Futile Horn

06.08.2003 - 2:52 am (so now I know what it is I'm not expecting)

Today's network television broadcast of Carrie had my mom telling me about her psychic powers again. My skeptical wiseass inner monolog said to me, "Damn, I wish I had inherited some of that cosmic voodoo." But then I remember I have a power. It has happened to me on several occasions that things I have written as fiction have become oracles for the events of the next day. For instance, I wrote a song on Tuesday and Wednesday of this week, and almost every line of it had a strong relation to things that happened or were said when I went out in the city with my friends on Thursday night. I don't believe in that sort of thing, but if I spelled it all out, I'm sure I could convince some people that the associations were uncanny.

My friend who is doing service work in Chicago was home for his brother's graduation from law school, and he brought two of his co-volunteers and we had dinner in Chinatown and then saw a jazz band in the East Village. We went to a few pretty cool bars after that, which I must remember in the inevitable occasion I will have to entertain out-of-towners in lower Manhattan again.

I wrote my first two songs on Pickle this week. I like them both. I wouldn't mind putting a little window dressing on either of them, but I've chosen to feel optimistic that I am finally getting somewhere. I once decided to give myself two years to become a good song writer. That was last January. I'm kinda hoping that I'll make it.

I went to Eugene's today to try out an musical project I had started a while ago. I wanted to try to do an electric version, but it ended up being kind of strange. We came up with something that sounded all right, but I had to redo the melody to make it all fit, and I think it sounded too bright for the words. I really haven't much idea on how to approach making an arrangement. The acoustic version I had been fiddling with this morning might have more promise. Maybe I'll finish it and send him it on Monday and see if he thinks that one sounds better.

Boys and their electric guitars. They all want to be the next Zeppelin.

I think I will go to bed now because I have to go to an engagement party tomorrow. It should be all right, but I'll have to wear a suit, I'll have to bring an expensive gift, and I will have to pretend to tolerate one or two people I can't. And it's at 12:30 in the afternoon. The sum of these facts makes me cranky.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn