(Oh man) What to do

Greetings avid readers, and lost information highway travellers.
Today's lesson is about choices. Nothing more, nothing less. Well maybe something more.

I don't particularly enjoy blogging, it seems to remind me of people who talk to hear their own voices, only I'm typing just to see myself type. Also my spelling is terrible, and every time I mess up a word or 2, I must stop and go back... this stuff takes hours. I swear.

I know that you would think I'm avoiding the task by not keeping current, (perhaps you've noticed the giant lag in posts). The truth however is quite the opposite. I began this tirade May 12Th, and am now finally misspelling my way to the finish line.

So let us begin with the title, Stolen from a song on Thrush Hermit's Clayton Park album, now almost 10 years old. Why this particular number? I'm not sure. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact I can no longer remember where this CD lives in my collection ( I was looking for it today). Or maybe it reminds me when my eyes were wide and I was younger, and everything was easier.
Here I was, early 1999, a mere 18 years old. A rather handsome lad (if I do say so myself) second semester of grade 12 (we still had OAC's then... grade 13 for you out of towners), with the best Beatles haircut ever! ( I was down with the Indy rock girls.... god I love Indy rock girls).
I bought Clayton Park, and Sloan's double live album (probably the only one you need). Clayton Park became my go to., and it became the blue print for what I wanted out of life.

As a side note: we all go thru musical changes, as a wee boy I loved AC/DC (they turned me on to loud guitars and songs about boobs... who doesn't like those... c'mon admit it), from there it was Nirvana (I know, do the math... 1991, I was 10.... my older step brother Tyler had a profound influence on my musical taste, thank you to him) then as every boy who gets a guitar- METAL, I liked Slayer and The Dead Kennedys. I hit High School discovered KISS and my long time collaborator Steve Mills. I girl I loved turned me on to Elton John, and other "songwriter" types. Through out this entire time I loved the Beatles ( still do... for sale= the best)

Then Thrush Hermit. I loved how the guitars were loud, but the songs weren't screamed, but wailed, yet tuneful enough I could sing along. I bought all their other one's too. I have a great fondness for The Great Pacific Ocean. As a historical reference, i bought TGPO the night the guy won 1,000,000 dollars on who wants to be a millionaire. I also met a wonderful girl at a party that evening (she would eventually break my heart, but hey I don't regret a minute. I wish that she wasn't as smart as she is, so I wouldn't feel like I don't deserve to talk to her... damn you facebook... I also wrote 2 or 3 hundred songs about her... "when you call is by far the best one.... see if you can find it somewhere)

None the less. I went from Thrush Hermit to Pavement, to Wilco, to Ryan Adams, to Paul Westerberg, and now am trying to wrap my head around Dylan ( I want to cover his songs in our set, but I can never remember the words), and Hank Williams (I wish I could use this damned pedal steel for some thing other than a coffee table).

Back to the point more or less.

With Clayton Park, I heard my future. I could see where I was going. 10 years have passed and I still don't have a clue how to get there. But I'm closer, I've got a working band, that is more like a family ( like the carters, but not related) and a couple of opportunities

I'll never forget the Christmas morning when I told my mom I wasn't going to University (we have a large sense of drama in my family), or the sting in my drunken stomach when the only girl who ever made me laugh cast me aside). These vents were a couple of years apart but seem to shape the fabric of being (other stuff has happened, but these are the things....)

Lastly, I wrote a song after my grandma's funeral (on my fender rhodes, I can't believe I sold it). It is called famous last words, I walked through the door went to the piano, and out it came. The thing that struck me was that every time I played it, I could smell the flowers at the funeral home... sometimes even when I listen back to it... that one you can't find, only 2 people have ever heard it... I think. I wonder what would happen if I played it now?

So here is the moral out of this mess:
1. Trust your gut, you will be happier in the long run
2. Don't give up the things that make you happy.
3. Marry the girl who makes you laugh
4. Don't sell your Fender Rhodes
5. You will never master the Pedal Steel

Yes, all these little life lessons can be found on any CD in your collection too.
Cheers for now.