Friday, February 24, 2006

a late afternoon at school

I have been told I don't contribute enough to this blog, so here is a ramblin story of epic proportions. My story begins on a front porch of an old fraternity buddy of mine early in the afternoon. I'm drunk of course and wearing a giant sombrero. Then I wake up and I'm back in Chicago. Coming back to the reality that is the boring english lecture, but lucky for me the class had just ended.
Walking out of the class I'm side swiped by a captivating girl. I dropped my books on purpose which got her attention, the second she turned around I immediately regreted that decision. She was what we all know as the dreaded butter face. Of course since I had only looked at her fine lookin rump I got her attention before I saw the complete picture. This is 15 minutes of pure torrment, as she tries to introduce her self and go through all that small talk bullshit. I'm not completely vain so I paid attention to what she was saying for about 30 seconds before I tuned out her story of how her clarinet teacher just failed her... back on the porch sipin a margarita and smokin a fatty, life is grand... 'bam' I fell over cause I fell asleep during this girls story. The girl was very red in the face, well I think she was at least. I couldn't really see her face behind all the pot marks, but she didn't seem to notice that I fell asleep. All she saw was me fall down, she immediately came to my side and this gave me the perfect exit strategy. I told her I needed to go to the bathroom to see if I was bleeding. Thank god she didn't wait for me outside. At last I was free, to finally practice. I got to the basement and pulled out my 1949 Mont Vernon Bach Stradavarious Custom with the 25h Ken Larson custom lead pipe. Practicing has become my greatest comfort zone where when I play I can imagine my self playing anywhere... back on the porch this time I've got my trumpet blowing an old Clifford Browne solo I transcriped weeks before. The sun is hot but not too hot, I'm still wearing the sombrero, and when that comes to my attention my solo changes, suddenly I'm ripping licks like Arturo Sandavol playing so loud that I blew up the skirt of the Chakita Bannana Girl who was dancing around ever so gracfully, but the sun suddenly goes down and Ron Carter and Tony Williams are beside me playing a fast pychefunkadelic afro cuban groove with a touch of cool bop on top. My playing suddenly transformes into a combonation of Miles' style and Roy Hargroves gorgeous sound. The porch is filled with tables, chairs and young hipsters listening intently, waiting for that new sound, that inspiration that moves us all and takes us to that emtional peak which trancends anything else in life, cause dream and memory are intermixed in this mad universe and art is the only way to communicate that.
My practice session ends with me feeling complete and ready to travel home to my apartment in China town, where I expect to fall asleep and dream dreams.

2 Comments:

Blogger Stickler said...

Oh little brother I'm glad college is treating you well. Dream your antiquated fantasies, but remember eventually life and time will catch up with you!

February 25, 2006 2:14 AM  
Blogger youngest stickler said...

it's not an escape its a comfort zone to work. mixed with some drugs, hehe

February 26, 2006 7:14 PM  

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