Rowan Lipkovits (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} reluctance) wrote,@ 2007-08-24 04:05:00 |
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just too dagblamed busy to write a blasted thing
of course writing can take place in side moments stolen here or there, taken where found while sitting on trains or waiting for buses but there is a certain calm upon the buzzing brain that helps to feed the urge to both reflect upon recent experiences and share said reflection with others. For various reasons, this calm has not been attainable (the record will indicate) for going on months now.
I wanted to spin for you at great length the tale of the Joey Only Outlaw Band's two weeks on the road in late June (huh, and the previous trip), going so far as to scratch out pages of extensive notes... but for the time being, this photoset will have to take the place of thousands upon thousands of words regarding my stone-cold inappropriate remarks and unceasing consumption of bizarre travel provisions.
I hoped to recount my experiences sharing a stage with my squeezebox idols Geoff Berner and Ana Bon-bon at this year's Artswells festival, jamming through the day and into the night with the stupidest tunes you can imagine then joining Raghu + Jeremy in Barkerville for more inspired jamming in front of a crowd, but there is not yet time to revisit these recent memories.
I could tell you of the awesome silent-movie-themed wedding I played at in Seattle last weekend conducted by a minister whose day job is as a circus clown and my devoted reception at the Emerald City's vibrant open mics, or of my debut on-stage at the Cobalt immediately following disembarking from the mangy dog (aka the Greyhound.)
I surely would have mentioned that I danced, again! Twice in two months is surely going to overturn my "once every five years" trend, unless it averages out and I just exhausted my allotment for the decade. (Is it really that easy? They just ask me to dance and I fail to say "no"? If so, what have I been doing wrong all these years psychically inhibiting their asking?)
Tuesday night I ran my open stage and for the first time since its third installment back in June 2004, it totally failed to launch. (Even then it redeemed itself at the end; here we just had four people converse for two hours, which while it isn't bad is a somewhat different creature from an open stage. Truly sir that is a philosopher's cafe, though there they may be less likely to remark that a cat's name is "MySpace" because it ceaselessly tongues its own anus.) There are (promotional) reasons for the low turnout, and there are (scheduling) reasons for the promotional complications; certainly the experience, while harmless, was a wake-up call to either approach its production somewhat more rigorously or else set it aside to better focus on newer projects. (I'll give myself another six months to turn it around; after all plenty of open mic series shut down entirely over the summer.) Travis remarked that I never even mentioned it on my Livejournal, and while I'm not convinced that has any measurable impact on turnout, it at least represents some sort of public commitment. (I can tell you that under the promotional circumstances, the golden siblings FaceBook and MySpace (in tandem!) proved no more effective than the LJ non-post.)
Today Dominique's boxes-'o-possessions followed her out of my bedroom roughly 10 months after she departed as a resident; refreshingly, any objections I have with the state of my room are now hereby entirely my own problem. (If they had waited two more months I would have returned them with a cake and a little candle on top, but I may just have to contrive some other function to celebrate thusly.) (Further: I've taken some flak for keeping them around and not following earlier bonfire examples; in truth my bedroom is so eternally consigned to clutter that the boxes were just a drop in the bucket. Presumably the biggest qualitative change their departure can yield is of the lifting of their symbolic footprint. So rather than gripe about their lingering hold, I will just say: Many spirited thanks for retrieving them!)
Tonight (Friday) I play an art opening at the Little Mountain Studios with the Creaking Planks, likely ~7:30-9 pm, at which point I head down to Co-op to co-host our ongoing steamroller of alternative music media, the Accordion Noir weekly all-accordion radio show / podcast. 102.7 fm, 9:30-10:30. (Then I may investigate the Foxy House.) And tomorrow? Zombiewalk? I suppose we shall see.
of course writing can take place in side moments stolen here or there, taken where found while sitting on trains or waiting for buses but there is a certain calm upon the buzzing brain that helps to feed the urge to both reflect upon recent experiences and share said reflection with others. For various reasons, this calm has not been attainable (the record will indicate) for going on months now.
I wanted to spin for you at great length the tale of the Joey Only Outlaw Band's two weeks on the road in late June (huh, and the previous trip), going so far as to scratch out pages of extensive notes... but for the time being, this photoset will have to take the place of thousands upon thousands of words regarding my stone-cold inappropriate remarks and unceasing consumption of bizarre travel provisions.
I hoped to recount my experiences sharing a stage with my squeezebox idols Geoff Berner and Ana Bon-bon at this year's Artswells festival, jamming through the day and into the night with the stupidest tunes you can imagine then joining Raghu + Jeremy in Barkerville for more inspired jamming in front of a crowd, but there is not yet time to revisit these recent memories.
I could tell you of the awesome silent-movie-themed wedding I played at in Seattle last weekend conducted by a minister whose day job is as a circus clown and my devoted reception at the Emerald City's vibrant open mics, or of my debut on-stage at the Cobalt immediately following disembarking from the mangy dog (aka the Greyhound.)
I surely would have mentioned that I danced, again! Twice in two months is surely going to overturn my "once every five years" trend, unless it averages out and I just exhausted my allotment for the decade. (Is it really that easy? They just ask me to dance and I fail to say "no"? If so, what have I been doing wrong all these years psychically inhibiting their asking?)
Tuesday night I ran my open stage and for the first time since its third installment back in June 2004, it totally failed to launch. (Even then it redeemed itself at the end; here we just had four people converse for two hours, which while it isn't bad is a somewhat different creature from an open stage. Truly sir that is a philosopher's cafe, though there they may be less likely to remark that a cat's name is "MySpace" because it ceaselessly tongues its own anus.) There are (promotional) reasons for the low turnout, and there are (scheduling) reasons for the promotional complications; certainly the experience, while harmless, was a wake-up call to either approach its production somewhat more rigorously or else set it aside to better focus on newer projects. (I'll give myself another six months to turn it around; after all plenty of open mic series shut down entirely over the summer.) Travis remarked that I never even mentioned it on my Livejournal, and while I'm not convinced that has any measurable impact on turnout, it at least represents some sort of public commitment. (I can tell you that under the promotional circumstances, the golden siblings FaceBook and MySpace (in tandem!) proved no more effective than the LJ non-post.)
Today Dominique's boxes-'o-possessions followed her out of my bedroom roughly 10 months after she departed as a resident; refreshingly, any objections I have with the state of my room are now hereby entirely my own problem. (If they had waited two more months I would have returned them with a cake and a little candle on top, but I may just have to contrive some other function to celebrate thusly.) (Further: I've taken some flak for keeping them around and not following earlier bonfire examples; in truth my bedroom is so eternally consigned to clutter that the boxes were just a drop in the bucket. Presumably the biggest qualitative change their departure can yield is of the lifting of their symbolic footprint. So rather than gripe about their lingering hold, I will just say: Many spirited thanks for retrieving them!)
Tonight (Friday) I play an art opening at the Little Mountain Studios with the Creaking Planks, likely ~7:30-9 pm, at which point I head down to Co-op to co-host our ongoing steamroller of alternative music media, the Accordion Noir weekly all-accordion radio show / podcast. 102.7 fm, 9:30-10:30. (Then I may investigate the Foxy House.) And tomorrow? Zombiewalk? I suppose we shall see.
