What a Saturday!

Diary posts are pretty narcissistic and self-indulgent.

I guess I’m feeling narcissistic and self-indulgent. Consider yourself forewarned. I’ll try to exercise brevity.

On Saturday morning I had an appointment with the Burbank Police Department. It’s a nice place, as long as you’re not going there in handcuffs. Which I wasn’t. I was there to meet with Detective Spears. I’m sorry to report that she looks nothing like Brittney. I don’t even think they’re related. Imagine my sadness at finding this out.

Still, I had business to take care of. I got my picture taken and pressed my right index finger firmly on the fingerprint pad. And then, it was done.

I had my new badge for the Burbank Animal Shelter. Now I can finally play with the dogs! It’s good to volunteer.

After I left the police station a free man (I went in as a free man too, but that makes it less dramatic) I went and picked up Phillip the drummer. Now, I was nervous. As you know, we were going to work on drum arrangements for the Rhymes with Orange CD. Some of the guitar parts were recorded over a year ago, and the last time I played in front of anyone else was in October of 2001. That’s about 28 years in dog years.

We got to the space and set up the equipment. I didn’t quite remember how to lead a band at first, but it came back to me in short order. Phillip was driven to learn, and before I knew it we were both dripping in sweat. He’d toss an idea in to the drum part, it would work or it wouldn’t, we’d take a quick break to discuss it, he’d toss off a quick count of four and we’d be off jamming through the song again.

It was exhilarating! The nerves faded away like they always do. At first it was tough to make eye contact with Phillip, partly because he’s one of the shaggiest guys I’ve ever met and partly because I was afraid I’d see him mouth the words “this music is shit!” at me. Then I realized I needed to give him cues, and the best way to do that was to look at him.

For the first time in years, I felt the blood of a musician flow through my veins. There was no fear, no self-consciousness and I felt alive like only a musician can. The heat of the rehearsal room couldn’t touch me. The small stage we were on held my entire world.

We went back t0 Phillips house, where the rest of his family was cutting into a banana cream pie. They invited me in, and I swear it was like I was back home in the Midwest. A family sitting down for an afternoon snack, including the baby. Phillip’s father, who has produced a lot of music for a lot of famous musicians and bands, asked Phillip what the music was like. Phillip rattled off the names of a few band that I had never heard of, at which point his father arched his eyebrows, looked at me, and said “I’d be very interested in hearing your work sometime.”

I tried really hard not to shit my pants.

That, my friend, is what I call a very good Saturday.