Tag Archives: band

Friday's Gig Rocked.

Music, , , , ,

In which I review my weekend.

Thursday, I was on the cover of the Marquee. Considering the lame interview I gave her, my girl Sheila did a really fantastic job on the article! I sound totally interesting!

Mush Morgan & The Coyote Kings

Friday, I fronted the Coyote Kings at Merchants on Main street. The place was packed. People started dancing about four songs into the first set, and danced all night! My dad and Rocket’s mom were in the audience. We rocked the house and I had a metric ton of fun.

Saturday I lounged around during the day, and went to dinner at my aunt’s house with my dad and my brother. We had a nice dinner, and then I heard an awesome story from my uncle about how he got his head smashed at work up at the airport one day and nearly died.

Sunday I knitted, did laundry, watched streaming Netflix videos and went to Walmart with G’ma, where I bought some shoes. Later I made a bunch of Indian food for this week’s bentos.

Today I woke up late and barely made it to work on time.

Tomorrow is my birthday! Send me presents!

Me in the front window

Secret Things… Shh.

Admissions, , ,

In which I don’t talk about things because too many people I know IRL actually read goblinbox.

My posts have sucked for awhile because I have a lot to say that I can’t say (I’ve been writing awesome posts in my head, though!) on two topics in particular:

The first topic is work. I could go on and on and on about work, but since management reads the ‘box on occasion I’d probably get fired because you don’t talk about your company’s solvency on the Innartubez.

I have lots of backseat driver observations about how things are done that I could recount in acerbic, witty prose and we’d all enjoy my cleverness… but since I want to stay employed, I will recall to myself that I’m a drone and not a manager because I’m a drone and not a manager.

In a nutshell, though: the economy, it’s affecting our customer count. Which means I’m worried about my job security. And since we all are, I think it’s okay to say at least that on my blog and move on.

The second is the band. I could go on and on about how I ‘only turned down one lousy gig and haven’t been called back since!’ and how I’m all offended that I essentially got fired before I could quit, but the guys have been known to check in here and I don’t want to burn any bridges especially since I get the impression all I have to do is call the band leader and say I’m still interested. Can you say run-on sentence? I knew you could.

In other news, um… well, there is no other news. I’m not doing much lately. Haven’t even gotten my vacation schedule for the year figured out yet, but I’m certain it involves a visit to NYC! Oh, and I bought another bento box. Yes, yes, I know: I’m a freak! I’m sorry!

Oh, and the third is the relationship: I suspect it’s in bad taste to compare one relationship to another in public, so I haven’t gushed about how nice it is to be with someone who doesn’t {insert scathing complaint about ex here} and always manages to {insert cute thing current BF does here}. But trust me, there’s a lot of that going on in my head. Apparently, if you hook up with someone that likes you, they do shit like bring you coffee in bed in the morning, and they don’t think you owe them for it. It’s way cool.

In Vino Veritas

Music, Social, , , , , ,

In which I do a gig I feel good about… and drink WAY too much wine.

Yesterday I came home on my lunch break and took a shower and put on jeans and cute shoes. After work I came home to drop Bindu off and smear on some mascara. By seven I was at the Sapolil Cellars tasting room on Main street. The joint was packed.

The owner hugged me and pointed to my co-worker, KJ, whom I’d invited to come. (He’d been sick earlier in the week so I didn’t think he’d show, but there he was.) I sat with him for a bit and then the gig started. He and I ended up hanging out all night and having a freakin’ blast, going to the sorts of events we wouldn’t normally go to. (As he said later, “I haven’t had this much fun in Walla Walla in years. It’s like we went to another town, man.”)

RB and Cookie played a couple of tunes, then I went up and joined them. We did a good, long set and then took a break. It was early enough that it was still light out. During our second set, we had a keyboardist and a harp player sit in, and people were dancing by the end. We even got called back for an encore. All in all, a good gig. And the cash money at the end didn’t hurt, either. (This band pays me. I love it.)

A., the owner’s daughter (whom I adore because she’s funny as hell), kept pouring me wine so by the time we left the joint around ten I’d probably downed at least an entire bottle if not significantly more. I prudently put my grandmother’s car in the garage and caught a ride with KJ. We followed A. to the Flying Trout tasting room. The wine there was served in beer cups instead of stemware, the crowd was younger, the decor was minimalist industrial basement, and the DJ utterly failed to impress me. I ran around drunk and friendly and probably annoyed the hell out of many innocent (read: less drunk) people.

The truth of wine being that I adore people when I’m wine drunk and love to accost them and talk to them about themselves, but I never shut up long enough for them to do so. Hah! It’s amazing nobody smacked me. Srsly. I had SO much fun!

There was a couple in the crowd dressed in snow suits. The guy had goggles on, and would push them up onto his forehead only when talking. I asked the girl why she’d decided to wear a snowsuit to a tasting room, and she said it just seemed like the thing to do. I met a skater dude in his late 40’s with tons of ink and got him to take his shirt off for me. I scattered two other conversation groups merely by approaching with my mouth running. I saw one of the chicks who works at the Starbucks I go to. I saw A., the chick we’d followed there, once.

After that it gets blurry. I bought some Cheetos at a convenience store at some point, but they were too gross to eat, and I could not now tell you what store it was. At one point I thought I’d lost my wallet but it was easily found in KJ’s car. I didn’t get to bed until the sky was beginning to pale in the east.

The first time I woke up today I didn’t dig it that much, so I went back to bed and didn’t really start my day until six in the evening! I called RB and apologized for not answering when he’d called earlier in the afternoon, checked in with Becca, tried to eat at Rosita’s (closed Sundays) and ended up with a 7-layer burrito and a huge raspberry iced tea. Went to RB’s, listened to a bunch of Wilson Pickett, and discussed our set list for next weekend at the Balloon Stampede. (We’ll be on the Pepsi stage from 5 to 6:30. Come see us.)

Now I’m home and the dogs are sleeping on the rug. I have a couple of episodes of Doctor Who to watch, and several movies to choose from. I think I’m gonna hold the couch down, lest it suddenly decide to float away, and rest up for tomorrow: I have to do laundry and mow the lawn.

Old Dog

Pets,

In which I’m waiting for the results of the blood work.

Bindu has a heart murmur for which she may or may not need meds. She does not have ear mites, but she did get her ears cleaned. She’s obese – she weighs 36.1 pounds, up from 29.8 six months ago – and has to lose weight. She received a parvo/distemper shot. She may or may not have diabetes for which she may or may not need meds.

They said they’d call me Tuesday or Wednesday.

I spent $150 at the vet today.

I also watched a movie, failed to do laundry, showered, went to band practice, and may or may not have put a scratch in my grandmother’s car with a bush or fence or something while parking (I’m not sure if the scratch was there before or not).

Over all, despite the lack of real trauma, a fairly high-stress day for me. Going to bed early.

Hurumpfh.

Seeing Mother

Music, Spiritual, , ,

In which my plans are quite suddenly changed.

Saturday night my entire band had a long practice. After, Curtis and I went out and Becca showed up. We met a wine writer from Seattle and hung out with her all night, even dragged her to after hours for a bit. I got drunk. Around three in the morning, Curtis and I finished up the curry and rice I had stashed in the fridge and he crashed in the front bedroom.

Sunday, the weather was GLORIOUS! Clear and breezy, and had to be at least seventy degrees out! We went to brunch at 26 brix (and let me tell you, the bloody mary was awesome) and then wandered aimlessly around town until Curtis had to go record with RB. We even stopped at the miniature airport and watched the enthusiasts fly their little planes around for awhile.

Monday, I did – among other tedious but necessary online things – my taxes. I’m getting a refund! (I was so poor last year that I actually qualified for EIC. Go me.) Apparently I’ll be getting $300 for my rebate, too, which is exiting because I’ll TOTALLY need it to see Amma this summer.

I was going to try to see Her in New York in July, but not only has the ticket for the dates I wanted doubled in price in the past 6 days, but it turns out that one of the other techs at work has already gotten those dates off for vacation – so there’s no way I’ll get them off, too.

Now I’m scrambling madly to get organized to see Mother in Seattle, since people are taking vacation days during all the other tour stops I’d like to go to (not only New York, but Fairfield and Chicago too). The Seattle programs are complex because there’s a day of public programs followed by a two-day retreat and then a public Devi Bhava. If I’m going at all, I either register for the retreat or I only see Mother for one day. Since it costs just about $200 to fly to Seattle I’d rather go for more than a single day… so now I need to sign up for a retreat with no on-site housing in a town where I know no Amma devotees. Gah!

(You know, I should have known this would happen. I contacted the Seattle satsang by email and am doing seva remotely – placing notices on various online boards about Mother’s visit – but of course it’s going to work out that I have to go meet the Seattle satsang properly, and probably work like crazy at the programs and the retreat too.)

In other news, Bindu’s going to the vet for blood work tomorrow. She’s gotten fat since we’ve been here (because grandmas are indulgent and feed dogs table scraps, and give them milk and lunch meat every single night before bed) and now she drinks and pees so much that I’m worried about diabetes. She’s exhibiting some other behavioral changes too, which is why I’m actually worried: she can’t walk the 12 blocks to work with me on Saturdays without a rest at the halfway point, and she seems sleepy and cuddly more than tired or overheated.

Send the good blue dog your non-diabetic thoughts, if you would, and I’ll let you know what we learn when the results come back.

Last Night

Blurbs, , ,

In which I am totally reaching for material, here. Totally.

RB picked me up after work and took me to the studio, where he played a new song he’d written for me to sing (a kick-ass blues/R&B number I wish I’d written myself about leavin’ your man), helped me learn a run in another original that I’d been totally bricking, asked me my opinion on a drum track (it just laid there), and gave me A SUPER BITCHIN’ TAMBOURINE. “Now you can’t say I never gave you nothin’,” he announced.

Then we went to the Mill Creek Brew Pub and met this dude who used to play pool with Doc Severinson.

After that, I went home and went to bed. ZzzzzZzzZzzzz.

This morning I woke up and did the sit-ups and push-ups and leg lifts that I did not do before bed last night, and then fell back asleep ’cause that’s how I roll. Then I got up, had a breakfast sandwich, showered, dressed, and then walked briskly to work.

Briskly. Gah. If only I could exercise while asleep… that’d be ideal.

Get Ready… Again

MP3s, ,

In which there’s music.

Here’s the second rough of one of my new band’s demo tunes:

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(And yes, Naomi, I had RB fix the ‘chew’ sound you didn’t like. I live to serve!)

One of these days, we’ll get organized and record a third tune… and then learn enough material to actually do a gig if someone hires us!

Meetin' the Local Musicians

Music,

In which I work on becoming a big fish in another small pond.

RB came and picked me up Saturday afternoon, and we went over to his studio (which is actually his mom’s basement, but you can still record albums in it) and we listened to stuff. Then C came over and we talked about possible bass players (of course I don’t know anyone in town, so they had that discussion themselves) and then we talked about the covers we could do to start out with.

Eventually C had to leave, so RB and I sat around and listened to more music (including his album Blue Movie, which is really fun and worth a listen) and shot the shit for awhile longer. We hit Taco Bell on our way to The Oasis to see C sit in with a local country band, the name of which escapes me.

During the band’s second set, I sat in – with RB on bass – and sang Stormy Monday. The crowd didn’t really seem care much for me (they were there to line dance, not listen to the blues), but the band pretty much dug the shit out of me. And I dug them: they were all really hot players. I was impressed as hell.

After singing, I proceeded to get drunk and disorderly with C’s girlfriend, Syl. (She kept ordering tequila.) RB went home. I stayed because Syl said she and C could drive me home. I thought we’d be out of there by midnight, but I didn’t get home until two because C had to wait to get paid for the gig.

It definitely was not the type of bar I usually find myself in. There was a lady with the most amazing hair I’ve ever seen: it was a huge tall gravity-defying beehive, with a braid up the back. (It must have taken a whole can of Aqua Net to keep that where it was.) There was a wheat farmer with ink all over his throat and arms, and big smooth buttons embedded in his earlobes. I kept harassing him ’cause he let me; he was a good friend of the monster guitar player in the country band.

Everybody else was totally normal looking… if you think Western wear is normal. I wore the only nose ring in the whole place, and my usual silly drunken dancing was way over the top for the venue. I ignored the looks and danced anyway because it wasn’t my fault they think country’s gotta be danced a certain way. At some point Syl smacked me because she thought my dancing was inappropriate. I sat down for a few minutes and then started dancing in my chair, which she seemed to think was even worse. All those stiff-backed line dancers, jeez. C’mon, find your root chakras, people!

The band was playing rock covers by the time the last set arrived because most of the line dancers were gone home. I was gyrating in my chair lip-syncing ZZ Top’s Tush while a couple near my table was grinning at me and bouncing along in their own chairs. (The women at the table behind me were appalled that I even existed, probably because I was having entirely too much fun, but whatever.) An Alaskan logger tried to take me back to his hot tub but I made Syl pretend she was my angry girlfriend until he went away. I had a great chat with the bass player. Eventually I fell into the back of C & Syl’s van and they drove me home. Syl and I had a brutally graphic discussion about fellatio.

Been exchanging MP3s with RB via email, and he offered to take me to the open mic on Wednesday. Hopefully we’ll be able to run a song by then, and hopefully C and whoever they get to play bass will be there too so we can see how we all feel about playing together.

Long story short: I have managed to bypass all the self-styled garage rockers and am already meeting the actual players in town. RB, who is proud of himself for finding me, says, “Every time you sing people ask, ‘Where’d you get her?,’ and they’re already talking about you at the Blues Society meetings.” COULD MY HEAD GET ANY BIGGER?