the stage in charlotte

Francisco was out of town this weekend, so I was left to fend for myself in terms of finding a gig. I called my buddy Woody and asked if I could come up to Charlotte to play with him and Scott Munns. They agreed.

I had a great time. They have a great new bar up there in a great location. Everyone in Charlotte is really nice. It seems like a completely different world than Atlanta. One girl actually said to me “We can hear booty music at any club. We want to hear you guys.” I had to ask her to repeat those words after I regained my composure.

Some girls were not so nice. One was being quite a bit snotty after we finished on Saturday night, so Wood spit some water on her. I thought that was awfully funny, but I had had a drink or two, so what do I know?

The weekend eventually came to an end, sadly, but I’m sure I’ll go back soon. Those guys are a lot of fun to hang out with.

America

We opened for America this weekend at the Fredrick Brown Jr Ampitheatre in Peachtree City. It was a really nice venue, and they even fed us with a little prodding.

Mossimo and I were so hungry that when a sound guy walked by with some wendy’s bags we leered hungrily at him. I think he could tell we were planning him some ill doings. Francisco convinced the girls working in the kitchen that feeding us would be okay since America had already eaten.

The way it tends to work in these opener situations is that the headlining act is a shining god that walks the universe in golden slippers, and you, the opening act, are a dog turd. You get fed only if the headliner and all their crew have eaten. That’s just how it works. Francisco nabbed a few guitar picks from America though, so we showed them.

As per usual I couldn’t hear dick in my monitor. Even though sound people go through a lot of flopping about on stage setting up monitors, you can never really hear anything. I don’t know why this is, but I know why headlining acts are pricks about their monitor levels. They are god damned essential.

The facility was really nice. It is on a hill of pine trees with a pretty intimate little thing going on. I would love to play there again.

For those of you who are poets, I want to let you know about a contest that a friend of mine is running. I defer to his email, included below:

The third annual Dropping the Hammer Poetry Contest is gearing up to get moving. Entries will be received during the summer, from June 20th until September 20th, 2004 The entry fee is $1.00 per poem sent, and the body of work as a whole is judged, not single poems. Because the prize is chapbooks (and an e-book) of the poet’s work, more poems give the judges a better chance at getting a feel for the poet’s work that will be showcased by the book. The number of poems received dictates the number of dollars received, and the print run of the chapbook depends on the money. Unlike a reading fee of $5-$15 for 3-5 poems, this contest allows a poet to “bet” any sum of money that they are better than anyone else who will enter.

The winner of the first annual contest was recent Ruth Lilly Fellowship recipient Kathleen Rooney, whose chapbook was titled Local Girl Makes Good. She graduated summa cum laude from George Washington University and was a Pembroke Scholar at Oxford University. She has read and reviewed poetry for Ploughshares, The Harvard Review, Wooden Teeth, and The Reader and has worked as a bookseller, an aide to Senator Richard Durbin (D-IL), and a fashion specialist. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in such journals as Puerto del Sol, Cimarron Review, and Rhino, and her non-fiction has appeared in Boston Review, Harvard Review, Acumen, The Weekly Dig and The Nation. She currently resides in Boston and is pursuing an M.F.A. at Emerson College, where she is the editor of Beacon Street Review.

The winner of the second annual contest was experimental musician/poet Jeff McLeod, whose chapbook was entitled Itokturé, for a nonsensical word he heard in a lucid dream. “Born and raised in rural Ramer, Alabama, Jeff has been studying and making music for over 20 years . . . and still finding ways to realize how little he knows. In past years, he has struggled with resonance, noise and instrumental limitations solo under the moniker of Gezoleen, blasted away at the musical heart of improv rock with the nightmare space rock trio Stull, barfed out great hunks of skewed melody and utter noise with The Hemogoblins & Liquid Brick, and most recently Saragashum, an aggressive, mostly instrumental prog-rock band. Other projects include the electronic music of Skreephasia, Dead Operator, Shadow Code. He wrote, booked for and toured with noise rockers bert for over 6 years.” He also founded and hosts the Alabama Improvisation Cooperative, a monthly gathering of experimental musicians. His web site www.soundandchaos.com contains more information

Because the emphasis of the contest is on the poet, not one poem, there is tremendous room for a broad range of styles. The selection process is done by a group of poets and readers of varying backgrounds and styles so that no one style receives preference.

A winner will chosen and notified by November 1st, 2004. Entrants who include an e-mail address with their submission will be notified whether they are chosen or not. Don’t bother with a SASE.

Be sure your name is on every sheet, every page, every poem, in case submissions get shuffled or separated. Be sure longer poems have page numbers on them.

For questions, feel free to e-mail DroppingtheHammerPoetry@hotmail.com, a temporary e-mail address created for this purpose. BECAUSE AN ENTRY FEE MUST ACCOMPANY SUBMISSIONS, NO E-MAIL SUBMISSIONS WILL BE ACCEPTED.

Thanks, and don’t send entries until after June 20th . . .
Foster Dickson

There is also a PDF, which can be seen here. Make with the entries, you little poet you.

Here’s a story recently (today) related to me by my buddy Chris from Force Ten Software. This is the AIM log.

chris: here is the story I was telling Daniel (unedited for your reading pleasure)
chris: “Jim did the funniest thing once in mine and Doug’s room at BSC. We lived directly across the hall from the our RA who was a real hard-ass dork – he took his RA’ness very seriously. Keep in mind these are like 10′x10′ dorm rooms. Jim was setting fire to something – plastic or something – and of course it started smoking like shit because he’s a dumbass – and of course it set off our smoke detector. so rather than thinking “oh shit, I better put out this fire and disable the smoke detector so we don’t get in trouble…” Jim justs covers his ears and proceeds to stare at me for 10 seconds. As if he’s thinking “What the hell is that thing making noise for?”. He then slowly gets up (ears still covered) – opens the door (of course to find the RA standing right there having already come out of his own room from the noise) and Jim just looks at the RA (ears still covered) with the straightest face and says “Make…it…stop…”
x0rg: haha
x0rg: i dont remember that
chris: it was like my first week at BSC
chris: like “oh, nice dorm room guys, what can I set on fire”
x0rg: heh
x0rg: fire
x0rg: burning

Since I quit smoking I have less access to lighters, and thus, burn things less often. Stupid health concerns.

Woody was late, as he tends to be. There was great discussion and consternation over whether or not Francisco had told him that the wedding and reception were in the very same spot, thus precluding any during-wedding setups. The upshot of all this was that someone had to walk up the road and wait for him while the wedding went on. Since I wasn’t actually invited, I was just playing in the band, I went to wait for him.

I had heard that John Mayer was supposed to be there, but I hadn’t seen him yet. As I was waiting for Wood, a dusty brown Saturn pulled up with Mayer in the passenger seat, followed by a speeding Woody careening down the winding road. He stopped his truck and I went to meet him as Mayer and pals got out and walked up the path behind us.

“You see Mayer?” I asked Wood.

“Yeah, I almost hit him”

I helped Wood grab his drums and take them to a hallway close to the wedding so we could quickly set them up after the wedding was over. We were very careful not to drop any cymbals or other shit which would make a huge noise and ruin the wedding.

“How would you like it if I pushed you out there and yelled HEY LOOK AT ME?” Wood whispered.

Eventually we got everything set up and the reception began. We started to play a few songs, and things were going along fine. We quickly began to have a problem thinking of new songs to play.

“What should we play now?” Francisco asked the band, comprised of Hank, Wood, and myself.

“Well we can’t play Counting Crows… John was on tour with them for a long time” Hank put in.

“Can’t play any Mayer or Dave Harris, obviously…” Wood said.

“Whos not here?” Hank asked.

“Angie,” Fran suggested.

“Yeah, Angie”

And so, we played an Angie Aparo tune.