It is raining cats and dogs in the twin cities, so i thought i’d send along some reading. Tonight, I’m playing keyboards/guitar/singing for Cataldo’s big show at the 400 Bar. Tomorrow night, The Glad Version is playing the Kitty Cat Klub. Reveille Magazine has been kind enough to feature both shows this week. Check out the links below.
This is the time of spring that is a bit strange while being extremely pleasant. The cyclists circling the lakes are over zealous about their speed. They are trying to burn off all those calories they’ve acquired over the winter in ten minutes of really hard pedaling. The general populous has shed too many layers too quickly. While 52 degrees is a really nice change from 22 degrees, it is by no means beach weather. Minnesotans tend to lube up there two-cycle outboard boat engines and throw the towels in the picnic basket before the ground has thawed.
This period between cell-destructive cold and suffocating humidity is a precious time to embrace the outdoors. It allows you to enjoy the mellow streets and paths before the angry heat grabs hold of Minnesota’s steering wheel and drives it right into the center of frizzy-haired-back-sweat-mosquito-bite hell.
you could cut the tension in the office with a knife
jimmy had worked at help desk for “Petey’s Perfect Parachutes” for over ten years
and he’d never seen something this bad
in the doorway stood a man holding an empty parachute bag in one hand and a 357 magnum in the other
“you know what i found when i opened this bag, jimmy?” asked the man
“i don’t know sir, what did you find?” replied jimmy
“an anvil, jimmy… i found a f*&king anvil instead of a parachute”
the man was Petey
jimmy had packed the parachute personally in attempt to do-in Petey once and for all
but somehow Petey had figured it out
jimmy was not in a good spot
not in a good spot at all
Petey leveled his revolver right between jimmy’s eyes
Our friend Chris Henslin took some photos at the 400 bar on Monday night. He’s posted them here http://www.flickr.com/photos/chris_henslin/sets/72157604450191077/. He got some great shots of both The Wapsipinicon and “Tor+Adam.” The show on Monday was quite fun. There was supposed to be a play that happened at 8:30, but the actors never showed up. The Wapsipinicon’s line up included Shawn Neary, Ted Held, Eric Anderson, Scott Hefte, and me.
I wrote a new song over the weekend named “Tequila Slow and the Darkness of the Road”… it’s a working title. I realize it’s a little long, but hey… I’m a long-winded guy.
Tor has finalized the mixes, and the track list is as follows:
1. TOO PRETTY
2. IN MY BLOOD
3. VOICES ON THE MICROPHONE
4. GLITTER LIKE SINNERS
6. CAN’T WAIT FOR OCTOBER
7. ENEMY SWIMMER
8. DETAILS IN THE DEVILS
9. FREEDOM WAS HER NAME
10. SOMEWHERE UNDER THE RAINBOW
11. KIDS ON THE RIVER
12. HALLELUJAH IS JUST HALLELUJAH
… I speak in all capitals for emphasis, just like Owen Meany.
To try out some of the songs with percussion, Tor has been kind enough to agree to join me for a show on Monday. We’re playing at the 400 Bar.
In other news, Kurt Vonnegut is a genius. Within the abstract sci-fi template, his explanation of the human condition is fantastic. I am pages away from finishing The Sirens of Titan. My favorite excerpt is:
“Once upon a time on Tralfamodore there were creatures who weren’t anything like machines. They weren’t dependable. They weren’t efficient. They weren’t predictable. They weren’t durable. And these poor creatures were obsessed by the idea that everything that existed had to have a purpose, and that some purposes were higher than others.
These creatures spent most of their time trying to find out what their purpose was. And every time they found out what seemed to be a purpose of themselves, the purpose seemed so low that the creatuers were filled with disgust and shame.
And, rather than serve such a low purpose, the creatures would make a machine to serve it. This left the creatures free to serve higher purposes. But whenever they found a higher purpose, the purpose still wasn’t high enough.
So machines were made to serve higher purposes, too.
And the machines did everything so expertly that they were finally given the job of finding out what the highest purpose of the creatures could be.
The machines reported in all honesty that the creatures couldn’t really be said to have any purpose at all.
The creatures thereupon began slaying each other, because they hated purposeless things above all else.
And they discovered that they weren’t even very good at slaying. So they turned that job over to the machines, too. And the machines finished up the job in less time than it takes to say, ‘Tralfamodore.'” – pg. 279-280