Lately, I’ve been listening to this acoustic blues musician named, Kelly Joe Phelps.
I first heard him after receiving his first solo CD last Christmas from my friend J0jo (who comments on the blog from time to time)
Phelps is an exceptional guitarist and my ears immediately perked up the first time I listened to him.
He has a way with his vocal as well. For some reason he sounds “familiar” to me, though I’m not quite sure why.
As I type this I’m listening to “Lead me on”, his first solo CD now residing peacefully in my Itunes.
Check out the video and give a listen to some new Kelly Joe with the assistance of the cool MP3 player at the bottom of the post.
If you like acoustic blues, Phelps is the man.
Archive for June, 2008
Lately, I’ve been listening to this acoustic blues musician named, Kelly Joe Phelps.
I’m all about the giving some days and today is one of those days.
Got a website for ya.
I just can’t keep this stuff to myself.
There is a specific reason I mention this but I’ll get to that in a few minutes.
If you want a real good laugh; do not pass go, do not collect $200 and go straight to hotchickswithdouchebags.com.
The site tagline is “Pictures of hot chicks with total and complete douchebags. With commentary.”
It is hysterical, imho.
The concept is fairly straightforward, find a guy that thinks he’s way too sexy and photograph him as he poses with some randy lass.
I thought of this website after seeing this narcissistic little prick get on the train.
He walks likes he’s on a freaking runway and I just want to stick my foot out into the aisle and watch this candyass fall flat on his face.
Yeah, he’s a gem. I have to laugh because I’ve actually seen him unsuccessfully try to pick up several women. (Dude, you’re on a train.)
He’s married as well, not that it really matters.
He is by all counts the quintessential HotchickswithDouchebags poster boy.
I’d love to see him hook up with Blondezilla.
Oh, wait a minute, that’s a different site altogether.
I think it’s NastyasschickswithDouchebags.com, but I could be wrong . . .
Right Said Fred knows all about it
btw- the guy in the picture won the highly coveted HCWD Choad of the year award.
And my, my, my wasn’t it richly deserved?
If you’ve ever wondered just what the hell Joe Cocker is saying, look no further.
Watch the video and learn.
Met Cocker years ago when I was playing in a band called “The Underground Balloon Corps”.
Interesting man, to say the very least.
As was the “Balloon Corps”
The sax player went on to a Tina Turner gig.
Haven’t heard from him since.
Damn, Joe sings great on this tune.
Shredded throat, ala carte
Good call, Butch
I want to live my next life backwards:
You start out dead and get that out of the way.
Then you wake up in a nursing home feeling better every day.
Then you get kicked out for being too healthy.
Enjoy your retirement and collect your pension.
Then when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day you work 40 years until you’re too young to work.
You get ready for High School: drink alcohol, party, and you’re generally promiscuous.
Then you go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, and you have no responsibilities.
Then you become a baby, and then… You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, in Spa-like conditions – central heating, room service on tap, and then…
You finish off as an orgasm.
I rest my case.
this was attributed to Carlin.
Not sure if it’s entirely true but it sure sounds like something he would say.
I saw the man many years ago at a small venue in Rhode Island.
He was incredible.
I am deeply saddened by his death.
A true clown has died.
Rest in pieces, George.
You were an original.
Long live the Toledo Window Box
My interview with Moe is up an running at the Nook and though I’m not 100% satisfied with it (no fault of Moe’s, mind you) I think you’ll see a different side of me. I think.
The story of me and Moe is quite interesting; it’s serendipity of the highest order.
It began when I was at Blogger, my tadpole blogging stage.
I met some very interesting people back then: Evyl, Carnealian and Snotsucker; these are friends I am obviously still in touch with today.
But I wanted to drive more traffic to my blog so I signed up at BlogExplosion.
BE is very basic in the way that it works: you surf random blogs and get random visits in return.
Some people leave comments, most don’t.
I’m a bit fuzzy on how it happened but one day I found a comment on an insignificant post that said, ” very nice site, love the background and the totally irrelevant pic. With all the blogs I’ve seen I think a cat pic is mandatory at some point!! I’m not stealing your button, but I’m blogrolling you.”
I don’t think I even knew that the hell getting blogrolled was at that point but I liked the fact that someone was doing it to me.
She signed her name, “Debambam”.
Hmmm . . . I liked the Flintstones. A good sign.
I visited Debambam’s site and came to find out that her name was Kelly and she was from Australia.
Yeah, how cool is that? An Aussie blogrolling your fanny. Coolbeans.
In my mind, I heard an Aussie accent whenever I read one of her comments.
She was intelligent, witty, compassionate and a wonderful addition to my blogroll.
It was around that time that I noticed something strange in my Sitemeter stat page.
Someone was spending an inordinate amount of time reading everything on my blog.
And they were from Australia.
I had an incredible amount of info at my fingertips thanks to Sitemeter and it astounded me.
I emailed Kelly and asked if she was hitting my blog.
She knew nothing about it and said it definitely wasn’t her.
Hmm . . . Very mysterious.
It was on THIS POST
that I was first introduced to Maureen.
The comment was signed by “anonymum” with no URL.
(no URL, how frickin’ weird is that? An internet without Moe? I don’t frickin’ think so!)
I knew who she was because of the amount of time I used to spend at Kelly’s blog.
I’m thinking, “Kell’s Mum is visiting me. How cool is that?”
Long story short, I found out who my Australian “lurker” was (MOE!) ultimately making what has turned out to be a very sincere and honest friendship. (with not only Moe but her husband Mark, a new and absolutely bloody wonderful mate of mine)
Maureen and I are much like brother and sister (ironic that my twin sister’s name is Maureen).
In many ways, whether she knows it or not, she has inspired me in my writing and has become the kind of long distance friend that some people can only dream about.
I consider her (and Mark, and Kelly, Tony and Zoe!) to be close to family.
Maureen? My heart thanks you for the many smiles since we first met. (and the vegemite)
You know my heart. Maybe that’s enough.
As far as the above, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Now head over to the Nook and rip me a new one.
Lord knows, I probably deserve it.
Check out my day in the warm Australian sun . . .
maybe someday . . .
Pen to paper. It’s just an act.
My blood splashes on the white page, in a thick crimson stream of scribbles;
the words that let the world see a glimpse of a real me, a man I barely know myself sometimes.
Letters form words forming thoughts, these effortlessly move me on the inside . . .
And it’s all on the inside.
It’s a turn of a phrase, a sliver of irony, the forbidden scent of midnight – it’s the epiphany found in discovering a new way ‘in’ that creatively fills me in ways I’ve never known before.
But . . .
“it’s beautiful, I don’t get it, you know my heart because it thanks you, for a song, a tear, a possible secret,”
a page ripped from the internal hard drive of my life and it hurts sometimes,
but it’s a good kind of hurt, a hard to say prayer
Pen finds a fresh, virgin page as I deeply come to understand the fundamental human need to sail unchartered waters, deep and stormy, my own vast oceans of thought
Zhivago green flows thick from a 14K nib, subdued and with no land in sight
Maybe this is all I’ve ever really wanted.
Pen to paper.
It’s much more than an act.
It’s purely me.
Stole this from Rain.
Goddamn she’s fricking brilliant.
Where does she find this stuff?
Oh, I know. YouTube . . .
Opaque windows to the soul
lucidity’s dead . . .
For two nights in a row I’ve dreamed of Gwyneth Paltrow.
No rhyme, no reason.
Maybe it’s the part of my brain still coming down from my Kelli Pickler fantasies.
Now the strangest part is that me and Gwyneth are in Grand Central Station in New York and she’s trying to buy a ticket.
I keep trying to get a word in edgewise but she ignores me for reasons that are really pissing me off.
Nothing more demoralizing than getting dissed in a friggin’ dream.
She finally gets her ticket and she begins walking away.
I no sooner start to follow her when she turns around, looks at me and says, “Get Parmesan.”
Now remember, this is a woman that has children named Apple and Moses.
I should have said something witty like, “Why don’t you name your next kid Pork Chop, honey.”
But I didn’t.
I will say she’s damn pretty in my dreamworld.
Now if I can just figure out the deeper meaning of ‘get parmesan‘ maybe I can get to that next level.
Maybe it was damn food dream after all.
Or not . . .
Apple, Pickler and Parmesan.
Say that 3X real fast
Stuck on a treadmill. Questioning God.
Evyl tagged me with this six-word-memoir-meme.
Similar to some of the writing over at Smith Magazine.
This idea started at Bookbabie
Evyl was right.
This was right up my dark little alley as you can see.
The original post says to tag 5 people.
As a rule I don’t usually play tag but this one is creative, painless and relatively quick to write.
(if you’ve been tagged already, let me know)
Have fun folks . . .
ps. how’s that Suz? )