Dark Side of the Moon

So, one of the cooler aspects of living in L.A. versus New Yawk pertains to the clearer skies we're afforded. Smog be damned, the fact is, I'm now privy to the cosmos in a much more unabated fashion than I ever was back east. I can't count how many times some type of stellular phenomena would be hyped up by the media, only to leave me disappointed when I either couldn't see it, or if I could, it'd be in muted tones. The fact of the matter is, between the skyscrapers, light pollution, and North Jersey chemical fog, I always considered myself lucky if I saw the moon, let alone eclipses, comets, what have you.

Last night represented the last lunar eclipse for the next 3 years. Bubba and I heard about it, but it didn't really register, at least enough to schedule around it. As luck would have it, the eclipse took place around evening walk time for the big O. I can honestly say, I was never as jazzed by a sky show as I was last night. We got on the streets just as the last fifth of the moon was being obscured. Many of our neighbors were out on the streets as well, with binoculars and everything. By the time we got to the halfway point of our walk, the moon was "gone." Flat out gone. I finally understood how centuries ago, people could have been convinced that the Gods were angry at them, or that a serpent may have just swallowed the moon. Orville was more impressed by the loose cigarette butt he found and tried to eat, but Bubba and I were truly enthralled.

L.A. Driving 102

So, I long ago commented on my initial observations regarding the L.A. driving scene, but certain elements lend themselves to a second glance. First and foremost, I've yet to get a grip on the pedestrians out here. Quite frankly, 14 months in, and their behavior is still APPALLING to me. I can't get over the cavalier attitude in which they dart into the street unabashedly. I just can't. Under no circumstance is it even conceivable to me how one could EVER just blindly, waltz across a busy street without any rhyme or reason. I mean literally, Bubba and I will be cruising down Santa Monica Blvd., a main street where cars can get to 35-45 miles/hour when the traffic is thin. Yet people will walk out in the middle of a block, just because they get the urge. And what's worse is, they will SAUNTER across the street and not so much even look up whatsoever. They have absolute faith in the vision and disposition of all drivers that they will not be hit. And they aren't.
What's truly bizarre is, Bubba and I have tried to bust this move time and again, and somehow the drivers seem to be able to feel that we're not 100% behind it, so with us, they DON'T acknowledge it. They don't stop. They actually treat us correctly, as the rude, civil disobediants we're being when we do it.
On the plus side of the equation, I will say that they are remarkably dilligent about letting people in, and giving "the wave." For example, just getting onto Santa Monica for us can be quite a chore. But the drivers are probably 90% cool about saving a space for us to turn onto it when it's possible. I've always been a big believer in "a successful alternate merge makes the world go 'round." My L.A. brethren seem to concur.
On a different automotive tip, I can't get over the number of choice rides out here. Bubba and I were taking a nice cruise through the hills the other day during rush hour. We were coming down the hill, while the Hollywood power brokers were making their way back home to their mansions. From the top of the hill to the bottom, was a single lane of bumper to bumper traffic, consisting almost exclusively of Mercedes, Lexus, Hummer's and Porche's. Unbelievable. You couple that with the wannabe's, who LEASE the primo wheels throughout Hollywood and it's like, you feel like there's a $40,000 minimum to be allowed on the streets. At least I know that if I ever get plowed crossing the street trying to "fit in" with local custom, the driver can pay for the damage.

E-I-E-I-O

Old McCampbell had a farm, e-i-e-i-o.
So, while I'm home seeking new employment, I'm taking the time to get back down to bidness concerning my music. I'm always playing, but the later part of the year saw it become hard for me to get my groove on, on a daily basis. So now, I'm getting my chops back. Back to the hypnotic metronome, click, click, clicking away, much to the annoyance of anyone within earshot. But what's funny to me is some new elements that have entered my practice regime.
Time was, in my Unabomber shack in Williamsburg, I lived the life of a true Bohemian artist. Bare bones, ascetic, with no television and a mattress on the floor, I honed my craft, old-school woodshed style. By myself, every day, the picture of focus. Now, I am married with three animals filling our one-bedroom apt. Remarkably, all of the animals are fascinated by playing. So now when I play, I've got three "groupies" who like to jam with me. First off, there's Orville. I thought he, big chicken that he is, would be petrified, but quite the contrary. Sometimes I sit on the couch to play, and the Big-O wants in on the deal. Next thing I know, I've got a pig on the left of me, his snout buried in my side while I play. He loves it, unless it gets to rockin'. Apparently he's an "easy listening" pig.
Then there's the cats. Ol' Jack Sprat is a veteran of the process. He LOVES to camp out on my amp while I play, soothed by my butter tones, and the warmth of my amp. He sprawls out on top, reminiscent of the old RCA dog fixated on the Victrola. Meanwhile, Touille has become his lil' protege. Where he goes, she goes. What he does, she does. So now I've got cats sitting on my amp in stereo. Throw in their love of swatting my chords, "killing" my loose guitar picks, and their completely hypnotic staring at the dangling strings when I change them on my guitar, and I find myself asking Bubba time and again, "Do you think Hendrix did this?"