My second Hash

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!

What is he doing to this turtle? Riding it?

It's about fun, dammit!

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

I pissed her off good

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

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

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

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'

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

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

Michael Jackson is dead. Well, officially now. He has been absent from the human race for quite some time. Now he's dead, and for the last two nights I have been getting requests for every Michael Jackson song he ever recorded. I'm working in a large bar in Missouri with a couple of other guys. It seems that I am the only one that knows any Michael Jackson and the only song I know is Billy Jean. So at the beginning of last night when the bar owner came up to us and told us he wanted us to play a Michael Jackson song every hour on the hour I knew the night would be interesting. There's an electric bass on stage and one of my partners can play it well. The first hour when it came time to do the song I began playing it as a soulful ballad, and it actually works. After one verse and a chorus out of tempo the bass kicked in and my other partner was at the drum set, and I have to say we rocked the hell out of that little song about 5 times last night. I really should learn another M. Jackson song this week though. I'm thinking ABC or Rock With You. The NY Times is doing a survey of peoples' favorite M.J. songs (not including the Jackson 5 stuff) and so far the top songs are: 1. Billy Jean, 2. Rock With You, 3. Man in the Mirror, and 4. Beat It

iPhone arbitrage

Last week during my show I was jumped down from standing on top of a piano my iPhone popped out of my breast pocket and the glass touch-screen broke. So now I have to figure out a way to replace the screen since it is not covered by warranty. But during my research I discovered that once again there exists an arbitrage opportunity with the new model iPhone 3GS going on sale. Since you must activate service when buying a new iPhone, people who want to “jailbreak” the phone to use on unapproved networks are buying up the (used) older models privately for more than I will have to spend to purchase the new model. So once I replace the touch-screen, I will sell the old 3G model on Craigslist for $300, and spend $200 for the new 3GS model.

Update: After a visit to the Apple store and a long phone call involving supervisors, I got Apple to agree to replace the phone because of a problem I'm having with a sticky home button.

New Roomate

Yesterday I got a roommate, which has resolved my east side apartment difficulties. He is a 27yo hottie that is working through his Doctorate at Princeton University. He looks like Justin Timberlake. He wants to spend a few days a week here in NYC, so our arrangement will be a 50/50 share. So I will get to live in my own apartment, which I love, and when I’m traveling he will live there. Occasionally we will overlap which is fine, since he seems very relaxed and fun to be with. Super intelligent goes without saying. Anyway, this relieves a lot of financial pressure on me to be constantly working and I will have plenty of time to be traveling. I am also throwing my current roommate/best friend/ex-lover a couple hundred a month so that I can lay my head there a few days a month just to make the math work out. I’m really happy to get the apartment situation resolved. And, no, I have no intention or desire to sleep with Justin Timberlake.

In other news, I got more work from my video from a club out in Wisconsin. I will be going out there 3 weekends this summer. It sounds like a fun gig and they will be putting me up in the Hyatt, which will be Grand!

Wasps

After the show, I wasn’t able to fall asleep until 5am, but I slept through until 1pm. I woke up, feeling rested even though my the cold had expanded into my sinuses. I took my second dose of Prednisone and the antibiotic and laid in bed watching CNBC. I saw the news about Ahmedinijad loosing the Iranian presidential election by a huge margin, and then claiming that he won. What an ass. I wish he would just go quietly into that good night, but I guess that’s wishful thinking…after all Cheney hasn’t.

I spent the better part of the day resting until I noticed a big long ugly black wasp flying around my tiny bedchamber. I hate wasps. And they scare the shit out of me. So I ran out of my room and one of my partners asked what’s wrong. I told him and he volunteered to slay the evil beast. So into the room he went armed with a rolled up newspaper, while I crept in, (bravely) behind him. Within a couple of minutes he had beaten the wasp to shit and I was again safe to power lounge in bed all day. This lasted about 5 minutes, when I noticed a second wasp buzzing around, no doubt searching for my tender flesh to bury it’s deadly poison inside, or perhaps to lay it’s eggs to gestate in my epidermis. I fly out of the room and call the club owner and tell her the story. She explains that there is wasp spray in the closet, I told her, there is a larger problem besides the single wasp. It’s clear to me that there must be a nest outside the (2nd story) window. She said since it was 5:00 on a Fri she would not be able to get an exterminator, and I said, well, I will not be able to sleep in that bedroom wondering if I will be stung. She sighed the Big Sigh that only club owners that are being put upon by a needy piano players sigh (you know the one) and told me she would call the landlord. The landlord arrived within the hour with a can of wasp-nest remover. He went into my room and we couldn’t find the second wasp and figured he must have found his way back outside. He then borrowed a neighbor’s ladder and climbed up onto the roof outside my window where there was indeed a nest that he proceeded to exterminate.

The landlord left and I wandered back into my tiny bedroom, safe at last…until I see the second wasp has not, in fact found it’s way out. It was there all the time. I again bravely and speedily exit the room and get my partner with his rolled up newspaper to once again slay the nasty beast.

I am such a pussy.

What to do, what to do?

This weekend I’m working in a small college town in the Midwest, right in the tornado belt. I was very excited to get this job, because the booking agent is in a position to get me more work. Perhaps a lot more work. So it was important for me to do well.

Two days before I flew out I began getting cold symptoms in my chest. The next day the cold moved up into my upper chest. That following night I got no sleep, and finally got up out of bed and got ready for my flight. I was in a full-fledged cold. I checked out my voice, and it was working but fragile. I decided to continue with my trip. By the time I arrived at my destination and was safely installed in the bandhouse, the cold had moved up yet again into my throat. As I lay on my bed, all I could do was worry that I was going to loose my voice during the show. Since we were only doing a three-way, that would mean that my other 2 partners would have to finish the weekend without me, and they would be onstage the entire 6 hour night with no breaks, which is a really really bad thing to ask of anyone. In addition, I would probably never get work from this agent, and I would also sour my connections here and word would get around that I had screwed up this gig. So this big drama is playing out in my head, and adrenalin is coursing through my body as I envision this big embarrassing scenario with a colossal on-stage fuckup at a crucial moment, followed by me slinking away from this town in shame.

I finally decided to let everyone involved know what was up. I spoke to my partners, and I called the agent. I told them that I would work tonight, but that there might be a possibility that I would loose my voice for real and have to bail. Everyone was very understanding, especially the agent, and that lifted all the worry that was weighing on me.

Earlier in the afternoon I had started taking prednisone (steroid, anti-inflamitory) and some pretty strong antibiotics on me that I always travel with. By showtime, I felt much better, and although still fragile, I was pretty sure I would make it through the night alright.

The show went well, surprisingly well. It was a long night, but it went by fast, I had fun and I knew that I had pulled my weight and would be standing to fight another day. I also got to play drums which has been my guilty pleasure of late, since I am entirely self-taught over the past couple months using Playstation’s Rockband.

It's a small world

This evening after I went to the gym wandered around the village near NYU past all of these cool bars with live music and live comedy. So I found myself in a free comedy show, drinking $4 Corona's in a basement somewhere, where several 3rd rate comics tried out their new jokes. It was fun, and cheap, and since I had never gone to a comedy show alone, it was a new experience. The MC was asking everyone where they were from, and I had to be a smart ass. When he asked me, I told him I live on the streets. The room was silent as he paused for a couple beats, and then said, "So, how did that joke work out for you?"

I return home to find my roommate's email program open on the computer that we share. Now it's not my habit to go routing through anyone's personal email, but he had told me 4 hours prior that he was going out to meet someone he met on Craigslist for a "hookup". Since he was not yet home, I texted him asking if he was ok. He didn't respond. After 10 min I decided to poke around in his email and get more info about this hookup. I immediately see the requisite 20 back and forth emails replete with descriptions detailing who's going to do what to whom, and for how long, and with what, etc., etc., etc. There's an address and a phone number, so I felt better that at least I could tell the police where to find the body. I further noticed (um...no, I looked for) the email that sealed the deal; you know the one...it's got the paperclip, indicating that there is an attachment. In the interest of the forensic investigative work I was doing for the safety and well-being of my roommate, I clicked on the attachment to find myself staring at the picture of...another piano bar musician! My roommate was screwing one of my colleagues and he didn't even know it! I texted my roommate again, and said, tell B. that E. R. says hi! He came home about 30 minutes later and we had a good laugh about it.

uneventful

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

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

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.