Thursday, May 31, 2007

Noteworthy Encounter

Recently, while on the road performing and promoting my band at a convention, I was checking into a Motel 6 for the night. Unwittingly, I forgot to remove a name badge I was wearing that, along with my name, included some other info. Included in that info was the word "comedy." The following exchange I had with Kevin, the desk clerk, is true and as accurate as I can remember.

Kevin: "So you're a comedian?"

(Note: I consider myself more of a musician than a comedian. But to avoid having to explain my nametag I said;)
Me: "Well, sort of."

Kevin: "You know what’s awesome about comedians? They get their material from real life experiences."

Me: (Smiling politely at his astute observation) "I guess so."

Kevin: "They can even get material from lame encounters and stupid conversations."

That said, I'd like to dedicate this blog to Kevin.

Friday, May 25, 2007

No P.C. in Munchkin Land

Even though I’ll be middle aged (30) in one month I still find it a real treat to see a midget in public. For me it holds the same kind of novelty as going to the circus as a youngster, or spotting a leprechaun in the wild. (The latter especially since the leprechaun, Midgetous Gaelicious, is a close cousin to our native breed, the Midgetous Americana.) I have to admit, however, that as their numbers multiply and more and more of them are becoming comfortable moving about in regular society that the novelty is wearing off. Pretty soon a midget eyewitness encounter will be as commonplace as seeing pigeons in a park. In fact, I predict that within 30 to 50 years, they will be living and working right along side regular people with the same rights and opportunities as everyone else. And all their amazing intrigue and uniqueness will be forgotten and left by the wayside, like the luck dragon. They will be counted as just another casualty of the war waged under the banner of “Political Correctness.”

There is a contingent among us that is attempting to quail all that is special and beautiful and funny to look at. They, the PC Brigade, will not be happy till all is the same; a pasty blandness that sits on the observational palette tasteless and to be swallowed in one dry, vapid lump. Shame on them for attempting to strip midgets of their midget-ness. One can only assume that the Brigade is jealous of this uniqueness. They must be so ordinary that everywhere they witness the extraordinary, they work to remove the “extra” as to not feel inadequate. So what if you can save thousands by shopping at Baby Gap, or order off the kids menu, or play in the ball pool at Chucky Cheese, or chase rodents down small holes for sport. If you can’t do those things then you just have to find what does make you special and capitalize on them.

I decided to write this piece because I recently heard that the PC Brigade has even gone as far as to try and strip midgets of their name. They are now pushing to make them known as “little people.” I hope you are as shocked as I was. I’m confused. (No surprise, since mass confusion is often the goal of such immoral paradigm shift attempts.) We used to call children “little people.” Pretty soon they’ll be saying “brilliant child” is the proper term for midgets.
“I’d like you to meet my friend Jeff, he’s a brilliant child. That’s him over there with some other children. He’s the brilliant one… with the big head.”

I’m here to argue that this movement can only end badly. Have we learned nothing from history? We tried to assimilate the American Indian and we’re still paying for that mistake. I say free the American Midget. Reintroduce it into the wild, it’s native habitat, and pray that our attempt to juice-style blend all of Gods creatures into one homogeneous population hasn’t left irreversible damage on it.

United we stand… some taller than others.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Signs Your Wife Is Jealous Of Your Guitar

She wears earrings that look like tuning keys.

On your kitchen table you find an invoice from a private investigator and a manila folder full of black and white pictures of you and the guitar.

She likes to suggest hobby alternatives like drugs or alcohol.

In an effort to regain your attention she buys a G-string and an E, B, D, and A string to wear as lingerie.

She knows what every pawnshop in town is willing to give for it.

She spends an inordinate amount of time in an internet chat room conversing with a guy named “Mr. Banjo.”

She ends heated arguments with a crude gesture and the order to “STRUM THIS!”

When your high school girlfriend called to catch up, she took the kids outside to give you some alone time.

She refers to it as “The One Legged Whore.”