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Kebabs and prostitutes...

A glorified status update. I mean, that's what blogs are right? I mean the, "I did/am doing this" blogs…?

I'm actually sitting here pondering something stupid. I've had a couple of cartoons published lately. Just little things that accompany articles I don't understand. But I started querying - has the word "published" lost a little of it's prestige now in the age of the internet. I mean, that's where my cartoons were published, on the internet. Does "published" on the internet hold the same weight that "published" in print media does? But then, with print media dying out, and internet taking over, does the prestige transfer… Told you it's a stupid ponder.

Somehow, I managed to cram two life long memory type experiences into the span of two or months. One of which I document here…



Yeah, the lady friend is a traveller. A bird whose wings I inadvertently clipped when she was silly enough to attach herself to this shut in. So and olive branch was extended and an offer was made. "Let's go away somewhere". The offer was embraced, and within months we were packing bags for Paris, France.

For a person who deals with extended bouts of the bums, I freakin' rocked that bad boy. Or Paris rocked me. I had a desire to be a part of something, to be amongst and a beautiful city had me shaking said bums in minutes. Truly an experience I'll remember forever.

Like crazy I was looking forward to coming home. Don't get me wrong, the trip was awesome. But whose the one doing it right - the "sucks to be back" or the "rocks to be home". Rocks to be home. But I had a few hurdles to bound before true home-type relaxation was to be achieved.

Prior to the jaunt, the Broni Band had been rehearsing like crazy for a big recording session for album number three. My plane landed Wednesday night, I was back at work Thursday and then Saturday the band was to play songs for our producer Sean Carey who'd flown down from Sydney to critique not only the songs, but how we played them.

Now, I'm a good bass player. I'm not great by any stretch, but I know what I'm good at and what I'm good at I make sure I do it good. Good. But, often I feel intimidated by "real" musicians. I'm a songwriter, not a musician, per se. I'm not a guitar nerd, I don't read music, I barely know the names of the chords I play. So faced with "try a G sus 7 in a something something pentatonic something" I was afraid I'd buckle.

Sure, I nailed it like a fox… but not so much thanks to my skill but thanks to being crazy rehearsed, Broni and Easy being down with trying anything, and most importantly Sean being a freakin' cruisy dude who was there for the music not for the music.
Fast forward a few weeks and I'm in Sing Sing recording studios in Melbourne having another one of the times of my life. Damn, if we didn't lay down some seriously good music. I can say that you see, because I'm just a guy in the band… it doesn't wreak of tickets, does it?

Days later I was in Sydney at Trackdown studios drinking brown ale and strumming banjos. But that's for the next few SPEDSTV eps. I'm sure your breath is baited and whatnot… 

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