Futile Horn

07.22.2003 - 5:46 am (stories in suspension)

I hate waking up at 4 a.m. I am too disoriented to know what to do with myself. But at least I got some sleep. About 12 hours worth I think. I worked Friday Saturday Sunday nights, and I got little sleep after Friday and almost none after Saturday. I had quite an interesting time keeping awake on the drive home Sunday morning. I had finished work around 2, but I wouldn’t get paid until 4, and when that came around, I wanted breakfast, so it was obvious I would have to keep drinking until the diner opened at 6. About half the wait staff was still hanging around since 12. We gave each other a lot of crap, it was good fun.

The Irish imports always jibe people from different counties in Ireland. It’s funny to listen to because to me they all look and act and talk the same. Sports usually come up in these conversations because I think an athlete actually has to be from the region he represents on the playing field. Hurlers this, hurlers that.

So I actually got to play a song in a bar Sunday night. After the dj had played all the songs twice, they wanted one of the younger waitresses to sing a song. She didn’t want to, but they kept pressing, so she said she would sing if her father accompanied her on guitar, and he went home and got it and she sang some Garth Brooks song (damn me for recognizing a Garth Brooks song when I hear it). Of course, I can’t see a guitar without wanting to touch it, so I asked, as and soon as I picked up I had the microphone thrust at me. So I sang I song I wrote called “Janine.” When I mentioned it was my song, I mostly just had to deflect questions about who Janine might be (To be honest I think everyone who has heard that song has asked the question. Janine had gotten her name from a David Bowie song I had heard a few moments before). I’ve always been so nervous about playing for people, but after the first verse I got the confidence that I usually have playing in an empty room, so it was cool. I see myself potentially become comfortable in that situation eventually.

I heard that Ziggy Marley took his first name from Ziggy Stardust.

My friend left two messages on my machine, inviting me over both Friday and Saturday nights. I meant to call him and tell him what’s up, but I’ve been either asleep or not home when he might have been awake and at home. Oops.

The smoking ban goes into effect next weekend. I probably won’t have very much left to do. Heh.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn