happy bday lord bongo, may you have extra special good birthday boy luck at the v.f.w. hall tonight at your weekly tournament. i hope all those little old ladies that always gang up on you, and take you for every penny youre temporarily worth (by the end of the first match, usually), get so flustered and are totally rattled by your uncommon good bday luck, it sends all their heart rates skyrocketing, forces hyperventilation, and gets them bounced by the medical staff at the very first "heart rate / fresh depends / oxygen tank supply / dead body removal / coffee break" !!! my birthday wish for you is that as they are loading the ring leader of that group of ruffians (a.k.a. "the black widows, tx") into the ambulance, she motions for you and, as she hands you her monogramed black leather gang jacket that matches all the other trouble makers except for the capital L.B. on the front pocket where she keeps her unfiltered marlboro reds, she has just enough life left in her to whisper "son, i want you to have this, nnooo!!... do not argue with me, you have proven that you are worthy, and your the only one mean enough to lead the widows, they respect you now, ooo for petes sake stop blubberring before the other girls see you...it had to be like this, have to go now soonnny... i.. now ...prooo ...nounce you .....LORD BINGO ..." and u thought she died but she scares the crap outta you when outta nowhere she blurts out with one last breath..."and dont get any ketchup stains on it dipsh!t! it cost me an extra $4 to have it custom embroidered at wal...ma...r.............". then the paramedics close the back cargo doors, switch the ambulance lights off, and quietly drive her off as you slip into that cool black leather and light up a marlboro red in her honor... tough old broad.
hahahah... i hear multiple voices in my head... thats normal right??
ps... i forgot to add that after jackson got home, he went to count his bingo winnings, but realized that she picked his pocket as she was giving him the jacket.
It's close. It's frighteningly close. The only time I went to the VFW was in San Antonio (and I "am" a VFW, come to think of it, I should call them). This drummer called me, a pickup gig with some hot young blonde thing who I swear could sing Patsy Cline and make you cry and I mean in a good way - we rehearsed for a half-hour for a four hour gig so you know how many of those tunes I actually knew. (Three.) This girl was all of seventeen, maybe. And I had to play Shania Twain songs, so you know I was in way over my head.
So far, it seems like it could be true, who's with me?
I show up to this gig with a Sapphire Black Bongo HH fiver, a 1200 watt Sunn head and two big-ass Ampeg cabs. Because you never know, right? The bandleader watches me load in and freaks out. "Just use one cabinet, you're going to scare people." I do it his way, but grudgingly. He doesn't even want the second cab in the building. Hah. I leave the 15 cab in the car.
So anyway, we play this thing, and Miss 17 year old has The Voice. Her dad is everywhere at once, by the way, just to make sure no old grizzled VFW types are thinking bad thoughts. (We all are.)
And mostly, I'm a pretty good guesser. We play a LOAD of things I've never played before, but there are only twelve notes in western music, so I'm only eleven notes off, at worst, which is close enough for VFW work.
We finish one set with something I've never ever even heard before, which I'm sure I hose up pretty good so I say to the drummer after that, "Sorry, man, I have no idea what that tune was." He says, "Seriously, you and I could be swallowed by the earth and as long as she kept singing, no one would notice." These, my friends, are words to remember.
I'm not sure this has anything at all to do with what Craig posted, but he's supposed to be working on some Very Important Tunes and not making stuff up about me so I felt obligated to respond with something other than 'Oh yeah?'
I am pretty sure NAMM with BP and CY is going to be one of "those" moments in life.