Tonight I was hanging around at the Saloon watching my hero the Tonemaster play with the boys. Tomorrow night I am playing there, but tonight he had the gig. I wanted to watch him do his thing anyway.

For some reason, McLemore the bass player put his bass down and ran off in the ass-middle of the set, so I grabbed the Tonemaster’s guitar and he played bass. He looked pretty funny with the bass on, but I was trying not to fuck up in front of someone whose playing I admire so much.

So, I’m whacking away at his guitar and sloshing all manner of drinks down my neck, and of course, there are a heap of foolish women pressed against the stage like wildly colorful sardines. One of them was shouting at me in the middle of my solo, as they are wont to do.

I couldn’t catch what she was saying, but I think it was “You look like you could use some company” because about three seconds later there were 6 women on stage with us. They were dancing about and rubbing themselves on us, and I was trying not to a) fuck up or b) get pushed against the drums.

If you’ve never had a drummer whack a cymbal which is pressing against you at the time, I’m here to tell you it feels like getting 100,000 volts to the love handle.

So these foolish girls jumped their drunken asses up on stage and began to gyrate wildly along to whatever it was I was trying not to fuck up playing, and I decided it was time for a little justice, so I slapped the closest one on the ass.

She turned to look at me, but I was back to playing by that time. She kept looking around for the mysterious ass slapper, and eventually gave up and gyrated some more.

Ha ha. Foolish women, your asses will be slapped!

Unless you have been living with your head up a giraffe’s ass, and big hugs to those who have, you have no doubt seen the ditech.com ads on TV lately.

Something the ad made my TV say the other night made me wonder what I might have handy to punish it with.

“While other loan agencies are still filling out paperwork, ditech is processing your loan!”

Now, what do you suppose is involved in “Processing your loan”?

Paperwork, perhaps?

YES PROBABLY PAPERWORK.

So, turns out I had screwed up my comments. Hee hee! Andrew fixed it, though. Yay Andrew!

Last night I was playing with the guys over at Lulu’s, and we were in the middle of a song. I was trying to play a good solo, when a lady wandered up tp the stage. She had that look on her face.

Sometimes people in the crowd decide they have something important to tell you, like “Play ‘Peg’!” or “I wanna hear Hall and Oats!” and they just can not wait until a song break to do it.

Now, not only was I obviously playing at the time, but I was playing a SOLO. Just when I need my concentration most, this lady wants to have a chit chat about what song she wants to hear.

“Lady, I’m playing a solo!” I said, still playing away.

“But I want to hear a slow song!” she said.

I looked over at Jeremy, bassist and bandleader. He shrugged.

“Lady, I’m playing a solo!” I repeated.

She went away.

Jeez! My solos are bad enough without some woman stumbling up to the stage and demanding to yuk it up with me about her desires for a slow song in the ass-middle of them. She could have talked to Jeremy, standing right there next to me, obviously NOT playing a solo, but no!

DO me a favor, my friends. If you want to hear a song, please wait until a break between songs to let your local musicians know. We like making you happy and we want to play what you want to hear, so please help us do so by not being a complete twat.

Thank you.

Man, I just had to learn a Steely Dan song for one of my gigs. It’s called “Peg”, and I’m quite sure that Steely Dan’s members wrote it specifically to make me want to gouge out my eyes with a broom handle sharpened to a point.

Let’s talk about how much I hate this song.

First of all, I hate the saxophone, and it comes in pretty early, so right off the bat I’m ready to damage something nearby. The opening chords don’t make me all that mad, but they are walking a thin line.

Then come the lyrics, which were lifted from a red-tiled bathroom wall somewhere in the 7th layer of Hell, or so I have surmised. Not only do I hate the lyrics, I hate the sound of the singer’s voice because of the effects they have on them. I presume these were purchased off the shelf at the House of Sorrowful Ears and rushed over to the studio for this vocal track. Not only do I hate the lyrics and the effects, but I hate the way the guy says “Peg”

He says “Paig”. PAIG! LORD JESUS GOD I HATE THIS SONG WITH THE FEROCIOUS INTENSITY OF A MILLION CRACKED OUT MIKE TYSONS.

I had to learn it tonight for my gig tomorrow night. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t really want to do, like travel the earth eradicating all vestiges of the song “Peg” by Steely Dan, or tongue-kissing the mailman.

Christ, I even hate the name Peg. If Any of you fine people are named Peg, I’m sure you are just as sweet as can be, and truth be told, I would probably sex you up like the shiny-haired love muffin you are, but I would insist on calling you something else.

Like Sweet Nips or something.