On Rufus Wainwright.

I just purchased "Want One," his latest. I love this guy's music. The opening cut, Oh What A World, is tremendous, with riffs borrowed from Ravel. Very diggable stuff. Tuba and bari sax provide formidable bass that my Bose speakers just love to handle.

Better Than Ice Cream.

My weekend was...was...well........fantastic. For some reason, it felt like the biggest weekend of my entire life, far more than my untimely wedding. It was practice and it was preparation and it was perfect. I sang nice, Tim sang so great, Matt's band...well Rockslide is a phenomenonal band. What they do is charm the crowd into having fun, and play and sing like the dickens. Their lead singer, Karen, plays four instruments so there you go, including fiddle and flute, electric guitar and mandolin I think. She is so cool. Everyone was dancing and laughing. I swear I haven't had so much fun on a Saturday night, not in ages anyway. Bonus: They asked me to sit in and sing with them on Chain of Fools. They made that song pop along so fast and bright it was easy to sing like Aretha, or at least try my best. I sounded fabulous in that big stone room, the Iron Door. It's this giant stone building in Groveland on the way to Yosemite. They claim, and apparently have proof, to be the oldest saloon in the West, in California. Gotta be true. The acoustics are sweet.

Next up: going into the studio.

I Really Don't Like to Brag.

Life is tough, but fun (for now). I am in a rock and roll band called The Bojive Boogie Band/Daniel Phillips Project, and right now I'm learning Chain of Fools. We practice every Monday, and Thursdays when and if we can. Sometimes I feel like Dorothy in Oz after she reaches the Emerald City. The guitar player, Tony, is definitely the Tin Man but better looking and much more funny. Paul, no doubt the lion but far from cowardly; that man can sing. Eric, the scarecrow because he plays bass so funky scares me. Drummer Daniel, without question, is The Wizard. It's his show. He drives it and those drums of his with a velvet hammer. What a great bunch of pros and they're all so polite and respectful. Practicing for next gig whenever it is. Nice to have a fantasy hobby that's fun and healthy for the soul. I love to sing into a mic, that's all there is to it. The rest of the week, I'm a professional secretary, and, most importantly, a Mom. We are working things out so incredibly well. Thanks to all of you for all your love and support. Love to all, all is Love, Pam.

P.S.: I want a set of congas (and other musical things) for Christmas. That's what my friends did for their wedding registry was register at Musician's Friend. I thought that was just so cool. I was so broke at the time I could only afford a slide but it was a pretty sweet slide. I put it in a really cool box to make up for its size. Abbey loved it. I don't think piano players have as many choices in the way of accessories. What I really want is this $300 electric piano at Costco. But I can't wait until Christmas. What a great price. Next song I need to learn is Piece of My Heart. Sang that one at the firm's tremendous karaoke party this year, went over well. Dick jumped up and played air guitar during the solo part. Later I chuckled at the irony that he was playing Big Brother. You know, as in of And The Holding Company.

Well, tomorrow's the big gig in Sonora. Me and my guitar player sing folky kinda stuff. We're going to do about six songs. Some Dar Williams, some Lucinda Williams, some Bonnie. Wish me luck.

Faster Faster.

Went to Costco to have tires installed at lunchtime. Waited in line,
purchased the tires, handed over the keys and *then* the gentleman told me
it would be a 3-1/2 hour timespan before they'd call saying it's ready for
pick up. Rather than deal with the bus back to work, I called a cab.
I am glad to be able to say that I made it back alive.
Cab ride was crazier than Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.
I said, "Sir, may I make a suggestion? I am not in a hurry today."
He said, "Am I speeding?"
Right when I said, "I think so," he squealed tires around a turn.
Not so fun. But I am safe.

Wag The Dog.

I watched 60 Minutes II last night. Several nuclear physicist experts detailed how Bush and Powell really worked hard to trump up the war in Iraq. Things really were not how we were told they were. I thought of the movie Wag The Dog and the many parallels there and here. I realized an extension of the bad example that our government sets is that *gack* Arnold Scharzenegger really is the governor of California. I told Carol Anne it's all like some kind of sick joke. I've been so numb the past week I haven't even been able to blog about it. People, I am really afraid.

Go To The Farmers Market.

Farmers' marketers and marketeers ought to be really, really happy about the big grocery strike in southern California. Cab drivers ought to be glad about the transit strike in L.A. What a mess that place is. I am going there this weekend to visit friendsHCHJr.jpg, see the Getty, do a little backup recording with my good friends The Rusticators on their second cd.

I hope I don't die in the car without any fruit.

Take That.

I just played a couple dozen Es and Fs over and over, just to piss off Metallica. Those bozos have a lawsuit against another band, saying they own the rights to riffing from E to F repeatedly, because it's their "signature sound." Hello. Ever hear flamenco?

On Dave Matthews.

He takes a common phrase, puts it to a catchy tune, and repeats it over and over. Some think it haunting, some repetitive, some get it stuck in their heads and no matter what they do that phrase keeps popping up again and again. So Damn Lucky is a good phrase to have haunt you.

Mourning Heartache.

Being a songwriter, it occurred to me that the words "Buffett" and "puppet" go together. A song to the tune of Warren Buffett purchasing California by way of puppet is slowly bubbling in the deepest recesses of the cauldron of my brainpan. In response to these frightening and woesome election results, I am listening to Billie Holliday sing "Good Morning Heartache." It's only fitting, and certainly therapeutic.

Why I Am Not Fond of IKEA.

Interesed in a Yahoo banner ad last week, I clicked to see what IKEA was about. I liked their site, and, needing a few amenities for the home, first went to the Bathroom Accessories page where I fell in love with a little magnetic soap dish system. You get a little magnet with prongs that you shove into the soap, and the soap hangs from a little holder. Very European. So I ordered it and two other items on the web. Three days later, I'm electronically informed that one of the items (not the soap holder) is not available, ergo they were cancelling my entire order. The entire order. That was the first thing I began to dislike about IKEA.

Second, in the cancellation email there was an 800 number to call regarding my order. I gave up after 36 minutes on hold, got in the car and drove to the East Palo Alto store for the soap holder I had to have. After all, it was essential to my lifestyle.

Third: There is no one in the store to help you when you get there. I found that with IKEA it is not a good idea to go into the store knowing exactly what you want to purchase. It's better to go in clueless, shuffling in circles, gaping in awe at everything, until you see something you think you might need. Sorry, IKEA, I am just not that kind of shopper. I do not fit in with the IKEA crowd, persons crawling with screaming children who are wondering why their parents are shuffling in circles, gaping.

Fourth, the store layout is disorganized and confusing. There are signs, but buried, vague and hard to find. Store employees are even harder to find, and the one I finally found couldn't get off his cell phone long enough to provide directions.

After dogged determination, walking around quickly and directly without a hint of shuffling or gaping, I finally found the very last magnetic soap holder in all of Silicon Valley.

I later called the store to complain about all of this: the mystifying unilateral cancellation of the internet order; the more than 30 minutes on hold; the nonobviousness of location of desired items; the worker chatting it up on his cell phone while on duty. I was apologized to for the worker, and put through to the Internet Order department of IKEA to find out about the cancellation issue that initiated the chain of events. A recording stated, "Due to extreme weather conditions, our Customer Service Department is now closed. Please try again later. Click." {Hasn't Hurricane Isabel been over with for a couple weeks now?}

So much for sucKEA. I won't be going there again. Customer service is nonexistent. I thought Fry's was bad.

But I've got a really cool soap dish now, and I worked hard for it.

Old Photos.

I have been overhauling the house lately and yesterday uncovered an abundance of old photographs, most of which are just wonderful. I have a few very nice, very old antiquities I appreciate, including a yellowed edition of Charles Dickens' Christmas Tales -- a collection of several short stories in one book, found in a drawer not opened in years. When I picked it up I noticed there was a photo sticking out, like a book mark. I opened it up, and the photo was of an old flame from many years back. The story it was marking was "The Haunted Man." I thought, "How fitting", closed the book and went on.

Love. Sucks. Your. Guts.

That's the name of my next song. Somehow, I am going to make it work. I'll let you know how it goes as it comes along. "Love. Sucks. Your. Gu-hu-huts. It drives us all nuts. Luhuh-Love. Yeah Lo-huh-Love. Sucks. Your. Gu-hu-uts.

I'm thinking this way because last night, I saw Jack Black in School of Rock. What a fantastic movie. Carol and I saw it opening night. We laughed so hard.

Now I'm watching Jack host SNL. Life is too good. He is doing this amazing opening act, in one very long take. Showing them all how to do it right.

Low, Sure. Sweet? No Way.

People, do not buy this product: Sweet & Low Chocolate Cake. Bought some on sale a while ago, and was in the mood to bake last night. Whipped it up (first red flag was the only ingredient to be added was water). Drizzled batter into pan, tossed it in the oven. Licked spoon. Spontaneously gagged. I said to Carol, "Carol. This stuff might not turn out so good." She motioned me to give her a taste of the batter. "Ew," said she. "I hope the cake tastes better than the batter." Cake done, and one hesitant taste tells it shouldn't even be fed to dog. Next time, I'll be more than happy to take more steps, including the addition of real sugar, to make a decent cake. Quite nasty, that.