Original Composition + Recording =

Into the studio this morning.

The idea is to capture a moment in time, that when repeated, will stir the emotions of the Listener like a wooden spoon.

I like this song. It's a pretty sappy ballad. But alas, I cannot refuse the Muse, only try to navigate the waters she steers me towards.

I enjoy being in a group and fading back into the dark, helping to lay a foundation that someone else can dance over in the spotlight.

but Writing and Recording help me feel alive. I've never been a songwriter. At 25 I have a measly four compositions to my name, although I like them. I need to get that record pressed.

There's work to be done. And some will be done Today. Which is always the best day to do it.

A Touch of Lunacy

One definition of lunacy is,

"intermittent insanity, formerly believed to be related to phases of the moon"

They say "formerly" but I believe it still.

She's full tonight. Bursting at the seams. And she followed me home, twenty miles down the road, from two hundred twenty thousand miles away.

I thought about the journey up there and the serious jet lag and getting acquainted to moon time. Moon vacations in our lifetime? I've never been one for science fiction, with notable exceptions of course, but tonight the marvelous beauty of that wonderful orb got my mind churning in a thousand ways, even beyond moon vacations past God further than infinity to the deepest and heaviest parts of the night, and that is science fact.

A Modest Proposal

She had returned from 20 days overseas.

During that time I went North to ask for the blessing of her folks. I also went South, so that my grandmother's stone could be removed from a necklace, and set in a classy solitaire.

I didn't want jet-lag to factor in. The first night was a celebration, with sushi.

Rest. Unpacking. Inspection sticker. Duck eggs for breakfast. They had been part of my pay from a Farmer's Market gig the week before.

I wanted to go for a ride. That was the plan. But I try to be a gentlemen. I asked, "What would you like to do now?"

"Do you want to go for a ride?" she asked. Yes. The universe, providing.

We generally drive in proximity to our home. Plum Island. Old Georgetown loops and loop extensions. That was not the plan this time. This time I headed South. She did not notice or care to mention noticing if she did notice. And we talked and listened to each other and music and explored roads and things and houses as we do when we drive.

Around Danvers she did not feel well and wished to turn back. I said "We're almost there" but didn't say where. She didn't ask. She just said, "Ok well I'm going to close my eyes for a minute."

Incredible. The universe, providing.

I pulled up to her parent's old house. The Peabody House. We jammed there and smoked there once upon a time, singing old songs as young children on guitars or her family's piano. The car had stopped so She opened her eyes and smiled at the site of the house and then sort of wondered why but I was also holding the ring and she saw it and we talked about being best friends and soul mates and happy together until the apocalypse and beyond.

Big Pink: Requiem For a Rum Dream

We were headed to Langerado, we figured that a pink tent would stand out amongst 20,000 other tents. We were correct.

That was March of 2008 and today is July of 2010. She served us many times in between. I think we got more than fair value from her, before her demise.

I had a dream this past weekend that I was in a room and the door was a zipper that wouldn't unzip.

And the harder I tried to Escape! the more I had to pee. And I danced and shook and wriggled to no avail... a race against time, the threat looming larger with every movement and every passing second.

When I awoke the tent was covered in duct tape. It seems that I had demolished her. Torn her to shreds in the heat of the escape.

At least I didn't pee. That would have ruined the weekend.

What did we learn? That half a bottle of rum contains a Point of No Return, but more important is that we MUST pee before bed. Always.

The Decision

Shameful.

A shameful moneygrab. Shame on you ESPN. Shame on him, too.

I won't even say his name.

He has "The Chosen One" tattooed on his back. Just in case you needed any further indications of this man's character.

Chosen for what, exactly?

Chosen for First and Second Round Upsets.
Chosen to be swept up handily in the Finals.
Chosen to spread perennial disappointment.

I'm all for maximizing revenue. This is America. However, there is a thin line between Advantageous and Greedy. That line will be further blurred by this charade.

It's an impressive circus. That much cannot be debated. Over one hundred and sixty thousand "followers" before a single twit was tweeted.

You can't put yourself above the Team.

Rather, you shouldn't.

The Gods of Sport do not look kindly on such acts, and I will not be surprised if he stumbles and breaks an ankle on his way down from the podium.

In Defense of Joseph

Joseph is an ancient and powerful name.

Jesus' dad.

The Heads of both the Kennedy and Jackson clans.

Joltin' Joe.

In recent years, two terms have risen in popularity, to my dismay.

1) Average Joe

This one slays me. Who knows where it originated.

Who is the Average Joe? He's the star of your nightly sitcom. He's whipped by his wife, he's a middle class American chump, and he gets no respect. He's a joke. He's the joke.

2) Joe Schmoe

This term is generally used in anger, a term of degradation.

"Who was that?"

"Oh, nobody... just some Joe Schmoe..."

This guy is dumber than Average Joe, has a worse job, an uglier wife, a smaller house and his children burn things, regularly. Joe Schmoe is occasionally known by his alias, Joe Six Pack. Joe Schmoe only drinks beer.

My name is Joe and I'm neither of those guys. I'm not Homer Simpson nor Doug Heffernan. I do not wish to preach at you, The Reader, I think you're a wonderful person, I simply ask that the next time you wish to label someone an Average Joe or Joe Schmoe, you first pause and consider the Josephs in your life, and if they are deserving of the analogy you're about to make.