(that pic ... Selva w/acoustic guitar, me singing, not last night, but three weeks ago)

Last night's gig was weird to me, though probably the most successful for the band. We pulled in a final headcount of 102, not counting the band and crew, and everyone seemed to really enjoy it. My vocal monitor wigged out halfway through the show, so while the audience could hear me sing just fine, I couldn't hear myself for shit. I twisted my ankle jumping off the Hammond B-3, onto which I climbed to solo during one of Selva's tunes. Afterwards, someone grabbed my ass and disappeared before I could figure out who it was. MTV Brazil is interested in us, as is the founding VP of the House of Blues, who might want to put us on this site.

And I'm still kind of funked up about life in general. I'm thinking of taking a week's vacation from work, just to stay in Los Angeles and get my life in order. Lately I've been feeling like my life's been living me, as opposed to me living my life. I plan and plan, build and build for this unseen future, flying blind I guess, and I when I stop to assess myself, I realize that everything I've planned and built -- all I've created is threatening to overwhelm me. It all seems pointless, and yet it's powerful enough to destroy me, this life I've built for myself. It's kind of like where some random animal starts eating its own tail and keeps eating until there's nothing left. Or maybe it's just like a really powerful vacuum cleaner that swallows itself. I think the best example is from the Sea of Monsters in the movie "Yellow Submarine" -- there was this huge creature with a big anteater type snout that went around sucking up everything in site. And of course, in the end, he ran out of stuff to suck up, so he turned his snout on himself and ... POOF .... he disappeared.

I need to vacuum my bedroom today.

I also need to do laundry, but I'm way too lazy.

More later....

Went out for dinner with Icedog and Wamba at Don Antonio's on Pico, a mere three blocks from where we played last night. Two shot of Cuervo Gold and an order of Carne Asada primed me for the drive down to Long Beach to see my good friend Jen.

Long Beach ... all I can think of when I go down there is "Lethal Weapon." The first movie ... drugged out chick throws herself off a building in downtown Long Beach. The second movie ... big gunfight with racist South Africans on a boat in Long Beach. The third movie ... hmm, I'll get back toya on that one. The fourth movie ... flamethrower dude goes berserk and Danny Glover dances naked like a chicken in downtown Long Beach, and a big fight with Jet Li on a dock in Long Beach.

Tonight we wound up at a dive bar on Second Street in Long Beach. There was a drunk 80-something year old guy who tried to pick a fight with a much younger guy, and the much younger guy got out of his chair and hugged the 80-something year old guy. I thought that was cool. But still, the old guy tried to swing a few punches and got off balance and fell to the floor, and we all had to help him up. Weird scene. Jen and I decided to go elsewhere.

After driving through every corner of Long Beach looking for the ultimate dive bar, we gave up and headed over the bridge to the Queen Mary, a Titanic-esque ocean-liner-turned-hotel that's been docked at the harbor for years. We settled at the "Observation Bar" nestled at the bow of Deck 4. It was an Art Deco room which reminded me of my favorite bars in New York. I had a vodka martini and we chatted with the bartender about tourists, working on a boat, southern california in general, and the pathos of life. If it wasn't for the eight dollar parking charge (tourist central during the day, I guess), I'd return to this place often.

(strangely, now I have a hankering to go on a cruise. anybody wanna come with me? if not, do you know of a good singles cruise where a geek like me could have fun and maybe get laid?)

get laid? Yes, I'm horny as hell. It's the most superficial bad afteraffect of my breakup. It's the reason I refuse to try to quit smoking and get in shape right now. Why? Because the last time I quit smoking and got in shape my libido took off like a sputnik rocket. A slight breeze would blow and I'd have a tent in my pants. I can't afford to be 31 years old with the sex drive of someone half my age. So I smoke, and I drink, and I only get really horny two or three times a day. It works out better that way.

Anyway, my wrists get enough exercise playing with the band.

How undeniably crude.

Yes, the horniness is superficial, but the loneliness is not. Fuck sex (wrong choice of words?) ... what I'm really talking about is the non-sexual-yet-physical side of things. Waking up next to someone in the morning. Rolling over in the middle of the night to a warm body. The touch of a hand, a certain look in the eye, the scent of closeness, a lover's head on my shoulder at the most random moment of an otherwise mundane day. I wonder if I'll ever be able to connect to someone that way again.

Yes, I know what's causing my funk. It's a combination of lots of shit, but mainly it's my refusal/fear/reluctance to take control of my own life. To take responsibility for myself. I'm aware of the problem, and yet I choose to do nothing to solve it. Call me lazy, dishonest ... whatever, I know it. The truth is, I'm procrastinating making my life better.

Nobody to blame but me ... don'tcha think I know that?

Funk Tu Cuerpo. Second song in the set. "Funk Your Body." My least favorite song in the set. Same tune, it got them dancing last night. I still wonder who it was that grabbed my ass.