First off where the hell is my music stand?
Do you have it? Are you hiding it from me? You swine.
It attaches to the back of the DX-7 and holds sheet music, or manuscript paper, or anything book-like for that matter.
I know it was in the last house but damned if I can find it now when it would be helpful.

Secondly I have become re-enamored of the dumbass lolcats. I Can Haz Cheezburger indeed.
I ignored this site for over a year and now I’m amused again.
Must be a medication adjustment problem.
Please kill me.

So today I’m a spaz-fest with copies of my lyrics and a sheet of manuscript paper (with the melody) lying ON the keyboards. Hell on the keys actually.
Playing two synths, singing and attempting to read both sheets at one time by simultaneously peeking around/below/above the mic has given my shoulders and neck a permanent crick.
We are not amused.

So I’m really seriously swear-to-goddess working hard on three of my originals right now. Have decided that playing live again is imperative. It’s given me a purpose. Not a porpoise though because that would be too tasty and outside the current budget.

You’d think it would be easy to remember a melody and lyrics that you had written yourself. As opposed to memorizing another person’s music.
But noooooooooo.
What the hell is up with that?

Well time to consider dinner.
Thanks to the government food stamps I have a choice of the extra sharp cheddar cheese and Carr’s crackers, apples, fresh shrimp, rich creamy potato leek soup or…. cereal!
Gluten-free ‘ya know.

I’m pretty sure that the people at social services were intending me to have Chef Boyardee tonight but fuck ’em if they can’t take an eccentric.

It’s Friday Night babe so let’s boogie down to the stereo at maximum volume, then some HBO and a game of poker with everyone’s favorite cheatin’-opposable-thumbed-feline Lizzie Borden.

Play on.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
The Nightfly
By: Donald Fagen
Release date: 25 October, 1990

i’m finished writing porn. that was quick.

Yeah it was a fun writing the SBT piece this morning, but it was after all a toss-off. No full character descriptions, no real mood. It was just a pornographic essay. Wish I found something redeeming in it but I can’t. Oh well.
Maybe someday I’ll go back and make it into a readable story.

It was an exercise, nothing more, and I certainly didn’t have the feeling of accomplishment which accompanies a piece that I really love writing.
That blog will be changed from Preferred to Private by tomorrow morning.

I’ll keep writing for SBT but my future pieces will be commentaries about sex. After all there isn’t anything funnier than sex right? Except death.
Not taxes though. Death funny. Taxes sad.

Anyway, I spent the better part of the afternoon filling out yet another ream of government paperwork. This time in a last-ditch effort to obtain a rent subsidy.
You know it wasn’t so much the pages and pages of the application. It’s the time taken to find all of the documentation which has to be submitted. My god. I had to locate the payoff letter from my last mortgage… which was three years ago.
What possible relevance could this have to present circumstances? Hell if I know.

Tomorrow I have to photocopy all of this crap, send it in and will then be placed on a ‘waiting list.’
After moving up the list (which appears to be based on some kind of voodoo inspired random generator) I’ll get ‘the appointment.’
No not the apartment. The appointment.
Apparently I get to bring in all of the originals of the crap I’ve already photocopied and hang out with a minion of the government agency.
Yeah it’s a laugh a minute here at Chez Noir.

Took a great walk this afternoon. Looked inside a house that was for rent. It’s way out of my price range (hey so’s a roach infested closet!) but I just adore the 1920’s homes here in Old Southwest. Hardwood floors, sconces, huge windows, wonderful woodwork and reliefs. Plus a dark creepy basement.
What’s not to love there?

Worked on one of my songs before dinner. ‘Acquisition’ it’s called.
I may have an opportunity to play three of my original tunes at a show here in Reno on November 29th.
This means I’ll have to perform for at least one open mic this month. Tomorrow night is the Reno Music Project Open Mic but I’m so not ready.
Hell I spent 20 minutes re-tuning the DX-7 tonight because it was ½ step off key.
What the fuck? How did I do that? Better yet when????

Well my friends it’s time to take it easy. There’s a CSI on tonight you know.
My real life as a swinging single gal.
Bring on the popcorn.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Casino Lights
By: Al Jarreau, Randy Crawford, Yellowjackets, Neil Larsen, Buzz Feiten, Mike Maineri, Larry Carlton, David Sanborn

Instant Karma

This piece starts out so normally and then digresses into a trip down musical memory fucking lane. This blog is for me. The only thing missing is pics from those days. The scanner is currently kaput.
You were warned. It’s not too late to turn back ‘ya know.
Fear of losing everything has made me contemplate the past. Most importantly… did I make a difference to anyone?
The only way I know to make a difference is via music.

Continue reading

Saturday Night, Sunday Morning and Mr. Maldonado

Poor me (a drink if you please) did not return home until quite late last night. I spent several pleasurable hours at the Zephyr hanging out and hearing EJ play an acoustic set.

My morning started with climbing from beneath the comforter and blankets, stumbling to the kitchen, and finding that the coffee pot had spewed forth it’s caffeinated goodness all over the counter, down the wall across the floor and finally depositing in a pool under the opposite wall.

I did a quick clean-up then got into the car and drove to Bibos for a large cup of dark roast. Then to Albertsons for more coffee because the last of the beans in the house had been reduced to floor mud prior to my awakening.

I do not think that the cashier was amused by my pillow-mussed pigtails, sleepy eyes, cup of aromatic Peruvian and the purchase of a $12.99 bag of Peets along with organic breakfast bars. With my Food Stamp card.

Damned philistines everywhere I turn.
Perhaps I should use my government subsidy to purchase Capt’n Crunch, Coca-cola, Chef Boy-R-Dee, fish sticks and Cheeze-Whiz like the rest of the hygiene-challenged indigent asswads in Reno.

Continue reading

Luddites, Psychiatrists, Alkies and Going Home for The Holidays

Hey all,Off to Idyllwild tomorrow morning. Will be there for a week to spend time with my dad and wicked stepmother. She’s not really wicked. Now his second wife, that bitch was the anti-christ. Idyllwild, California is in the San Jacinto Mountains and sits above Palm Springs. 6000 feet above Palm Springs. It’s a tiny village of about 2500 people year round, and probably 5000 people in the summer. A lot of folks in Palm Desert, Palm Springs have their summer homes in Idyllwild.

This is the view from the deck of my old home in Idyllwild.

Haven’t seen my father in almost two years, although we talk weekly on the phone. The trip is my birthday gift.He has a beautiful Knabe concert grand piano, and you can bet I’ve packed some sheet music. Am working on two songs right now and debated packing the only copies of those pieces that I have. Threw them in. Decided if my baggage is destroyed it’ll be a sign that the music sucked. Continue reading

Isn’t It Ironic (or satiric depending on your IQ)

I‘m feeling almost human this afternoon. Don’t tell anyone but I snuck out to the living room, lifted the key cover on the upright, and played 100 Years by Five for Fighting. Twice in a row.

A nice simple song, nothing strenuous. As opposed to knocking out A Strenuous Life by Scott Joplin which is strenuous. Well not until the second movement, but yeah then it is.

Took a rest and then snuck out again (shhhhhhh) to play and sing Late by Ben Folds.
I. Am. Going. Ber. Serk.

The phone just rang.
“Is Mrs. Robinson at home?”
“No there is NO Mrs. Robinson here, for the TENTH time this week.”
“Are you the owner of this home?”
“No. I’m the renter of this hovel”.
Dead silence. I snickered and hung up.

Whoever it is will call tomorrow and then
“Is Mrs. Robinson at home?”
“Yes! How did you know? Have my exes been gossiping again?”

I caught a lot of good-natured ribbing from friends over the last year and a half. Due to some weird aligning of the planets it seemed that various and colorful dates who had been in and out of my life were generally somewhere between 5 to 15 years younger than myself. Go figure.

Chris, the last guy I dated (we went out maybe half a dozen times) was 30. So for the duration of that diversion Leslie and the guys at work would ask if Ashton Kushner had sent any more flowers or called. Fuckers.

Not really.I love to be teased by those who are intelligent enough to see the amusing side of a situation. To make the distinction between being humorous with a point instead of mean-spirited with a point.

There’s a saying:
Small minds discuss people.
minds discuss events.
minds discuss ideas.

This is not to say that I have a great mind. That’s obvious. Still….
Discussing People?Having been the object of gossip, usually untrue, I keep this type of discourse to a minimum. I am a keeper of other people’s secrets.
Discussing events? Well events of an artistic/cultural or scientific nature yes. The nightly news or alleged Entertainment news? No. I may discuss their implications but do not talk about the events themselves. News items may however cause me to feel.
Discussing Ideas? Yeah I love it. Virtually anything can spawn an idea. The inspiration for this blog came from a comment made by my friend Matt. We were talking about sarcasm and he mentioned that Ironic by Alanis Morrisette has a lot of lines in it that are not really ironic.

That set me to thinking (oh god NO!) about
The difference between ironic and sarcastic.

As a geek you either learn to be funny or to make yourself invisible.
Happily there is a way to incorporate both of these alternatives.

By making light of a situation or presenting something in a humorous manner we are able to deflect others from looking directly at us.
I truly believe that being an ironic or sarcastic person is a direct result of insecurity.

So ultimately we oddballs hope to be viewed as funny, which is acceptable, instead of who we really are, which is insecure and hopefully iconoclastic.

For years I’ve been told that I’m funny. I prefer ironic or even better facetious. It’s just that many folks have to run for the dictionary to look up facetious. Takes too long the make the point then.

Funny is an appellation normally bestowed by those with limited intellect or vocabulary. Or, too much to drink that night.

I’ve always felt myself an outsider. You know, one of the kids who were shunned in school for being too smart, too fat, too weird, and too dark. I relate to others who have outlooks and experiences similar to my own. Everyone does this. It follows that my closest friends are also witty, wry and facetious as well. Outsiders.

If we make others laugh then hopefully they will see us as the fat funny one, the smart funny one, the different funny one.

Dammit as usual my tangent has spawned what should be another blog. So on to the point!

Miss R’s Dictionary presents the following simple definitions:

Sarcasm: a reaction to or observation of an event
Irony: an actual event

Being sarcastic can be a result of irony. Normally it will be a rather barbed reaction, hopefully amusing and not hurtful. Many times it’s both though.

As for Alanis (remember her from about four paragraphs ago?):
The poor woman hasn’t the faintest clue about irony. Or sarcasm.

To wit:
Rain on your wedding day?
That’s not ironic. It’s just bad planning if you’ve rented the local park for your reception.

10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife?
No irony here kids. It would be ironic if you needed the knife, only had the spoons, and THEN received the goddamned knife as a wedding present.
The next day.
That would be ironic.

If you take a look at this essay you will notice I’ve happily assimilated my points by being sarcastic in regards to irony.

My job here is done.

If you didn’t see the point of this piece then I can only point out the obvious conclusion: You suffer from an Irony Deficiency.

~Miss R