Below The Fold

The things I swore to myself I’d never do, I’ve been doing. I’ve been so focused on work that I haven’t had time to really decompress over the last several weeks. All my writing focus has been on the freelance work, and then there’s nothing left for these margins. I feel a bit like the neglectful father who spends too many hours at the office…The funny part is, important people have noticed, and things may be about ripe for a change…
The landscape changed again. A minor change, for me, a long, lazy turn on the highway where the car finds its own path through the curve. The curve was a little tighter for Amy, but she’s made of steel and silk—too strong and too august in her temperance to be shaken too deeply.
I’m ready for the spring.
We purchased our home too close to the end of the summer to appreciate our yard last year, and it was fall before we knew it. I’m looking forward to long, lazy Sundays full of barbeque and comity. I hired a lawn care guy last week. He’s going to mow, edge, trim and clean our yard every week for $90 a month. He’s a third generation Colorado native, a bit of an anomaly in a land where the sun shines 300 days a year and you can play golf in December (don’t tell anyone…). He also gave us a bid for ripping out the enormous juniper bushes that impose themselves on the front of the house, and the bid is fully a tenth of other bids we received. Amy wants to replace them with a thick bed of day-lilies…
I’ve had two rehearsals with the new band. I’m back on keys, which I haven’t played steadily since the “Fyre and Ice Prjoect.”
That wasn’t a misspelling.
His name was Mike Montoya, and he worked at the same dry cleaners Terry drove a delivery van for. Terry was a bassist with Attention Deficit Disorder. Playing in a band with an ADD-diagnosed bassist is like living in a Lorne Michaels sketch.
Mike was in his 40s, and we were barely old enough to drink. Mike was a decent enough guitarist, but he had grown up idolizing Santana and wore bolero waist coats and had long, straight, black hair. With him as a frontman, we were instantly banished to the “B” circuit, playing Santana and Stevie Ray Vaughn Covers interlaced with the occasional cumbia for rooms full of Mexican drug runners—or Ethiopian cab drivers, depending on the night. He made black t-shirts with yin-yang symbols that had flames and snowflakes in them. The only thing we were missing was Will Ferrell on the cow bell.
But I’m excited about the new group. We’ll be gigging very soon, and I hope you’ll enjoy the music as much as I do. The songcrafting is some of the best I’ve been around.
Speaking of, I’m going to see Elvis Costello tonight. The last time I saw him was when he toured with Burt Bacharach. When it comes to songcrafting, there isn’t much better…