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I have no business even attempting an entry today... because, I'm PLASTERED. Two porters. Two Bass ales. What a lightweight. Of course, My sole meal, up to the third beer, was a piece of leftover steak that I'd grilled on Wednesday... consumed at 10 AM. Not proper lining of the stomach, in preparation for a barley-and-malt free-for-all. But, I had it coming. I got a call, last evening, from "Biggles," telling me we needed to meet up Friday after six to check out the James Armstrong Blues Band. One nice thing about Cville, is the free concerts on Friday PM. Blues? I can signify to that possibility. It was radio day, after a week absence... and there's plenty to experience before playtime. It's the same thing every show day. Mad dash to grab appropriate rhythms before setting out on the drive to the station... wondering, always, if I should've picked other selections to make it better. Fact: regardless of how much preparation I do aforehand, the day just sets a pace all its own... and goes where it must. And it will. There's a million little simultaneous tasks to perform in making a pleasant two hour show, with minimum chaos. All the while, trying to win a few converts, who may have never heard the music in quite that way... and are hooked. Mission accomplished. Afterwards, I passed along a pile of fliers for the African AIDS benefit, building up a powerful thirst... in the 100� soup that is Virginia. By the time I got to the show, the beer tent was my oasis in the desert. Brown, and splash it down... in the company of some radio partners-in-crime. My mentor (late night R&B guy, 20+ years) told a great story... about being in Nashville for a conference, his travelling companions wanting to make the drive to Memphis, to say they'd been there (this town is godhead to a blues-lover). He took a nap, woke up and had a lucid dream that if he went to Memphis, he'd turn into ashes. And, so... he never went. Funny... as much as I love reggae, I haven't summoned the inspiration to go to Jamaica. Seems like most of the musical power has been spent, yeaars ago... which is good, considering the blood and upheaval that made it possible. Maybe if I went solo. Miss Jane has never set foot out of the country... and wits must be quick. A solo vacation to "paradise?" Good Luck.
Went back to Biggles' afterwards, for some BBQ and Arsenal v. Birmingham (again). Had some quality conversation with the Varga Girl, at the end of her terrible-two-year-old rope. Put a bug in her ear about this journal thing, english major that she was. Stunning looks, and a brain... not to be wasted. Downhill from there. Sinking lower into the dinette chair as the match and the beers wore on... only to make my foggy good-byes for the 30+ mile drive home in the half-lit dark. Great metaphor for me. And here I wobble... submitted for your approval. |
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