pay no attention to the man behind the iron curtain

hello friends, Romans, thespians. how are you all?

peachy. thanks for asking.

Work has been paying off. I mean, I'm still working like a horse, and not in fact a llonkey, but the cashola came in today from massage city, and let's just say I may not have been the mayor, but I was at least his deputy. Or her deputy.

yikes, the one thing I am the mayor of tonight is run-on sentences! Somebody needs to whack me in the face with the grammar hammer.

Speaking of, I've been writing quite a bit of music lately. Gasp! it's true. And I think it is more beautiful and better structurally than anything I've yet done. Which is saying a lot, since lugen-flugen himself once wanted to cover my work. And I'm only one degree away from playing a show with both OTR and Dashboard. People! I've practically arrived. How can you stand me?

So Chris and my bro and Ben are all kind of bandying about the bush, saying let's gig together! yeah! but I will confess, I must confess, I must hasten to add that I am hesitant. So many times before (ok well two but it feels more like 4823) I've gotten burned by this "let's get together, yeah yeah yeah" scenario. We're talking singed eyebrows, superficial facial swelling kind of burned. but the crappy thing about me is that I can't stand losing you, music. I try to act disinterested at the prospect of making some sounds with three intelligent, talented, balanced men, one of whom is my bro, the other two have been pros at this previously. The fourth word of that last sentence was key, friends. because it's a friggen act. yikes! I just can't get away from the fact that I love making music. anytime, anywhere, with quite a few people. Chris has already committed to buying a kit. seriously! I don't even know how I feel about that, like maybe I'm supposed to sing a few bars of Ben Folds to him, wander away, and call the whole thing off. But then he lays down, with little human beatbox sounds and flailing of invisible drumsticks, the most excellent little finesse parts. uh. hit that hi-hat on the four of that count. uh. shuffle, one ee and UH TWO ee and uh. hot. get that stick up on top of that ride, yes, downbeats, thump thump thump underneath. and I'm all grind and strum and torque across from him, moving sideways next to my box in the parkinglot, letting my vocal cords shimmy around in my neck. and then comes the POP and I hear it all in my head, ben floating on top of everything with that sick beautiful reverby electric sound, Dan sliding perfectly into the pocket on my jazz bass. this could work, people. this could work- and they all love my music. even Dan grudgingly admits to it, only after defending himself by saying he's my brother, and he's never bought any of my recordings. true on both counts.

so those are the things I'm up to. and I'm running again.