someday we're all getting paid

This morning, I woke up. Instead of igniting the coffeemaker, lighting a cig, and checking my email through bleary eyes, I instead was awakened by my roommate of the previous eve, one Jason Conrad Schafer, lit a cig, and then prepared coffee. Now, he doesn't drink coffee, but he does tend to forget things, especially after a night of revelry. Meaning that he'd forgotten the keys to his apartment, aka, The Bunker, located in a secret hiding place in Downtown Cleveland. That's how Jason Conrad Schafer became my roomie for the eve, explains why I lit a cigarette (it's impossible to be around J and not light one up, because he's usually beaten you to the flame), drank one entire half-pot of coffee, and ended up not checking my email. I had to drive him back to his abode soon after waking, and didn't check my email until I'd gotten to work.

My inbox included an email from a friend who'd mention that I'd been mentioned in something called "Brewed Fresh Daily". I began to think I had been made to join, via the dazzling and all-consuming power of the internet, a focus group for Folger's. In fact, the internet had done swallowed me up--turns out this Brewed Fresh had somehow picked up on this here blog and submitted me as a point of interest to onlookers who were probably either a. killing time at their jobs, b. planning to kill someone at their jobs but choosing instead to subdue their wrath by whittling away the clock through web-surfing, or c. trying to find a job.

I admit, I'm rather glad that someone noticed. That wasn't the intention of this little forum. In fact, as I told the same friend who sent me the email, I take great pains to make this gobbledygook somewhat readable and intelligible to those who may not know who the hell I am or what the hell I'm doing in Cleveland, or why the hell I would do the things I do in Cleveland. Frankly, I'm not sure about any of the above, but I'll tell you this: I do enjoy a good yarn (especially one of my own telling, because after all, I am a big ol' blabbermouth in the tradition of my Latin American ancestors) and I've only recently come to enjoy writing. Maybe it's because my job requires me to crank out verbiage at such a rapid pace that I can now write with little or no fuss or bother. It's now not unlike waking up in the morning (or early afternoon, as I often do), lighting a cig, and making a pot of coffee. A half-pot, please.

If you're one of those strangers reading this, feel free to click on one of the links offered on the left side of your screen. Meanwhile, I'm gonna cook up some detailed field reporting from all the various gigs I was lucky to play this week. I'm talking CV (last night), Vernacular (tonight), and the New Lou Reeds (tomorrow). Don't be shy.

Hooray for me. I feel like I've actually accomplished things this week. Well, no major battles were won, but let's just say I'm good and tired from some bona-fide musical exertions over the last few days.

I sat in with Vernacular several days ago to bone up on the two cuts they'll have me perform with them this Wednesday at Spy. And the New Lou Reeds put in two days of serious rehearsal to prepare for our upcoming gig at Edison's this Thursday. We're talking up to two hours of music, which for a band that isn't acclimated to playing covers, is quite an undertaking. Fortunately the boys stepped up to the challenge, and I'm sure that with a few beers and other beverages in our systems, we'll do our submodern boogie rock and do it well. Oh, and there are Cobra Verde shows a-plenty in February. I do hope people show up to those two. Big things are afoot, it seems: our video waits in the wings, ready to take the spotlight, the record's chafing at the bit for a release date, and I'm sure we'll be doing some serious touring come springtime. But you know all that. For now, it's enough to worry about the new virus that's been invading all of our computers, the double-talk and double-tracking of the Bush II empire, bird flu in China, and lost rovers on Mars.

I'd also like to give a shout-out to all the bands on Saturday night's "Pride of Ohio". It was nice to see our old tourmates Shesus (from way back when, that ol' Breeders tour of '02, perhaps?) revel in their noisy sex-rock (call it 'screw-wave'); most excellent to see Grafton put a grimy boot to the throat of pretty-boy rock n' roll; and of course, This Moment in Black History with a triumphantly belligerent set that was hardcore in the best sense of this overused punk rock adjective. Holy cats. I was so thoroughly throttled that I couldn't make the afterparty scene, and drove home to promptly hit the hay.

Which I shall now do once again.