I've taken a wee bit of a hiatus...Hi! Don't-hate-us 'cuz we've been gone so long...I suppose it's time to level with ya all. Saying that I suddenly hear Mark King's monster bass lines when Level 42 were king and that brother slapped and whacked that instrument sumthun silly. Dude played his axe at too high a level for my liking...armpit playahs just do not look cool; if they are gonna slap and whack at underarm level they should at least give us something lowbrow amongst all that sophisticated technique, and rip off a few hand in the underarm fart noises. And just for the record, I don't think mighty Jaco ever, ever held his bass that high (surely dangerously close), yet ironically enough, it was the waistband of Jaco's pants that was cause for worry.
Jaco pulled down some killer chops, but felt no need to pull down his pants to normal level.
Level. Right. I was gonna level with ya. The reason I have been away for a bit stems from needing time to get well. On Xmas Eve of last year I was hit by a car and landed very badly on my head. My head swelled to Elephant Man proportions and quite frankly, I was messed. Messed up badly. Black eyes, stitches, fractured leg...a full artist's palate of bruisey-bad colours. Purples, reds and greens and yellows and you get the picture. Nasty bit of bizness. Part of my therapy was to start this blog to get my brain kick started again, and happily, it has worked. Unhappily, I get tired really easy, and my week is chock full of trips to the old physiotherapist's office. I call it the physiothera-I'm-pist-I-have-to-be-here office. My leg is still effed-up royally and although I am off the cane, I still walk with a limp that makes me feel like some method actor in search of a stage. I just wish I could be at the end of my own personal "Triumph Against Adversity" movie of the week montage with the Rocky theme music playing. Strike that, I'd prefer my treadmill chronicles to be soundtracked by fuckin' Faltermeyer. Fuckin' Faltermeyer. Catchy name that. An indie rawk band coming to an itune nearest you. One good thing is massage therapy. Except the music is crap, and I can't do a damn thing to change it...what can I do? Bring my Uriah Heep Cds and say, "Hey Sister Knead and Rub, slap this shit in, and let yer magic fingers gliiiiiiiiiiide..."
Thank god she doesn't play Enya and that gawdawful "Orinoco Flow". I call that track "Orinoco Menstrual Flow" cuz it is the theme song of women, sorry, womyn, who go to New Age discussion groups and discuss how their cycles make them feel dizzy with the powers of the Goddess. Actually, ladies, that's called PMS.
Actually, a good massage song would be "Stranglehold", despite the title. And definitely "Because" by The Beatles. Massage therapists really need to broaden their musical arsenal. I, and my traumatized muscles would be super appreciative.
So there, I'm on the level. Thanks for reading. Thanks also to the wonderful, wonderful group of peeps who continue to inspire, amuse, delight, educate, and encourage me...Allan, Miss Viz, GW, Todd, Aaron, Erik, AC, Dave, Scott, Harbinger, and Pajo. If I have missed anyone, I just gotta blame it on the memory loss that I have incurred as a result of kissin' the pavement.
I did the kissin', and now I'm doing the tellin'. Again, thanks for readin'.
currently listening to: Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted
