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24 november 2000
----- Leftovers, lots of leftovers. I'm surrounded by plates piled on plates, my penance for attending not one but two Thanksgiving dinners, sent home from both with so much to carry. I feel like I should freeze some of this stuff; it's gonna take me more than a week to get through it. Cold turkey tastes better now that I've quit smoking. Then again, quitting smoking tastes better now that I'm cold turkey. Semantics... ~~~ We recorded "Bigfoot" on Wednesday night, everything but the organ, since she was being quite temperamental when we tried to move her and I was in no mood to play anyway. Listening was enough for a change. The base tracks came out pretty cool, and IceDog's lead vocals were a definite keeper, sounding like the impossible son of Redd Foxx and Chris Tucker on asbestos. It's amazing how black our band is starting to sound. AC and Gabby pointed it out at the Scruffy's gig -- how our music is reminding them of the stuff they grew up on, that 70s soul street vibe. As Gabby put it: "I listen to you, and when I close my eyes I don't see a bunch of white boys anymore. You're taking me home..." AC and Gabby's was my first stop for Thanksgiving. I munched on ham, turkey, yams, collard greens, and blackeyed peas before I had to leave for Lakewood, where my friend T. had unexpectedly invited me to dinner at her family's house. I hadn't really spent much time with her since we attended a wedding together in march, a wedding that made me quite uncomfortable with our relationship at the time, but then, give me eight months and to chill and you'll find me mostly over the whole thing, wondering why I was so upset in the first place. T. answered the door dressed in black sleeveless top and long black skirt (she always looks great in black, I thought), and I soon realized that I was the only non-family member in attendance. I had a quick flashback to the wedding, at which I had concluded that the only reason I was invited was that so T. could walk in and out with a token male at her side. Was this the same sort of situation? Was I being passed off to family as the current male in her life? Not to worry ... I was introduced as a friend, but it didn't take long to notice that T. and I were the only single people there. Aside from the kids, that is... I talked with the family, played with the kids, schmoozed the parents, and even had a couple of conversations with T., cumulatively more communication that our entire San Francisco trip collectively. All in all it was a nice evening, and I was the last to leave, around 9pm. They packed me up two large plates of leftovers, and I was back on my way to Los Angeles. Back to Venice Beach, the old apartment, where AC, Gabby, and crew were finishing up their own festivities. I had some more ham and collard greens, and we watched "Groundhog Day" in the living room. I finally left around 11:30 and headed straight home to Malibu, where I surfed a little bit and then read myself to lonely sleep. I opened the busiest shopping day of the year with a trip to the Wherehouse, where I bought that Coldplay cd that I was craving the other day. I also grabbed the new Collective Soul off the "on sale" rack, and headed home to make another mix cd with my new possessions. I farted around the house all day until it was time to head to our studio to finish recording "Bigfoot." Wamba met me at the Cinema Bar, where he found me nursing a Haake-Beck non-alcoholic malt beverage, and we drove to the studio together. IceDog was waiting with beer and a smile. We mic-ed up the Leslie cabinet, I donned some headphones, and I proceeded to run through a warm-up track. It wasn't bad, although I kept on tangling my hands up in the headphone cord. Wamba called in from the control room... "Wanna listen to it?" "What, you fuckin' ran _tape_ on it?" "Of course." "Asshole." So I listened, and it was ok to keep, but I thought I could do better if I was a bit more relaxed about it. I took a hit off the joint burning in the ashtray and headed back to the studio. "Ready?" asked my headphones. "Yep," I told the talkback mic. The resultant take wound up being a keeper. We were done less than thirty minutes after arriving. We spent the rest of the night mixing the tune and watching the VHS copy of our webcast, which actually turned out pretty good, especially when compared to the shit version of it they're showing online. I'm waiting to come to terms with the sound of my own singing voice. I mentioned this to Wamba as we sat at a late night munchies place eating breakfast. He basically put it down to the fact that my mind is not used to having such a powerful voice (from quitting smoking, I guess) and he started to construct metaphors involving motorcycles and nuclear submarine reactors but his whole point was along the lines of too much raw power for the driver to currently handle. I don't know if I bought it or not. Home now, the DSL is dead. There's something wrong with my lines, and Verizon hasn't figured it out yet. I'm getting rather sporadic service of late. Think I'll finish my bad book now. 24 november 1999: : on hiatus til december 24 november 1998: : didn't write 24 november 1997: redesigning my life : rows and columns beware the ionic nonsence comes from the depths of me [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
