As some of you may know, I recently made the dramatic move from Huntington Beach, California to Missoula, MT. From "Surf City, USA" to "Hey! Where'd All This Snow Come From?".
I did it mainly because I fell into a little distress and doctor's orders were to get back to feeding your creative side and quit feeding the corporate beast. Seriously. They wrote it on a piece of paper and everything. It's a prescription.
Well, they didn't say for me to quit my job and head 900 miles North, but they did make it clear that one was good for me and one was not.
So here I am, struggling to see if my muses will still talk to me.
All that aside, I told you that to tell you this. I finally got enough practice back into my guitar, that I thought it would be a ball to go out and scare the sh*t out of myself and sing some songs to strangers at the most unforgiving of all venues, the "open mic night". I found one close and found a way to get to it and back home, texted the organizer and worked out when and how long and all. I lined up a few songs that would fit into the allotted time and that would, if I failed to dazzle them with my "open chord-3 chord hack" playing style, they might still laugh when I got to the punchline and I could leave without feeling too bad.
I was feeling good about it. That morning I rehearsed and found my "Jeffy-Style" of caterwauling was just right to fit my needs. Hitting all the right notes is for show offs if you ask me, anyhow.
I got dropped off at the "Fraternal Order of the Eagles" Lodge in time for my spot at the Thursday Night Hootenanny and Jamboree, and as my ride pulled away and the taillights faded into the cold Montana night air, I was told that the ad was wrong. Open Mic was next week. The guy on the phone should have told you.
I've been to lots of open mics where the audience didn't show up. This was the first one I'd seen that had an audience, but the open mic didn't show.
It's OK, they'll be sorry next week .
I'll be screeching even louder by then.
Talk to you soon.