the crazy, freaky nurse--
i hadn't seen her in a year and had hardly kept in contact since last time. last september we were supposed to go camping in Moab for a week, just the two of us out in the desert all sweaty and half-naked. for weeks prior to the trip she'd call and make me promise that i was really going and wasn't going to back out. i bought a pair of Chacos and a straw cowboy hat. two days before we left, she backed out, using the excuse that her car's AC was messed up. the night before we were supposed to leave, i ran into her at Davey's Uptown for the Mike Dillon's GoGo Jungle show, where she introduced me to her new boyfriend...
so this year, she calls me and says that we should get together for her birthday so we made plans for me to stay with her for a couple of days. i was planning on taking her out to Cafe Sebastienne, what i consider to be the best restaurant in KC, and the rest of the weekend would be played by ear.
she called a couple of times, both times stressing the "you promise that yr not going to back out? you promise that we'll spend the weekend together?" and so on... i called her on her birthday(thursday) and she was having one of her signature panic attacks. i'm not really sure what happened, no one said goodbye, but suddenly i was left hanging on the phone.
on friday i left a message on her facebook to call me, and then left my house to go stay at Elrod's, expecting that i'd catch up with her on saturday for our...um..."date" i guess you'd call it.
long story shortened--she never called, i called and got the message about "message box full," so i said fuggit, Elrod was throwing a party on saturday night anyway. i had my guitar with me, so i volunteered the donation of free entertainment.
all day saturday i expected to get the phone call that would take me away from the impending party, but lots of people started showing up and my phone never rang. i ended up playing my filthy-yet-hilarious Tulsa Roy anti-country country routine three times through over the course of the evening as different waves of people left and arrived--it's a guaranteed crowd-pleaser and everyone was pleased. some dude named Drew threw up because he was laughing so hard. he ended up giving me his address before he left so that i'd send him the Tulsa Roy album upon completion.
i know he's an alter-ego/character of mine, but i can't help but be a little bit jealous--all the time and effort i put into writing serious, quality music as a lifelong labor of love has mostly gone unnoticed for the 15 years or so that i've been doing it, but i sit down and write simple 3-chord songs that speak the language of the mouthbreathing middle-to-far-left-of-the-bell-curve crowd and suddenly i'm a star. no one wants to hear songs that contain advanced musical technique while discussing life lessons and existential secrets--they want to hear dirty jokes.
this is why i'm studying to be a teacher and not attempting to make a living with music.
the party was a success. lots of people showed up and filtered through, everyone got fucked up, some dude that we nicknamed 'steroid' supplied the requisite party drama when the girl he was there with(you know the one--one of the prettiest yet dumbest girls at the party) started flirting with someone else.
sunday we rose slowly, did the afterparty cleaning ritual and then decided to go to the strip club.
i haven't been to a peeler joint in four or so years. they don't usually appeal to me much, being that i just can't convince myself to believe in any of it. too much psychology has ruined several things in my life and the strip club is definitely one of them--paying to get into a place where i have to buy a minimum amount of product while overtipping people that don't really earn it. lapdances make me feel awkward and i can't get past the fact that it's all fake, but i do like watching the creepy older guys that seem to believe that the strippers actually like them personally--that's my favorite part.
tallying it all up, it was a pretty normal weekend--got fucked up at night, there was some mexican food in the mix, played a bunch of music, entertained and slightly intimidated some younger girls, saw some boobs, swam in lieu of showering, didn't get laid.
when it was all over, i felt(and probably smelled) like been camping for a week.
i hadn't seen her in a year and had hardly kept in contact since last time. last september we were supposed to go camping in Moab for a week, just the two of us out in the desert all sweaty and half-naked. for weeks prior to the trip she'd call and make me promise that i was really going and wasn't going to back out. i bought a pair of Chacos and a straw cowboy hat. two days before we left, she backed out, using the excuse that her car's AC was messed up. the night before we were supposed to leave, i ran into her at Davey's Uptown for the Mike Dillon's GoGo Jungle show, where she introduced me to her new boyfriend...
so this year, she calls me and says that we should get together for her birthday so we made plans for me to stay with her for a couple of days. i was planning on taking her out to Cafe Sebastienne, what i consider to be the best restaurant in KC, and the rest of the weekend would be played by ear.
she called a couple of times, both times stressing the "you promise that yr not going to back out? you promise that we'll spend the weekend together?" and so on... i called her on her birthday(thursday) and she was having one of her signature panic attacks. i'm not really sure what happened, no one said goodbye, but suddenly i was left hanging on the phone.
on friday i left a message on her facebook to call me, and then left my house to go stay at Elrod's, expecting that i'd catch up with her on saturday for our...um..."date" i guess you'd call it.
long story shortened--she never called, i called and got the message about "message box full," so i said fuggit, Elrod was throwing a party on saturday night anyway. i had my guitar with me, so i volunteered the donation of free entertainment.
all day saturday i expected to get the phone call that would take me away from the impending party, but lots of people started showing up and my phone never rang. i ended up playing my filthy-yet-hilarious Tulsa Roy anti-country country routine three times through over the course of the evening as different waves of people left and arrived--it's a guaranteed crowd-pleaser and everyone was pleased. some dude named Drew threw up because he was laughing so hard. he ended up giving me his address before he left so that i'd send him the Tulsa Roy album upon completion.
i know he's an alter-ego/character of mine, but i can't help but be a little bit jealous--all the time and effort i put into writing serious, quality music as a lifelong labor of love has mostly gone unnoticed for the 15 years or so that i've been doing it, but i sit down and write simple 3-chord songs that speak the language of the mouthbreathing middle-to-far-left-of-the-bell-curve crowd and suddenly i'm a star. no one wants to hear songs that contain advanced musical technique while discussing life lessons and existential secrets--they want to hear dirty jokes.
this is why i'm studying to be a teacher and not attempting to make a living with music.
the party was a success. lots of people showed up and filtered through, everyone got fucked up, some dude that we nicknamed 'steroid' supplied the requisite party drama when the girl he was there with(you know the one--one of the prettiest yet dumbest girls at the party) started flirting with someone else.
sunday we rose slowly, did the afterparty cleaning ritual and then decided to go to the strip club.
i haven't been to a peeler joint in four or so years. they don't usually appeal to me much, being that i just can't convince myself to believe in any of it. too much psychology has ruined several things in my life and the strip club is definitely one of them--paying to get into a place where i have to buy a minimum amount of product while overtipping people that don't really earn it. lapdances make me feel awkward and i can't get past the fact that it's all fake, but i do like watching the creepy older guys that seem to believe that the strippers actually like them personally--that's my favorite part.
tallying it all up, it was a pretty normal weekend--got fucked up at night, there was some mexican food in the mix, played a bunch of music, entertained and slightly intimidated some younger girls, saw some boobs, swam in lieu of showering, didn't get laid.
when it was all over, i felt(and probably smelled) like been camping for a week.