Today I am saddened

I used to go to a place in San Diego called The Mandolin Wind. It's still there, although it is pretty much smack dab in the middle of a gay neighborhood. Or maybe it always was. I have become more aware of these things through the years and they have become more open. Either way, it has little bearing on this tale.

Hmmmm...tale. It makes me think I might go into the archive book this morning for an old, old poem. I was just reminded of a high scool one I wrote called Tales of Woe From the Zig Zag man. Yeah, I know. But I did say it was from high school.

Dang. I have digressed even further. Back to track. While Mandolin Wind was mostly a folk or jazz joint (and Ramblin' Ed-less on those evenings) they would occasionally book blues acts. To slip into my cajun personna for a moment, I love dem blues, me. If you've ever talked to a cajun then you know that was dead on.

One guy that came there fairly often was Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown. Over the years I have seen him numerous times, but I'll never forget the first time. Tall, lanky, farily dark black old man in a cowboy hat, boots and rodeo shirt. As he sat down he put his guitar down on his lap, picked up the microphone and looked out into the audience, making sure that we caught his eye. In a weathered voice he spoke: "I like music. I love music. But I don't play blues music. I don't play rock n roll or country music. I play Amur-can (American) music." And with that he'd pick up his guitar and launch into what would always prove to be an energetic and ecclectic set... or two. I loved that guy.

And just like that, he's gone. The whole thing is on CNN.com, but this'll get you going:

BATON ROUGE, Louisiana (AP) -- Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, the singer and guitarist who built a 50-year career playing blues, country, jazz and Cajun music, died Saturday in his hometown of Orange, Texas, where he had gone to escape Hurricane Katrina. He was 81.

I was reading The Coal Miner's Daughter's blog. She knocks my socks off. Opinionated. Stream of consciousness. Half on and half off track. A lot of times she's like watching a train wreck getting ready to happen and you get all ready for the carnage only to find out that there's a switch on the tracks you didn't see. And there's no crash. You got the suspense of it, but no matter. She's done hit the switch and is careening off in some other direction. Yeah. I'd say it's like that. Now if she just had a shorter name....

For those of you that are interested, Appalachian Intellectual popped his head up and posted a drive-by blog. I like that dude.

Pepe the cat is asleep in my lap. I'd like to get more coffee but hate to turn off the motor when it's purring like this. I am, however, particularly happy that he went to sleep and cease and desisted the frantic game of "GOTTA GET THE DRAWSTRING" that he had been playing. It wasn't the drawstring itself that had me worried, but rather things in close proximity to the drawstring. And really only because GOTTA GET THE DRAWSTRING always includes exposed claws, bared teeth, and a certian wild abandon that only kittens can seem to muster.

I had bunches to tell you but it's all poofed right out of my head...again. Can't keep my thoughts collected. I'm the kinda guy that prides himself on having all his ducks in a bunch. No, I said what I meant. I used to have them all in a row, but now I'm just happy to keep 'em in a bunch. A grouping. A loose association, if you will. Like a rudderless raft made from an old pantry door, you get my drift. And, after the old poem I spoke of earlier, I am out of here.

OK, one last disclaimer. This was really heavy, really cool in High School.

Two Miles East of Babylon

The road travels on in sadistic grandeur
Though your engine is tarnished, your heart is still pure
What's a homecoming queen doin' carrying on
You should be living your life like a song

Will you spend your life speeding like a runaway truck
Let them fire on your dreams like mechanical ducks
Or defend your beliefs with such animal lust
You should be livin’ your life like a song

The minstrel was playing, the jester just grinned
The ladies in waiting played sin after sin
But you never let stage fright do you in
You always seemed to handle it well

Because your mama wasn’t one to raise no fools
And while you never found the time to finish schol
We weathered them storms just like some heros I knew
It seemed that we were doing quite well

And so your Caddilac saved you from something evil
A chrome plated whore cruising soft and lethal
Bound for hell by a promise to stroke your ego
Close your eyes ‘cause here we go

Now in the intersection there sat a girl name of Rose
She got a seam looking sexy up the back of her hose
She was straight out of the ‘40s singing rhythm & blues
Now Rose, she don’t got nothing to lose

And I cried, Good Lord, have mercy
I’ll get lost in the flood!"
It may even leave scars
But it will surely draw blood
And I’ve always loved a lady
Who could belt out the blues
But I can’t dance
Because there’s holes in my shoes.

I can’t dance
When there’s these holes in my shoes.
Ed

Coming at you like a bad chest cold, out
Ramblin' Ed