A dear friend of mine died last Sunday.
I just found out about it today.
Ironic that I was looking for something in my closet just the other day and
looked up on my bookshelf to see my old copy of
"Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance",
the cult novel by Robert Persig.
Its pink and black cover reeking 'classic lit'.
Rod had given it to me many years ago during one of my visits to see him.
I thought, "I should really call him one of these days."
Looks like I waited a bit too long.
His last words were supposedly, "With a little more time, I would've gotten it right!"
You were wrong, HRB.
You got it right this time, from where I'm standing.
Although there are no calling hours I thought some music would be appropriate.
He loved music.
This is your swan song, my dear friend.
I will miss you.

 

Out on the street I was talkin’ to a man
He said "there’s so much of this life of mine that I don’t understand"
You shouldn’t worry yes that ain’t no crime
Cause if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

You need direction, yeah you need a name
When you’re standing in the crossroads every highway looks the same
After a while you can recognize the signs
So if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

Life is a liar yeah life is a cheat
It’ll lead you on and pull the ground from underneath your feet
No use complainin’, don’t you worry, don’t you whine
Cause if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

You gotta grow, you gotta learn by your mistakes
You gotta die a little everyday just to try to stay awake
When you believe there’s no mountain you can climb
And if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

"Get it right next time" by Gerry Rafferty

Special dedication tonight as I recall a smoky dive from the 50's called the 'Waltz Club'  . . . Long story and definitely not one for this blog. I knew of one of the patron saints of the place, from what I've heard. Sweet dreams, lady, sweet and smoky dreams Maybe I'll see you in them . . . [11.9.09] *I find it intensely gratifying (for very personal reasons) to give you the list of the players on this archaic recording: Johnny Hartman, vocal John Coltrane, tenor sax McCoy Tyner, piano Jimmy Garrison, bass Elvin Jones, drums God must have been engineering.

I remember a moment 28 years ago like it was just yesterday. And here we are still trying to imagine. And Lennon's memory lives on . . .

Slice to 0pen, staple to close the mar00n red smear of a greasepaint smile, a calling card in cumulonimbus, pregnant with dark water Black crack, skies 0pen 0pen eyes close an inc0mprehensible and maniacal palette of colour; in whites, greens, blacks and reds a primary psych0tic mind in full fundamental whack as the world begins to hem0rrhage innuend0 No way 0ut, dead end streets rain falls like shattering glass n0thing makes sense in this n0nsensical w0rld c0nfusing time with the present, time with the past Tomorr0w draws its shades, a sullen and squalid twist his brain cells turning to a darkened shade of 0chre Slice to 0pen, staple to cl0se to the NetherWorld goes the J0ker . . .

There's a sacred moment lost somewhere between the dreamworld and my waking hours that you are alive, still within me, heart beating, the assuring rhythm of your breath Though the moment quickly dies, the memory of you continues to live; a complex composition of stars shining down from the heavens, the genesis of untold galaxies, the perpetual continuation of time as I know it Days turn to weeks, weeks to months and the months to years and your memory continues to grow, continues to soften, continues to go on . . . And though my soul weeps tonight, there's a bitterweet solace in my heart knowing that, in the grander scheme of things, tomorrow morning is just stolen moments away When the lavender dawn will find you once again . . . at peace {for Mom 7.15.2005 ~ 7.15.2008}

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

RIP, Harvey. Thanks for the laughs

Oscar Peterson was a jazz monster and had hands the size of a gorilla. I've tried somewhat unsuccessfully to play some of his stuff over the years. Yeah, right. Maybe in another life. Sleep well, OP. You will be greatly missed . . . Check out the video below with fellow jazz legend Joe Pass. And yes, I found the best sounding video possible. You've come to expect that, haven't you? :mrgreen: ~m [googlevideo=http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-7509689256581769845]

Dan Fogelberg ~ (1951 - 2007) In my early years of playing music, Fogelberg was a definite musical influence on me. I saw him perform in 1976 at the Orpheum in Boston (the first night I ever smoked a joint, now you have some serious dirt on me). I wooed my wife way back when performing many of his tunes. Whether you liked the guy or not, he was a peaceful man and a very talented songwriter. I saw this news clip on Yahoo this afternoon. God, I have another reason to hate Mondays. I am very sad tonight. I'll stop there. Should you ever get a chance, listen to "Souvenirs". Click on the photo above for Fogelberg's website. And here is a sunrise To set on your sill. The ghosts of the dawn Moving near. They pass through your sorrow And leave you quite still... Sitting among souvenirs . . .  Sleep in heavenly peace, Dan . . . ~m