So it works.
Today's my birthday. I spent last night hanging out with the Stuart Wylen Trio: John vanOeveren, Stuart Wylen, and Tom Miller. Great bunch of guys, I had a lot of fun. Check out their website at www.stuartwylentrio.com.
I'm pretty old. 27. The SW3 boys noted that both Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix died at age 27. Hendrix died in a pool of his own vomit. Do you know how much goddamned vomit it would take to fill a pool? I wonder if it was just one of those wading pools. Jesus.
Kurt Cobain, writer of such tunes as "I hate myself and I want to die" and a "Smells Like Teen Spirit" died of a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Yep, 27 is an age full of possibilities. I know I'm getting old when I'm at Jimmy Mak's at 12:30, listening to a great band, and having conversations about how I'm usually in bed on a work night. I wanted to kick my own ass at that point. Oh yeah, props go out to Jimmy Mak's and the Italian bartender who bought me a drink. Also, the band that was playing was top freakin' notch Jazz action. I can't remember that band's name, the drummer is named Rhinehart (sp?), that's all I remember.
Earlier on in the evening, at the Rose and Thistle, the band and I heard a story about a guy who got a deer-tick in his "bung-hole" (her words). Almost as funny as the story was the looks on the Trio's faces (and mine, I'm sure) as soon as she said "bung-hole." I puckered up at the thought. After that, a girl sang Happy Birthday to me in sign-language. I guess she's studying to be a sign interpreter.
So, I had a good time. I'm hungry as hell right now and I forgot my money clip at the crib. Honky can't get a break. I will feed my fat-ass tonight, Baby!
4.21.01; 9pm: Mar's Flamingo
gooch.
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