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I have been doing a lot of laundry lately.  More laundry in the past two months than in the past two years as it was on Kristen’s side of the chore list.  I am not complaining it is one of those things that just has to be done and tonight it was an experience. 

It was a small load.  Mostly towels with three and a half pairs of red socks added (I am always looking for clean red socks) and perhaps a t-shirt of two.  Not great shirts, the kind you wear around the house when using a plumber’s snake or perhaps scrubbing the litter box.  Looking back I am glad I ignored the urge I had to say “playing with a plumber’s snake” as that sounds even dirtier.  At any rate it was random.  I don’t separate colors and whites in loads like this, who needs or wants too.  Towels and rags? 

When I went downstairs to the laundry room that third time to take the clean, warm, lavendar scented clean goodness out and bring it back up to the living room for folding I almost fell over.  I pulled out a few random pieces from the dryer and look closer.  I felt like a really cheesy commercial, the kind from the early 90’s that have that late-afternoon Sunday sun glare angleing downward through the windows/door covered in widow. 

My whites were…  whiter?  My colors brighter?  Really?  Why has this started working now?  Why tonight?  And why old towels, boxer shorts & socks?  And why did I earlier refer to my underwear as rags?  I must begin thinking more highly of myself.  I obviously deserve it.

Regardless.  My laundry came back to me in better condition than it was in before I paid $3 to wash and dry it.  Amazed. 

And regarding the Eagles pre-searson game:  how amazingly annoying was it when that dude on the Colts flew down, swooping aggressively out of the sun to SLAP THE BALL OUT OF THE AIR at the end of the Eagles game tonight?  Not so amazing as a slow motion replay as it reminds me of a large bird flying into and bouncing off a blimp.

The story of how I was rescued from Hurricane Katrina is an amazing one and will, hopefully, one day end a book I plan to write of my life and times in the legendary City that Care Forgot.

But my poor wife has had enough.  Her life has been a mess since she was 15 and as her husband I want it all to stop.  I guess this is a plea to the man above - a kind of open dialogue.  I am totally ready for your answer but, dude, it’s getting old. 

Give her a break.  Please ease up on the constant pain she has found herself in.  It is heartbreaking to hear those moans 80% of the night.  I hate having to sleep separately after 8 years of not spending more than two nights apart.  She doesn’t need to bleed from everywhere you shouldn’t bleed from.  She doesn’t deserver to have to ask for help to put a shirt on.

It’s hard on people like us.  Most jazz musicians do not have health insurance.  I am blessed with a great friend and boss in Carl who has helped up deal with Kristen’s medical bills. 

Tomorrow Ann Foley gets married. Ann is like a sister to me.  We met at O’Doodle’s in our positions as Fran O’Donnell’s right and left hand go-to people.  We became fast friends and her Jeff is a great guy.  Kristen fell for Ann too and we both feel so much for her.  Kristen has been looking forward to Ann’s wedding for a year now and she can’t go.  I will have to go in her place and, quite honestly, it will feel weird. 

I miss my wife and I miss my best friend.  Please give her a break.  She has been in pain far too long and we are all more than willing to do anything to help her.

- Charles Dickens

To quote a more modern hero, “I pity the fool,” who can honestly say that.  Recently the idea of love has taken on an entirerly new concept.  A month ago Kristen was stricken with the most peculiar of illnesses.  She was in hospital for 20 days beginning June 18th.  I went to see her every single day, save one due to forces beyond my control.

I also found time to focus the pain into an evolution of sorts. 

Thank you to Jason Fifield who provided me with the use of his mini-disc recorder.  I couldn’t sleep so I focused on playing, creating, drinking and living to excess.  I kept flipping pages of the “Real Book” just playing songs I have known for God knows how long.  Then, it happened.  The song was “When I Fall In Love” and as I finished it I realized I was no longer in control.  I was in the passenger seat letting some force propel my fingers to dance in ways they never had.  A reharmonization spontaneously occured.

I then went and listened back on the 10-plus hours I had recorded.  I found a handful of great performances.  Oddly enough these great performances happened with songs that I, personally, did not care for.  But there was something there.  An evolution of my own personal sound.  I have stood by my playing on albums and recordings in the past.  Truby Trio was great.  I sound great.  I know hear that there is a maturity lacking every single performance.  I feel I have evolved and moved up a level in playing.  I hear things that I wouldn’t have done in the past that reflect the pain and dispair and lost feeling I was beginning to know (all too well).

I am proud of all this.  The recording is available for sale.  Let me know if you’d like one.  It’s only $8.  It’s only a half hour of music.  But it is potent for what it’s worth.  It’s something that brings me to another level of musicianship.  And again I am put at a crossroads.  I still cannot comfortably meld jazz and the roots rock/funk i love so much.  Again the balance of my desires is put on the scales.  THis happens every few years.  It’s annoying. 

Bill Evans v. Art Neville.

It is a hard rock to be pressed up against.

Thirty one hours until I leave for North Carolina.  It’s been years since any sort of travel for a gig.  I did clock in almost 100 gigs more than 150 miles from home back in 2001 or 2002, but that was long before I even met my loverly wife.  She was commenting on how, when we met, I didn’t really present myself as a musician.  I told her I worked part time in a CD store, which I did - rather poorly.  I tried to explain that at that time, late 2003, I had left the whole “jam-band” thing.  Fun scene, but couldn’t see myself ten years later still wearing t-shirts and jeans “noodling” around the same two or three chord vamps watching college trustifarians pack another bowl with some strain of something laced with something exotic that I always thought was either an oven cleaner or made in a trailer equipped with three Bunsen burners too many.

Tomorrow night the Nuns will be at the Venetian Clubin Philadelphia.  We end at 12:30am.  By some miracle I will be in bed and fully rested when I hit the road 6:45am with Melissa.  The rest of the band is leaving tomorrow, lucky bastards.  Sleep is all but over-rated.

We began looking for a new apartment a month or so ago.  Unfortunately, I had two pretty crazy weeks.  One with Drake’s and the other with gigs.  After clocking in over 122 hours between the two over 10 days Kris and I sat down to actually look at places.

Today we finally found a place worth seeing.  Two, actually.  I had an abortion of an appointment yesterday.  Replace carpets, people.  The afterbirth of New Years Eve 1998 is not something I want to see when I wake up on my living room floor after barely making it home when Mike Dulle comes to town.

The first place was cute, but we were stood up.  The drive thru the neighborhood of the second place was so wonderful we turned around and stood them up.

ANYWAY…..    THE INLAND SEA

The evening unfolded with Kristen and I discussing money issues.  We were going to try and go out and meet up with my boss, and friend, Carl and his wife after they went out to dinner.  After we realized we were broke it was decided that going out was not in the near future.  Then Pres. Bush came on every channel we have (we are on one of those fancy antennas) to discuss the economic crisis.  (This post is not anti-Bush or anything political so let’s not make it that.)  After the speech sends us on a deep depression Kristen takes the ball and decides it’s time to leave. 

A block from our apartment we see Carl on the street, waiting for Claire to join him outside.  We move on to the Tavern on the Hill for a cocktail.  Once there we are greeted with a half-full bar, most people we know.  The patrons trickle out over the next half hour and we are left, almost alone, with a strange man.  Kristen went outside and came back disturbed that this strange man came up to her and rubbed her shoulder and arm in a way that is somewhat inappropriate.  Ten minutes later, while Carl is outside on the phone, Claire scoots a stool closer to me (taking Carl’s seat) pretending to read a sign and whispers that the strange man came up and rubbed her back in a way that wasn’t kosher.

I speak to the owner who informs me that this character (lets refer to him as A-hole from now on) has been in there all evening buying drinks for females that don’t know him.  The group makes the decision that A-hole is ruining the evening and it’s time to move on.  We pay our tab, at which point I notice that A-hole is getting his tab as well.

Half a block away from the bar it is realized that Carl and Claire’s car should be moved.  Claire volenteers to do it alone.  She crosses the street and I see A-hole exit the bar.  Carl, Kristen and myself stop walking to watch and A-hole looks at us and looks at Claire (across the street from him at this point) and he goes to follow her.  We promptly cross the street where we are to keep an eye.   Kristen then runs towards Claire (now a block away) and yells for that she wants to ride with her.  She meets up with Claire and they go down the alley of closed stores toward the parking lot.  Once they get out of our sight A-hole breaks into running and chases after them. 

Without missing a beat both Carl and I kick it up and run after him, Carl yelling a prominent, “HEY!”.  At this point (and afterwards Carl thought the same thing) I realize that I will keep running towards this guy but have no clue what I will do when I get there.  I then turn to my right and realize that Carl still has a lit cigarette.  That’s all we need to get some answers.  I am still on the sidewalk and Carl has made a shortcut through Border’s parking lot.  I then witness the man leap (in full original Super Mario Bros.-style pose) over the four foot wall at the edge of the lot. 

Turning the corner we are greeted with the pleasent image of Claire and Kristen already in Claire’s car backing out of a space.  When Carl and I reach the parking lot A-hole is off to the side in the shadows, realizing that the “boys” had chased after the “girls”.  He stood in the shadows and didn’t even have the decency to pretend he was urinating.

Good news is that the douchebag paid with a credit card and we have his name.  We went down to Campbell’s and Roger hooked us up.  All in all the evening was cool for all the wrong reasons.  On a side note, while driving away A-hole came out of the shadows on a sidestreet and Kristen gave him the finger and he returned the gesture.