Music, photography, and free time

On this, a brisk Wednesday night, I have a rare night off from work. The plans are to take myself out to the Bunganut Pig and listen to some jazz that the Nashville Scene deems to be good. I put on my good shirt, gather my things, and at the last minute, change my mind. Instead, I put on some Warren Zevon and peruse some blogs I like. I am sure that I made the right decision.

Zevon, of course, died of lung cancer in 2003. A coworker of mine just lost his little brother also to cancer a few days ago. While listening to Warren's resonant voice, I am viewing pitcherlady's photoblog on the homeless in our fair city. Do I live a rich life or what? My problems are the dreams of others. Elsewhere on the web, I read the following story. What's the cost of homelessness?

In addition to my familial obligations and joys, I still search for my purpose. There are two truths that have been loud in my mind lately. One, I feel that my talents are being wasted. Two, I have no idea what those talents are.

I read an article in Psychology Today recently that explained why money was not indeed a true source of happiness, which is nice to know since I have very little of it. But then it went on to say that a good circle of friends and plenty of free time were the true sources. Hmmm...my circle is quite small because I have so very little free time. That said, I have no complaints. "I am what I am, and I ain't what I ain't." -John Prine

My Homework...

Get to know more about Andy Stern. The beautiful and bright Arianna Huffington is currently wowed by him, and that's enough to pique my interest.

Time for mindless diversions

Well, I don't recall if I heard someone else do this or if I thought it up all on my own, but translating lyrics to another language and then back to English is the new black.

I submit the following fun example:

Elton John's "Crocodile Rock" (English to French and then back to English)

I remember when the rock was young
I and Suzie had so much the recreation
to hold with the hands and the creaming of the stones
had an old gold Chevy and a place of my clean

but the largest blow-of-foot I ever obtained
made a thing called the rock of crocodile
while the other kids rocked around the clock
which we were hopping and bopping to be rocked of crocodile

of well of rock of crocodile is something which shocks
when your feet right cannot keep
me yet never knew that I a better time and me never guesses

mama OH Lawdy of will these Friday nights
when Suzie wore dresses strongly
and to rock of crocodile was out of sight

but the years were passed and the rock just died
Suzie disappeared and on the left hanging a few long nights of the foreign type
to us crying by the machine record
dreaming of my Chevy and my old jean
but they quivers will never kill which we have the
burn to the rock of quickly learning crocodile
as the weeks went to beyond
us really thought that the rock of crocodile would last

My Ari (three self-timer pics)

Three self pics with Ari. Having two sons has not prepared me for what it's like emotionally to have a daughter. I am proud of all of my children, but it seems that this one is already holding me to a higher standard than the ones before her. I am both blessed and slightly overwhelmed.

2

3

Fernandina Beach

I have a plethora of in-laws here, so I imagine it's just a matter of time before I call this home. It must be nice to always have a beach just minutes from wherever you are.

Bobby Thompson

Bobby Thompson. Banjo player extraordinaire. My step-father.

May I Get Your Bags?

I am a bellman at a hotel. The following is one of the cuter anecdotes from my nights of subservience, I mean, servitude. Enjoy.


The other night, I help a family check in. At their van, two of the youngsters are chatting me up as I load their luggage. The girl is maybe 6 or 7 and the boy is maybe 5. They each have stuffed animals and the little girl almost drops hers on the wet ground but catches it before it hits. She says that she is not allowed to get it wet or it will not be as soft. She offers it to me to feel how soft it is and I say that it is indeed very soft and hand it back to her. The little boy hands his to me and says that his is not as soft as his sister's. I feel it and agree that it is not as soft. He looks up at me and says, "yeah, I threw up on it." I smile and hand it back immediately.

A bellman's life. Chapter 6.

Rockin' the suburbs

Another blog got me to thinking of my rock 'n' roll days (that would be the 90's), and I started remembering all of the great shows I saw back then. The soundtrack to my life would be Van Halen's "Big Bad Bill Is Sweet William Now." Happily married with three kids, the only rock shows I see now are live webcasts. The pic, for those of you not in the Nashville area (or just those of you who are a bit younger than me) is the Ace of Clubs. God, I wish I had kept a list of the bands I saw over the years. Just some at the Ace would be: Human Radio, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Shelby Lynne, Charlie Musselwhite, The Mavericks (a large number of times), Peter Himmelman (to this day - a decade later - my fave show ever), Joe Ely, Rev. Horton Heat, Don Henry, Buckwheat Zydeco, etc.

I guess the harder rock shows were at places like 328 Performance Hall and Exit/In; but the Ace was my fave place to go and hang out. Bob ran the place and always let me in free in exchange for the posters I would hang in my record store window. I never made a lot of money in those days but the perks were out of sight. Free CDs, free shows, free food and drink at music showcases...that's the stuff I would have spent my money on anyway back then. Good times, good times.

If there is ever a movie version of Calvin & Hobbes, I submit that my son would be the perfect casting decision. Now where did that dang tiger go? 

Moppet One and Moppet Two

These guys make my life wonderful. When I am giving my time to these two crumb-snatchers, I am at my most content and joyous. Rock on, you two!


Christian and Joshua

Joshua 

My littlest cherub 

What I'm listening to...

The trés cool Serge Gainsbourg has found his way to my ears, and I am feeling quite French. I really should be romancing my beautiful lady as I listen to Serge. Instead, it's 2am and she's upstairs sleeping well with two well behaved cherubs, exhausted from growing so fast. This Nighthawk at the Diner just doesn't keep those hours. Wide awake and looking for new music. Not sure when I'll grow up and less certain if I care to.