Fixing a Hole

This is like coming back to the room I grew up in. Hopefully I'll stay a little longer this time. It's weird to get back into the swing of things.

Lots of things have happened, very few of them funny. One thing that directly affects you, my dear reader/ listener, is that I got a new microphone. Your ears will no longer bleed from that high-pitched whining in the background.

This song is called Fixing a Hole. It's pretty good. Paul wrote it. Then he sang it. Then people heard it.

Apartment for Rent

I've decided to take a break. My voice has been getting pretty raggedy, and while that would be great for the Tom Waits project, I think i need to put the brakes on that if I expect to keep doing this. I even went as far as to gargle salt water, which tasted like whale sweat. I'm not sure what to do with the extra blog space I'm not using though. Maybe I'll convert this blog into an apartment and charge rent. Make me an offer. The location is really great; it's just down the street from Facebook and a grocery store. The schools are hit-or-miss, and there's some pretty rascally delinquents in the Youtube comment section, but other than that I think it would be a great place to live.

This picture has dual symbolism:
1) It's No-Shave November, a month for epic beards
2) This whole being sick thing is really Yoko-ing up my Beatles vibe.

Yesterday

I have been inconsistent, and I'm very sorry. However, I'm quite determined to post tonight. It's late, but I'm hoping that my closet will be sound-proof enough not to wake my roommates. If it does, my sincerest apologies. Have a glass of my milk and go back to bed.*

*It's a trick. I have no milk.

This is a song about 37 minutes ago.

We Can Work It Out

Today's song is We Can Work It Out. The song is about how disagreements are really easy to resolve if you agree with me. Words to live by. Big gigantic gracias to friend and bandmate Chris Gerber, rockin the tambourine and backup vocals.



Of special note are my inability to fit my gigantic head in the frame and my rudimentary attempt at multiple camera angles. Enjoy.

And Your Bird Can Sing

If you ask me why I haven't posted for an entire week, I'll probably give you some canned answer about how busy I've been; indeed, I'll probably tell you that school and work formed an evil alliance with the intent to keep me from seeing the light of day, that the school/work monster wants me to die of rickets. But the truth is that i have been straight-up stymied by this song. I still am. In many respects, "And Your Bird Can Sing" is just a regular Beatles song: tight harmonies, catchy melody, overall cohesive ensemble-ness. But it has this double guitar riff played by George and Paul that, while totally awesome, sounds like something from Sound Of Music when I played it on piano. You'll note that you could easily start singing "Do, a deer, a female deer" after the intro.
So I finally decided I had to man up and do it.



Also, I have a total cold. Are you tired of my complaining yet? Me too.

On a better note, check out this Beatles art by my friend Apryl Melancon. It's totally rad. You should check out her website.

This Boy

So there we were, fourth-grade field trip to the zoo. It smelled like a mix of tide water and feces, which was probably because we stood between the otters and the capybara. The aristocratic scent of obscenely-priced churros wafted from a stand. It was pure heaven I wandered over to said stand and proffered up a handful of quarters.

"One churro please," I said.

"Seven dollars," said Churro-Stand Man, his voice muffled by his large mustache. I started to count out quarters. My math-minded readers already know that at these exorbitant prices, I would need 28 quarters.  And my elementary-school fashion-minded readers will remember that cargo shorts hit the big time around 1999. My pockets could carry 20 quarters, max. I had some nickels mixed in there too. Needless to say, I came up short. So I scooped my quarters into my hand, and then funneled them back into my pocket. Then the teacher called my name and we moved into the monkey house. That churro smell still slipped through the wire fence, and sidestepped past the angry orangutans and found its way into my nostrils. I needed 8 quarters, badly. Even though I'd have to clutch them in my hands (all pants-pockets were at capacity). I scoured the floor of the monkey house and moved on to the snake house. I found some pennies with gum on them; they weren't worth it. I also found a couple beads. 

Long story short, I never found two dollars that day, but I recently had a cream-filled churro and it was totally worth the wait.

Who likes churros?

This Boy.

Martha My Dear

Faithful readers may be wondering about my bag that I lost on the train. Here's the deal. I called the lost and found, on Wednesday, and a girl named Gretchen answered.
"Hi, I lost a laptop bag on the light rail last night. It's bla bla bla bla bla."
"Ok, let me go check the lost and found."
I then waited on hold for like ten minutes while a recording detailing the ongoing labor disputes among transportation workers played on repeat.
Finally, a real voice:
"Hi, this is Gretchen, can I help you?"
"Umm, I talked to you a few minutes ago about a bag?"
"Oh sorry, I totally got distracted. I didn't see your bag."
I was picturing her coming upon all the forgotten action figures that kids leave between the cushions on all the buses in the Phoenix metro area.
"Ok," I said, "'Thanks.'" (note the quotes within quotes. I was doing those with my fingers.)
"Yeah, call back tomorrow."

So I did.