first nite

Andy didn't even look around or give a cue, just sucked in a big breath across the mike then let it rip -

"SMOOTH UP IN YAHHHHHH"

Thankfully Jake was able to whip out the first chord, but my bass wasn't even turned up and I had to maneuver around the bottom to manage a crude fade-in. Way to keep us awake, dude.

It was obvious we hadn't done a lot of sound checking, and the whole idea was just to get our feet wet tonight - hell, we're not even getting paid - but I'd hate to catch a whiff of how this sounds in the crowd. All I can hear is the massive rented Ampeg behind me and hopefully Donnie can keep us going on the skins. We had to set up around the piano and the old Hammond that doesn't even work, and they weren't able to take the pool table out of here so it's just pushed to the wall. For some reason I'm surprised there's not an old cigar store Indian standing next to me.

I feel Don's kick and crack, and hear lots of brass over my rumbling BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM, but not much else.

It doesn't help that Jake's old deuce combo is seriously underpowered and I have to keep watching his hands, but still, the crowd seems to be getting into it. Andy has a way with things up front and he's probably our best hope at the moment. I suppose if I'm the perfectionist in the mix then we need some charm and abandon to balance it out. It was his idea to mix in some party stuff and I had to agree, but I still can't wait to dig in to the rest of the set. Man, if we could only bring that B3 to life I'm sure it would share some timeless wisdom on the classics we do later on.

So we reach the big finish, everyone balls to the wall, and Andy's soulful wail to bring 'er home, then through my ringing ears I could make out the small crowd sounding fairly worked up already. As he starts in with the opening spiel I was hoping he'd ask how we sound but it would seem he's got his groove on already, the train has left, no sleep till Albuquerque.

"Is it gettin hot in here already? Ohh yea-yahh, babies we are burnin UP! Time to call tha FI-YAH HOWSE!"

Sure wish we could have put some reverb on him at least, kind of a sharp slap when he projects.

But at least it's comforting to really feel the riff take shape over there when Jake starts churning it out. He's really coming along even after just two or three years, kind of a natural.

For better or worse we do a few more rockers as people loosen up, and to my amazement, Andy turns around and says "alright boys and girls, we gonna take tee-yun to give y'all time to pre-PARE yourselves forrrr...what comes next, so play nice out there!" and then tries to put the mike on a stand as it threatens to feed back.

Everyone grabs their ears as they watch his attempts to shield the mike, with varied results, then I realize I'm closest to the cord and run to unplug it while trying to keep my instrument from banging into stuff. What no one bothered to tell me is that my right hoof is wrapped in a cable.

Somehow I am able to stagger the other leg gradually and come down into some kind of lunge, but not without manhandling the strings before I'd had a chance to turn down the pot. Since I was still in front of my amp, the ensuing thunder quickly goes epic, a giant saw ripping through my body as I fumble for the plugs. I reach them after a month and three days.

As I ooze onto the floor with the bass on my chest I faintly hear fits of laughter. My head feels like a throbbing potato baked in a reactor meltdown. I'm pretty sure the buzzing in my teeth is actually to the point of emanating its own sound.

Pretty soon Andy comes into my field of view, hovering above rubbing his ears, nothing but grin in between 'em.

Someone in the seats yells "PLAY SOMETHING BY SPINAL TAP," stoking the crowd's laughter.

Andy glances out there and then back to me. "I think we're a hit, boss," he gloats with batting eyebrows.

With my left hand still grasping the neck of my bass, I close my eyes and slowly lift the middle finger.

sometime that summer

my first driver's license is just starting to get some rub wear in the laminate, and after a torrid heat spell, the rains return life to the cradle garden with some irresistible evenings along for the ride

i call her up on a whim and she answers, just gonna read tonite, well, unless...

next thing i know i'm picking her up in my parents' 1984 ltd wagon, a verifiable tail magnet

i had nearly asked her to walk over, since we live close but for some reason that didn't seem right

after i manage to choose the most awkward spot in the middle of the driveway her mom appears out of thin air, like a NEEEN-ja, grinning ear to ear, camera in hand

wispy clouds line the horizon like molten silver and the breeze caresses with a mother's touch, it blows her reddish-brown hair around as she emerges from the front door, she looks away when i first glance at her, denim skirt, button-up top and arms crossed as if shivering, then the smile lights up her face when our eyes meet again

we get to the corner stop sign before either one of us realizes we hadn't really decided where to go

i have ten bucks in my pocket thanks to dad, but it's too nice out for the mall and neither one of us are hungry yet, then a poignant HONK from behind makes me jump a foot

half a mile later she's still laughing when we finally decide just to hang out at the elementary school playground, where there was not another soul around save passing cars, not that i would notice them

first we did the teeter totter as she rides side-saddle, out of time and place, here at the school during summer break, and she had gone to a different grade school to boot

then as we sat there on the swings just looking around my mind's eye somehow shifted to a wide angle, better bookmark this page where two kids, good friends, are finally granted a measure of freedom, and so, what would we do with it?

as she turns my way mid-sentence i notice her smile as her eyes dance around, green as the summer grass, the same ones that once struck dark fear in my bones as she stood at my back door with the neighbor girl, and we just stay that way for a moment, as i wonder whether it's ok to keep staring and not sure if i can stop

then a cloud crosses the sun and it suddenly seems late, we each look around, seconds pass, my tummy growls

i ask if she wants to grab something to eat and that smile encores, brighter than ever, reaching the silver clouds for all i know

thankfully mickey dees was still open by the time we found our way there, we joked

as i drift to sleep that night i realize that i hadn't played the car's radio all evening

it's funny how some things don't have to be grand to be perfect, and how the best relationships aren't defined just by moments

hamsterball

Oh how she can't wait to get home and let him roam around in his ball. It lets him explore while keeping him from getting into trouble and making messes, and if he wanders too far she can rescue him easily enough. Then it's time to put him back in his cage where every need is provided. She faithfully changes the footing every week so it doesn't get stinky. There's a running wheel for exercise, plenty of water in the bottle, and not to mention those yummy green pellets. He's so cute when he eats those, the way his little hands hold it as he chews and those tiny brown eyes blinking. She can't imagine a thought in his pretty little head.

*sigh*

tyrst

I stroll in late and survey the room. Over by the wall stands a young woman who wants to be seen not wanting to talk to anyone. Hovering about the cheese poofs are three jovial gents in dockers and oxfords, clearly with nothing more to learn about the world than what they can teach it. Catching a familiar eye here and there makes the exchange of nods easy enough, but a presence is about, foreboding and pungent, like egg salad flatulence in the shower or that unsettling vibe from a dysfunctional couple who have yet to acknowledge it. As I reach for a beverage she slithers into view. Grand but not tall, adorned in a midnight blue sari she wastes no time, we guard the refreshments as her eyes dance to a choreographed monologue, already a victim of her own hypnotic prowess. At any moment I expect her to place a wheat thin on her shoulder to get things started. She's the kind who removes your guitar strings as you sleep, leaving her phone number as collateral. It is enough to make you say piss it all and join a monastery.

cardboard, tape and great moments in aviation

Back when I was five or so I wanted an airplane. Not a toy plane...an *airplane*. One of those two-tone Cessna or Piper single props at the county airport would do just fine, like I'd see when Dad and I would sit in the parking lot and watch flight lessons. Whenever the inspiration would hit, there I was finding materials and bugging everyone to help me nail boards together or whatever. Why would we need a long cord to power an old washing machine motor? We can just put one of those outlet box thingys from the wall in there and...

Anyway, at some point we came across this short, thick cardboard tube from a roll of whatever, but to my mind's eye, the propeller shaft. Next thing I know I've got boxes in the front room taped together to form the, um, "fuselage," side flaps for wings, rear flap for a tail. I must have been persuasive because Mom used a *lot* of masking tape trying to flange it to the side of the box. A nearby Naugahyde hassock becomes landing gear. As soon as it was all, um, "together" there was no stopping. I was gonna fly an AIRPLANE right there in the front room, dang it all.

So there she was. Up off the floor about to my waist, a staggering sixteen inches, and it would almost stand on its own when I let go. Mom's skepticism is but background noise as I climb in, just a tad shaky, one leg in, now the other...

*THUMP*

About 23 years later, and interestingly, ten years *ago*...well, evidently some lessons bear repeating and on a grand scale. When you're little and messing around with household materials in the front room, the real danger is trivial even when your dreams collapse to the sound of ripping tape. Different story when you've barnstormed your way into the almighty American Dream only to find a grizzly nightmare. In it, you're hopes are empty, relationships trite, appetite is DOA, paranoia coats the tongue...but if you pay attention, you catch on to what's been available all along while you were chasing wind.

Some bumper sticker has it right. We plan, God laughs. But the joke is never on us unless we take ourselves too seriously.

halves and have nots

Another family arrives at the burger joint in a bullet-shaped sedan, then we all show up in the cab of a pickup, and our respective churches have different names on them. Ours is downtown although most of us live more comfortably than people in the surrounding homes. Earlier, on the way in, my dad makes fun of a long-haired man walking along the street.

Some of the kids at church are from the surrounding neighborhoods and they don't mind that they don't look like "us" or act like "us" most of the time. Usually these are the ones I'd rather be around, unless they're just plain annoying, but they aren't there as often as us "regulars."

Sometimes we have church at night. In the cold months the downtown streets are only to be seen in passing, the domain of the unknown and unsaved. People walking after dark around are up to no good and we lock our doors and look where we're going and everything will be fine once we're home watching TV.

Jobs are scarce. Some kids at school have parents laid off from factories. At the mall there are "minorities" standing around talking all weekend. Pastor asks people to "dig deep" before calling the ushers.

Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the folks who come in for "help" are naturally self-confident or just used to asking. You only see them that one time.

Reagan is the only one who can "fix" all this. He usually wears a suit.

We have Sunday School parties, well attended by a lot of us "pre-teens." Not sure if it's the leadership, or the mix of kids, or both, but I find these things fun for once. One of the "neighborhood" dudes asks me about my old electric razor collection and he becomes cool, just never sticks around long enough.

At one point this loud mouth who lives "comfortably" starts in with racial slurs with one of the "neighborhood" girls and she doesn't stand for it. She and her friend, one of the few girls I thought was cute back then, didn't stick around long enough, and I am getting tired of typing that.

Some of "our" moms and dads split up before we finished high school. I never got to find that out about most of the "neighborhood" kids.

as i stand agaze

as i stand agaze
at the fortress of refuge
how strangely, these days
i savor the deluge

a dream far too real
in this tempest i'm couched
raging rose-petal pinwheel
that is felt, but not touched

it spins as it pleases
cream confection'ry bliss
such warm fragrant breezes
best of times, reminisce

at the eye and center
stares your face in some trance
tells so precious little
save, gracious acceptance