Stirrings, Musings And The Quest For The Cure For Restless Seeking

I sit here and I type.

I have the soundtrack for the movie "Grease," on my CD player, as I do so.
This brings back memories of my 15th year, a year during which almost every other kid in my high school went and saw the movie "Grease."

I guess I already wasn't into movies at that stage of my life. I always felt that I would rather go out and try to live out my own 2 hour adventure instead of sitting in a theater and being "transported" into some other person's fantasy.

But, the music, although done by the "top" professionals of the day, falls well short of replicating the 1950's type stuff that it seeks to imitate, at least compared to such gems as Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell" album that turns rock and roll into an art form, with textbook rock piano, guitar, drums, vocals, and especially lyrics.

The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack is even a better listen than the Grease soundtrack. The theme song to the "Happy Days" TV show is better than almost everything on the Grease soundtrack, with the possible exception of "Hopelessly Devoted To You," sung by Olivia Newton John, and only added to the movie at the last minute, it won the only Oscar for the film....

But, a 28 year old Olivia cast as a high school girl!?


But, I snapped up the CD for one dollar at the Goodwill, while grabbing Mussorgsky's "Pictures At An Exhibition" for another buck. I wonder which disc I will still want to listen to a year from now.

It is Thursday, the 2nd day of 2020.

My drinking, which resumed with the ill-fated decision to drink beer on Halloween night (thinking that it would warm me up on that cold night, and that, perhaps absolute abstinence from alcohol might not be the penultimate diet for health) and which, 2 weeks later led to bottles of red wine being consumed with evening meals, such as I had done all through the 1990's -a time when I enjoyed vibrant health, finally reached a critical point last night.

I was coming back from the store and wound up getting to the building just as Jacob was arriving for what was planned to be a day of recording music at his house (because his guardian, Bob, was away for the holiday) and then going out to busk, on New Year's Eve.

There was a skeezer of some sort, who had a backpack containing bottles of Jim Beam bourbon, which he was selling for 10 bucks each; less than half the price charged by whatever store he most likely shoplifted them from.

Not one to be able to resist a great deal, I bought a bottle off him.

This led to Jacob and I going over to his house and recording one of our best sessions ever, but then returning to my place where, only the next day did I learn that I had annoyed him by putting on a Grateful Dead recording and "noodling" along to it, when he was chomping at the bit to go out and busk.

By the time we got out there, I was almost half way into the bottle and some comment he made made me basically kick him off the spot "I've been playing here for 8 years by myself, and I wouldn't mind going back to that arrangement now," or some other Jim Beam inspired words, I said.

Jake was mad because I sold the rest of our weed for 10 bucks to a couple of tourists who happened along and happened to mention that they were looking for some.

I knew that I could run to Canal Street and replace it using only 5 of the 10 bucks that they gave me (us) but Jacob became so upset about the prospect of playing without being high, that it made me feel like he was going to mope and drag the energy level down, and it also made me come face to face with my failure to have gotten to a point where I could go out and play using only a jug of spring water to keep me hydrated and going.

Jacob has always been a "drugs first" type of person.

I met him at a kratom bar, for starters.

The first time we ever scheduled a jam at his house (when his guardian was away another time) we wound up driving around with he and his friends while they frantically texted and skyped away on their phones, trying to find acid.
Once the acid was procured, then, it was on to the jam.

This made for some discomfort for me, as I was being introduced to new people and situations, while tripping on LSD. This is a double edged sword, as it can make great interactions greater, but it can also amplify awkwardness.

And so it came to pass that, even though I spoke with Jacob about my goal of being able to go out and busk without the crutch of a tune up joint or other drug, it seemed like the very next day, he was texting me with things like "Trying to get some weed for busking tonight..."

And, then to be sitting there with him shaking his head and basically saying that he didn't really feel like playing, since there was nothing to get high on, I guess that triggered the reaction in me to kick him off the Lilly Pad.

I knew that I could go and replace the weed, and turn a profit in the bargain, if he were to just hold down the spot for 15 minutes while I went and did so, but I guess I was offended by his anger at me, as if I had done something against him by selling the weed. So, I never proposed that, but just told him that I wanted my spot back, see you later, type of thing.

But, not a half hour after he left, and with the street still packed with tourists, the brunt of the bottle hit me and I was too drunk to play, after having made just 6 more dollars.

But, after getting a text from him the next morning that detailed the extent to which I had inconvenienced him, who had to ride through the packed Quarter, alone, on his bike, which he then was not allowed to leave in the Sacred Heart lobby, due to one particular guard who was working, I fired off an apology, being sober, and realizing that I could have defused the situation in a much better way than telling him to leave.

In a way, I thought I was practicing "tough love" by making him have to ride home by himself, unchaperoned, and hoped that it might help him over his phobia of doing so.

He is very afraid of death and had heard that a lot of people are shot in the Quarter during the New Year's Eve fireworks, because they mask the sounds of the gunfire.

I was hoping that he might run into someone who would notice the bass guitar on his back and invite him to party and play the bass (and that they might even have an awesome layout of recreational drugs to make it a truly memorable night) and that it might help him with his "social anxiety," or whatever it is...

But, not being a hypocrite and, having had a bowl of weed to tune up with, ritualistically, for probably the past 3 years at the Lilly Pad, I was in no position to throw stones.

Some people seem to hold alcohol in special contempt, probably based upon childhood experiences with alcoholic parents and such. There aren't a lot of stories bandied about about how dad would smoke a fat joint and then start beating on the wife, or wind up waking up in a gutter because of it.

So, the "Grease" soundtrack kind of sucks. Maybe it's just that grease is not the way that I'm feeling right now.

They used to put grease in their hair and then grease up their cars, and I guess that was the most grand metaphor of that movie. All I envision is my fellow high school freshmen who actually went and saw the movie at least once and who, would hit that dance floor with relish and mimic whatever dances they learned from watching the flick, and I remember my disgust over how they were like sheep in that sense, with Hollywood as the shepherd. So ephemeral; they were living in their time, doing the dance of the day; like sheep.


I'm not sure I agree that "grease" is the word. I still think "the bird" is the word, in my opinion...

Earlier this evening, I put more data on my phone so I can use the hot spot to post this.

I know I have cried wolf one too many times already, but I will once again say that, soon I will post some music here that will be better than any posted before...