Jammin' in the Gene Pool

Took BiL and Nieces and Nephews (w/out Liam) and friends of Nieces and Nephews to the beach this afternoon. I was initially a little perturbed that we got such a late start, but I think there might have been some drama at home regarding our mother, who is 81 and has Parkinson's, for those of you who don't know this. My sis, her hub and their kids live in PA and are visiting and helping with some mom decisions we have to make.

Anyway, so we went to the beach. I used to love the beach. Used to love all it had to offer. These days, I avoid the sun, being fair skinned and trying to make up for my past sun abuse. Spent most of the time under an umbrella, greased with sun screen. Never went into the water.

When we got home, we all improvised dinner. Those who stayed behind weren't sure that we were coming back, so they didn't prepare anything for us. I'm not bitter.

No, really.

Billy Canary, Nephs Liam and Michael, and I all broke out the ukes and began jamming. First song: If I Had a Hammer. Catchy little tune. Both Nephs are becoming pretty good musicians. Liam is a pretty good singer too. Has a nice baritone. I bet Michael would be a pretty good singer too, but he didn't sing. I think he likes playing, especially if he can show off his skills. But he might be shy about singing. Or maybe he just doesn't like to. We began making up a few verses like "If I had a fish," "If I had a sponge," "If I had a waffle iron." Eventually the song died a well-deserved death.

We did a couple of Led Belly tunes, I forget the titles. I just played as Liam sang and Billy played the guitar, which I think he has been practicing on the sly. Maybe I need to get one.

The, we tried "Jimmy Jazz" by the Clash. Once again, the barred chord came in handy. I had a hard time getting the same rhythm that the others were playing. But I got the chords. It's a pretty good song for uke.

We then practice the Who's "Happy Jack," which also sounds good on the uke. It's pretty simple, with only three chords. The guitar riff sounds comical when you try to play it on uke. But I think it fits just the same.

I don't remember the Beatle's tune we played. I just tried harmonizing on that one. I think that we might play as an ensemble on Open Mike Night this Sunday. Not sure which song. I favor "Happy Jack" right now.

Back in the Saddle Again, Metaphorically Speaking

Just got back this afternoon from the Taos Writers' Conference. I will probably review it later. I might even post something I wrote up there. But I want to re-read it tomorrow and see if it weathers the post-conference glow.

It was a good conference, in part because I was able to almost completely retreat from the cares and responsibilities of my life and focus on reading and writing. Taos is a pretty nice corner of the world. I don't think that I would want to live there in particular. Maybe Santa Fe or Albuquerque. Taos might be a little too isolated for me on a long-term basis. What I like about it is, while hot, it is dry. Very comfortable for a sweater like me.

I attended a weekend workshop on the Poetics of Place. Wrote a poem that I didn't think much about. But I got a pretty good reaction from the others in my workshop. The facilitator made our work from Saturday the assignment for Sunday. Each assignment was tailor-made for each student. His suggestion for my piece interested me, so I tried out his suggestions. I still have to work on it. It involves some street performers at the square it downtown Taos. If I like it, I will post it here.

My week-long workshop involved using landscape to develop characters in short fiction. I haven't written much short fiction. We each submitted in advance a short story of about 12 pages. The instructor sent these around to each of the participants. We each read one another's work and then re-read it and discussed each piece during class. Mine got laughs, and some good suggestions. It was a fictional account of Open Mike Night at the Folk center. I am proud of it, but it still needs work.

I probably won't post it. It clocks in at about 2000 words. Most of you have read it. Those of you who haven't, just let me know and I'll send it your way.

Hey, Baby, It's the Fourth of July!

By the way, Dave Alvin formerly of the Blasters, is playing at the Folk Center. I've got a ticket. Saw him several years ago, just after he left the Blasters. One of the best concerts I ever attended.

I spent my 4th of July at My friend Curt's hill-top home. Curt is a friend of mine, going back to before kindergarten. We've known each other for almost fifty years. Fell out of touch for awhile and have lately been re-connecting.

I used to spend my 4th's at the church where I grew up. My mother has been a member there since she was a teenager. Maybe longer.

Around here, the big fireworks display comes from atop Mt. Rube, a local landmark. Across a small valley, on another hill, sits the church, its parking lot and playground facing the Mountain. It's probably not a distance of even two miles. So the congregation gathers around and has a big potluck, culminating in the fireworks display. The fireworks are only one of the attractions-the other being the suspense of when one of the sparklers explodes too close to the ground and sets the side of the mountain ablaze. Last Monday, there were two fires-one of which spread pretty quickly before the fire department got to it.

The fire department is always on the ready, by the way. They have got it down to a science, allowing for just enough inferno to entertain without putting anyone in danger.

My friend's house sits at the top of another hill across the wider valley of Riverside. The fireworks aren't nearly as close as they are to the church. But, what you get in addition is almost an even trade-off. Sitting high atop the hill, gazing across the valley at the mountain, you can see all of the individual, illegal, fireworks displays going on in people's backyards. As time for the big display approaches, these smaller displays begin. Each sparkler jumps into the sky like a trout leaping out and diving back into a lake. When the big display gets going, the experience takes on a three-dimensional affect, with the smaller fireworks exploding a few yards in front of you, a half-mile away, a mile, and on, in all directions. From all angles, bursts of color that glow and dissipate into the dark.

Not a bad evening.

Coming Together, Parting Ways

The sis and family arrived today from PA. It is good to see them. Unfortunately, I leave on Thursday morning for Taos, NM. I will try to abbreviate my trip as much as possible, but I find more and more that driving that kind of distance needs to be paced out over a couple of days. I have the stamina, but not the will to drive that distance in one day.

So, tonight, I took three of my ukuleles to Mom's house, where sis and fam are staying, I brought two in and, when I had turned my back, they were in use. I brought a third in later for myself.

Billy Canary and Nephew Mike the Bassist were both noodling away. I had brought a few song books and left them there. When I leave for Taos, I will leave a couple of ukes there. The plan being that Nephews and/or nieces pick them up and learn to play them. I have about five non-relative converts to my credit and am aiming for at least two more from my family. Nephew Mike, as I have said, is a bassist. Nephew Liam is a percussionist, primarily, but plays several instruments. He actually purchased a baritone ukulele awhile back and has learned some songs. I guess my strategy here is to make my presence felt even when I'm not there.

I am torn about leaving just when they arrived. But this Taos Writers' Conference is something that I have been planning since attending in 2004. It is a great get-away. And this year, more than most, I need a get-away. I have learned that one essential element for a successful retreat is knowing what you are retreating from. I need time away from my mother and her illness. She has Parkinson's. And it has been difficult for all of us. If you have ever seen what Parkinson's can do to a person, then you know why I support stem cell research.

So, Thursday Morn, I will pack up all my cares and woes, and a couple of travel-worthy ukes, and head for Taos. There, I will attend a weekend poetry workshop and week-long fiction workshop. And, when not workshopping, I will be writing, reading, reflecting, and playing my ukes. That, and wining and dining at some of the fine restaurants there.

I got a new laptop and, assuming that I get connected to the internet, will report any progress I make. If I don't, you can bet that it will be because I am having too much fun.

Reflections after Having Seen Revenge of the Sith

To take my mind off the fasting I had to do before my butt-oscopy (see Journey to the Center of My Colon), I decided to take in a movie-one that I wouldn't have to think too much about. I hadn't seen the Revenge of the Sith, and am a Star Wars fan (note: not obsessed, just a fan-otherwise, I wouldn't have waited so long to see it).

I liked it much more than the two previous ones. Jar-jar, luckily, made only a brief, silent appearance. Padame, or whatever her name was, had a pretty thankless waiting-at-home kind of part. Her death, as well as Anakin's conversion, was hard to believe. I actually felt like they could have left out the first episode and most of the second and just fleshed out this episode more. It would have made a better trilogy. That, and I wouldn't have to keep thinking about how Anakin and Padame met when she was queen and he was a small boy. Something about that is just creepy.

The action was good, but, anytime the characters started talking, I got kind of bored.

Anyway, it reminded me of my old friend Larry.

Larry was the kind of guy who gave in easily to his most compulsive behaviors. He smoked too much weed, made huge purchases on impulse, using credit cards, and let his imagination rule when common sense would have served him better. He would go through economic binge and purge cycles. He would buy lots of toys on credit, lose his job, and have to give the stuff back or sell it for cash. The cars and motorcycles useless enough and he didn't need them. But Larry was an aspiring photographer. He would buy elaborate camera get-ups, just begin to be productive, and then lose it all at the end of each cycle so he couldn't ever take pictures, even when people were offering jobs.

The funny thing is, he knew when he was doing something stupid. What's more, I could always tell when he knew. He had this look in his eye, this expression on his face, and this tone in his voice. His favorite expression just before he did something really stupid and self-destructive was "I know what I'm doing." If Larry said that, you knew that what he really was thinking was "I know what I'm doing and it is a big mistake."

I went and saw the very first Star Wars movie with Larry, who was a big Sci Fi TV and movie buff. He loved Star Trek and Star Wars.

Never any books though. Larry didn't read.

Another favorite expression of his was to say that his teachers always told him that he was much smarter than everyone thought he was. One favorite anecdote of his was when our 7th grade English teacher told him "You have the potential for genius-just not the personality for it." I'm not sure if she really said that, or what she might have meant by it, or what it could possibly mean. I just know that Larry had more imagination than brains.

Back to the Star Wars connection. I may have seen the first one twice. I think I may have seen all three of the early films twice each. I liked them. Thought the special effects were cool. But I always felt like George Lucas had trouble coming up with satisfying endings. In fact, this last episode had the strongest ending of all the films, but even this one had a rushed quality about it, story-wise.
For the first three films, I'm pretty sure that each time I saw them, it was with Larry-who saw each of them so many times that he had the dialog memorized.

Larry took the films much too seriously. He felt that they were some kind of quasi-religious experience. He would often say things like "I think that George Lucas has communicated with beings from another galaxy."

What was even more odd was that Larry was a fundamentalist Christian. I don't know how he ever reconciled these two extreme concepts of his.

As I said, Larry had a hard time controlling his impulses. He dropped out of college before the end of his first semester. He held commissioned sales jobs at a couple of department store chains. He eventually worked his way up to department manager. He stole some prints from a wedding he had photographed. He had no money, as usual, and the customers wanted to see the prints and make their order. Got fired. Had to return his car and motorcycle to the dealerships from which he had purchased them.

And, of course, he had to sell his camera equipment.

This sort of thing happened several times before he turned thirty.

The last binge and purge cycle, he had been working at a motorcycle shop. Of course, after a couple of weeks, he had purchased the most expensive motorcycle in the shop. One day, he took a customer out for a test drive. He skipped the usual procedure of taking the guy's driver's license and. The customer hopped on the bike and took off. Larry followed on his own bike. When Larry signaled the customer to head back, the guy kept going and was never seen again.

Larry lost his job, etc.

This was about the third or fourth time this sort of thing happened to Larry. The boss insisted that he had to pay for the stolen bike. Plus, when he tried to return his own bike, the boss found a major ding on it and insisted that he pay for that too.

Larry was rescued by his father, who drove in with Larry's mother from Texas. Larry, Sr. had inherited a ranch in Texas and was doing pretty well. Most of the family followed him there and worked and lived on the ranch.

Larry, Sr. went with Larry to each of his creditors and offered to help make up the debt if they would cut Larry some sort of break. They all turned him down. The last creditor was Larry's ex-boss at the cycle shop.

"God-Dammit!" he said, pounding his desk. "That kid of yours is lucky I don't have him arrested."

The next day, Larry was spirited away to Texas. None of the creditors ever collected another dime.

I was in college as this all took place. I was usually the guy that went with Larry to return his various repossessed goods. Whenever we discussed my life, Larry would always tell me, "You know, I've already been to school-the school of hard knocks."

As I look back, Larry was kind of like an Anakin Skywalker, without the light saber or the Force stuff. That, and he wasn't put on this earth to bring balance back to it.

But, oh, the things he could have accomplished if he had stayed away from all of the crap he brought on himself.

Journey to the Center of My Colon

Why is it that whenever people know that you are going through one of the more stressful moments of your life, other people involved tell you to relax? Without getting too graphic, that's what the nurse kept telling me-that I needed to relax. When the procedure started, I tried to relax. But there is no better way to make sure that someone doesn't relax by telling him or her to relax. She would have been smarter just to give me drugs.

Anyway, my yoga and karate training, while not necessarily training me in yoga or karate, did train me to breath properly. So, I breathed my best yoga/karate breathing. That, and I followed the nurse's advice to rub my belly to minimize the discomfort. It all seemed to work.

The procedure I got was the halfway up procedure. It has a long medical name. But it's where they go through your lower colon to see what's there.

I was watching the screen when they turned on the camera that was about to go up my rectum and journey to where no man has ever gone before. The first thing I saw were lighting fixtures. My first thought was that I didn't know that I had lighting fixtures up there. But, or course, they hadn't gone there yet. The lighting fixtures were the ones that hung in the room.

Then, as the camera was directed towards the massive, white mound that I affectionately refer to as "my ass," I couldn't help but think of some of the older rides at Disneyland-especially the Peter Pan ride. As the doors that I affectionately refer to as "my buttocks" opened and the camera sailed in, I could almost here the voice of Peter Pan himself shouting "Okay, kids, here we go!"

The next impression I had was, as I watched the journey begin, how seemingly endless our assholes are.

The camera went round each bend smoothly. As in a Disney ride, I thought about how, around each bend, some villain would appear suddenly causing shrieks among the children. I remembered, during the Snow White ride, how the Evil queen, now transformed into a witch, would suddenly appear, holding that poisoned apple. Of course, no witch appeared with her poisoned apple.

But there was a polyp.

In fact, just after the doctor had reached the end of his journey, just after the nurse had said, "Okay, we're almost done," a little bump in my lower colon appeared onscreen. It looked as pink and healthy as the rest of my lower colon. But the doctor said, "Hmmm, let's get a sample of that polyp."

He then asked me, and I had been asked that earlier by the nurse, "Do you have a family history of colon cancer?"

I told him "No."

"Good," he said.

He took a sample of the polyp. Then another, which pretty much eliminated the polyp from my lower colon.

And, as he finished the procedure, he told me that they would examine the sample and that I would know in about a week-and-a-half whether or not they needed to perform a full colonoscopy.

I have since been told that finding polyps is not that uncommon. That, if it had been an actual cancerous tumor, they would have scheduled surgery immediately. So, that is a little reassuring.

I was also told by my SiL that this news meant that my next half-assed exploration would be in three years instead of five. Also reassuring.

So, I guess I'll hear soon about what the next step will be.

But let me use this experience to remind my eight-or-so faithful readers: colon cancer is one of the most deadly forms of cancer. When it is caught early, it is highly curable. Yes, it's one of the yucky-most forms of cancer to get tested for, but getting tested early is better than some of the alternatives.

Reflections on Mortality

I don't think this will be particularly interesting to anyone, but I am going in on Friday morning to undergo the ass-cam examination. As my faithful readers know, a colleague of mine had this procedure done, being five years younger than doctors recommend, and discovered that he had a tiny tiny tumor growing in his colon. He had it removed, of course. The doctors say that if he had waited those five recommended years, it would have been too late.

So I have to go on a regimen of fasting and flushing starting tomorrow.

I'm supposed to get some bloodwork done also, so I figure I'll do that too. Make one fast work for the whole shebang.

So, wish me luck and keep your sphincters crossed.

Review of the California Traditional Music Society's 23rd Annual Folk Festival

Let me begin with my two main points about this festival: It was one of the most relaxed weekends I have ever spent; the uke community needs to represent next year.

Let me also qualify comments by saying that this undertaking is a massive one. I guess it's one of the largest of its type in the country. I'm sure there are larger festivals that emphasize performers in a concert setting. But as far as festivals where the focus is on teaching and building community, this is pretty huge.

And the setting, Soka University in Calabasas, is a beautiful one. It is secluded, pastoral, and spacious. It's hard to believe that you are in the middle of Los Angeles County. The campground was very informal. People in huge campers parked next to people sleeping out under the stars. If I were going to do anything different next year, I would get there much earlier so as to secure one of the more shaded parts of the campground.

The campground itself is set up as a community. There is a central picnic area where the morning pancake breakfasts and the evening potlucks occur. The people are friendly and the food was good enough. If you didn't want to participate in the communal dining, it is a short drive to town, where there are a few places to eat.

The workshops and programs were diverse enough to suit anyone's tastes. In addition to the variety of musical instrument workshops, there were a variety of dance, storytelling, craftmaking, and childrens' workshops going on.

The only workshop that I attended that was a letdown was the pennywhistle workshop. But that's largely because I had never played before and was a fish out of water. Those who had a little more musical expertise than me seemed to do ok. But I was lost.

I attended a bodrahn bootcamp and a couple of other bodrahn workshops and was playing in no time at all. Granted, my skill level is at the beginner level, but I know how to hold the tapper and can drum out a jig or reel.

I missed one of the two uke workshops. But it was a Jumpin' Jim workshop and I had taken the first one several times now. The intermediate workshop was fun and I was surprised at the number of ukesters there. One of the organizers told me that there had been a couple of other uke workshops scheduled, but the teachers had to cancel at the last minute. Beloff's workshops are always fun, so I can't complain.

On both Friday and Saturday evening, there were concerts and dance parties. Both nights offered contra dancing for $10. I did not participate in that, but those who did were having a grand time.

Friday night offered a storytelling concert. I was not there, but informal reviews from other participants made it sound wonderful.

I attended Saturday night's concert, which featured Club Carrefour and the duo of Liz Carrol and John Doyle. An exciting concert.

next year, to save some money, I plan on being a volunteer. Participants pay up to $25 per day, but volunteers work a four hour shift and get entrance to the festival for both days for free. Camping is $35 per car for the whole weekend.

I should add that you do not have to camp out if you don't want to to. There are hotels nearby. For that matter, if you live close enough, you could always drive in from home and park on the premises. Parking passe are $5.

Autobiography? I Ain't Got No Stinkin' Autobiography!

Just got back from the Summer Solstice Folk Festival. Had a great time. More on that later. But, for those of you who can't wait, in a nutshell: I now can call myself a multi-instrumentalist because I learned how to play the bodrahn at least as well as the five-year-old girl sitting next to me at the workshop; they need to have more uke workshops; I camped out an slept amazingly well, considering; it is really hard to learn to play pennywhistle first thing in the morning when you haven't even showered; french guys could avoid a lot of arguments if they would learn English with an Irish accent.

I got an e-mail from the leader of my weekend workshop in the upcoming Taos writer's workshop. He wants us to send a sample of our poetry and a brief statement about ourselves and our writing influences.

I am going to send these two poems:

Waiting

Dusk: the dim lamp, a halo.
Your head, bowed in dizzy reflection.

We pick at a plate of cookies.
You sweep away pills that will not save you.

I feel the edge of my tongue
and bite into the isolated sweetness.


Faith

Some saints believe they can walk across
a sea of blood and still enter Heaven.
No Christ stands on the horizon,
No hand waves for them to follow, no voice
calls them. But, they insist it’s true. Asked why
they don’t just try it if they’re so sure, they
say “We wait for the Lord. He’ll go first, to
set the example.” Then, one by one, they’ll
join him.
For now, they wait for a sign,
huddled in their yachts, gazing as waves swell,
as clouds gather. Some notice fingers–
for waves have become hands, poised to
grab the ankles of the first, the second–
to drown each in these waters they have built.

Also, I will probably send the poem from my first post. Let me know what you think.

The hard part is the part about me and my influences. When someone asks me to do that sort of thing, I freeze. There isn't that much to say about me and I'm not sure that there are any influences. When I finally do respond to this sort of prompt, I always write something that I regret, because it seems so stodgy and dull.

There are writers that I like a lot. Hemingway is at the top of that list. Walt Whitman and Kenneth Patchen are both poets that I like, but I don't know that I could trace any influence.

Of course, I love Don Quixote and almost anything by Shakespeare. But their influence on anyone goes without saying, even for those who have never read them.

The artists who have influenced my thinking more than anyone would be the great slapstick comedians of the early sound era: The Marx Brothers, WC Fields, and Laurel and Hardy. I think more than anyone, these people influenced my sense of humor, my sense of language, and my sense of humanity. I think that it's possible to learn everything you need to know about life from these guys.

I'd probably have to add the Wizard of Oz and Mary Martin's TV broadcast of Peter Pan also. What more could anyone teach you about the frustration of humanity-about never wanting to grow up and always yearning for something better than what you have?

Adventures in Polyrhythm

Broke out my old copy of Jumpin' Jim's 60's Uke-in and went over some songs that I tried when I was brand new. I may be easily amazed, but I am always amazed at how songs that once seemed really difficult are suddenly easy after the passage of time.

One song that I tried early one was Dock of the Bay. That's a song of my generation that I have always liked, but it had the dreaded E Major, a chord that, in it's first form, is train-wreck for my fingers.

Since learning the magic of the barred chord, I found Dock of the Bay much easier today. If you bar the chords, the whole song becomes much easier. I'm all about what's easy.

One thing that still throws me is when I try a song where the rhythm of the strumming and the rhythm of the melody are at odds. Like in reggae. If can strum a vanilla rhythm and it sounds ok to me. But I have trouble when I try to do anything else. Under the Boardwalk is a good example. The chords are pretty easy. But the rhythm screws me up.

There are a few songs that, if I just figure it out instinctively, I'm OK. It's when it's on paper and I try to learn it that way that I have trouble.

Anyway, the whole point of the ukulele first is to amuse myself. If I ever actually get good, that's just a plus.

Dog of Satan

When I returned from my walk up Mt. Rube this evening, I found my neighbor in her car, the motor running. She clearly could not get out of the driveway. As she rolled down her window to talk to me, this mid-sized, reddish brown dog-a mixed breed, came out from behind the car and started woofing at me. Not an actual bark, just a woof. Kind of that mock-protection woof that dogs will make when they really aren't being aggressive, but are afraid to approach you.

Neighbor asked me "Have you seen this dog before?"

I said no.

She told me that the owners of the house next door, who no longer live there, found the dog in a park near their new home, adopted it for about three days, then, when the dog began fighting with their other dogs, dropped it off in the back yard of the house next door for their tenants to take care of.

I don't know the details, but I think the tenants are relatives.

This was a day or two ago. Apparently, the dog is good at jumping fences and has planted itself in her front yard. When she is inside, it will go to her door and scratch on it and whine. When she is outside, it will follow her around. When she gets in her car, it will circle around it until she tries to pull out, at which point it will plant itself in front of the wheels so she can't leave.

She demonstrated this to me this evening. When she rolled up her window, the dog began circling. When she tried to pull forward, it stopped in front of the car.

She rolled her window back down and said "See?"

I asked if the dog had been threatening in any way and she assured me that it hadn't. I got down on my haunches and called it over. It came about halfway towards me, woofing, and my neighbor pulled out of her driveway and down the street, the dog following.

Right now, her car is back in the driveway and the dog is on her front lawn. It has just started woofing again. Of course, my dog and a few others have started barking at it. Not woofing. Barking.

It's going to be a long night.

Summer Solstice Folk Festival

After a pretty stressful school year and an especially stressful final two weeks of class, I am really looking forward to my first big trip this weekend to the Summer Solstice Folk Festival. There will be only two uke workshops given by Jim Beloff, and I imagine the first one is the same one that he usually gives to beginners, but it gives me a chance to get away and purge the bad energy that has been bringing me down as of late. There will be a lot of music there, so I can just spend time listening to it. There will also be informal jam sessions, so maybe I'll see if I can jam.

I'm wondering why there aren't more uke workshops, though. There are a lot of uke players in the area that show up and teach at local uke fests. For most other stringed instruments, they have a variety of workshops that cover several musical genres. Maybe Jumpin' Jim has a corner on this market. Anyway, when I come back, I'll report on it and share info with the local uke community.

I'll also take my bodrahn, as they have several bodrahn workshops. In fact, they have a bodrahn boot camp Saturday Morning. It would be nice to learn how to play this thing.

The main thing is to get away for awhile.

Still Here

I haven't posted anything here for awhile, but I have been writing a lot. Mostly, I have been working on pieces to take to the upcoming Taos Summer Writers' Conference. Participants in my workshop are supposed to submit a sample of their writing to the workshop leader. I just e-mailed mine.

I have written drafts of three short stories since checking out of school last week. One was about a drum circle, the other was about a memorial service I took my mother to, and the last-the one I sent to the workshop leader-is about an open mike at a nearby folk music store and museum.

I had planned to post it here, but it is 8 1/2 pages long (or 2400 words) and 7/9's of you have already read it. I might post the final draft when I feel like it is actually a final draft.

I haven't written much fiction, so I am exploring new territory here.

I have already been writing most of the morning, so I think I'll take a break. But you'll hear from me later.

Shameless Plug

I think that I have at least five people interested in being a part of a Ukulele Sunday Uke Circle. I would appreciate any helpful suggestions from my audience as to how to make it a success. Howlin' Hobbit suggested that funny hats and beer were crucial. Donita Curioso said that she could bring her dumbek and a few funny hats. I think the Howlin Hobbit meant fun hats, as in fedoras, porkpies, and bowlers-the kind I wear to cover my bald spot. I think that Donita Curioso meant party hats-the kind with mouse ear, pointy tops, or propellers. Let me know if I'm wrong, folk.

Oh, yeah. Feel free to read the post below.

I've Got Blisters on My Fingers

I went with Dugard and Dugard, Jr. to a drum circle at a local beach Sunday evening. I have only been once before, but enjoyed it enough to go again, after about four or five months.

Now, before you jump to conclusions, I am not some new age geezer looking for a spiritual connection through drumming, nor am I a drummer going to practice my craft. I went because it's fun and I needed to hit something.

A drum circle is like a microorganism, only larger and louder. Each one has many parts that function within this organism, its actions creating reactions that result in a movement or activity that causes change to the structure.

Each drum circle seem to have a nerve center, where the rhythm originates. The rhythm changes every ten to fifteen minutes, at the whim of whomever is at the nerve center. Sometimes, it can be one drummer, usually with a big set of drums from which he dictates the tempo. Other times, it can be a group of drummers who are attuned to the same rhythm and work together, perhaps taking turns changing the rhythm.

Some drum circles have more than one nerve center, which fight for control. Sunday was one such night. A tall Asian man with bleached hair and goggle-eyed glasses beat an African-type rhythm his three drums at one end, while a group of Latin drummers challenged his leadership. They shifted back and forth all night.

There are other drummers who dance around the circle as they drum, usually following one of the ladies in the circle, trying to keep the beat.

The dancers are like the circulatory system of our microorganism. Usually the dancing is lead by the ladies in the group, who flow from drummer to drummer, or pair up with a male dancer who actually dances. Most male dancers act as woman repellent, however. They invite women to dance, or horn in on a couple, easing their loins up against some lady's ass as she dances with her friends, causing her to move away. These are disturbing individuals, but they keep the ladies circulating.

People who have drums, but not much rhythm usually line the outskirts of the drum circle. They beat away simple rhythm, but do not distract from the real drummers. These are the folk who also give the drum circle its distinct aroma, usually a blend of pungent smokes that rise to thinly above the circle. They act as a membrane of sorts. Anyone who wants in the drum circle has to push through them.

Often, people with other instruments show up, often joining the membrane group. Last night, there was a guy with an electric guitar, playing something gawd-awful. There was also a saxophone. And one ukulele.

I took my street ukulele (one that is cheap, that I would not miss so much if it got smashed). I played my bodrahn for a short time, then gave that to Dugard, Jr., who had not brought a drum. I whipped out my uke and started shredding away, heard by no one. None of the rhythms was an easy match for the songs a know, so I adapted each to a new beat. Sometimes it may have worked. I don't know for sure, because I couldn't hear a thing that I was playing.

But I played for hours. At the end of the night, my strumming fingers were black.

Top Five Songs I Wish I Didn't Almost Like

1. MMMMMBop: Hanson. Whenever I'm in a bar with a jukebox, I can't help myself. It beckons me. I'm so ashamed.

2. Mandy: Barry Manilow. I need your help, Barry Manilow, because I feel so yucky.

3. Turn the Beat Around: Vickie Sue Something-or-other. Gloria Estefan did a cover-a double whammy.

4. Walk Like an Egyptian. I don't want to talk about it.

5. Sugar Sugar: The Archies. It's not completely my fault. There was this top ten musical TV series produced by Tommy Smothers after CBS fired him and Dickey. Part of the show involved a performance of the number one hit. Every week, until this show was mercifully cancelled, this was the number one hit. They would have a different singer or group perform this song. One week, they had a group of black gospel singers sing in a chain-gang setting. I have never been able to get that out of my mind.

Top Five Life-Changing Albums

Everyone should be made to share their top five Life-Changing Albums. Most of mine have to do with my early years, especially my teenage years. This is not necessarily in order of their ranking, but just as they occurred to me. In the case of the vinyl, the grooves are probably very well-worn, due to repeated listenings. As always, this list is subject to change.

1. Tommy: The Who. I remember where I was, who I was with, and how I felt when I first heard this. When Tommy starts singing "See Me , Feel Me" for the last time, to this day, I get misty-eyed. And yet, for all of it's incarnations and re-interpretations, I'm never sure exactly what's about.

2. Jesus Christ, Superstar: For shame, to be emotionally attached to anything from Andrew Lloyd Webber. But, as with Tommy, I remember the first listening vividly and get the same feeling when I hear it today.

3. Growing Up In Public by Lou Read: Same criteria. Also, the first time I "got" Lou Reed.

4. Sandinista: The Clash. Damn! What can I say? Damn.

5. Lena Horne: The Lady and Her Music. Soundtrack to her one-woman Broadway show back in the 80's. Choice songs sung with passion.

6. Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention: Uncle Meat. If you only listen to "King Kong," it's worth it.

7. Madam Butterfly: Verdi. My Mom played that record while she cleaned house and her children played with their Tinker Toys. I think that opera set the tone for my musical life.

Ok. That's seven. Read. Discuss. Submit your own.

I know that I'll probably change my mind at some point.

Review of My Nephew's Percussion Concert

I don't remember the title of the concert, but my nephew's high school drumline, with invited percussion ensembles from two other high schools, gave a concert Saturday Night. It was Stomp-esque in nature and was quite good.

Like Stomp, Nephew's group created scenes in which everyday props were used to create rhythmic tone poetry. It opened with Nephew and friends using tubes of different sizes and followed with a trash can serenade that was visually stunning. Also a piece using traffic cones and another using cleaning tools. It was all very clever.

Another piece performed by Nephew's group involved grinding tools and other tools. This piece was sparktacular. My only complaint was that, while the three or so players using the grinders had eye protection, other students making drumming noises around them did not. It could be that they were all far enough away. But those sparks flew pretty far.

Of the two guest ensembles, the steel drum band from another high school stood out. My high school has a steel drum band ten times the size of this one-but this band absolutely rocked the house. Whereas my school's steel drum band learns by the numbers, this band worked from charts and actually had very strong musicianship. Not only that, but they were real performers with a real sense of showmanship. Their energy was just unstoppable.

And they played a real variety of music. For three numbers, they actually had a singer, who sang "Come on Eileen," "Take on Me," and a song that I have apparently forgotten. They even did hip-hop. And made me like it!

The drumline from the other high school was pretty good. But what was fascinating to me was one of their percussionists was this kid who had two severely withered arms-one completely useless. Apparently his dad is a professional drummer. He rigged this electronic drum kit, the likes of which I have never seen, that allowed his son to play using his one semi-functional arm and his two feet. And the kid rocked.

It was a fun night.

One last highlight was a piece where my nephew and three other guys created percussion using repeated vocal patterns, which I guess was pretty much improvised.

I am one proud and impressed uncle.

They were selling glow-in-the-dark drumsticks and practice pads made from traffic cone bases. I bought a set.

Perhaps a new musical direction.

Brother Atom Bomb of Reflection's Review of Ukulele Nuff's Karaoke Performance

The crowd at the post-graduation reception for the combined staves of Blanco Grande high School and Val Blanco Continuation High School sat eagerly as, one-by-one, each karaokeist got up and sang his or her favorite song. The evening was heavy with country western tunes, with the occasional Guns and Roses tune thrown in for balance.

But the crowd awaited the Great One. Ukulele Nuff was in the house and the rumor was that he intended to represent.

His name called, he stood up, towering over his fans. There was a gasp. A squeal involuntarily escaped one lady's mouth. Ukulele Nuff took a hearty swig from his O'Doule's and sauntered over to the mike, confidently taking it from the speechless karaoke mistress.

First song up: "New York, New York." U-Nuff squinted at the screen. He had forgotten his glasses.

This song started out pleasantly enough, but lacked the flair of a well-rehearsed saloon singer, like a Sinatra, for example. What made things worse was that U-Nuff's voice didn't need re-verb, but there was enough reverb for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. U-Nuff's voice lacked support for this tune. He often went sharp or flat and sometimes had trouble sustaining the note. At the song's finale, as if to make up for his poor performance, U-Nuff got down on one knee.

At least one member of the crowd hooted, but clearly U-Nuff had used up one of his signature moves before he had performed his second song. Also, during the second to last "New York," he stopped to clear his throat. Later, he told this reporter that he had suffered from a cold that lingered in his throat. Tell it to Pavorotii, Ukulele Nuff.

His second tune, "That's Life" faired better, although U-Nuff seemed to stumble at the end. The song was more suited to his range and his support was much better.

Ukulele Nuff told me later that he had considered singing "Fly Me to the Moon," but thought better of it. "Sometimes," he said, "you can give the audience too much of yourself, and they turn on you."

This was not one of Ukulele Nuff's better performances. It is this reporter's opinion that Ukulele Nuff needs to find new inspiration if he is to regain his former genius.

Karaoke Whore

My plan at graduation was to rocket across the field of the minor-league baseball stadium where we hold our graduation ceremonies as soon as the last name was called. It is easy to be the first one to get to my car this way as most people are traveling in packs while I am traveling alone. Packs, be they families, groups of friends, carpoolers, move slowly. A lone wolf can zip around, between, over, and under packs without them even knowing he is there. Soon, I am in my car and buzzing towards the freeway, while others are still hugging and crying.

I used to go to the after-graduation gathering at a local bar, but the traffic around the stadium made it just as hard to get there as getting to the freeway.

But, I found out that our gathering was going to take place in a lounge at the stadium. So, I decided that I'd stay for awhile, get a little food, maybe a little drink, and then leave.

Those of us who attended were greeted by a school secretary who, with her husband, runs a karaoke business. She began singing a song and her voice wasn't awful.

You can guess where this is leading.

I hadn't even sat down with my array of greasy hors d'voures when people started telling me, "Bro A-Bomb, you have to sing!"

I thought I would resist, at first. I have standards. But, when JB, my non-singing teaching partner got up and did a rousing version of "Welcome to the Jungle," I knew that I had to give the people what they wanted.

I thought JB was quite brave to be the first. But, when he immediately darted out the door to his car after he had finished, I thought him less so. He broke the ice without paying the price.

Then two science teacher who sing worse than JB got up to do a rendition of "Love Shack."

So I filled out my little card, went to the bar for another beer, and, when my name was called out, sang "New York, New York." The trouble with Karaoke is that the lyrics that flash across the screen are often wrong and don't fit the rhythm of the song. Or they try to follow every yelp and growl of the original singer too closely and become confusing.

Some other drunk souls got up. A few of them could sing.

What I noticed was how many younger people knew all of the country western songs that were being performed. I find that scary. I think anyone who gets into country western before they turn 30 has some serious issues. I'm not talking about fans of Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson. I'm talking about the twangy, proud-to-be-ignernt singers, like Toby Keith. What nit-wits.

Anyway, my second song was "That's Life." I thought about doing a third song, but chose not to. It is always good to leave the audience wanting more-especially a karaoke audience.

UF brought his guitar and his own mike and amp and accompanied himself on a David Wilcox song. I don't know if he knew this, but Barb's husband looked pissed that someone would choose not to sing karaoke.

I realize that, by singing karaoke, I compromised my high artistic standards. I swear I'll never do it again.