The Resurrection

So, when we last left our hero, he was discussing his curious sadness over his local homeless woman's passing on into the next chapter. Odd place to leave off, but, there it was. Obama was just beginning to work out the ass groove left in the Oval Office leather by his predecessor. The King of Pop was still with us, residing in the "Where is he now?" file. And my hair was only 3% gray as opposed to the current 5%. Now, 6 months later, batteries recharged, I feel ready again to dispense with the yuk-yuk, insight, and overall slightly off-center viewpoints on this thing we call life, and life here in sunny Californ-I-A.

I reckon the coolest development of late, aside from transformation from Pillsbury Doughboy into a lean, mean, fighting machine, has been my reemergence on the public front avec mon guitar. Not that my music ever ceased per se, I just was keeping it on the low for a while. Working on mine owns ill ish. I've hooked some of y'all up with some of my new joints, with favorable reviews so far, 'lessen folks is just being polite.

Nonetheless, I met some cool cats not long ago, and have poking my head out like a musical turtle. So what have I learned? Either California was blown out of proportion in my mind as far as musicality, I'm more badass than I thought, or both. Not to toot my own horn, or pluck my own strings as it were, but the locals seem more than enthused and impressed by my east coast stylings. This, of course, is a cool thing if you're standing in my shoes. It's just curious to me, is all. I don't feel I've properly "brought the ruckus" just yet, but I'll take the kudos.

Likewise, I don't feel like L.A. cats have brought the ruckus to me either. I've heard all of one man play something that sounded new and different to me so far. And even he, like so many in life, took a kernel of a good thing and stamped it into the ground with a steel-tipped boot until it was rendered useless.

I guess my point here is that like a lot of things, both in life and in Cali, get built up in my/our heads, and so rarely do they live up to our full mental hype. This is not a new or profound sentiment. Doesn't make it any less true though.

My next attempt at ruckus-bringing/ruckus-hearing will be this Sunday out in good ol' Glendale, at the Big Fish. Let the ruckas be brought.