August 3rd, 2014
Sitting in the kitchen right now watching Jesse and Lowen eat their blueberry breakfast bars. Teletubbies chimes and warbles off from the kitchen island counter as outside the sunlight gives off a tinted shine over all, leaves now showing the first signs of the fall season to come, the luster of this summer’s twinkle-green losing its emerald shine.
I was talking to George a bit about how the Rolling Stones need to turn it in and Dylan is still cool despite his age. George has since meandered back up to his room on the third floor, walls of which bedecked in memorabilia such as old advertisements and band flyers. A tiny insect AM radio-scratch emanates from some secret location in the room.
Ash and the two oldest kids Zoey and Max are out and about running a few errands and paying Ash’s grand father Bryce a visit as well as a swim in his pool.
I received a call from my mother this morning that my eldest cousin from Dallas TX died of complications he was having due to HIV. He grappled with the horrors of this disease for the last twenty years or so and finally succumbed to it. I figure it’s about time I visit the Texas Trenhailes. I’m flying there on Wed. and returning Friday evening. I feel terrible for my uncle, my dad’s brother.
A few minutes ago, Lowen was making long wet sounding fart noises on his arm with his mouth before I gave him a handful of dry cheerios to eat. Also gave both boys sippy cups with water. Ash and the rest will be back shortly. I want to get dressed for guests tonight, particularly Kendra will be coming over to record a Baberaham Lincoln’s song - Kendra and my wife Ashley as well as Alicia from The Love Technicians have formed a band called The Baberaham Lincolns and they have a gig on the 15th of this month. Ash and I also need to set up a schedule for The Doneofits practice and will get on with that well before our CD release show on Aug. 22nd.
This last Friday night, I performed a solo gig at a desultory bar on 90th street just before the Fort street intersection. Ninetieth is a bland four lane that smoothly curves through neighborhoods fronted by lost shopping mall parking lots and fast food restaurants. In a midst these giant buildings is the Library Pub, a place where certain Benson music icons have taken a liking to recently and set up shop. It was far from an excellent place for me to play but did little to stop me from doing as good a job as I could. The sound guy was a stocky older gentleman filling in for Hoshaw who was absent. All in all, a bland forgotten portion of the musical world, a place where classic rock hobbyists go to compare blues licks, a hopeless pointless matter, yet I feel no more hopeless or pointless for playing there. Besides, they gave me 100 dollars cash and I’ve been driving around in my Chevy Cobalt with my glove box filling up with the change as I use small portions of the hundred dollars to buy latte’s when in need and lunches for my work. Not a complete loss therefore.
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