Monday, Nov. 12, 2012

Rehearsal:

I’m 4 days from being 65. I’m up early, coffee, stretch, curse the snow on the ground and the cars and the highway. Gather my gear, guitar, amp, mic’s and stands, 3 ring binders of words as well as home-made charts, gather it all into a pile near the front door. Enter the outside and start the car, de’snow the windows, start the motor, turn on the defrost front and back.  Go back to the front door, kick the fricken snow from my boots and exit the outside into the inside for another mother load of coffee.

Rehearsal:

At 64 YOA, (years of age). For a $100 gig on Thursday, the night before I’m 65. I’ve been doing this for over 50 years. For what? Why?

Load all that schlepp that’s in the living room into the car, tossing it and throwing it where it will go amongst the candy wrappers and gas receipts and napkins all recklessly strewn here and there, back seat, front seat and floor. My wife deplores my sloppiness, sometimes she deplores me.

Rehearsal:

God knows, there is no reason to do this ‘cept pride, and selfishness and hope in hopeless dreams. Truth is, there are no dreams. There never were goals either,  just one foot in front of the other with a guitar in my hand, a book of song lyrics/poems all mine, much like this I’m writing right now>nothing short of nothing much.

Oh well, what the hell else is there to do 4 days away from 65? watch TV? No, I gave that up at 63 and I’m none the worst for it.

Rehearsal:

Drive to Edina on summer tires that slipped even then. Hump the crap outta the car into Bobby’s abode, down the stairs, set up, pass out the charts (in the old day’s it was weed or lines, times they have a changed Bob D.

Rehearsal:

For the moment. For the friendship, for the warding off the demons that say NO when all the world says YES!

Rehearsal:

The word with the word EAR in it—rehEARsal!

Rehearsal:

Oh Lord, I could go on and on and on. Fifty years of it, and each friend in this rehearsal has 50 years of their own stories they could tell, and tell and tell. The near misses, the hotty chicks and the overdoses‘ and the big bucks that slipped past our pockets and ended up, (like a Perry Mason mystery) in the pockets of ‘some other guy’.

Rehearsal:

It takes 40 minutes in good weather to get there, at least 60 minutes today, lets say 65 in keeping with the situation.

Rehearsal:

The band is called, this week, The Walking Wounded because that is what we are. We walk wounded but sit when we play.

Rehearsal:

We’re friends, bitch’ing, complaining, laughing, attempt a little concentrating and all the while knowing full well when the $100 gig comes on Thursday night we may not remember one thing we did today: But we will remember that we did rehearse something, and for that something, and time we spent, we were kids again.

Rehearsal:

Rehearsal is mostly a four letter word, xcept today its the motor and mortar of this little piece called—REHEARSAL!. 

Thanks for being here and we’ll be seein ya Thursday Night!

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