Friday, June 3, 2011

I'll See You In Nightcourt!

I've never considered myself a songwriter as much as I have a three minute storyteller playing guitar. It's not even so much a guitar; it's more of a curvaceous best friend who allows me to release emotion and moans and weeps when I run my hands across it. Kind of a friend with benefits. The only real difference, I guess, is it's easier to hum and sing along to my stories than those by Charles Dickens. Not to mention my rhyming schemes are a bit more well crafted. Chaucer, on the other hand, was a rhyming, timing (often crime-ing) son of nobody with places to go, buddy, who could put me to shame in this old, rhyming game with lines to sweep my heart away and rock my world and make me say, 'hey hey, there friend, hey hey I say, the lovely words you gruffly bray move me and blow me away and make me want to sing and play the way that you do every day." I'll never be Chaucer. In fact, I'll never be anyone else. If you don't like me or my music than don't hang out with me and don't sing along. I don't think music should be so much of a contest. Competing musically is like putting the losing half of two recently divorced couples in a room and making them argue over who's been hurt the most. It's an expression. Granted, some people express themselves in a way that seems more appealing than others. I don't want to hear an over dramatic whining broad, whereas others would appreciate her sentimental expression. Therefore, as with anything, some bands come along, 'express themselves' in a generally accessible way, and make everyone else seem less important. It's like breaking your arm, entering a room expecting sympathy but the first person you talk with gets a phone call mid conversation, finds out her husband and three children just died in an accident and all of a sudden your broken arm doesn't really matter anymore. You're arm is still broken, you're still relevant; she just draws a lot more attention than you because her situation is something more engrossing. I think that's where most people go wrong. They keep a metaphorical cast on their arm because that's how they've always drawn attention and never consider that by doing the same thing they've been producing the same minimal results since the beginning. I'm convinced that the only way to stand apart is to simply do the same thing in a bigger way than everyone else.  i.e. be the one who falls from a plane when everyone else fell from a swing-set; get hit by a train when they got rear-ended or step on a land-mine when they had a fire-cracker go off a bit too early. In any form of artistic expression there's not really a wrong way of doing things, I just don't want to ever become content with complacency and always be the guy with a broken arm in an amputee clinic. You can be good; but I want to be better. I've gotten really into the bands Cadillac Sky and Dead Man's Bones here lately. You should check 'em out. Good slow stuff. I've found my new favorite activity to do when I can't sleep at night is sit in on nightcourt. It's absolutely amazing the cases that roll through. This dude who looked like a bearded nine year old came in un-announced, walked up to the judge and asked about getting somebody out of jail who was supposed to have been picked up four hours prior. The judge told him that he'd punched a security guard after being released so they'd have to post $5000 bail or he couldn't be released. No sooner had Too-Young-To-Have-A-Beard walked out when this gnarley looking broad come running in, interrupted the current case and walked right up to the stand. She's pregnant and holding a 1-2 year old child and, as it's 2am and the judge is behind glass. This crazy hooker dame grabs the mic like she's Madonna or something and screams directly into it. Everybody in the whole place jumps. She screamed about how stupid it was that they wouldn't let her get her fiance (pronounced Fee-Yawn-Say) and that the only reason he hit a security guard was because he was upset that he couldn't see her. The judge was like, "Listen, A) you're in contempt of court and I can have you arrested, and B) I already told the guy who just came in here that you have to go across the street and post bail." Without hesitation she replies, "Yeah he's my friend. He's the guy I've been sleeping with while all this #$%@ with my fiance has been goin' down." He pretty much told her he didn't really care and she could get out or go to jail. That kind of stuff happens every night. I'm pretty sure that Caroline has officially earned genius status for the brilliant suggestion. Well worth it. Screw dinner and a movie, take your date to nightcourt; she'll see how crazy you could be and be happy to be with you. I had a guy purchase a $2600 keyboard from me with a stolen credit card yesterday. I would absolutely love to be sitting in nightcourt and have that dude roll in. People who wear sunglasses inside might as well have a sign permanently stapled to their forehead that says, "Hi, I'm a douche." There's this pompous looking fellow sitting at the table across from me in a Wal-Mart fedora and diamond earrings, working on his computer and looking over the top of his Oakley sunglasses. I legitimately want to get up and punch him. On the other hand, he might actually be cool because he has, what appear to be, three bowling pins protruding from his man purse (satchel). I assume he juggles? Now my mind's going crazy trying to force this guy into various, over-the-top scenarios. I enjoy watching people. If you look hard enough, you find the weirdest things in the most common situations...

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