Canaries' Sophomore Gig

The canaries flew into Claremont once again to wing it with another Bob Dylan hit, ruffling the feathers of many folk purists with their uke-o-centric rendition. This time, they thrashed "Maggie's Farm," the title of which is actually longer, but I'm too damn lazy to type the whole thing, even though typing this sentence has taken longer. I mean "thrash" in a good way.

Canary Limo once again provided power vocals, setting many young girls hearts a-flutter, while Billy Canary and Canary Jeff lit the stage with their ukes. Canary Jeff attacked his ukulele solo with the ferocity of a young tiger raging through a forest of Frosted Flakes, bringing an otherwise complacent to it's feet for the first of many standing O's.

Other acts at the Open Mique (and I'm going to be occasionally serious here) were plentiful. Kudos to the nice elderly lady who started an impromptu jam session while we all waited in line. But I have to take at least one kudo back. The lady was first on the list and, in spite of the new Folk center policy of one song per, asked if she could do a second song. The first song was good. The second song was kind of "faux" folk and not very good. The FC open Mique MC return to the one per policy for every act that followed. To make matters worse, after making us sit through her two songs, she couldn't be bothered to stay until the end--major chutzpah in my book. She left during the break. What's wrong Granny, didn't get your nap?

For those of you classical music fans, Paganini Man was back, trying to recapture the glory that he so elegantly didn't capture the first time. This time, he brought his own sound equipment, which didn't make the piece any better, or shorter. Again, he had to be stopped before someone killed him.

My theory is that he is actually a long-lost son of Andy Kaufman.

But there were a lot of fine performances, with a lot of unusual instruments featured.

One of the FC's employees played tubular kind of banjo-esque thingy that. A good instrumental performance.

One regular put aside his guitar and pulled a charango off the wall and played that. Another fine instrumental.

Special ed and the Guy Who Looks Like Jim Croce returned with another Croce tune. It was okay, but I hope they realize that you can only take that Jim Croce gimmick so far.

The highlight was this perky little Chinese lady who showed up with the Japanese version of a koto and played that. It was a haunting, exquisite performance. It was probably the most surprising and even best thing I have ever seen at the FC. It was one of the reasons I go to these things.

That, and to catch the Canarie's in their latest performance.

Haircut (My 100th Post)

Huzzah. Who knew that, back when I first started this venture, my readership would explode into to the upper single digits as quickly as it has?

Yesterday, I got a haircut. And this was no ordinary haircut. It was a haircut touched the essence of haircut-ness.

I knew from the moment my stylist approached me, smiled seductively, and led me to the sink to wash my hair, that this was going to be something special.

I had only asked for the wash and the cut, not the scalp massage. But her technique during the wash was kind of a half massage that gradually evolved into a full scalp massage that left my toes tingling. Oh yeah, it did.

Then, she asked me what I wanted done. I said that I wanted about an inch all around (I never know what to tell them, I'm not a hair guy--just make sure my bald spot is covered).

But, from the first snip, I knew that she was in control. As I watched in the mirror, helpless, I could see that she was cutting off much more than an inch--perhaps an-inch-and-a-half, maybe even two. But I could do nothing to stop her. She was so good. At this point, I just hoped she would be kind and make it even.

My God, she even trimmed my ear hairs--just the exterior ones around the lobes, though. She left my inner ear hairs alone. You have to leave something for next time.

Great Moments in Slightly Higher Education

So, I teach this night class at the local CC and my students have this final paper due, which is supposed to be an argumentation piece and I have each student discuss their proposal in class tonight. One of the real treats of the evening is where I espouse like an expert on each of my students' topics.

One nice lady told the class that she was going to write about women in leadership. I couldn't figure out what her real point was and after commenting on that, I smiled and looked musingly up at the ceiling and said "Hmmmm, I wonder if I will ever see a female president--imagine, President Hillary Clinton."

At which point this one young lady, clearly upset, shot back, "Not no Hillary Friggin' Clinton--what about Condoleeza Rice!"

"That girl's got it going on," she said.

I had espoused significantly already for the night. As professor, I try not to dominate with my opinions because the class is really about helping students express their opinions. That, and I knew this young lady's husband had served in Iraq and might be going back.

So, I straddled the fence of forcing this woman to explain what Condi-I'm-too-Busy-Buying-Shoes-to-even-pretend-that-I-Care Rice has done for this country (really, what has she been successful at, folk?) or be silent and let other folk chime in. I decided to be silent.

Maybe I was wrong. But, were I the student and had my professor been neo-con, I wouldn't want him using up class time to promote his views. The classroom should be a place for the students to discuss and develop their ideas.

The Canaries on DVD

Went to the Folk Music Center to pick up the open mike CD (which, by the way, the Folk Center folk spell "M-I-C").

The sound and picture quality is better than I thought it might be, considering it was a single camera. You can see all of the performers very well and the sound is clear--in the case of the Paganini-playing guy, too clear.

The Blues

I was down today. I sometimes get that way these days--what with my mother's illness, my car thing, my kidnapped Oscar Schmidt, and on, and on.

I left my music stand inside between classes. The wind was strong enough that I feared it would blow my music away. So I stood outside and absentmindedly strummed some chord progressions to songs that I already knew.

Iz, my prize ukulele disciple came out and stood there awhile and said, "Mr.O, that's so sad." I was playing "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime." It's one of those songs that I practice often because it has a grip of chords.

I guess I was really selling it.

So Iz goes in and grabs my music stand and turns to "Daydream Believer." Fewer Chords. But much happier. She has been practicing this one and so have I.

So we started playing.

Soon, a few non-uke students grabbed some rhythm toys out of my grab bag, and we had a jam session going.

I felt better, then.

Another Accident, Not My Own

But before I get to thesis, I am half-watching SIDEWAYS. There was just this scene with Paul Giamatti standing and looking at pictures from his past, which included a picture of him standing with his father, who is either Bart Giamatti, the late Baseball commissioner who famously tussled with Pete Rose, or an actor who looks like him. Of course, Bart was Paul's actual dad, hence the name similarity.

But back to biz. On my way to the Rubeedoo walk, I swung (swang?) by Blockbuster's to return a video. The way back, traffic was slowed to an almost stop. In the ten to fifteen minutes it took me to travel 1/10th of a mile, I discovered it was due to some accident.

Hence, I stand by my previous post(see Four Guys, Four Guitars). Not the part about it being a great concert--although I do stand by that too--but the part about drivers around here being increasingly idiotic. Still feel compassion for the victims, but hating on the pricks who feel they MUST challenge the odds and drive stupidly. In their hands, cars become weapons.

As I drove by the car that must have rear-ended the car in front of it, the jerk who must have been driving it was standing there with his little camera taking pictures of the damage, smiling.

In the last two years, I have had three accidents, two from the rear. The first, the woman not only ran a red light and plowed into my side, she stopped at the red light, and, when I had entered the intersection on my green light, she THEN ran her red light and plowed into my side. No insurance, of course. It was her boyfriend's car of course.

The second was on a rainy morning where I got up extra early to get to work. The turn lane was backed up. The guy behind me said his "foot slipped." He had insurance.

The third one, no damage, merely bumped me from behind while I waited for the light to turn green. I got out to check my car only to meet her stepping out, cell phone in hand, and told me that she had turned around for a second to discipline her kids.

I need to get a skateboard.

Four Guys with Guitars

I saw that Lyle lovett, Joe Ely, John Hiatt, and Guy Clark were playing at the Disney Concert Hall in LA and got it in my head that I wanted to see them. These are four singer-songwriters from Texas, not twangy country-western, more country-folk. I am most familiar with Hiatt and Lovett. I barely know Joe Ely's stuff. Guy Clark I am only aware of because Lovett did a song of his on his CD "Come into This House." In fact, Clark's song is the title Clark. I also know of Clark through a contribution on a CD tribute to Townes Van Zandt.

Billy Canary had been interested in going, but had to back out. I thought about asking a couple of people, but decided to go on my own. I had a stressful week and just decided it would be good to get away from people.

Also, the concert was sold out, so I was going through the cancellation Line. I figured one person would stand a better chance of getting a ticket than two.

I planned on leaving early enough to be there two hours before the concert. It was a good thing, because traffic was pretty bad. That's the problem with Southern California these days. What used to be an hour drive can actually be a two-hour drive. I was slowed down by traffic jams four times during my two-way trip--once by ordinary congestion, once by a break-down, twice by accidents.

I arrived at the Disney Hall and the line was short. After standing in line for about 1/2 hour, I got a ticket for the Orchestra West. This gave me a nice, slightly angular view of the performers.

They audience received the quartet warmly as they walked out. They took there seats, just four singers and four guitars.

Guy Clark announce that there had been "no planning, no set list, and no rules" and then performed "LA Freeway," which was a hit for Jerry Jeff Walker. Clark is probably the least famous of the four because, while he made records, his songs have been made famous by others.

I had not heard the song before, but it was tasty. As he finished, some guy across the hall from my seat let out a huge "Wahoo!" to which Clark replied, "As long as I can reach just one person..."

Clark then introduced Ely. And so the evening progressed, with each singer playing a tune and handing the spotlight to the singer on his right.

The Wahoo Guy wahooed several times throughout the evening. In fact, he tried to control the show. He clapped along with the songs enthusiastically, and always off by a beat. Every other song, he yelled out a request to either Joe or John, couldn't tell which, for one particular song, couldn't tell what.

I don't think they ever played it. It reminded me of something I heard Steve Martin say when he still did stand-up. Guys like that can really mess with a performer's concentration. They could have taken the man's request, but that would have given control to one guy in the audience, who might not ever stop making requests. So, they just smiled up at this fellow and kept with their format.

The guitar solos were all handled by Ely and Hiatt. All four would occasionally harmonize with whomever was singing. It seemed unplanned, which made it all the more lovely. Lovett acted as MC. Among the best tunes were "Baby Don't Tolerate," "My Chihuahua," "Real Fine Love," "Come into This House," and "If I had a Boat."

They closed there initial set with a Carter Family tune that I did not recognize. They came out for one encore, each singing another tune, then closing together as a quartet with "This Land Is Your Land."

Great concert.

They are moving up to San Francisco, Oregon, and Washington this week.

Good-bye Oscar

So, I'm rethinking my anti-gun views. Early, early Thursday morning, my car was broken into while sitting in my driveway and some stuff was either wrecked or stolen.

I admit, the phrase "broken into" doesn't exactly apply here. I couldn't have made it easier. I got home at around 10, after teaching my night class, and was tired, having been up since about 5 AM. Forgot to unload my briefcase containing my school stuff, my Oscar Schmidt OU-5--and, most of all, I forgot to turn on the car alarm.

I know, I know...

Anyway, I realize that, to be able to catch the thief and shoot him, I would have had to run out of my house at some ungodly hour, in my naked-ish glory,
locked and loaded, not knowing what kind of fire-power the perp might have brought with him, not knowing how many there were.

So, I guess I'm still anti-gun.

At least my insurance will cover the expensive stuff, like fixing my dashboard, where the perp tried to pry out my XM radio and failed (but he did take the removable face and the remote, which I think is pretty worthless without an actual radio).

But my insurance won't cover my Oscar, the very uke that I played at the Canaries' debut. Since it was stolen from my car in front of my house, it is covered by my $250 deductible home-owner's insurance, which makes it essentially uncovered. If the perp had dropped it and broken it and left it there, it would be covered by my car insurance.

So, uke-wise, I am trying to practice Buddhist detachment form worldly items. Plus, I have a few other ukes to play. It's just that the Oscar does have some sentimental value.

On another note, I recently got Kurt Vonnegut's latest, A Man without a Country. I just started it, but the first twenty or so pages are just a rehash of things I have already read from other of his non-fiction books. I happen to like his non-fiction more than his fiction. A full review as soon as I finish it. In the meantime, go read Wampeter, Foma, and Ganfalloon.

Power Trio

The Canaries made their debut last night. The initial line-up was Canary Limo singing, Billy Canary on this egg shaker doohickey that he bought at the Folk Music Center that night, and myself on my uke.

I was going to perform solo again, but couldn't really settle on anything. My brother and I were going to carpool and, when I got to his house, I found that His son Limo was going with us and that he might be performing with some friends. We picked Limo up at the nearby park. Liam's friends weren't coming.

On the way there, we discussed the possibility of Liam and I performing together on Dylan's "I Ain't Gonna Work on Maggie's Farm No More." I asked him what the chords were, but they didn't seem to fit. So he began rattling all of the Dyaln tunes he knew.

I stopped him on "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright." I knew the chords and thought we could practice. So, we practiced in the car. Later, we practiced in line at the FMC. We invited Billy C to join us as percussionist, so he got the shaky egg and practiced with us. He wanted me to slow the tempo, but Liam liked it. So we overruled.

Lima and I decided when we were alone that, after the third verse, we'd turn to Billy C and say "Take it Bill," as a surprise.

So, the open Mike itself was among the worst. Lowlights include the guy whose bangs on a notebook with drumsticks while he plays guitar and sings Jesus songs badly. Not actual gospel, but that sappy stuff you hear on Christian Broadcasting Network. The lowest of the lowlights was this guy who asked the crowd if the they wanted to hear a little Paginini (sp?) as he took his blue electric guitar out of its case. People ooooed in anticipation.

What he played was the most gawd-awful. He'd start, flub, and start again, then flub, then complain to the soundman about the volume. It was merciless. The MC finally got up and stood in front of him and said he'd have to stop because he was over his time limit. The guy says, "But I'm not finished." He was. He really was.

Highlights, as always, were Matt, UF's pal, and us.

We really had a good energy. We got a few laughs with our intro. Then I started with the song, screwed uo the first three chords, stopped, and said "Let's do that other tune."

But I ripped into it the second time. Limo sailed right into the lyrics and Billy C shook a mean egg. The "take it Bill" bit worked pretty well, too. Billy just owned the moment and improvise some schtick with his shaky egg and also made noises with his face.

We're thinking of going to open Mike at Coffee Depot tomorrow night.

Pete Townsend

I just discovered that Pete Townsend has been writing an online novel of some sort and it appears on this very same blogger thingy. What a coinkydink.

haven't read it yet.

I believe I refer to "Tommy" as one of my top ten favorite operas in an earlier post.

When I first heard it, I was in my room with my good friend Curt and a another kid I didn't particularly like, but who ran in the same circle of friends I did in Jr. and Sr. high school.

I still get chills when I hear music from "Tommy."

One time, not too long ago, at our weekly dinner at Mom's, I walked into the room that was once my bedroom where I had actually heard "Tommy" for the first time and disovered my nephew Limo listening to what ever type of portable musical listening thing he owned at the time and asked him what he was doing.

"I'm listening to 'Tommy,'" he said.

I explained to him the history of "Tommy" and that room. To which he replied, "Cool" and then put his headphones back on.

Here's Townsend's blog:

http://boywhoheardmusic.blogspot.com/

Wedding from Hell

I went to a friend's wedding party Saturday. He is the son of an old friend and colleague whom I have gotten to know over the past couple of years. This was the second marriage for both. She has kids. He does not.

I have never been to a wedding like this before. Most of the truly bad weddings I have been to had some redeeming quality to them. But this one...

It was a civil ceremony. She and her family are devout Catholics, but she agreed to a civil ceremony and he agreed to have a catholic ceremony later.

On the day before the wedding, the mom calls to say that she will not attend the wedding and is going to Mexico for the weekend.

The same day, the caterer cancels.

Then, most of the bride's siblings don't bother to show up. Didn't call her. Didn't show up.

The maid of honor, the bride's adult daughter, didn't show up.

The one brother who was supposed to bring the cake showed up an hour-and-half late and then left after a very short time.

A few of the bride's friends showed up and all of the groom's friends and family showed up. They put the best face on things they could. But it was pretty sad.

Another Soul Seduced by the Dark Side

I've been acting as a co-facilitator at this weekend Professional Development Institute for teachers in Palm Springs. A month ago, at the first meeting, my co-teacher and I presented a unit plan that we use. At the beginning, I played my uke, as I do before class at school.

Yesterday, we had our second meeting. This guy who's in my breakout group told me that my performance had inspired him to go out and get his own uke and that he now carried it around with him, playing for his students.

Our numbers are growing.

My Top Ten Most Influential Operas

1. Tosca. I watched on PBS once. Performed at the baths in Rome, Italy. One of the few operas where the story made sense.

2. Turandot. Just for the Nessun Dorma aria. The story about the chinese princess loses me the minute she tortures the tenor's girlfriend to find out his name and she dies and the tenor still wants to marry her and her heart melts.

3. Tommy. Yeah, it's a rock opera. But it's part of the soundtrack of my life and I get chills when I hear it today.

4. Jesus Christ Superstar. Same thing. Spent a lot of time with my best friend Curt discussing teenage theology while listening to it.

5. The Ring Cycle. Saw it on PBS. Again with the Norse stuff.

6. Carmen. She's hot.

7. Carmen Jones. She's pretty hot too.

8. Threepenny Opera. I guess it's not really an opera. But it's a fave. Let's all go barmey.

9. Ok, I guess I don't have ten.

9. William Tell

10 Most influential Books I Read as a Kid

I hope I can remember them all.

1. Yertle the Turtle. I wish Opie would try to make a film based on this book.

2. Harold and the Purple Crayon. When I was between 4th and 5th grade, I dropped out of a summer school art class when the teacher didn't like what I drew. We had to draw using only black and white crayons, plus one primary color crayon chosen for each student by her. First, I drew a picture of Hades riding down into Hell with his newly kidnapped bride Proserpine. She said that the characters should be bigger. So I drew another picture that zoomed in on the happy couple. Then she said that I should draw something a little more cheerful. I reminded her that I was working with black, white, and f***ing blue. I didn't actually say "f***ing." This has little to do with Harold and the Purple Crayon, but clearly I still have issues.

3. Make Way for Ducklings. There, I feel better now.

4. Edith Hamilton's Mythology. I loved mythology, so I struggled through this when I was about 10.

5. This book about Japanese mythology by Miriam Cox. Later, as a college student, I took her Children's Lit class and she gave me a "C." Bitch.

6. Some book about King Arthur with really cool illustrations. Got it at the library. Thanks for taking me, Mom.

7. A Donald Duck comic book. My first grade teacher said that I had a reading problem. My mom got me some comic books to read to increase my interest in reading and see for herself if I was having problems. Turned out that I only had a first grade teacher problem. Thanks again, Mom.

8. This book or Norse mythology. I liked this stuff more than the Greek stuff.

9. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish Blue Fish. I think this is self-explanatory.

10. Horton Hatches an Egg. Hey, anything is possible.

10 Most Influential Books Other Than the Bible

Influential in my life anyway. All are works of fiction. Not in any particular order:

1. Don Quixote. This is the biggie for me. As with Shakespeare, you find yourself wondering how he ever thought of all of that. Plan on taking your time with this one, though.

2. King Lear. A study in what it means to lose who you are.

3. The Tempest. About forgiveness.

4. Cold Mountain. If you love folklore, mythology, and music, this may be the book for you.

5. Underworld. Don Dellilo (sic?). When people become consumed by their own pop-culture.

6. White Noise. Same guy. Why fear prevents people from connecting with one another.

7. Johnny Got His Gun. If the president could read, I'd send him this book.

8. The Brothers Karamazov. It struck a chord in my then-teenage heart.

9. War and Peace. Didn't think I would like it or finish it. But, damn, what a story. I think it might be about who our parents were before we knew them. Again, take your time.

10. A River Runs through It. I don't fish. But this book is about the soul we all share.

I only liked parts of Ulysses. I probably should add something by Hemingway, but it's hard to decide. In Our Time is cracker jack, in the best sense of the phrase.

You Can't Tell a Book by It's Cover

On the first meeting of the night class that I teach, one of the first people to walk in the door was this really skinny kid. She had a real angular look about her and her dress was rather masculine, but, after studying her, I realized that she was probably a man. When he took off his paramedic's cap, he revealed his two-tone close-cropped haircut, as well as a subtle amount of make-up. So, I figured he might be a gay man. Then, I studied him again and I realized he was, after all, a woman--Still gay, but a woman. The way she sat, the way she carried herself--all of this seemed lesbi-ish to me. Then, as students finished writing their first writing assignment, I asked if anyone wanted to read what they had written, she raised her hand and read this piece about her husband and young son.

I promise I wasn't staring at her. This was all a part of my usual sizing up of students as class begins.

I'm just saying that this woman had a lot of layers.

Starvation Jam

Of course, to prepare for the big journey, I had to fast. The last time was easy because I didn't have to work. But yesterday, I had to work. So, I bought a grip of apple juice and gatorade and took them to school and drank pretty much non-stop. I kept my mind off my hunger by strumming pretty much non-stop as well--except for when either my teaching partner or I was lecturing.

I was standing outside strumming my newish Fluke, when this one girl comes out and joins me, carrying my Triumph uke. She asks me to teach her some chords. She already plays guitar, so I knew it would come easy to her. I showed her the chords for "Ain't She Sweet?", which I learned at the Cerritos Uke fest. She goes away and starts practicing and, by afternoon advisory, she's got it.

For those of you worried about your tax dollars at work, she practiced only during breaks and lunch.

In fact, during lunch, she, another student, and myself spent most of the time jamming on those and other chords. This one kid worked out several guitar solos on the Fluke, including "Malagena." Another kid came up with this two-chord punk progression and improvised some hilarious lyrics. Then, as lunch ended, we stood outside and played as students came in.

My colleague had been elected Teacher Homecoming King, so he stood outside shouting to each approaching student, "Bow down to your King!" to which we would sing "Bow down! Bow down! To the King!"

It was a pretty good day, fast or no fast.

Squeaky Clean

After my sigmoidoscopy, where the reader will remember the doctor found a polyp in my sigmoid, and after not receiving any urgent phone calls summoning me to the hospital for an emergency cancer surgery, nor receiving any postcard with the results, I lived under the assumption that it was over for the next few years.

Then, two months later, while visiting my doctor on another matter, I was told that I had indeed been referred for a colonoscopy. "Yeah," the doc told me, "That's one flaw in the system. It takes a long time for these referrals to go through." So two months later, I get an appointment for the procedure.

I'll skip the grody details and just say that I came out of it clean.

Doppleganger and Practice

Sunday, there was some guy at this restaurant that SiL, Bro, Mom, Z'ster, and Limo all thought looked like me. Sad thing is, I thought he looked like a slob. Perhaps it's time I get that makeover.

On the uke front. I have discovered a way to increase my practice time by a half-hour a day. On my way home, I bought a music stand on sale and took it to school with me Monday morning. As my fans know, I usually stand outside my classroom playing the songs I know while the kids come in the classroom. Now, I set songs that I am trying to learn on the music stand and practice them between classes for about 5 minutes at a time. I can get through the chord progressions twice in that amount of time. This will be great for those more complicated songs that I keep putting off. I tend to stick within a certain range, which means that I stay within the same four or five chords much of the time as far as song selection goes. So this is good.

By the time school was out today, I practically had Over the Rainbow nailed. Still have a couple of difficult chords changes to overcome, but I should have it by tomorrow.

Learned some new techniques at the Cerritos Uke Fest over the weekend. Went to a workshop run by Lil Rev and another by Cool Hand Uke. Cool Hand Uke was god, but digressed a lot with personal anecdotes. But he did have me playing Jamaica Farewell(easy) and Ain't She Sweet? (moderately difficult) by the end of the session.

Lil Rev is a uke player (and multi-instrumentalist) that I admire. I admire even more that he seems to be a dedicated roving folk musician. A good teacher too. Had us doing some interesting strums. Taught us how to do Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits also. Not too hard, but I never thought about it before.

Spent Sunday reading a book that I have been teaching for a week. I had read it many years ago and thought I knew it very well, until I tried leading a discussion on it and realized it was time for a re-read.

Mostly a productive weekend.

Speaking of Musicians

I was at a local, non-Starbucks franchise, embibing in a tasty coffee beverage with my friend Al (Fresco, that is) taking advantage of their free wireless internet, finishing my grades, when this shaved-head white guy sits down at the table behind me, lights up a smoke and dials someone on his cell phone. He says to his party "Hey, niggah, wassup?" Then he cracks up, saying, "I bet you thought I was some rapper or some shit, dintcha?" And he laughs some more.

Then he goes into some dialog about this heavy metal band he is in and about some song he wrote the night before and about how at practice the night before he was just screaming into the mike when the bass player who had quit this band before but had come back just to play one gig and help them out with their new lead vocalist (this guy behind me) and he(the guy behind me) is just absorbed in the music when the bass player just stops playing and turns to him (the guy behind me) and says"Dude, you just WAIL. I want back in the band."

So the guy (behind me) is just all pleased with himself and is asking his call whether or not eight songs is a good number for a set and how lots of people are going to be their from his work whatever that is and especially this one chick is smokin' and she'll be there and he hopes she likes that kind of music because she's smokin'.

And I'm thinking wouldn't it be great if everybody was in a band and could find a way to express their innermost feelings in such a way so as to be scary but not dangerous?

Because I think this guy could be dangerous.

And I'm thinking about this former student named Kat whose name really isn't Kat you see but she's bipolar allegedly and allegedly doesn't take her medication. During her senior year, her parents took her out of school and put her in a convent, which didn't work out especially well. So she contacts me and tells me that she has started a band called You Told Me We Were Going to Disneyland and that there is a ukulele solo in one of her songs.

But I didn't know she could play an instrument and I don't know if she's kidding.

I just hope she's doing ok.