"Thursday 6th May
“You’re mul-tie tasking just now! I know it, I heard a ruckus.”
(People at the airport. Competing cell phone conversations.)
“We made, like, strawberry margharitas. I think mine had more alcohol in them. I couldn’t sleep, I was like, wired.”
God, I can’t take much more of this addled confusion to the brain. Another couple just sat down and the first thing they do is reach for the cell phones. That makes four separate conversations within touching distance.
“I just bought you a tshirt at the Seattle Airport.”
Just give them the shirt when you go home! You don’t need to phone them up to tell them.
I think about looking for the chapel area so I can get a restful ten minutes alone with my soul and its carry-on-bag load of midweek sin. John Irving saved me yesterday. I started getting into A Prayer For Owen Meany.
Marisa gave me the book a year ago. I lost the first copy… somewhere. So I bought another one, and I lost that too.
I left it on the aeroplane the day before yesterday. So, yesterday I went for a wander after playing on the radio. I thought I would get another copy, but this time I would get a second hand copy. That way, I figured if the book had practise in being-read, then it would be more likely to be read again.
I went, by roundabout beautiful pristine mountaintop routes to Broadway, Seattle. I came to the bookshop, which I forget the name of now. There was a notice on the door saying
Hippies, use the other door
Thing is, there was another notice beside it saying
This is a JOKE. Please do not call us about this.
I thought to myself, why bother? Just take it down.
The customer baiting scheme continues on the inside, with a list printed behind the till, entitled.
Mildly amusing things customers have said to us before we killed them.
Things along the lines of
“Do you know who wrote ‘Dante’s Inferno?’”
I was a little worried to buy my book. I was preparing myself to be offensive to the staff before they started abusing me, or saying anything smartass. Luckily, not too much happened. I got my book.
Later, in the bath, it managed to take me from a state of tension, fatigue, unconnectedness, mild depression, to…. Let’s just say, I felt much better. My gig was saved.
“Ladies and Gentleman, this is not the Denver flight. This flight is for Newark. Make sure your boarding pass says Newark..”
My pass says Denver, buddy. I’m going to an elevated state!
After the show last night at the Paramount in Seattle, we were taking the elevator up to the dressing room with the jovial back stage assistant. A bit too jovial considering we’d just given our all for two hours.
“You know, you should pracise running up and down the stairs and singing at the same time! That would improve your breath!”
Mick, not often known for his comebacks, remarked.
“I’ll not do that with my trumpet then. I’d break my fucking teeth.”
Exits lift."
what. a. twat.
― don (don), Friday, 14 May 2004 21:50 (twenty-two years ago)
Durst on pianos:
"Funny, Beans is watching David Attenborough on the telly just now. I think I imagined the man on the radio programme to be wearing a similar khaki coloured suit. The thing is though, that I imagined the man in the programme to be a sort of man\woman! It was something to do with his voice, a rather youthful tenor, which was accompanied by a BBC piano in a room. An upright piano, if my musical memory serves me right, though from my ten-year-old's memory, that last bit might be a little fanciful.
I liked the voice, and I liked the music. I like it even more now in memory, but I guess that's just because when you're an adult you can acknowledge that such 'lame' activities brought lasting pleasure.
It's one of perhaps about 49 music aesthetics that I'd like to explore. I don't mean to show off. Most of these are way off fantasies, things that I'd never be capable off, things that I might talk about, but never have time for; a symphony, a string quartet, to play bass in a soul revue, to be a jazz saxophonist. To sit at a piano, or stand beside it, in a white walled music room, with a view of a grass slope and houses, singing simple songs to the Lord and sleepy kids in classes. I wanna do that! Where do I sign?"
― @d@ml (nordicskilla), Friday, 14 May 2004 21:56 (twenty-two years ago)