Monday, March 1, 2010

'It Smells Like Bacon'

Okay, hands on keys…write. Self Pity: The act of feeling sorry for one's self. Got it. I'm all hooked up on that one today. I've got those low down, rainy day, remember when, broken hearted, forlorn, double dealing, aces and eights kind of blues today. I got up this morning early and I fought, I really did, I fought hard but got knocked down in the first round, cut my lip and never really recovered. I prayed extra hard too, like an evangelist with a church full of people, just getting ready to make the walk to the pulpit. I fixed some coffee after I walked away from the pulpit (the sermon didn't go well) and went to shake hands (at least) with the rest of the day. I filled out a job application to work at Allen's Boots, before I left, because I love boots and because when you walk in the store it smells like fresh leather. I looked online for other jobs, but there wasn't much in the job market today. I went and dropped off the application at Allen's Boots. Note: Ironic that I applied for a job at Allen's Boots with holes in my socks. For a moment, I thought they were going to say, "Mister Shurtz, can you take off your boots please? We'd like to examine your socks." (Don't worry, I have other socks without holes, it was just one of those things, I mean, they were clean!). They didn't of course, but they looked at me suspiciously, "We'll call you," they said. I smiled, "Yes, I hope you do, I really do, I love boots…" (stupid response, but what did you expect from me today?)

Afterwards, I went to my noon meeting on Bouldin Avenue. I had one of those meetings (self pity) where I wanted to leave every five minutes. The first one in a long time when I felt this way, like no one liked me, like my hair was screwed up, like my breath was bad, like my socks had holes in them that no one could see really, but that's—what I thought. Everyone here knows that I have holes in my socks. I did stay in my chair, though I was a little upset that Lisa sat in Bob's old chair and I couldn't sit there. I especially wanted to sit in Bob's chair today. After she got her two year chip at the end of the meeting I felt a little guilty. I went to the dog park afterwards but because it was on again off again rain, no one was there. Baby ran around playing with invisible dogs while I braved the cold and windy day. She kept running over to sit and look at me, as if to say, "Can you whip up some dogs for me to play with?"

I'm really trying to think of some profound things to say, but there isn't anything profound about me today, perhaps there never really was, perhaps I'm faking being a writer, just shut up and write, the writer says. I think that public journal writing is a little insane, but it forces me into the writing just like a production date of a play forces me to finally write a play. Okay, I have to have an audience, I have to display my thoughts if I am to write them down. Ego driven. Self Serving. See the kind of mess I've made of myself today? I came home from the dog park, made some lunch and read out of 'The Musician's Handbook'. What a mistake that was, the eighth round and I'm almost TKO'd by that one. It’s a very readable book, but not one that is encouraging to a musician like me, longer on years and shorter on business knowledge. Jesus, would someone just walk by my door, hear me playing a song from inside and discover me? What's the deal? I'll tell you what. If I had that job to go out and discover people I would look for the most obscure ways to do it. I'd want a story behind every genius I found. I'd find that girl slinging syrup at The Waffle House. I'd find that kid on the street, tattooed with rhymes that roll. I'd sign that guy in the park with holes in his socks. I'd find a guy playing his guitar, isolated in a little apartment in the North of Austin. I'd put my ear to the door and really listen to those lyrics. I'd slide a contract under the door, sight unseen. I'd sign that older woman, who had to take to whorin' to pay for her kid's piano lessons. See, I'd look for the story behind the music. Whose that guy who went up in The Appalachian Mountains and discovered Doc Watson? I want to talk to that guy.

Okay, I feel really old today. I went to an improvisation class tonight with mostly twenty somethings. I could keep up with the references but couldn't really get my head around the silliness of an improvisation class. The teacher, though, was really good. He felt for me, maybe a little to much so, Jesus, how many times have I had to go into a situation and prove myself again? I don't know if everyone didn't laugh at my improvisations because I was an old guy or if I just wasn't funny tonight. That's the worse thing in an improv class, silence. I'm a drama guy, Okay? I don't do silly unless I'm talking to my dog. I mean, I thought, "Do you smell bacon?" was really funny! Silence. Bacon smell fell flat. Everything today and tonight seems like such a struggle. I know struggling with a day behooves us all, but I just feel plain weird today. Like I'm up above, watching myself bump my head against the wall because it will feel good when I stop. Shit, this is going no where. I was going to work on a poem but really, that's not going to happen. I could probably write a haiku about bacon, but I don't really do haiku. I really like the long form poems, the ones where people get part way through and think, "Christ, this poem is really to long." The same thing I thought when I started to read Whitman, I thought, "What in the hell is this guy even talking about?" Then one day, I started to get it. Sometimes, you just have to keep at it. I started reading Proust again, 'Remembrance of Things Past', thinking, I just finished 'Crime and Punishment' I can certainly take on Proust. Jesus! How many pages can a guy talk about going to sleep!? Many, that's how many. I threw the book across the room, I'm done with the second round of Proust.

I can't really return to the pulpit because I got thrown out of the church. I'll be forgiven eventually, but probably not tonight, everyone has gone home… this day is shot to hell…

7 comments:

B said...

i love Doc Watson. shady grove..

Gerry said...

Everybody goes down to total defeat now and then, but one's long time purposes and goals in life reassert themselves and once again the stars start to seem aligned in your favor. I discovered today I had been agitated for a reason and once I was able to figure out what that reason was I made an adjustment in my plans and started to feel all right again. I thought well I have got too many to fight with this course of action, so I changed plans. That might be what it is going to take with you. If nothing seems to be going well you may have run the course. A bigger change in direction may be what is required. Check it out carefully.

kanyonlandking-annk.blogspot.com said...

Bacon! Love that smell! Yes, the time might have come to move on...
What does Babe say?

Cheryl said...

Sounds like it's almost spring and time to come back to Boulder where you don't have to prove yourself to anyone - you are the rock star of boulder!! The Mesa is open, the burr trail grill had an open sign in the window yesterday. It's almost time. (And besides I miss you.)

Chuckh said...

heres a joke to lighten the mood:

A man gets on the bus one day looking sad and dejected. The bus driver asks him what's wrong and the man replies "I haven't had a date in years, I'm so lonely!" The bus driver says "I have a surefire method for meeting women... just watch." Just then a woman gets on the bus and bus driver says "tickle your ass with a feather?" The woman turns around in disgust and asks "What did you say?" The bus driver replies "typically nasty looking weather." "Oh..." says the woman who smiles sweetly and says "yes it is".

The man is amazed, and witnessing this two more times with perfect results, decides to try it himself. The next woman to board the bus walks past the man who repeats "tickle you ass with a feather?" To which the woman replies "Do you smell bacon?"
Sounds like you are getting a lot of rain. I told my Father in law that is was raining cats and dogs and that it was really lound, esp when the cats hit the roof. He told this to my mother in law and her response was, "Why do they have cats on the roof?" I know, huh? Hang in there, tomorrow is another day.

vooman's voice said...

Hell, your not old. I am going to be 70 this summer. I wanted you to know you cheered me up asking for Caffeine stories. I have a couple of good ones. Do you want them in story form or script form. I could even do poetry form. I'll bet I could lay down some good caffeine words working in those kind of places. Bird and Beckett asked when you were going to be back in town again...to read...maybe. I went to a good reading last night...of Sharon Doubiago's book MY FATHER'S LOVE...about being raped by her father a 7 years old.

LaRena said...

Ah--- Boys and their dogs, I could tell better stories about them than I could about drinking coffee. Each of my boys had a favorite dog and they always came through for them on one of those down and dirty, self pitying days. Ever dog I ever attached myself to ended in tragedy, so quit the attachments. Went to cats who can be funny if they are in the mood. Now I am happily pet free, except for learning to like all the dogs of my friends who are all silly dog lovers. I have to memorize all their dogs names and that is quite a fete for an old lady. I certainly don't want to call Rocky socksy or their people will surly think I don't know who's house I am in.(This could happen, and no doubt I would have holes in my sox.) Personally I think Baby was saying,"Come on Raymond, can't you see all these dogs frolicing in the wind and rain? Give me a brea. grab an umbrella and start singing 'Dancing in the rain' Gene Kelly will surely aploud. "Singing in the rain has been murdered enlugh since his time.

If you think you are old and not so funny, you should have seen William Shatner at the closing of the Olympics. Now he was so not funny you had to laugh. A young beautiful Canadian woman followed him that was a little bit funny about how much they love to say sorry in their country. Sorry if you find none of this humerous.

Cheryl is right, you are probably ready for a good dose of being the rock star of Boulder Utah. Lord knows they need one to appear after the winter of snow and more snow. You could probably run into the guy who discovers the obscure performer there. He would come just for the the scenery and lo there would be Raymond Shurtz, sitting on his doorstep playing his guitar. (We all know that happens.) (Oh oh, that ended in tragedy too, but boy did he have fame and fortune in the meantime.) You are much too smart to go that route, so we wont worry.

Oh yes, boys and their dogs. I do digress now-a-days. You can remember Randy's dogs names in case you wonder by Boulder Colorado. He has Gus, Condilac, and Sidney. Rather distictive names. They are all rejects from bing young and playful like Baby as they are sort of old and decepid. Still they have taught their people to be good servents to them, so I am sure they are very intelligent. Ya, can't help but love these dogs.