The wind is blowing.
It is not blowing too hard to busk and it is a blustery upper sixties, like a room with air conditioning on, rather than like being in a refrigerator.
I got the idea to record a song of my friend Ted Broughey's and send it to him for Christmas as a way to optimize the time spent recording with Jacob in his studio.
After I got it into my own studio, I kind of processed it. I wound up sending it to him for Christmas, even though I should have put the fake bass guitar on it last night. Maybe tonight...
And I can fix the part where the time slows down then speeds up in the intro, while I'm at it.
The Howard Trip
I made the trip over the river for the Christmas dinner offered at Howard's house, which is the house of Berta, who cooks every Sunday, and Ken, her boyfriend who has roots in the swamps of Louisiana, and who had met Howard when he was still sleeping in a stand of bushes across from the ferry terminal in Algiers Point, and who had taught that worthy "how to live in the woods."
The trip, for which I had grabbed a bag of Christmas themed Resse's Peanut Butter product at the Family Dollar to bring as a gift, turned into a wonderful event.
From the prayer offered by Howard at the table -I had known that Howard had been a chaplain at a prison for a long time, but had never heard him "kick it"- to the card stuffed with a twenty dollar bill given to me by Berta, it was a raucous occasion.
One which lent itself as my strongest temptation to drink in almost three years, in almost three years.
They had a pinot noir that Howard himself asked for more of after tasting the "just a little bit" and which was made in a very intriguing part of California to me, it not being Sonoma or Russian Creek or any of the more familiar...
I was told by a very merry Ken and Berta that I was always welcome there, with the times I was hungry or needed money being specially noted.
And then, I was kind of asked by them if I would try to get through to Howard the importance of him taking measures to insure that he wouldn't be buried in a pauper's grave should he be struck and killed while riding his bike because he is deaf and can't hear "them beeping," according to Ken's assessment.
It is not blowing too hard to busk and it is a blustery upper sixties, like a room with air conditioning on, rather than like being in a refrigerator.
I got the idea to record a song of my friend Ted Broughey's and send it to him for Christmas as a way to optimize the time spent recording with Jacob in his studio.
And I can fix the part where the time slows down then speeds up in the intro, while I'm at it.
The Howard Trip
I made the trip over the river for the Christmas dinner offered at Howard's house, which is the house of Berta, who cooks every Sunday, and Ken, her boyfriend who has roots in the swamps of Louisiana, and who had met Howard when he was still sleeping in a stand of bushes across from the ferry terminal in Algiers Point, and who had taught that worthy "how to live in the woods."
The trip, for which I had grabbed a bag of Christmas themed Resse's Peanut Butter product at the Family Dollar to bring as a gift, turned into a wonderful event.
From the prayer offered by Howard at the table -I had known that Howard had been a chaplain at a prison for a long time, but had never heard him "kick it"- to the card stuffed with a twenty dollar bill given to me by Berta, it was a raucous occasion.
One which lent itself as my strongest temptation to drink in almost three years, in almost three years.
They had a pinot noir that Howard himself asked for more of after tasting the "just a little bit" and which was made in a very intriguing part of California to me, it not being Sonoma or Russian Creek or any of the more familiar...
I was told by a very merry Ken and Berta that I was always welcome there, with the times I was hungry or needed money being specially noted.
And then, I was kind of asked by them if I would try to get through to Howard the importance of him taking measures to insure that he wouldn't be buried in a pauper's grave should he be struck and killed while riding his bike because he is deaf and can't hear "them beeping," according to Ken's assessment.
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