dueling Pianos asked me to call another potential trainee in Texas who had approached him about learning the gig. His name was John, and from our first conversation it was obvious that we had a good chemistry. John was in his fifties and hadn’t played professionally since the late 80’s but wanted to get back to doing music fulltime. He was particularly intrigued by the dueling piano format, and wanted to know what he needed to know and do to get into it. I wrote up a songlist of about 70 core songs that he should know, and we spoke for many hours about the gig. Over the months, we maintained contact via telephone and developed a nice friendship. When I scheduled my trip to Texas, I suggested we get together for some facetime.

We agreed to meet at his place on Sunday at 1:30pm. I arrived and he offered me a beer, which I declined. He suggested taking a walk on a nearby nature trail, which sounded fun. As we walked, he told me he had suffered a stroke several years ago that had left him paralyzed. Now he was fully recovered and had gotten his first music gig in 20 years, as a pianist on a major cruise line. He was very excited about this 6 month contract that would begin shortly, and felt that this was his big chance to get back into music, and redeem his life. Apparently back in the day he had been quite a hell raiser on the cruise ships and had made a reputation for himself. He stopped to piss 4 times during our hour-long walk.

When we returned to the house, he popped a beer and uncorked a red wine and took a swig from the bottle. We went to the piano, and we both showed off for each other while his very classy 50-something lady roommate enthusiastically watched on. As the afternoon wore on, John got steadily drunk on beer and wine. The three of us went out to dinner and watched a 9 piece salsa band. I had my second beer of the day and John began ordering double vodka and OJ. He turned to me and said, Eddie, tonight I’m gonna get hosed!” After an hour and 3 fish tacos later, John was so drunk that he could bearly sit up. He was eating like an animal and barking at the help. I was getting ready to make my exit when he said that he wanted to leave as he now felt sick. I left them in the parking lot and made a quick retreat to my car.

The next morning John called to ask if he had said anything to piss his roommate off, because she wasn't telling him exactly what he did, but she was upset and had written him a letter. I told him that I suspected the problem wasn’t so much what he had said, as the fact that he got blind drunk for no apparent reason. He said he hoped it wouldn’t ruin our friendship, and I told him that I didn’t know. He called me two days later and apologized again, saying he hoped that whatever he said or did in the elevator, please disregard, because it wasn't him. I explained to him again, that he really was apologizing for the wrong thing. "John, put the focus squarely on the issue, which is not precisely what you may have said or done, but the fact that you took a perfectly nice social occassion and went on a solo mission to get shit-faced and as a result ruined everyone's night." I'm pretty sure he wasn't really ready to hear what I was saying.

Prison, part 3

2009-04-08T23:06:00.000-07:00

After my initial awkwardness, I found myself drawn in to the conversation with my inmate. I had messages of support from Snow’s family that I delivered and a promise of a story involving Stevie Nicks from his favorite Aunt. We spoke of prison beaurocracy and how he was almost not allowed to see me because of it. We rehashed his trip to New York 5 years ago, and Snow remembered much more of it than I did. He asked me about a friend we both know, and I asked him about his life in prison. He spoke of his case, and the details that he never dared write down in a letter to me. He told me of his man, a straight guy (read: gay for the stay) that Snow has been with since he first arrived in Prison 3 years ago. Aside from his brother and myself, the only other visitor that Snow has ever had was the mother of this man that Snow calls Starboy. In his letters, he had written about his lover and told me that Starboy is the one thing that makes his life bearable. Somehow they managed to get assigned to the same cell, and they mostly keep to themselves.

Starboy had been put in the safe-keeping unit when he left a gang. My friend Snow, on the other hand, was put in safekeeping for other reasons. When he had first arrived in prison, he was put in general population, and the leader of the Aryan brothers approached him and asked him if he was gay. He said yes, and this gang leader told him that even though he was gay, they would protect him, but just don’t ever get with a black or latin guy. I can only guess that they chose to protect him because he has very white, European features. But there were many people that wanted to “get” with my friend, including the blacks, and this gang leader must have thwarted them and it turned violent a few times. So, they told Snow that he had to be permanently transferred to safe-keeping which is where he immediately met Starboy.

He told me of some of the more sordid happenings of prison life, and since we both assumed we were being recorded or listened to, when he reached a particularly sensitive part of the story he would stop vocalizing and exaggerate his lip movements so I could follow. He asked me about my life and my career, and I told him stories about myself. And so we continued for almost 3 and a half hours until visiting hours were over at 5. As we said our goodbyes I pressed my palm up to the glass, something I felt was much too intimate and at the same time much to cliché. But I did it anyway, and he returned the gesture with an accompanying tear or two. He thanked me for coming and we both walked our separate ways, him into hell, and me into the sunlight. The journey back to my car that had taken almost 2 hours coming in, took about 5 minutes going out.

Prison, part 2 (Snow)

2009-04-08T22:36:00.000-07:00

His voice (let’s call him “Snow”) was softer and airier than I remembered it to be, almost as if he was trying to soothe a crying baby (or a nervous mark). It initially spooked me. I have been cautious with Snow since we began writing each other, as I am sure that many prisoners will take advantage of the friendships of their pen pals. But it was the fact that I knew him before he was ever in trouble that caused me to reach out initially. I know him to be a very creative, very sensitive guy that absolutely would be completely out of place in a state penitentiary. It’s that person that I am reaching out to.

I have no doubts at all that after 3 years of prison Snow is capable of manipulating and conniving to get what he wants. I also believe that he is feeling me out to see how much help I could be for him now, or down the road. I am not stupid. But that being said, I believe that the Snow that I knew before is deserving of some kindness in a world where I’m sure he sees so very little. I also know that he does have needs that only a person on the outside can help with, and because he feels so helpless where he is, it is only natural for him to ask for further help from someone who has already been kind to him. When he speaks of hardships that he lives with on a daily basis, it is true that there is a sometimes undeniable subtext that is an unspoken but very specific request. I think I’m OK with that. And if I were in his shoes, I think I’d reach out in similar ways.

Sign seen from a highway in Austin

2009-04-07T21:18:00.000-07:00

"MY KARMA RAN OVER MY DOGMA"

Car Doors

2009-04-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

Today I drove my brother and his 2 children to a Texas eatery. As we all piled out of the car, the two boys, 6 and 8, walked away from the car with their doors wide open. I was suprised that they weren't better trained, until my brother explained that they didn't really know how to close car doors since their minivan automatically closes its doors without them having to do anything.

Prison, part 1

2009-04-06T12:31:00.000-07:00

I've been in Texas the past 5 days visiting friends and family. It's funny but if there was a single state in the union I would think I would least like it would be Texas, and yet this is the third time I've been here and I always enjoy myself and want to extend my stay.

One of the things I was able to do was visit my friend in prison. As I mentioned in a previous post, there were many bureaucratic roadblocks, some of which I wasn't aware of until my friend told me during our visit. The morning of my visit I woke up in Dallas and after mapping out my route, I drove about 2 and a half hours, much of it in cow country. I was very careful not to exceed the speed limit, as I had horrible visions of how some back country cop would love to torture an Obama-loving Yankee from New York. The last hour of the drive the sun finally came out and the land was surprisingly green, with lightly rolling hills and lush trees. I arrived at the prison at 12:00 and had to queue up behind 3 other cars. As I got to the front of this first line, I was asked to pop the trunk, the hood, and open the glove compartment and console. I was then allowed to drive in to the parking lot. I left everything in my car, including my phone, my belt, my wallet, my paper money, walking in with only my car keys, my drivers licence and the clothes on my back. After a second queue of about 10 minutes, I had to empty my empty pockets and was thoroughly patted down (OK, not that thoroughly, you pigs!) before I was allowed to enter a metal detector. Then I was directed to another line, where I waited for 20 minutes as everyone approached a female guard who checked our names on a list, and asked us 20 questions. Once she approved my visit, I exited this first little building through a fenced in holding that only opened up to the front yard of the main prison after the door behind me shut. Once I was allowed out of the holding cell, I walked unescorted up a long and wide concrete path with beautifully landscaped shrubs and bushes on either side of me, and into the main prison receiving building. This time, there was a 40 min queue to get to yet another desk with yet another woman asking the same 20 questions. When she was done with me, she handed me a computer printout with my information, I left my ID with her and she pointed me to the visiting area. Another 2 door holding cell system. When I entered, I was in the midst of picnic tables filled with "offenders" and their loved ones. Because I was not family, I was not allowed a "contact visit" with my offender...er, friend. After looking around bewildered for about 30 seconds, one of the family members pointed me to a guard sitting at a desk who took my printout and told me to wait by window 6B while they retrieved the prisoner. I sat in front of a thick clear glass window for over 45 minutes, waiting for my friend to be shown down.

Every guard and prison employee I had contact with were extremely courteous and pleasant. I'm sure that's in stark contrast to the side of these same employees that the um, residents experience. While I waited, I tried to meditate, counting each breath in and out, but the sheer weight of being in such a sad and unfortunate place continuously played on my mind. I was acutely aware that my friend probably knew I was here waiting for him, and yet he had to wait until they brought him down to the other side of a bulletproof window. I was aware of the gang members, rapists, murderers and other misfits that occupied the same room as me, chatting happily with their family, hugging, and smiling for the pictures that the guard was taking with his Polaroid.

I was nervous to see my friend in such a setting. The last time we had seen each other was 5 years ago in New York, when he and another friend came to see me perform at a small piano lounge in the West Village. The three of us had one of those magical New York nights that visitors remember for a lifetime, and New Yorkers forget 2 days later. I didn't know him that well then, but through the course of our letters these past 6 months, I have come to know him much better. But other than pictures, I had forgotten what he looked like, or at least had thought I did.

Because I was traveling from out of state, I had obtained permission for a 4 hour visit. I wasn’t sure how the hell we were going to spend four hours talking through a phone and a bullet proof pane, but as they offered this extended visit, I took it, figuring I can always leave at anytime. Finally, he walked through the door into the prisoner side of the window. My first thought was that he had lost weight, and his face was more chiseled than I recalled. It took him from a cute boy to a handsome, well, boy still. He is 30 but looks much younger. He flashed me a wide smile and immediately enthused about me coming to visit. I felt very uncomfortable. I was unable to look him in the eye. He kept asking me how I was, how I’ve been. Well, um...it’s been a good day. I drove around in the beautiful back woods of this gorgeous country of ours. I listened to music from the fancy stereo in the fancy rental car. I called 4 friends from my iPhone (the 3G model, not the first generation) and chatted about nothing in particular. Last night I played on my favorite grand piano and was wined and dined in Dallas by adoring friends. This morning I hugged both of my nephews and my brother who insisted I call them when I was safely to my destination…no make that when I was safely away from my destination, truth be told. No one told me what to eat or when to shit. No one maced me with pepper spray or fucked me up the ass using hair grease just so that I could cop a couple of Haldols to crush up and put in my nose to dull the constant pain of a 99 year sentence. How the hell have you been, old buddy?

Post Script: Please read the following clarification: Click here

Some guy's Dueling Piano demo

2009-03-30T09:32:00.000-07:00

Eddie Lawrence, Dueling Pianos from Eddie Lawrence on Vimeo.

Fun with ears, and hope.

2009-03-28T08:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I flew out to this Dueling gig I do from time to time. I arrived at the airport at 1:30 after a short flight from La Guardia, and the club owner come out to pick me up and drop me off at my hotel. It's a very nice business hotel and I always enjoy staying here. I didn't have to work until 8, so I basically hung out in the room, on the phone, surfing the Internet and spending 2 hours in the bathroom, taking care of those pesky once-a-month ablutions such as plucking hair out of unseemly places on your ear (not to be confused with the "seemly" places for hair on your ear). Actually that's not completely accurate. This might have been a once a month occurrence 5 years ago. Now it's more or less a twice-a-week follicular affair. I wonder what the biological imperative is for ear hair. Is there an ear-hair gene that stays dormant for 30 years, just waiting for some special hormonal signal that says, "Grow, baby, grow!"? Perhaps as we get older, and our circulation becomes worse, our body protects it's um ears with coarse black hair.

While in the middle of my aural pluckage, the entertainment director from the club I did last weekend in New England called with 5 more dates and gave me a very nice referral to another club. I also got an interesting text from yet another ED that makes me believe that there will be even more work in the very near future. I'll know more in the next couple of days.

Meanwhile, there may be some good news for my prison pen pal. After I mailed him recounting the problems I had getting my name on his visitor list, he put a request in for clarification, because he knew that he had not modified it, and therefore should be able to ad my name immediately. The clarification came back saying that yes, in fact it was a clerical error. So when I received this information from him, I called the prison back and was told that he needs to resubmit my name for his visitor's list. I told them that he probably didn't realize this and asked if he could be notified of this requirement quickly, as I will be flying down the following week. I was connected to the chaplain's office, and the chaplain promised me he would take care of it. That was Monday. Well before I left for my current gig on Friday, I called again and I still am not on the visitor list. And the records people have no request from the inmate. So I asked to be connected to the chaplain's office again, where I was told that the chaplain I had spoken to on Monday was out sick all week. So I asked the other chaplain to take care of this, and she promised me she would. I will call again on Monday. What a rigmarole!

Apartment troubles

2009-03-26T18:37:00.001-07:00

I have an apartment that I rent out. I've had the same tenant for over a year, and he is paying about the same amount that my tenants have paid over the past 2.5 years. But he may be leaving soon, and I've quickly discovered that in today's economy, I will have to take about a 25% cut in rent. Ad on top of that, that my co-op just instituted a 7% charge for any rentals. Also, my monthly maintenance charges have increased 3%, and last year we had to pay over $2,000 in special assessments to cover the then ridiculously high fuel and utility costs to run the building.

Complicating the problem is that the next-door neighbors have made an very official noise complaint against my very UN-official tenant. So I tried to soothe that over today, and it wasn't easy. My neighbor is a curmudgeonly 60-something doctor, who spent 10 minutes trying to convince me that he wasn't some curmudgeonly 60-something. He tells me that my "friends" (the unofficial tenant) are too noisy when he's trying to sleep at night. I am very sensitive to my neighbors noise concerns, I really am. Partly because I'm a considerate bloke, but also partly because if he makes a stink about it, then I get on the radar of the building management and then questions come up about who exactly is living in the apartment. So I had a long heart-to-heart with my tenant who tells me a very different story. He makes it seem as though the neighbor is being intolerant of any noise at all, even simple conversation, late at night. I tend to believe my tenant, and I think the neighbor is making a big issue of very little, and yet this has the potential to cause me big problems. In fact, he may already have. And so, I may have to make my next tenant "official" which means paying about $900 in applications fees and move-in deposits in addition to the 7%. At some point, (and I'm quickly reaching that point) as I reduce the rent I charge and my expenses to rent increase, it will make no sense to have a tenant, and I will have to move back in myself.

New England

2009-03-24T19:45:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I played at a dueling club in New England. I had played there one night in December, and was finally invited back in March. The entertainment director arranged to put me onstage first as he wanted my first and last sets to be easy and then only the one set in the middle would be critical. I wasn't happy to hear that. After the night was over, he confessed to me that he had been a bit nervous about having me onstage because he really didn't remember exactly how my performance had been in December. That's really frustrating as I work so damn hard to do what I do well, and yet it's seems to take forever to foment my reputation. And I remember that I had completely rearranged my schedule and taken a pay cut to work that first night in December so that he WOULD know exactly what I was capable of and book me for more work. He did go on to say that as soon as he heard me do my first song he knew that he had nothing to worry about with me. He then promised to book me for more work, and did give me a single date in April. Oy...this process is so excruciatingly slow!

On my return to New York I arranged to stop at Yale University for a campus tour. Of course Yale is the very definition of privilege, recognized by many as one of the top 3 colleges in the US. I just had to see. The main library was designed by an architect who believed that every great architect should build one cathedral in their career. As Yale had no desire to build a cathedral, he convinced them to let him design the library as a cathedral to knowledge. It was as grand a cathedral as you would expect from a place like Yale. In the naves were card catalogues and computers, and up front where the alter would be, was the front desk. It would be a great place to study.

The girl that gave the tour was a chatty freshman who had apparently met the Prime Minister of China at one of their monthly fireside chats they hold for the various colleges in Yale. The entire experience made me think of Harry Potter's Hogwarts, except that this was real life. Sort of.

Calling all bums

2009-03-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

This guy on a wheelchair is out on the sidewalk begging for loose change outside an all night restaurant on 6th Ave in the village. Not 10 seconds before this picture was taken, he was talking animatedly on his cellphone, telling someone that he would be home in an hour. I positioned myself to the left of the picture (brown jacket) and instructed my roommate to take this picture discreetly as though he was taking a picture of me. But I guess it wasn't too discrete and the bum had time to get rid of the phone.

My Penpal

2009-03-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

About a year ago I found an acquaintance of mine that I had lost touch with. I Googled him and found that since I had last seen him over 3 years ago, he had done something really bad and wound up sentenced to 99 years of hard time in a maximum security penitentiary. When I finally contacted him, we began to pen pal back and forth quite regularly. I can only imagine what it would be like to have to spend the rest of your days in jail, and I know my letters give him great comfort. Since he is incarcerated in Texas, I decided to combine a visit with my brother's family with a visit to him. I phoned the prison a couple months ago to inquire about procedure. I was told that he needed to put me on his approved visitors list. So I wrote him and suggested there was a possibility that I might be in Texas and if he wanted, he should add me to his list. He quickly wrote back saying he would do so immediately. Additionally, he told me he would put me on another list, so that I could inquire about things like transfers, medical conditions, or death. Apparently only his brother is on this list. That was a bit more than I asked for, but it doesn't commit me to anything.

So, I booked my plane ticket to Texas for April. I called back to the prison, to schedule a visit. Since I was flying in, I had been told that we would be allowed a 4 hour visit through a Plexiglas window. Upon calling back today, I was told that his visitor list had not been changed and I was still not on it. I told the woman that I was almost sure that he had put in the request. I heard some tapping of computer keys and she then told me that prisoners are only allowed to modify their visitor list once every 6 months. Apparently he had changed his in January and so I would be unable to be added until July. I explained to her that I had called a month ago and was never told this, and that I had already paid for my flight. She said the only person that could override the rule was the warden and so I asked to be transferred to his office. I explained everything to the warden's secretary who put me on hold, and came back 2 minutes later and wanted to know if I was a relative. I told her I was not. She put me back on hold and 1 minute later told me that nothing could be done.

Now, besides my brothers family, I have a several friends in Texas and was planning to visit them all, so, this won't be a wasted trip for me by any means. But that phone call sure gave me a glimpse into his world. I'm guessing he rarely, if ever, gets visitors. And now he has that chance and someone is willing to get on a plane to see him, but the rules and regulations that he must abide by prevent this from happening.

The Magic Kingdom

2009-02-27T19:09:00.000-08:00

OK, the tax prep work is pretty much done. Just got to gather everything together and put it in the envelope for the accountant. This year I kept really good records, so it took me a several hours going through all my expenses to get everything itemize, but I did, and it's done. The last two years I was very late in filing and I paid penalties, etc, and I refuse to do that again.

I still haven't gotten the video from my show in VA, but it is looking more and more hopeful. My dueling partner is in VA this weekend and he is supposed to hook up with the video guy and retrieve the files. I'm hoping that all will go smooth. I had actually thought that I would be able to use data recovery software to undelete the files he deleted originally, but after many many hours, it was ultimately fruitless, so if my partner can't get these files, then I won't have video.

I'm going to backtrack here. After my show in VA Saturday night, I got an early start and to Orlando with my friend in the car with me. I didn't know I had it in me to drive that long, but it was surprisingly easy. I only stopped twice for 20 min and once for 5 min and made the entire drive in almost exactly 12 hours. We spent the next three days in Disney. I was there twice as a kid, but it's been a long time ago. Many times I had moments of deja vu; once standing in the line for Space Mountain, I remembered standing in that same hallway, and it was a really spooky feeling. It was fun to show my friend around the Magic Kingdom, as I remembered the good rides and made sure we went on all of them, including: Space Mountain, Peter Pan's Flying Adventure, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Haunted Mansion, The Jungle Cruise. It was definitely different seeing them as an adult.

My favorite part of the entire trip was the fireworks over Cinderella's Castle at 9:30pm. It was (God, I'm going to say it...) magical! It was quintessential Disney. And Tinkerbell came flying out from one of the turrets, perfectly lit. (that's so gay, i know!) It reminded me of the show I watched as a kid, Wonderful World of Disney that was on every Sunday night at 7pm. At the very end it would show fireworks above the castle and Tinkerbell would fly out. It was the same thing.

As we were waiting in line for the Snow White ride, a little 9 year old girl sees all the people exiting the ride and says, "Mommie, everyone looks so happy. Why is it called Snow White's Scary Adventure?"

The name of the Wedway People Mover got changed to the Disney Transit Authority. Boo!

In Disney World I felt out of place without a stroller, wheelchair, electric cart or other wheeled ambulatory assistance device.

And speaking of baby carriages, I have authored Eddie's 2009 Recession Axiom #37 which states: "The amount of money you have lost in the stock market this past year is directly proportional to the number of cup holders built into the handle of your child's baby stroller." Think about it.

We spent one day in the Magic Kingdom (Magical!), one day in Epcot (wish we had two) and one day in the Animal Kingdom (fun), and then began driving back the last night when we finally stopped for the night in South Carolina. The next day we were on the road for 11 hours including an hour dinner break during rush hour in D.C. Finally back to Philly were I returned the car and we trained back up to NYC the next morning.

Virginia Dueling Pianos

2009-02-22T15:13:00.001-08:00

A blog is like a pet. You must feed it regularly or it dies. If you stop writing for a long time, regular readers forget to tune in. So, my apologies to my regulars (about 5-8 readers per day, my counter program tells me). I have been traveling for work and then a quick vacation down to Florida before driving back up to NY. Some highlights:

I arrived at my gig in VA to find to my great surprise that my Aunt had drove down all the way from Philly to see my show. My cousin, (my aunt's daughter), was also there with her new beau. Also going on that night, I had hired a videographer to tape the show. I had my hands full, but it was a good night and I did a good show, working with a partner I had never met before. I was a bit intimidated by my partner as he had been a studio musician for many years, and has been dueling since the late 80's. But, even though he was more musically accurate (by far) than me, I have come to realize over the past 6 months that my energy, my voice and my likability on stage is just as good, and many times, better than duelers with much more experience than my paltry one year in this gig. It also makes me a great partner. I say all of this with great modesty, as I am fully aware of how much I have to learn from these veterans and how much I have to practice to compensate for my lack of experience.

I was happy to get the show video'd as it was a good one, but the camera man had a bit of a hissy fit the following day and deleted our files from the removable hard drives that we had provided him after he had spent all morning loading these hidef files onto them. Big, long drama that, as of yet does not have a good ending. I'm still trying to retrieve those files, so we'll see how that goes.

My friend and I headed out on the road the morning after my gigs were over, and I drove for 12 consecutive hours until we reached Orlando at 10pm and after a well deserved steak dinner that I had been craving for about 200 miles, we checked in to our hotel and crashed.

More later. Time to do taxes!

Disparity

2009-02-09T10:55:00.000-08:00

Cost of renting an intermediate sized car for 7 days from Enterprise with all taxes and fees and other such rapery:

New York City (Manhattan): $611.70
New York City (Astoria, Queens): $357.40
Jersey City, NJ: $258.62
Bucks County, PA: $194.98

These prices were gotten directly from Enterprise's website today.

Reverend Ike, 2:45 every Sunday

2009-02-08T18:16:00.001-08:00

I walk by this grand old theater in my neighborhood called The United Palace Theater", several days each week, and on the marquee it says, "Reverend Ike, Sundays at 2:45." I've always wanted to check it out, and finally today, at around 3:20 I found myself walking by and saw no reason not to enter. It was a really beautiful old theater that is still being used for concerts and the like, but since 1969, it has been owned by Rev. Ike's ministry, Christ United Church and every Sunday, the Rev. Ike holds service here.

My first thought was that there were so few people in the audience, and so many people up on stage. I actually counted 60 audience members and 17 people on stage. As I entered, a singer was belting out old gospel music, and everyone on stage and off were standing, clapping and singing along, the choir swaying back and forth. She was accompanied by an organ on stage and a drum set. After she was done, a woman came on the stage (from stage right) and introduces today's preacher, who was not the Rev. Ike after all. Apparently the Rev Ike was taking the day off for some reason. Perhaps that was the reason that the place was empty.

The preacher spoke about the Lord putting trials and tribulations into your life for a reason. He quoted Exodus a lot. Almost every single sentence he would interject the word "Hallelujah" or "Amen" or "Praise God" either in the middle or at the end of the sentence, so often that it was almost like a tic, or better, like some ecclesiastical version of Turret's. The choir was on stage, and they were all saying things like, "Alright" or "Uh-huh!" or "That's right" or "You tell 'em, Reverend" or my personal favorite, "Mmm, mmm, mmm!" Since the choir was miked you could hear all of these interjections clearly. It gave me a new understanding of preaching to the choir. Most of the people in the audience were not really participating with the enthusiasm of the choir, and so he would ask the audience for an amen or an hallelujah every so often. If he was talking about attitude, he tell us, "Everyone say, 'Attitude,'" and all the sheep would dutifully respond, "Attitude!" Basically, the entire service was one big cliche, but it was quite a performance, and I enjoyed it for what it was.

I stayed for about 35 minutes or so. I took this picture with my cell phone and one of the ushers came to my seat and told me that no pictures were allowed to be taken of the service. Of course by that point it was already a done deal. But for a minute, I thought she was going to ask me for my iPhone, so she could confiscate the picture. If that happened, I would have told her that I had already emailed the picture after I took it and erasing it wouldn't serve God's purpose.

Anyway...I definitely want to come back when the Rev. Ike is performing. I'm sure that will be even better theater than I saw today. I went to his website (revike.org) and this is what he says about himself:

"Rev. Ike has been one of the most misunderstood geniuses of the 20th Century. In the past, his message was often misrepresented by the media who sometimes ridiculed his flamboyant style and daring, unconventional teachings.

Today, Rev. Ike's true genius is undisputed, his teachings are accepted as universal truths, and he is acknowledged as a Master teacher, a mentor, and an inspiration by many famous motivational teachers and authors."

How can I not go back and see this??

My cousin and the iron maiden

2009-02-05T07:23:00.001-08:00

Last night I went out for dinner and drinks with my younger cousin "J". She has two sisters as well, and it seems that all three of them have grown up while I wasn't looking, and turned into real people. So, since J is now going to graduate school in the city, we decided to hang out for a night of drinks and dinner. We met at Heartland Brewery in Union Square and had a couple of pints of their micro brews. We both agreed that their light beer, "Indian River Light" was the tastiest light beer either of us had ever had. It felt really good to be together, and our conversation was interesting and fun, even if I did feel like I talked too much. After 3 pints and a bit of a buzz we moved next door to Republic for dumplings and noodles, and more beer and cocktails, of course. Towards the end of the meal, my roommate texts me and tells me to meet him at Hooter's on 56th St. This made no sense to me, as I know he hates those kind of places, but apparently he had been dragged out by a young straight-boy college friend with whom he has a crush on...so you know how that goes.

J and I leave the restaurant and we both head uptown to Hooters. As we go underground, we have to go through a "high exit turnstile" in order to get into the subway (see picture above). As it encases your entire body, it is also known as an Iron Maiden. So I swipe my Metrocard, and enter, with my cousin right behind me. But when she swipes, before she actually enters into the contraption, she takes her left hand and unwittingly rotates the turnstile so that she has a bit more room to squeeze into the iron maiden, but in doing so, rotates her paid entrance away and looses her "swipe." It's an amateur mistake and New Yorkers see this happen about once a day. Because she had an unlimited Metrocard, she would either have to wait 19 minutes until her card allowed her another swipe, or she would need to buy another cash Metrocard, which is what she finally did. She then swipes the new cash Metrocard and I see her hand moving to do the exact same mistake of rotating the turnstile before she is actually in it! From the other side of the cage, I stop her before she does it but then she swipes again without actually entering, and the machine tells her that the card is not valid. I try to tell her to just go through, because she already swiped it once and has yet to use that valid swipe. She is still stuck on the fact that it is telling her it's not valid so she goes to another turnstile with the (now already used card) and of course it won't allow her entrance, and some stranger enters the first turnstile, thus invalidating her valid entrance!

Meanwhile I am looking around the inside of the station to see if I can locate a station operator who might be willing to help. All I see are a couple of cops, and I know they won't do shit, so I turn my attention back to my cousin, and by now I'm completely exasperated in a way that only a true New Yorker can be when dealing with such an amateur. But she has a solution of her own. With no warning, as a complete stranger swipes and enters the turnstile nearest her, she rushes in behind him, so that the two of them are squeezing through the little space meant for only one. No doubt the strange man though he was getting robbed, as her little body slams up against his back, but the funniest part was that the purse that she was carrying got jammed in the turnstile, which stopped the turnstile from rotating through, trapping the two of them, back to belly, inside the iron maiden as my cousin desperately tries to pull her purse through. She finally manages free her purse, and in doing so, free the two of them. As the Maiden regurgitates the two of them into the station, the guy spins around and shouts at my cousin, "You could have at least ASKED first!" Meanwhile my cousin thinks she is so damn clever that she is laughing, but what she doesn't know is that there are two cops somewhere nearby, and I'm not sure precisely where they are now, or whether they saw her pull that trick. So I grab her by the wrist and say, we need to go, NOW!

We manage to make it unmolested to the platform, where we caught the Q train up to Hooters on 56th. We meet with my roommate and his friends, and all of us had a good laugh at the retelling of how J raped this poor man out of a Metrocard swipe. During this story, my cousin let it slip that she just got a summons earlier that week for entering a subway station (through an emergency exit door) without paying! This girl is a wild woman! We closed down Hooters and convinced J to come home and sleep on my couch, rather than try and navigate the subway system again.

Argentinian Bank Ad

2009-02-02T10:23:00.000-08:00

While we are on the subject of advertising, this one is mind boggling in its courage and its humanity. It is for an Argentinian bank. When will we see an ad like this in the US? 20 years? 50 years?

The little paper bag

2009-01-30T13:11:00.000-08:00

A little paper bag was feeling unwell, so he took himself off to the doctors.
"Doctor, I don't feel too good," said the little paper bag.
"Hmm, you look OK to me," said the Doctor, "but I'll do a blood test and see what that shows, come back and see me in a couple of days."

The little paper bag felt no better when he got back for the results. "What's wrong with me?" asked the little paper bag.
"I'm afraid you are HIV positive!" said the doctor.
"No, I can't be - I'm just a little paper bag!" said the little paper bag.
"Have you been having unprotected sex ?" asked the doctor.
"NO, I can't do things like that - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Well have you been sharing needles with other intravenous drug users?" asked the doctor.
"NO, I can't do things like that - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Perhaps you've been abroad recently and required a jab or a blood transfusion?" queried the doctor.
"NO, I don't have a passport - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Well", said the doctor, "are you in a homosexual relationship?"
"NO! I told you I can't do things like that, I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Then there can be only one explanation." said the doctor...
[wait for it]....[waaaaait]..."Your mother must have been a carrier"

A drinking club with a running problem

2009-01-24T08:25:00.000-08:00

On Friday my roommate talked me into hashing with him. No, that didn't involve a pipe or rolling papers. A hash is sort of like a race in which you must follow clues laid out beforehand in order to get to the end, which is always a pub where there is free-flowing beer and pizza. Hash clubs have Hashes weekly or biweekly for the purposes of exercise, socializing and drinking.

I met my roommate at 7:00 at night on the corner of 96th and Central Park West for the annual flashlight hash. After the requisite bitch slapping to determine which of us was going to use the fancy flashlight flashlight (the flashlight was mine, but the idea for the hash was his) he snarkily informed me that the race was actually 5 miles, not the 2 miles he had initially told me. Since it has been quite a while since I have done any cardio excercise, I knew it would be painful. About 30 or so people showed up and the organizer called for all the "virgins" so that he could explain to us what the different clues meant, so that we could navigate our way through the race. There were check marks, chalked arrows on pavement, toilet paper wrapped around trees, ketchup (organic, we were told) arrows in the snow, etc.

The organizer pointed us in the direction of the first clue and we all began running, directly into Central Park, with our flashlights lighting our way. Through the fields, over the hills, in the tunnels, under the bridge, we ran, looking for marks indicating the way to the next check point. Every time we would reach a check point the trail would stop, and we would have to send people in all directions to pick up the trail. The trail was picked up after finding 3 consecutive clues in any direction. The person who found them would shout, "found 1," "found 2," and finally "found 3!!" and then everyone would abandon their own searches and follow him to the next check point. The most colorful clue along the race was a mark "YBF" chalked on a pavement meaning You've Been Fucked, which would indicate that all the clues we had been following since the last check point were incorrect and we all had to go back to the last check point and look again for the correct direction.

About halfway through the race I got really tired running through snow covered hills, stairs, and icy paths in my sleek, fashionable and now soaked pumas. My calf muscles were giving me a sharp pain with every step I took and I really wanted to stop. Luckily, the group invariably slowed down at ever check point to look for where the trail would pick back up, and I used these opportunities to rest.

The race took us through Central Park, up into Harlem, up an impossibly long and icy staircase in Morningside park, through the campus of Columbia, over to Riverside park, and finally ending up in a beer joint on Broadway and 132nd, where there was an open bar of about 30 different beers on tap. Pizza was ordered and songs were sung. Participants were roasted and one was made to drink beer from a sneaker. The two "virgins", myself and another girl, were brought up and everyone sang dirty and slightly insulting songs to us while we chugged beer. My roommate had tripped somewhere along the race, so he had to come up and take a heap of abuse from everyone while he chugged beer.

All in all, it was fun, especially the beer part. It was a really great way to socialize with people you've never met before with no agenda other than to have fun. I need to get back in shape with running. I really liked it and want to do it again.

Blogging

2009-01-21T17:47:00.000-08:00

When I returned from Florida, I found myself in the very bar in NYC that Brittle Ego Boy was performing at. (Remember him? My nemesis-turned-paper-dragon mentioned in an early December post) Not surprising, really, as I knew he would be there, but I was meeting a friend there before we would then chose a dining spot and it was a convenient location. The bartender that was working that room that evening was also a close friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for a couple months. As I sat down to wait for my dinner companion to arrive, he served me my usual and then turned to me, eyes wide open and exclaimed: "Oh! My! God! I read your blog post about Brittle Ego Boy!" (Brittle Ego Boy is singing in the backround as he says this.) Honestly, when I was writing that post, I had forgotten that my bartender friend is a consistent reader of my blog. He is also friendly with Brittle Ego Boy, perhaps even friends with him, and of course works with BEB every week. My friendly bartender continues, still wide-eyed and excited. "I wanted to print out your blog entry and post it in the employee area!!" Oh shit. This is the price for putting my life out on the blogosphere.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am aware that I really can't control who reads this blog; it's a public forum. But I also keep this blog anonymous, meaning that unless you know who I am before you come to this blog, you won't be able to easily figure out my identity by reading any of the entries. That's why I use nicknames or vague descriptors for friend and foe alike. I also don't use this blog with any kind of agenda, or to cause harm. I generally am aware of which of my friends and family read this, and I don't use it as a forum to manipulate anyone. I am always honest, even at the expense of showing my flaws and faults. My intent upon keeping the blog initially was as a place to collect my travelogues. Before that I sent them out via email to about 20 friends that had expressed interest in my wanderings. But it has grown beyond being a collection of travelogues into a personal journal, a practice in creative writing, and a place I collect information and pictures, so that I too will be able to read this in 5 or 10 years, much like looking at a photo album of my life, and remember what I was thinking, and some of my thoughts, attitudes, observations and experiences. But, having such a journal available to anyone can be complicated, and can backfire. Now, as far as having my bartender friend tape up my blog entry about Brittle Ego Boy in a place where he and all the people he worked with would see it, well it was a kind of funny idea, but it would have complicated my relationships with the people in Florida that had worked with BEB. My friend decided to be prudent and not print out my entry for all to read, and I appreciate that. Ultimately, however, I stand by everything I say in this blog, regardless of who reads it or what wall it is tacked up upon.

Oooopps!

2009-01-20T19:24:00.000-08:00

I was on the downtown A train, going local, headed to see my friend that lives in midtown east for our monthly dinner and catching up, when a Chinese man of about 24 comes on the train at 110th St, with his bicycle. The bicycle looked like it had been spray painted a dark charcoal gray and had been reinforced with a steel pipe that was wrapped around the top bar with a lot of electrical tape. It was clearly a bike that had seen a lot of use, and as ugly as it was, I suspect it was a really solid bike that had given it's owner solid service for many years. As the man situated his bike on the train he decided to chain it to the vertical steel pole on the train with a massive steel chain secured by an industrial padlock, a setup that only professional delivery people in NYC seem to get a hold of. He sat down next to his bike for about 30 seconds and then stood back up and started taking off the front wheel of the bike. The man then undid his rear bike wheel, and freed it from the chain, so that he had both wheels in his hand. I was listening to some music I was trying to memorize on my headsets, but I could tell something wasn't quite right, as this guy quickly disassembled his bike. I turned off my music to eavesdrop on the conversation that the man was now having with the stranger that he had sat next to for half a minute. It turns out that after he locked the bike to the post, he realized that the only key he had for the massive padlock had fallen off the string on his wrist (still wrapped around his wrist) where he kept it. He immediately realized that he would have to abandon the bike, as there really was no way to get the bike off the steel post. Perhaps he was an illegal alien and did not want to involve the authorities, or perhaps he realized it was time to replace the bike. I don't know, but it struck me as tragic as he left the train at 72nd Street, two wheels in hand, leaving the abandoned bike behind. One of the other things that struck me was how quickly he had accepted the fact that he would have to leave the bike behind. As soon as he had realized what he had done his reaction was immediate: save the wheels and get off the train. No regret, no remorse, no anger. An interesting NY moment.

Learning songs

2009-01-15T07:33:00.000-08:00

I played piano bars for years convinced that I was the one piano player that could and would never be able to memorize my songs. When I got into dueling, that shit didn't fly, so it was either figure it out or not do DP. So, for what it's worth, here's how I learn a song:

1. I have a playlist on my iPod of every song I want to eventually learn (currently there are 140 songs). I listen to this play list on shuffle whenever I have time.

2. When I have time to sit down and begin learning a new song I do a few things. First, I pick a song that I've been listening to for at least a couple months and have become familiar with. Since there are so many songs I need to know, i stick with the ones I generally like. Then, I look up the song on Wikipedia, to get any background or history I might want to know...i.e., who originally wrote it, who did the definitive version, when did it make the charts, will it be useful over in Europe, who has remade it recently, what movies was it in, etc. etc. etc.

3. d/l or type a lyric sheet with space between each line. If it's not a core song, I sometimes choose to shortcut and only memorize 2 verses since I generally want a three minute arrangement anyway.

4. Go to a website with chords, such as ultimate-guitar.com and get the (best rated) chord chart for that song. It will almost always be either wrong or too simplistic for professional use, but it's something to reference when working out the correct chords. Since I was not gifted with a particularly exceptional ear, doing this saves me time. I always notate the groove and tempo on my charts and I notate if there are solos or particular licks that will be important. The intro will be of particular interest.

5. Once I have a functional lead sheet, I carry it with me for a few days. Whenever I have a free couple of minutes, work on memorizing it. I usually have 3-5 songs I'm working on at any given time. The thing that helped me immensely in memorizing lyrics was doing idea associations between the lines. (Check out the Memory Book by Lorayne and Lucas. It's well worth the time.)

6. Once I have the lyrics 70-90% memorized, I practice the song at the piano at least once every day, for maybe a week, or if it's complex, much more.

Multitasking

2009-01-12T09:54:00.001-08:00

New Years Day I was returning to New York on the train with 3 other friends from the retreat. 5 minutes before we were pulling into the train station where we had to catch our connecting train, I got a call from my best friend and roommate who was stranded in an airport in Ecuador and needed me to call American Airlines and straighten it out for him. Knowing that he is on a cell phone and paying $2 a minute for this call I frantically search for pen and paper to write down his confirmation number. My friends are handing me pens, and of course the first two don't work. Finally, I have a pencil and a tiny post-it note that already is full of writing. I copy his info in the only unused corner of this ragged, sorry excuse for a note paper, using my damp, cupped hand as a writing surface, and then hang up to call AA.

As I get a snippy AA woman on the phone the train pulls into the station. One of my friends grabs my luggage while another leads me out the door as I try to explain to this woman that my roommate is stranded in an airport and the American Airlines people aren't rebooking him until tomorrow. She wants to know why they won't let him on the plane, because according to her computer, the plane is at the airport, not scheduled to depart for 35 more minutes. Of course I don't have this information. Meanwhile I have walked over an 8 foot metal scaffolding structure that bridges the sizable gap between train and platform. I see a local news crew on the platform, about 10 feet away from me, doing a story. Meanwhile, in my ear, the American Airlines agent is acting very put out by my request, telling me she needs to know why they won't let my roommate on the plane, before she will even attempt to find another flight. So I hang up and wait for him to call me back with more info. He calls back immediately, and I ask him why he can't get onto the plane as it won't depart for another half-hour. As he begins his answer, the train pulls away.

I was about 7 feet away from the metal scaffolding type bridge that I had just crossed to get to the platform, and the news crew was about 15 feet away but on the other side of it. As the train pulls away this two-ton metal structure is ripped off the platform by the departing train, flipped up in the air and lands on the track behind the train, only a few feet from me. The news crew immediately swings their camera around and gets a good shot of the structure, now lying on it's side, and then proceeds to interview, on camera, my three friends. Back in my ear, my roommate is trying to tell me that the gate agents in Ecuador closed the flight, stating that he should have arrived 2 hours prior, and they are not letting anyone on. He gets cut off. I redial American Airlines as my friends are now leading me to another platform to catch the connecting train that has now been rerouted to another track. When the second AA agent gets on the phone, my story has now become, "My son is stranded in an airport in South America and he needs to get back to the US today to take his medicine!" This agent was actually helpful. As she is searching for another way to get him back, he rings back on call waiting from Ecuador just as my connecting train pulls into the station. I am trying to merge the calls as my friends lead me onto our train and find us a seat. I let them stow my bags as I have now successfully merged the two phone calls and am introducing the two people on the phone to each other: "Stranded Son, this is Henrietta, Helpful Agent. Henrietta, Helpful Agent, this is Stranded Son." As I am trying to come up with creative ways to repatriate my medicinally deprived son the train leaves the station with the news crew still visible from the window of the train. One of my traveling companions indicates that I need to get my ticket out. I reach into my wallet, my tiny cell phone wedged impossibly between my cheek and left shoulder, retrieve my ticket, hand it to my friend who then hands it to the conductor. (Yeah, I was THAT guy!).

Finally all the tasks of transferring trains and the tasks of dealing with my stranded friend come to an end at about the same time. I hang up the phone, thank my traveling companions seated next to me, and ask them about the news crew. I was told there had been a fire at the train station the day before and the news crew was there interviewing passengers to see if people felt safe with this mode of travel, when the 2-ton metal scaffolding was ripped off it's mooring, and careened past my fragile head. Nice.

Peggy - Zen Retreat, part 8

2009-01-10T20:32:00.000-08:00

As we returned to our cushions to begin the service for Peggy I began to quietly cry. I didn't know Peggy at all, but i suspect that being so close to any death brings out feelings with every other death you've ever experienced. At that point I was so open after having experienced a week of meditation and the beautiful New Years Eve service and celebration that there really wasn't anything stopping my feelings from coming through. Roshi began by speaking, addressing her comments to Peggy. At one point she let out a loud wail that was part of the ceremony (we had a memorial service the year before and she did the same thing at the same time). The ceremony involved a lot of different chanting and then once again everyone formed two lines, but this time we headed to the alter where two by two we each burned incense.

While the bass drum beat out its' complex sycopation, we all chanted:

KAN ZE ON
NA MU BUTSU
YO BUTSU U IN
YO BUTSU U EN
BUP PO SO EN
JO RAKU GA JO
CHO NEN KAN ZE ON
BO NEN KAN ZE ON
NEN NEN JU SHIN KI
NEN NEN FU RI SHIN.

The chanting started out subdued, but in each subsequent chorus there was a little more energy in the chant.

After everyone had burned incense and returned to their cushion, the service was ended. Someone placed Peggy's meditation bench on the floor along with a bud vase with a single flowering branch. We then made a circle around it and began to share. With the exception of "Charlie", no one single person seemed to know Peggy all that much, yet so many people had very vivid memories of exchanges they had with Peggy, strangely enough, many of them in elevators with Peggy holding on the person's arm and intensely engaging them with her eyes. As people shared their individual stories, a vivid picture of the person that Peggy was began to materialize in the circle. I heard one person later sum her up as "old school, New York salty ex-nun...you would have loved her!" Charlie shared that he had known Peggy for over a year and Peggy had been given 6 months by her doctors over 2 years ago. She would tell anyone who would listen about how she was cheating death. She also used to tell Charlie that she wanted to die in the Zendo on her cushion, and that she wanted Charlie to be there when she did.

The empty bench stood as a silent witness to all of this, and as a powerful statement of the immediacy of life.

I have never before experienced a funeral service for someone who had died only 1 hour before. I guess very few people have. It was so real and connected. But more than that, I have never witnessed nor have I ever heard of a more beautiful death. Girlfriend knew how to make an exit!

New Years Eve (cont.) - Zen Retreat part 7

2009-01-09T12:56:00.000-08:00

After the "Carol of the Bells" died away we were allowed to stretch and then once again resumed our sitting. There was a large bowl shaped bell that was brought to the center of the Zendo and as we were sitting in silence someone rang the bell. It was a profound and resonant note, rich with overtones and a slow beat frequency (sorry, always the engineer) towards the finish, belying the great mass of metal and the mindful craftsmanship with which it was made. It took about 8 seconds for the sound to die away, only to be rung again. After about 20 strikes of the bell, the ringer gradually speed up to a rhythm of one strike every 6-7 seconds which he maintained for the remaining rings. Each strike of this bell seemed to reverberate through every cell of my body. It was a time of connection and thoughtlessness for me that seemed to go on and on. The bell was rung 108 times before it was done. Apparently this is a significant number, although I couldn't begin to explain why. It is really impossible to articulate the experience to anyone who wasn't present. It was as though I was one with the sound, and it flowed through me, rather than me merely observing it. That, of course, was the point, I'm sure. The Buddhists believe that everything is connected, and when we become completely silent, only then do we begin to realize this fact. I have no idea if that is true, but perhaps I caught a glimpse in that direction.

After the bell was rung 108 times, we all got an opportunity, presumably for the first time in 6 days, to speak. Every one of us was given 60 seconds to share something significant about their experience of this Seshin (retreat). This is called "open Sozan." Common themes shared were gratitude, struggle, back pain, realization, awe and simplicity. There was a woman who had been sitting across from me all week who I came to learn was named Peggy. She was a short, white-haired pink-faced Irish lady who had been wearing a bright white zippered jacket the entire week. The color of the jacket isn't really significant except that all of the rest of us were wearing dark colors, mostly black, and so the white coat really stuck out. When it came her turn to share, she said that after sitting the entire week her experience was life changing. She said that she wouldn't be the same person as the one who drove up. "I have to grieve the person I was and greet the person I will become." I remember hoping that the person she would become involved dark-colored clothing.

We then all got a chance to ring the great bell with our New Year's vow. We formed a line to go up to the bell, chanting a New Years Dharani in Sanskit: Namu to nen jo hon myo ganshin! Namu to nen jo hon myo ganshin! over and over as the bass drum thrummed out a complex rhythm while we slowly filed up to the great bell and individually rang it. As this was going on, a commotion occurred. One of the monitors entered the zendo and and ran over to someone and grabbed them by the wrist and dragged them quickly out of the zendo. No one runs in a Zendo, let alone physically removes someone! I looked at Roshi, the abbot, who was at the front of the room, yet she gave no clue as to what was happening, and we all continued our chanting and ringing. When the last person rang the bell, and everyone returned to their cushions Roshi announced that Peggy was having chest pains and that an ambulance had been called. Since the hallway outside the Zendo needed to be kept clear for the medics we should all move directly into the adjoining room where a New Years Eve party had been planned. In spite of the emergency that was going a few yards away from us, everyone was mingling, eating and talking as this was the first time in a week or so that we could chat with each other. After 45 minutes a nice buzz of energy had built up in the room when Roshi came in and asked us to gather 'round. "Expect the worst," she said. She told us that Peggy had died at the hospital, and asked us to file back into the Zendo where would would immediately hold a funeral service for her. "I have to grieve the person I was and greet the person I will become." had been Peggy's last words in open Sozan an hour before her funeral.

Guess who I saw today, my dear.

2009-01-05T08:11:00.000-08:00

WARSAW (Reuters) - A Polish man got the shock of his life when he visited a brothel and spotted his wife among the establishment's employees.

Polish tabloid Super Express said the woman had been making some extra money on the side while telling her husband she worked at a store in a nearby town.

"I was dumfounded. I thought I was dreaming," the husband told the newspaper on Wednesday.

The couple, married for 14 years, are now divorcing, the newspaper reported.

(Writing by Chris Borowski, Editing by Matthew Jones)

New Years Eve - Zen Retreat part 6

2009-01-03T22:42:00.000-08:00

By the time the final night of the retreat had arrived we had all been through so much. We struggled both physically and mentally, we dealt with back pain, frustration, feelings of inadequacy, battling the urge to run, discomfort. Some of us had epiphanies and moments of supreme connection we had never before realized. I had a 30 minute zazen period where I had such creative energy come through me that I had to return to my room and write down some of the ideas down before I forgot them. Much of the blogging that I've done about this retreat came out of that zazen period. Some of us had life-changing moments on our little square 3' x 2' zabuton cushions all alone and yet surrounded by others that were having their own epiphanies and battling their demons in the loneliness of their zabutons, surrounded by the rest of us. And all of this roiled beneath the veneer of silence and tranquility that is 60 Buddhas sitting silently in a Zendo.

The final night began with a period of zazen. We didn't know what to expect. After we had been sitting for about 15 minutes in complete silence, we heard the haunting sounds of a Japanese chakuhachi emerge from the front of the Zendo. The first note began so softly that it seemed to just insinuate itself into my consciousness. I closed my eyes and drank in the mournful sounds of this lovely bamboo instrument, with it's pitches bending wildly, wielded by a musician that understood it's power to speak, and from the music he played, I clearly knew he had been on the same retreat as I had, and walked the same stark morning kinhin walk that I did. As he is playing, the wind outside the building is intermittently howling and rattling the windows. After 7 minutes or so, he ends his moving concierto as quietly as he began.

Again we sit. There is nothing but the wind outside the strong cinderblock walls of our building. And then maybe 5 minutes we hear the single "ding" of the hanging bronze umpan plate. It is a clear resonant sound that is allowed to die off. Silence.

Ten seconds pass and then from another direction we hear a metal gong being struck. It's sound is lower than that of the umpan and is also allowed to fade away into silence.

Then we hear a the hollow high pitched "tuk!" of an wooden block from the same direction.

Silence.

A small bell is rung in another direction. It's sound dies away. There is silence. We hear the wind outside.

From somewhere else the low, quick thump of a hokku or bass drum breaks the silence. No wind this time, just silence.

I wonder what the next sound will be and where it will come from.

A more sonorous larger bell from yet another corner of the zendo speaks it's deep voice before dying off into silence.

Then it all begins again, and each silence is imperceptibly shorter. And shorter again. This carol of the bells slowly picks up speed spinning clockwise around the room as each sound comes faster and faster. I notice my body begin to sway. Soon a frenzied carousel of percussion and resonance dances wildly around and through us. And then when all the sounds are piling up on top of each other it abruptly stops.

Silence.

The silence becomes louder and has a resonance of its own.

"Ding ))))))))))" from the bronze umpan.

And it's done.

Morning kinhin - Zen Retreat part 5 -- (read parts in forward numerical order)

2009-01-03T18:59:00.000-08:00

As I had mentioned in part 1 of these Zen Retreat posts, there would be a single defining event that would occur on the very last full day of this retreat that not one person would have ever anticipated, and that would change all of us forever. Well, perhaps that's not entirely accurate. There was one person that could have had a vague idea of the events to come, but I can't be entirely sure, and besides, I am getting way ahead of myself.

After retrieving my pants and bundling up, I joined the outside walking meditation line. The retreat center that the Zen group had rented out was run by Catholic nuns and was situated on a very nice campus that was surrounded by woods and streams and fields. There were houses in the neighborhood of the center, to be sure, but most were on large plots of land and nestled in and around the natural elements rather and were rather unobtrusive and almost part of the natural setting. On a sunny spring day, this would be the most inviting and idyllic New England setting. We walked off the property and onto the back country road well before the sun had even thought of coming up. Even in this darkness the you could see a dark ominous glow from the low-hanging thick cloud cover if you bothered to look up. On both sides of the narrow and hilly road, the land was thick with tall barren trees reaching out with leafless branches rattling from the cold winds gusting without apology through the skeletal forest. Some of the few remaining dead leaves would blow along the road, as if to accentuate the loneliness. Our boots crunched through isolated patches of ice and snow as we climbed a steep hill. As the icy wind stung my skin, I looked at the collection of sleeping trees and thought about how it would be to be a traveler through this very place in the days before any civilized structures were ever built here. It would be an easy place to die. It was a beautiful walk.

Later that day one of the Zen teachers commented about how wonderfully unapologetic nature is. Even in the deadness of winter, with the trees bare and the winds howling and hurtful, there is beauty in the starkness. Nature doesn't come with signs saying, "Pardon our appearance, we are redecorating for the spring." Oh, no. It is what it is. And that was the lesson.

Mindfulness - Zen Retreat part 4

2009-01-02T11:54:00.000-08:00

Am I the only weirdo that had frequent dreams about being naked in public? This is how the dream usually goes: I'm on a crowded school bus, or in the last one at the piano on a large stage with 400 people in the audience, when I realize that I forgot to put my pants on. In some dreams I'm wearing underwear and in some I'm not even wearing that. Here's the twist: Nobody has noticed it yet but me and I have to figure a way of standing up and getting off the school bus/stage without anyone noticing that I don't have any pants on!

So here I am at the retreat, presumable practicing mindfulness at every turn. Mindful meditation, mindful walking, mindful dish washing, mindful bathing, mindful scratching of my privates...you get the point. Except I was not really completely committed to this retreat, as you may have already figured out from my previous blog entries. I was checking my email daily, attempting to memorize and learn an Oasis song (Don't Look Back in Anger) and a song by the Blues Traveler (Run Around), not looking at the floor while I was walking, reading my novel at night, and daily phone calls to my BF, all of which were expressly forbidden. So, for me, I wasn't taking the medicine exactly as prescribed. And I really cheated myself out of something. Don't get me wrong, I had wonderful Zazens (the act of seated meditation) and most definitely deepened my practice of meditation throughout the week, but the first three days of my retreat was more a collection of lots of separate Zazen periods, rather than one contiguous silent journey. After the Shuso pointedly pointed out the rules to me (mentioned in a previous post) I came to realize that I really was not fully invested in this retreat and I did change how I approached the entire thing after 3 days. But before that happened...

I woke one morning at the requisite 5:15am (who DOES that??!) and put on my thermal underwear, since I knew that we were scheduled to do outside meditation and it was about 20 deg F. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and put my eyes in. I ran down to the coffee room to jump start my heart with the necessary dose of caffeine before heading into the Zendo for our first morning Zazen. I shed my flip flops outside the door, and walked into the zendo towards the square cushion that I had been assigned to all week. I bowed to the cushion and then to the people sitting opposite me. I sat down on the little 6" high bench I was using and as I was adjusting my legs I realized that I forgot to put on my pants. I was only wearing thermal underwear. So here I was, in a crowded room, the bell had just been rung beginning the period and I realized I was trapped in my underwear in the middle of 60 people that hadn't yet noticed. (Remember, everyone is supposed to be looking at the floor). After an initial moment of horror, and assessing if you could see the outline of my dick through the underwear (you could), I realized there was only one thing I could do...just sit. So I sat. Roshi, the abbot and senior Zen master (mistress?) came around for her morning "inspection", which involves her walking through the four columns of sitting meditators, looking at each one and simply recognizing that we are present. The lights are always very low in the zendo and because it was the predawn hours, there was no sun yet. So because of the low light and the dark color of my long underwear, I somehow managed to pass muster. And amazingly I had a nice peaceful zazen period for the next 30 minutes until the bell was rung and the Jikido intoned the words "Prepare for outside Kinhin (walking meditation)." I knew there was no way I was going to do outside walking meditation in underwear, dark or not, because it was windy and cold. So I quickly exited the Zendo with all the other participants and run up the 4 flights of stairs to my little monk's cell where I found my pants patiently waiting for me. I put on the damn pants, went back downstairs and grabbed my jacket and scarf and managed to join the line just as everyone was moving, wondering if anyone had noticed my nakedness.

[note: Several of my readers have asked me if this was a dream. The answer is, no. It really happened like this.]

Back in the Pit - Zen Retreat part 3

2009-01-02T08:08:00.000-08:00

In addition to the specific tasks assigned to us in samu we were all asigned daily tasks. Mine was dinner clean up. It was alright. The group leader was a cute young gay guy who sort of rubbed me the wrong way a couple times because he acted more like a supervisor than a team member. (Truth be told I think I would handled it the same way.) He kept his hair cut very close to his head in the self depriciating way of Buddhist monks the world over who are not concerned with outward appearance and fashion, but bless his gay little heart, he just couldn't help himself. He had the lovliest Prada glasses accessorizing his humble haircut and formless meditation robe. Since he was kind of hot, many sins could be forgiven.

Anyway the third day of dinner duty I found myself in the pit, that is, in restaurant speak, loading dirty dishes in a tray, hosing them off and sending them through an industrial dish washer. The last time I was in this spot was when I was 15 and worked at a restaurant near my childhood home. I was a dishwasher for two years before getting the dubious promotion to bus boy. Anyway it all came flooding back to me and pretty soon my hands were moving faster than a Buddhist running for the doors in a slaughter house. I was doing 4 things at once, loading and hosing down dishes just as soon as they came in. I kicked out the other guy that was back in the pit with me as he was slowing me down and asked him to help the 2 people drying dishes who couldn't possibly keep up with me. I was 15 again back at the Olde Mill Stream Inn and I was flying! Soon the (now 3) dish drying people are impossibly backed up. I'm in full dinner rush mode, washing all the cups, glasses, dishes, dessert plates and silverware for 60 vegitarians in minutes while the beautiful Bohdisattvas on my drying crew were wiping each little drop of dharma (individually, it seemed to me) on every clean plate and glass that flew out of my industrious dish washing factory, no doubt getting closer and closer to acheiving enlightment with every mindful swipe of the dish rag.

I so missed the point!

Karma - Zen Retreat, part 2

2009-01-01T11:55:00.000-08:00

I arrived at the retreat with my body on my usual late night schedule. So when we had to turn out our lights at 9:30pm I fell asleep quickly but woke up a couple of hours later, wide awake. I laid on my bed for most of the night, not sleeping until finally falling asleep around 3:30 only to have my roommate's alarm wake me at 4:45am, a full half hour before we were required to get up. Meditating is virtually impossible when you are that sleep deprived, so in order to rectify this I took the two hours after breakfast (8:30-10:30) to sleep. Now our official retreat (called "Seshin") schedule called for Samu practice during this time. Now Samu is an opportunity to continue and extend your mindful meditation practice in a "work practice." So when you are mopping the floor you are doing so in a mindful and meditative way thus deepening your practice and your understanding of the Buddha Dharma. Ok, that's nice, now here are my thoughts. Some swindling Bodhisattva came up with this crock of steaming horseshit because he couldn't cook and hated to do the dishes. Regardless, it was expected that all the attendees show up for Samu each day and I didn't. In fact, it took me two days of sleeping through Samu in order to get on this ridiculous daytime schedule. So when I finally went to Samu the third day, well rested with a full 8 hours of sleep, I entered with not a little trepidation, wondering if I had been missed.

Work practice begins. After legitimizing this swindle with an appropriate amount of chanting and bowing, the job assignments are given by the Shuso (the same guy I wrote about in the last post.) Now, I don't believe I can read minds, and I truly don't know if I was specifically missed or not, but as soon as the very first job assignment was given, I knew as well as any Buddha can know anything, which assignment I would be given. It took him awhile to get down his list, and once he got to the mundane cleaning jobs he would say, I need someone to polish the doorhandles on all the doors, and would ask for volunteers or might simply choose among the remaining people. But as soon as he said scrubbing toilets there was not an instant of hesitation before he pointed to me.

I bowed deeply and set about my noble task.

They Beat Us - Zen retreat, part 1

2009-01-01T11:07:00.000-08:00

They beat us. Those Zen bitches beat us with a fucking stick!! The monitors walk behind us and literally whack us on our shoulders while we are trying to meditate.

Ok, while entirely true, it doesn't really explain what's happening. We generally do 3 half hour seated meditations interspersed with 2 walking meditations at each session. Many times by the middle of the second half hour you are sleepy (a form of resistance, I am told). It's around this time that one of the monitors walks ever so slowly behind the meditators, sometimes sliding his feet so you may know he is approaching. In his hands he carries an "encouraging stick" or kyosaku. If you choose, and only if you choose, you place your hands together (as though in prayer) as the monitor comes towards you. This indicates to him that you wish to get hit. I have done this several times to help jolt me awake. As you sense him directly behind (and above) you, you both bow. Then you tilt your head exposing your neck and shoulder. He may move the collar of your shirt or robe to cover your bare skin. Then he hits you. Hard. You repeat this on the opposite side. After you have been good and truly beaten, you put your hands together again and bow indicating your gratitude.

[note: As I was hand writing this entry on a piece of paper (no computers allowed) while still at the retreat, the Shuso, who was the main guy running the entire event, walked by me. As he had been one of the wielders of the kyosaku, I told him that I was at that very moment writing about him and, did he wish to read my entry? He gave me a very stern lecture about this being a silent retreat where talking, reading and writing were inappropriate, and no he would not read it, and in fact if I must continue writing, I should do in the privacy of my lonely monk's cell where I couldn't infect the virtuous minds of the more pious practitioners with my mutinous activities. As he began to walk away, the just and righteous shuso turned back to me, and said in a conpirital whisper, "Could you write down the Blog address for me?"]

The significance of this beating is similar to that of Manjusri's sword, which is said to cut off all dilussions. In fact, one time while I was not sleepy but extremely alert and very much Zen'd out I asked to be struck. At the moment of being hit, I actually felt as though, for just a spit second, I got it. For that spit second of time, I actually understood what Zen and meditation really is. At that moment I had no past and I had no future. Only the present moment. And the present was perfect in every way. This lesson was affirmed in a way that I would never have imagined just 2 short days later with an event that would change the lives of everyone sitting at this retreat forever. Stay tuned, readers.

Zen Retreat

2008-12-27T07:57:00.000-08:00

Today I am traveling to New England where I will partake in a 5 day silent meditation retreat run by Zen Buddhists. Last year I did this same retreat and it was essentially a life-altering experience. (I did blog about it in Jan 08) The first couple days were brutal, but the last couple were beautiful. I learned that my mind doesn't always have to run the show. I credit the meditation practice that I did so intensively at last year's retreat, and continued throughout the year, as a very big reason why I was able to break into the Dueling Piano business this year. First, I was able to access increased concentration and was thus able to memorize music, after having been convinced that I was the single most forgetful piano entertainer in NY. Secondly the increased focus/concentration helped helped me immensely on stage get through stage fright and to focus while there were so many things going on, including playing with a drummer, something I had never really done before. This year I will know many of the people and I won't feel quite as alone as I did when I began my retreat last year. I come back New Years Day, which is also the day my roommate comes back from his travels. The following day I will be going to my hometown where I will attend my cousin's wedding. Then...who knows?

Shopping for Christmas

2008-12-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

I've been back in NYC for the better part of a week, spending the holidays with friends and family, as it should be. A Latin friend of mine made a comment about how differently Americans celebrate Christmas and the holidays versus how his people celebrate back home. He was very polite, but I think what he meant was that we are so focused on shopping and retail and expectations, while back in his country, family just show up with food, wine and guitars and sing, drink, eat and dance the holidays away, and gifts aren't part of the identity of Christmas. This Christmas I didn't really shop for gifts. Instead I have tried to get together with people and have dinner or just time together. I was on 5th Ave, the retail capital of the western world 2 days before Christmas, and I couldn't identify one single person that looked like they understood the meaning of Christmas. At the moment of that realization I remembered the employee that got killed opening the doors of the Walmart on black Friday. It all hit me like a slap in the face and in a moment I realized clearer than ever that we, as a culture, have completely derailed. The things that aren't important have become our Gods. We give lip service to spirituality and religion, but greed and selfishness has become our spiritual principles. I think about animals in the wild. Do any other mammals commit suicide? Perhaps we have created a construct for ourselves that is so far from our true nature that it is impossible to achieve any lasting happyness or contentment by f0llowing the rules of the masses. And what about that man who committed suicide when he realized that he lost billions in the Madoff scam? It can't be any clearer. Our God is money and our religion, Greed, and when we lose that, we lose everything. It's beginning. The same thing that happened after the crash of '29. Bankers and investors throwing themselves out of windows because they have lost "everything." Today the New York Times announced on the front page that "Holiday Sales" were down 8% this year. That's big news. But what's bigger news is that such a statistic is so important to us as Americans that it made it on the front page of our biggest, most respected newspaper. What does that say about us as a people? I didn't see a metric for Holiday Spirit, but I wonder if anyone would care whether that went up or down even if there was such a metric.

I am hopeful that we have a president-elect that seems to understand that the direction of this country needs to be changed radically. But I think that our failings as a society go so far beyond Iraq and the Stock Market crash (see, I capitalized the "S" and the "M"...i didn't even realize it until after I had typed it!!) that he will merely be trying to fix the symptoms of a deeper cancer. Our values are so upside down that unless we can change them so completely, this society is doomed for complete failure.

Back in NYC

2008-12-22T11:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I made the journey back to NYC, going from 75 degrees and sunny to 34 degrees, wintery mix and windy. Yeah it sucked, but I'm happy to be home. I was glad to be in FL, and the gig definitely stretched my abilities as an accompanist. I also had some amazing alone time, riding my bike all around this beautiful island at sunset, and just chilling out by the pool. I met up with some friends from NYC for dinner the last night I was there. We at a restaurant across the street from where I would be working in a short 2 hours. I had the Caribbean Grilled Red Snapper, and it was expertly cooked. The chef is a local celebrity and she made the rounds at the tables and we all complimented her on her food. Fast forward 2 hours, I was on stage performing across the street, and who walks in but Alice, the chef from across the street. So on the microphone I get everyone's attention and tell everyone that we should all applaud our celebrity chef Alice. And further, that I know she's an expert chef, because (wait for it....wait for it...waaaaiit...) "I just got done eating Alice's snapper!"

OK, it was supremely tacky, but funny as hell!

Earlier that day I was watching a street performer juggle fire while on a unicycle that was over 8 feet tall. It was amazing to see, but what was more entertaining was how he handled this woman who was heckling him. The two memorable zingers he threw out to her were: "Who lit the fuse on your tampon?" and then facing the crowd, "I remember when alcoholics used to be anonymous!"

The trip ended well. I made a new friend with one of the singers I worked with who also lives in NYC. (The guy who's name I forgot on stage.) The last night I got so much love from my audience, many of whom had been there every night to hear me perform. I don't know if I will ever want to go back, or even if I will be invited back. There are some serious personalities and politics at work here. But I do know that I did an outstanding job, and that the people that matter the most, the audiences, all knew it.

Fitting in

2008-12-20T03:42:00.001-08:00

It’s 4:43am on Saturday. I just got home from work. It was a good night at work for the most part. The people were nice, and appreciative, and they participated and they listened. There was an older black woman with gray hair that sat right in front and requested the most wonderful standards, including The Shadow of Your Smile and Misty, and she listened with such intensity that I though she was a musician. I asked her and she told me her father was a piano man and she felt as though I was channeling him. She got teary when I sang Someone to Watch Over Me and Wonderful World. They were his songs. It was a moment.

I must confess I’m feeling less than stellar. It’s very difficult to articulate, but I feel as though I don’t belong with the people that I’m working with down here. They are all NYC piano bar people that have a certain “way” that they do things. There is one singer in particular who, although ridiculously talented, is also very difficult for me to work with. I asked her for her book, so that I could practice with it, and she told me she was “very particular” as to whom she gave it out to. So my rehearsal with her music was much more limited than I would have wanted and as a result, I have not been the best accompanist for her. She, in turn, has been quick to criticize and rather unforgiving. In a way, it’s been a growing experience for me, because it forces me into a very high level of concentration when I accompany her, and although I am not perfect, I am conscious of much more than if she wasn’t so critical. But it goes beyond that. Not too many people have been warm to me here. They are all cordial, and some even nice, but not warm or inviting. There is one singer who arrived a few days ago, and we are sharing the band house. He is a nice guy and we’ve begun to bond. But he had an issue with the other pianist that is down here. This other guy fucked up two songs of his in a row and left him high and dry on stage, feeling and looking like an idiot. So we talked about that, and we’ve rehearsed his entire book today. Tonight, I knew it was so very important to him that his sets with me go great. And, musically they did, and in a large part due to my concentration and desire to be perfect for him. But through my high level of concentration on his music I made a fatal error of referring to him not just once but two times by a wrong name. And he was upset and kind of came at me on stage. I understand why he did, but even so, it didn’t feel good. (Footnote: he arrived back at the house while I was writing this entry and honestly and rigorously complimented me on how well I had played for him tonight. After which, I, in turn, showed him this past paragraph that I had just written. His comment was that it was all true, and that I shouldn’t change a word, and then he gave me a friendly kiss and went to his room.)

Last week there was a singer I referred to in a previous entry that I developed the greatest respect for. I played for her all week, and she was crazy talented. All week we were part of a crew of bartenders, wait staff/singers and pianists and we all sort of bonded, but then the last night she was here I felt as though she was completely brushing me off, not engaging me in conversations, not laughing at my jokes (while laughing at every one else’s) etc. etc. It’s damn difficult to describe, and it was very subtle, and yet, it was real and very inexplicable (at least to me).

I have not gotten one iota of feedback from the people who hired me. Oh, they are friendly and gracious, but have not uttered any compliments or criticisms. Not one. I’m not looking for my ego to be stroked, but if I’m doing a job for you, I would like to know that you are happy with it, or if you are not, tell me how I can make it better.

The thing is, I don’t really know why I don’t fit in. I just know I don’t. Some of these people have alcohol or drug addictions, but some don’t. Some are better musicians than me, but yet in certain areas, I’m a better musician than they are. I’ve been told that one of the singers doesn’t like it when someone has a better night then they do, or gets a better audience response. It’s a complex hodgepodge of personalities down here. I’m not sure what to make of it.

Facing Demons

2008-12-15T16:50:00.000-08:00

Most of us have one or two people in our life that have caused us such angst either now or perhaps in the distant past that we get a physiological response at the mere thought of that person. There have only been two such people in my adult life and one of them was performing in the club I am currently playing at in Florida, immediately before I arrived. I haven’t had to deal directly with this person (let’s call him Brittle Ego Boy) for 4 years, since he got me fired from a steady gig I had in NY because of a 3:00a.m. verbal indiscretion at a NYE party. I had let it slip that Brittle Ego Boy had a drug and alcohol problem and he was known to literally fall off the piano bench after drinking vodka out of a Gatorade jug all night long on the job. In my defense it was all true, and pretty much common knowledge. But regardless, I knew I was wrong and humbly apologized in writing (replete with chocolates and a hallmark) to Brittle Ego Boy, but he would not have it and proceeded to pull the strings to eventually get me fired. I don’t know if it was the unfairness of the situation, the pettiness about it, or the humility in my apology that was so totally rebuffed, but it really deeply bothered me for a couple of years after.

Fast forward to 3 weeks ago. I found out that B.E.B. was working this Florida gig immediately before I was scheduled to come down. I found myself playing the same tapes again in my mind and my body physically reacting with a quickening of my pulse and raising of my blood pressure. And then I came down here. The first night I was here, B.E.B. was the topic of conversation among the staff. It seems that he got himself drunk and was obnoxious, self aggrandizing, and completely the worst accompanist the singers have ever had to work with. He bragged about his fancy New York apartment that he owns that is apparently worth $650,000 and will be worth $1.2 Million in 5 years. He repeatedly craved validation from the GM that he was just the best piano player they have ever had come down from NYC. As I listened to the really nice people that I have now been working with for the last 9 days completely trash his personality and his accompaniment skills I realized that Brittle Ego Boy was just a paper dragon all this time.

Florida Keys

2008-12-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

I have been in the Florida Keys for a few days now, working a "New York style" piano bar. Basically that means that I am playing lots of standards and broadway and the wait staff are all professional singers that come up every hour and do 15 minute sets. Just about every musician that they hire has worked the piano bar scene in NYC. Most of these people I have heard of and some I've bet before. I'm really enjoying the gig so far. They have a 7 foot Yamaha concert grand piano that seems to play itself. What that really means is that the sound is so delicious that you become more and more inspired with every passing note, that you play better and better. I use a lot of contemporary harmonies involving minor seconds and dominants with sharp 11's or sharp 9's, flat 5's, etc. that sound so complex and lush on this instrument it makes you want to explore new chord voicings and try new cadences.

The staff I am working with are great. There are two singers from New York, both of which are talented, but one is particularly noteworthy. She has a voice and a style reminiscent of the great singers of the 50's and 60's, particularly Ella. She does a version of Bewitched that made that song come alive in a way I've never experienced before. She is so talented it's really scary. I just wonder if the world we live in today is capable of recognizing such talent given the low bar that we as a culture seem to accept in our music and entertainment choices. Anyway, it's exciting to work with her, although she lost her luggage with her songbook on the plane on the way here, so I have to play everything using my own music and transpose it up a 4th or 5th for her. On one hand it's always good to stretch my abilities like that, but on the other hand, I know I'm not playing as good as I could for her since I'm focused on finding the right chords. Anyway, life is good. I'm here for 2 weeks.

Dueling dream

2008-12-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

I dreamed i was in college (but it was now) and was doing this Dueling gig. My partner had already gotten up on stage and begun his first song when I realized that I was walking around completely naked. I signaled him that I was leaving for a minute and then ran to my room to get some clothes. I couldn't find my room right away and now I was actutely aware of my nakedness. Finally I found my room and my roommate (who I didn't know) was there with his girlfriend. I quickly got dressed, but realized I had put on a turtleneck and a wool sweater. Knowing that this would be absurdly hot on stage, I proceeded to take off the sweater, but as I was getting ready to run out the door I realized that I had just replaced it with another heavy wool sweater. This repeated itself 3 or 4 times until I got it right. I ran out the room and realized I left my microphone and songlist on another piano in the school. So I found that and ran back to the performance space, almost 50 minutes late. By this time I had two partners on stage and they were both pissed.