Journey

Karaoke is like Fight Club. All week long, that guy on stage is a cashier at Publix. But for a few moments on Thursday night, he's a fucking rock star. He's singing his hit, and the audience knows every word.

Me, I love karaoke. Bad, good, country, rock, hipsters, or rednecks, I'm down. As long as people are willing to grab that microphone and go for the gusto, I stand ready to cheer them on. I go every week with a crew and almost never perform. I am strictly there to drink beer, holler, clap, and sing along from my seat. It's a crazy thing that in this day of polished, autotuned perfection, adult are still eager to get up in front of a crowd and give it a try. Some of them, even sober.

It's something that I assume comes from back around the beginning of people being people, taking turns around the fire to entertain or inform the others. We find nothing so amusing as each other.

plus, I have beer here

I'm supposed to be up and out and down to Mockingbird Cafe tonight for Whiskey Wednesday. This week's theme is rockabilly, and I can get down with that. Plus, dollar beers dollar shots. Have I mentioned I'm a college kid now?

But I dunno if I'm feeling it right now. It's muggy and rainy and I have shit I could play with here.

Grumpity grump. The end.

make the walls ring

Okay, these pictures are from Thanksgiving Eve at my mama's house. Give me two months, maybe I'll make a New Year's post. I'm blessed to come from a family dripping with musicians. Me, though, not so much. So this is what a holiday with our little clan looks like from my corner of the room.


A small library can hold a whole lot of music.


Old friends bend strings.


The generations swap notes.


May makes a curtain of her hair and sings from behind it.


And the Cicada Ladies play.