these inspirations are my saving grace.
If you're not interested in reading about an unprecedented confrontation from my personal life, then skip forward to listen to two amazing new songs from William Elliott Whitmore. Otherwise, press on...
Joe and I went to Crocker Park (an upscale local strip mall) and walked by a family that I couldn't help but notice contained one or more members whose odor was less than pleasing. We were growing in distance from them when we heard a deep aggravated voice behind us declare that "you" need to take a f***ing bath and "you" smell like s***. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, assuming he was being loudly rude to the family. He continued, "I'm walking right behind you and you f***ing stink like s***."
Joe and I stopped and the man passed, but looked back at Joe constantly as he walked ahead of us, continuing his rant about the smell. It's now that we can tell that he is in his late thirties to forties, and wearing appropriate beach apparel (a slim tank top and shorts). It was obvious that his comments were not directed at the family, and I continued to laugh; harder now. You have to understand that Joe is a man's man, the hero of most bearded individuals and in no way metrosexual. You must also understand that I am in no way insinuating that he is malodorous. I have yet to notice a displeasing feeling in my nasal cavities in the countless hours I've spent with him. Clearly the disgusted man was slightly out of touch with reality.
Joe lets the man know that he is "the nicest person [he's] ever met."
The man, on the defensive, shouts, "What'd you say?!"
Joe repeats, "I said you're the nicest person I've ever met."
The man presses on that "[Joe] need[s] some f***ing deodorant" and starts to finally part ways with us.
This is where Joe's experience with the out of touch gives him a second wind. Joe instantly remembers a demand that a homeless man once made of one of Joe's male companions. He turns toward the man, who was walking away at this point, and says the following: "Lick my p***y, f****t."
This has been a laughable statement with anyone who knows Joe and has inevitably heard about said homeless man. Our instigator at Crocker Park had not. He charged toward Joe, openly agreeing that, "I will lick your p***y. Come here!"
Believe it or not, Joe was not prepared for this. We both backed up as the man made sure we were aware of his extremely close proximity. I believe that what Joe said was fairly acidic, and that feeling was apparently shared, because the man directed his focus on Joe and spat. Joe allegedly dodged the saliva with little room to spare. I said to the man exactly what was going through my mind as I tried to position myself between him and Joe. "Let's just be done with this."
He had other plans in mind as he forcefully shoved me away. He was fully capable of doing more physical harm to each of us than we would be able to prevent. He cornered Joe next to the windows of a movie theatre that, as I was now more removed from the action, I noticed was a central meeting place with no less than two dozen onlookers. Not one doing more than looking on with a detached glaze. Again, I vocalized my thoughts. "Really? And none of you can do anything but stare? No one can say anything or call the police or anything?" I must have felt more threatened than anyone present felt I needed be.
Meanwhile, the man capitalized on his cornering of Joe by smacking him in the face. If the smack's audibility was testament to it's force and inherent pain inflicted, Joe should be packing his hairy cheek with ice, even now.
The man was satisfied with this outcome and was suddenly walking away. I continued to press on the crowd. "Wow. No one would do anything. You couldn't call the police or anything."
I finally receive a response from a mustached man, in his late forties to fifties, leaning casually on a railing, "You call 'em."
As we finally walked away I stared at the casual male, forced a Bill Clinton-esque thumbs-up, and let him know that he was "truly a gentleman. Thank you."
The situation escalated more quickly than could allow for patience or the turn of a cold shoulder and while I love Joe dearly, I can't help but imagine what the world (and my day) would be like without his adoration of the homeless' affected spoutings.
I praised William Elliott Whitmore highly after first seeing him open for Owen in April. I still can't say enough about him to too many people. His latest album, Song of the Blackbird, will be released at the end of this month, and in November he will be in Cleveland with Lucero and another of my favorites, Rocky Votolato. I haven't been this excited for a Grog Shop show three months in advance in a long time.
Again, MP3's cannot substitute his live presence ("show" or "performance" don't seem fitting), but you should still find a lot to fall in love with in these two new songs.
William Elliott Whitmore's "The Chariot"
& "Dry"
from Song of the Blackbird
If you still haven't listened to Rocky Votolato's "White Daisy Passing" as many times as you've used the word(s) MySpace, then you're doing life all wrong.
Rocky Votolato's "White Daisy Passing"
from Makers
Joe and I went to Crocker Park (an upscale local strip mall) and walked by a family that I couldn't help but notice contained one or more members whose odor was less than pleasing. We were growing in distance from them when we heard a deep aggravated voice behind us declare that "you" need to take a f***ing bath and "you" smell like s***. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, assuming he was being loudly rude to the family. He continued, "I'm walking right behind you and you f***ing stink like s***."
Joe and I stopped and the man passed, but looked back at Joe constantly as he walked ahead of us, continuing his rant about the smell. It's now that we can tell that he is in his late thirties to forties, and wearing appropriate beach apparel (a slim tank top and shorts). It was obvious that his comments were not directed at the family, and I continued to laugh; harder now. You have to understand that Joe is a man's man, the hero of most bearded individuals and in no way metrosexual. You must also understand that I am in no way insinuating that he is malodorous. I have yet to notice a displeasing feeling in my nasal cavities in the countless hours I've spent with him. Clearly the disgusted man was slightly out of touch with reality.
Joe lets the man know that he is "the nicest person [he's] ever met."
The man, on the defensive, shouts, "What'd you say?!"
Joe repeats, "I said you're the nicest person I've ever met."
The man presses on that "[Joe] need[s] some f***ing deodorant" and starts to finally part ways with us.
This is where Joe's experience with the out of touch gives him a second wind. Joe instantly remembers a demand that a homeless man once made of one of Joe's male companions. He turns toward the man, who was walking away at this point, and says the following: "Lick my p***y, f****t."
This has been a laughable statement with anyone who knows Joe and has inevitably heard about said homeless man. Our instigator at Crocker Park had not. He charged toward Joe, openly agreeing that, "I will lick your p***y. Come here!"
Believe it or not, Joe was not prepared for this. We both backed up as the man made sure we were aware of his extremely close proximity. I believe that what Joe said was fairly acidic, and that feeling was apparently shared, because the man directed his focus on Joe and spat. Joe allegedly dodged the saliva with little room to spare. I said to the man exactly what was going through my mind as I tried to position myself between him and Joe. "Let's just be done with this."
He had other plans in mind as he forcefully shoved me away. He was fully capable of doing more physical harm to each of us than we would be able to prevent. He cornered Joe next to the windows of a movie theatre that, as I was now more removed from the action, I noticed was a central meeting place with no less than two dozen onlookers. Not one doing more than looking on with a detached glaze. Again, I vocalized my thoughts. "Really? And none of you can do anything but stare? No one can say anything or call the police or anything?" I must have felt more threatened than anyone present felt I needed be.
Meanwhile, the man capitalized on his cornering of Joe by smacking him in the face. If the smack's audibility was testament to it's force and inherent pain inflicted, Joe should be packing his hairy cheek with ice, even now.
The man was satisfied with this outcome and was suddenly walking away. I continued to press on the crowd. "Wow. No one would do anything. You couldn't call the police or anything."
I finally receive a response from a mustached man, in his late forties to fifties, leaning casually on a railing, "You call 'em."
As we finally walked away I stared at the casual male, forced a Bill Clinton-esque thumbs-up, and let him know that he was "truly a gentleman. Thank you."
The situation escalated more quickly than could allow for patience or the turn of a cold shoulder and while I love Joe dearly, I can't help but imagine what the world (and my day) would be like without his adoration of the homeless' affected spoutings.
I praised William Elliott Whitmore highly after first seeing him open for Owen in April. I still can't say enough about him to too many people. His latest album, Song of the Blackbird, will be released at the end of this month, and in November he will be in Cleveland with Lucero and another of my favorites, Rocky Votolato. I haven't been this excited for a Grog Shop show three months in advance in a long time.
Again, MP3's cannot substitute his live presence ("show" or "performance" don't seem fitting), but you should still find a lot to fall in love with in these two new songs.
William Elliott Whitmore's "The Chariot"
& "Dry"
from Song of the Blackbird
If you still haven't listened to Rocky Votolato's "White Daisy Passing" as many times as you've used the word(s) MySpace, then you're doing life all wrong.
Rocky Votolato's "White Daisy Passing"
from Makers
Listen Well posted this around 9:37 PM
1 Comments:
Wow. Disillusioned old guys. What a fun bunch.
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