Piece of a Novel....

"That AMP is TOO fucking LOUD, man!  I have to SING over that shit, dude!  Come on!"

 

Rehearsing with my cover band, my patience is rapidly shredding along with the earsplitting, overblown noodling of the relatively-new lead guitarist. 

 

This is a real thing:  The Singer/Songwriter vs. The Lead Guitarist Thing.  It has a genuine lifecycle, a distinctive dynamic unto itself. 

 

This is how it goes:

 

Lead Singer (with drummer and bassist already on board) starts auditioning for Lead Guitarists.  Some are good, some are not so good, and then this one guy is GREAT.  THAT'S THE SOUND.  The dude is a total pro, a perfect fit.  The whole band is beaming, jamming, feeling like The Beatles.  By the end of the audition, everyone's excited about the prospect of working together with this added element of proficiency.  The perfect puzzle piece is FINALLY in place.

 

The first few rehearsals move along really well.  Lead Guitarist may as well be wearing a shirt that says: TEAM PLAYER.  He's considerate, easygoing, collaborative.   He rocks.  He has a sweet girlfriend (usually, unless she's a cunt but thankfully that was only with one or two of them), so he's tastefully flirtatious, harmlessly so but still it's kinda nice.

 

MUSIC is the GREAT HEALER of any and all of Life's bummers and AIN'T IT GRAND! 

 

Bullshit.

 

By the 2nd gig (sometimes even the first gig, by the end of the first set.  No, make that the end of the first song.)

 

Smiling, but not with his eyes, Guitar Man mumbles: "You can sing over this, Lena. I've heard you belt."

 

O my god.  My mind starts racing with resentment that I don't bother voicing for the umpteenth time: I pick out the songs, I provide the sheet music, I front the band, I book the rehearsals and the paying gigs.   I do everything but WIPE your ASS for you and STILL you're an obnoxious lunatic to work with…yet another one…

 

"Listen, I know I can belt but are you tryin' to make me HURT myself??   I ask you to turn it down, I look away for one second and - what - you just JACK IT right back up?  That's like a big FUCK YOU to me, don't you think?"

 

I had a particularly nasty argument with my husband just prior to this rehearsal.  I'm drinking too much beer and frankly I am getting sick of working with this cover band.  It's gotten to the point where it's not worth the time, effort or the haggling with bar owners.

 

I make a mental note that it's time to narrow down my projects and just work on my original project.  This upcoming cover gig is going to be my last.  I'll tell them this right after we get paid.

 

In the meantime, I pop open another BUD ICE, I'm also supposed to be at my desk and fully operational at my day job as an office manager in about 4 hours. 

* * * * *

 

 

Ole' PETEY and I - Part 3

Dogs are our

Teachers.

Until you get that,

You just don't

Get it.

One time, it was a bad day.

My parents had been fighting.

Pop had been gettin his drink on

And just bickering

And shit.

And my older brother could be a bully

And he was hurting my feelings

And between it all, at only 8

I was at the end of my rope.

I went out to the yard

Where Petey greeted me so sweet

But I was a bitch

And I pushed him away.

It killed me to do it

But I remember feeling like - HEY -

I'm expected to keep loving

So YOU, Petey - YOU LOVE ME TOO…

EVEN WHEN I DO WRONG BY YOU.

But it killed me.

At the same time, Kris saw me pushing Petey away

She was watching from inside her window

And she came rushing out and hugged Petey, and said:

"Listen, girl.  No matter how people treat you…

Nothing gives you the right to treat others that same, hurtful way."

Oh, I was so ashamed.

And I could barely look at Ole' Petey, my friend, whom I had mis-used.

I could barely look at Kris, but I did, shy and small

And I said: "I'll never do it again.  I love him so.  I was wrong."

Dogs are our

Teachers.

To be continued.

Ole' Petey and I - Pt 2

So Petey was a pup

And the love of my life

Kris would let me come over

And feed him dinner each night

ALPO - The Large Can

With a MilkBone chaser…

And we'd play tug-O-war

With a big rubber ring

He was my dearest friend

Ole' Petey, Ole' Kid…

He was just my best friend

In the

World.

Dinnertime came, and since we shared

The yard-space

Petey was soon

A regular face

Staring in our back window

Right into the small kitchen

Where me and my brothers and Mom

Would be eating

When Pop would work late

That's where we'd be

And looking right in on us

Would be

Petey.

I remember HOT DOGS

And how Pete always knew

When hotdogs were to be

Expected

On the

Menu.

I can see his pink nose

Like a pencil eraser

Pressed up on the screen

His tail wagging and wagging

O, Petey - I loved you

And love you still, so.

Petey,

Ole' Petey

Ole'

Kid.

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

OLE' PETEY and I

When I was a really young kid, I knew animals were important to me. 

My parents were always busy and freaky and OCCUPIED. 

We lived in a small apartment in Glendale, Queens and the houses were attached.  Our nearest neighbor was a woman named Kris.  She was married but CHILD-LESS.  Older than my parents, and yet my mother seemed to view her as a "lesser-than" because of her CHILD-FREE STATUS. 

Kris always had dogs, tho'.

And she had me, too.

My father worked all hours and my mother was super-busy with my hyper older brother and my infant younger brother.  I coulda got lost in the mix,

But I didn't,

'cuz I had Kris.

When I was tiny, Kris had a dog named

Queenie.

She was a long-haired dachshund

And not so keen on kids.

So I admired ole' Queenie

And never pushed my hand

I admired and loved her

From afar.

By the time Queenie passed on,

I was about 6 and

Kris got Petey.

Petey was a GERMAN SHORT-HAIRED POINTER.

Yessir, that's what Petey was.

He was white and tan-spotted

And hyper and crazed

And I loved him so much

I thought I might die.

We were such good friends

Ole' Petey and I…

 

TO BE CONTINUED….

DISABLED

Saw  THE BOSS

He said

No Way

You pay to play

And play to pay

And make mistakes

And lose your way

But yet it seems

Ridiculous

'Cuz it's just Us

Just Only

Us.

And once you think

The answer's clear

Well, rest assured

It's nowhere near

There is no answer

Not one prayer

Not a stake

Not a lake

Not a Shining Star…

Bluesy Rings

Around the stars

Or maybe bars

Or maybe….Mars?

Silky rings

That hold my heart.

Hold my throat

Hold my soul

It's a

Start.

 

 

VANESSA

Vanessa is an Angel of mine

She came to me in a dream but also

A body of

Water.

I swam at the pool for many weeks

And felt

A hand between my shoulder blades

Pushing.

One night, during trial and tribulations

I fitfully slept

And suddenly

VANESSA REDGRAVE (or a reasonable facsimile)

Showed up. Swimming toward me.

I squinted and said:

"Are you here to help?"

And she said:

"Who do I look like?  That's me…

That's my name. 

And I'm with you

Always.

 

I said: "You look like Vanessa Redgrave."

And she said: "Close.  No Redgrave.  Just VANESSA."

So that's Vanessa.

And now she's just always around.

And she ain't goin'

Nowhere.

 

JUST A LITTLE POEM FOR EMMY

Looking back, I think my

Favorite part of today

Was when we left the

Restaurant

And I said

That orange flower

Near the parking

Lot

Would look so great

In your hair

And with your dress

And Jo

Tentatively goes:

"Should we pick it?"

And You mutter:

"I NEED TO SLEEP."

I love you, FABU MOMMY…

Continue to be

Real, please…

And

Thank You.