I am playing a show over Labor Day

I am playing a show at the new Kreutzberg coffee shop in downtown SLO on Sautrday, September 3rd. It is the site of the former Golden China buffet. Kreutzberg closed shop at their temporary digs in the old Muzios grocery on Monterey Street a couple months ago and in a magical 5 days or so they suddenly sprouted up in the new space. The theme is the same: shabby bohemian. That means an eclectic mix of chairs and coffee tables. Some coffee tables are old speakers. Lamps hang upside down from the ceiling. There are sitting areas aplenty, each one beckoning the patron to try it for its own totally original reasons. Art is plentiful and inspiring. And the coup de grace is that they have added beer and wine. Several moons ago, I played a gig at a dry coffee shop and swore to never put myself or my hard -drinkin’ listeners through such a painful, dreadfully sobering experience ever again. So alas, a cool, funky, groovy coffee shop that serves booze and seems like a great place to play music. I will let you know. 9 to 11 PM on Saturday, September 3rd.

It has been awhile since I played a show, but my recent summer break in Canada got me back in the groove of guitar playing and has left me with a hankering to get back on the performance horse. Actually, with my 40th birthday breathing down my neck, I am trying to finally accomplish all that I have been half-assing for some time now: Get a CD finished, get a halfway decent web presence for my music, write more songs, and play out more.

As an aside, I do declare that today was my oldest child Diego’s first day of kindergarten. Melanie and I decided it would be best if just one of us went since he is not the most chipper of the bunch when it comes to drop offs at new, unfamiliar spaces populated by his peers. We decided that the more cold-hearted of the two of us should take him, so of course the duty fell on Melanie. Still I was not able to entirely butt out, and on my way to work I took a quick detour to the school to clandestinely check on Diego’s first day. When I was about 300 yards from the edge of the school I heard an absolutely dreadful, piercing, sustained, screaming tantrum from a young child that sounded like he or she was being committed to the state mental ward for life. It sure did sound like Diego. So I sat there and waited for Melanie to emerge. Sure enough, about 5 minutes later, with said screaming still piercing the air for miles, Melanie emerged, another brutally earned notch on her parenting belt.

Diego had totally freaked out. All the other kids had obeyed commands and gotten in a nice little row to serenade the parents on their way out. Not so Diego, whose tantrum required at least three full-grown orderlies to suppress. But I did my part. I stopped at the liquor store on the way home from work today, and bought a bottle of Pisco, which is the Absinthe of South America. Pisco Sours, with their ingredients of well, pisco, egg whites, lemon juice, and simple sugar, go down real nice and easy. Yum. Yum. Yum. Yum.

I told Melanie that I was kind of proud of Diego. After all, he is now a ward of the state serving a 13 year sentence in the public school system. His manic display in the prison, err, schoolyard this morning was none other than a strategic ploy to show the hardened that no, this was not a newbie to be fucked with.