Tag Archives: humor

Gladrags and Cold Bags

Pop Hymes, drummer extraordinaire, Natchitoches fishing legend and general all-around bon vivant, is fond of telling jokes, particularly ones that focus on musicians in some way. For example:

Three guitarists arrive at a studio to audition for a band. The first one is called, goes into a side room and finds the rest of the auditioning band waiting. He does his thing. When he’s finished, the listening drummer shakes his said and says, “sorry, man, you’ve got too much loft.”The first guitarist is not sure what that means, but understands the rejection. He returns to the waiting room, and signals the second guitarist to go on in. The second guitarist completes his audition, and this time, the bass player grimaces and shakes his head – “sorry, dude, too lofty.” Likewise rejected, the second guitarist confusedly goes back to sit down. The third guitarist finally goes in for his audition. When he’s finished, the lead singer says, “Nope. You’ve got desire, but your performance suffers from loft.”At this point, the third guitarist goes back outside and joins the other two previous guitarists, who are waiting to see if any of them got hired. One says, “I don’t know what these guys want. They said I had too much loft! What the hell is loft?”The other two guitarists describe their experiences too. None of them can figure out what “loft” is. So they decide to find out. They return together to the audition room and say, “what is loft, anyway?”The drummer shakes his head, laughing. “It’s not loft. It’s LOFT. Lack of F***ing Talent.”

This reminds me of things my father used to say:

“You should probably sing tenor. Ten or twelve miles away.”

“Why don’t you take a solo? So low we can’t hear it.”

“You ought to be in Hollywood. The walk would do you good.”

And my favorite …

“You should be on the stage. It leaves in five minutes.”

Share This:

Deity and Single Parenting

Well, it started as a discussion about that certain part of the male hierarchy (and no, it wasn’t a discussion about Viagra).  And though it started with that certain reference in mind, the thought was expanded somewhat in the retelling:

“Unless you’ve actually seen your Supreme Being in the flesh, ALL deity-based religions are like single-parent homes:

1.  There’s definitely a parent missing.
2.  There’s no noticeable sign of support from that missing parent.
3.  Anytime that missing parent does anything at all, it’s a miracle.”

Share This:

Dear Kleenex

As of late, there’s been a commercial advertising your products that runs a little something like this …

A man with a shaven head (not tonsured, but completely shaven), wearing maroon robes very similar in style to those worn by the Dalai Lama, is shown during his daily activities to be careful about not harming the natural world around him. He rights a beetle so it can go on its way. He checks his steps to make sure no creatures are harmed by his footfalls. And so on.

Then, he plucks a tissue from a Kleenex box and blows his nose. There is a voice-over reminding us all that Kleenex tissue kills millions of germs. Germs, of course, are living creatures too. This puts a very worried look on the man’s face. I say man, but quite obviously he is supposed to be some kind of monk, most likely a follower of an Eastern religion, particularly as he has been acting with a Jain-like level of non-violence, and even sports a set of japa beads, not a rosary.

But all is not lost, the voice over assures us, saying “Thank goodness for forgiveness. Thank goodness for Kleenex.”

However, there is a bit of a problem here. So far as I know, and I have been studying Eastern religions and the myriad of paths that preach non-violence and “do no harm”, none of the sects to which the monk might belong have what you might call a “Doctrine of Forgiveness”. That is, I believe, a Christian notion. Where paths preach non-violence and non-aggression, there is no forgiveness, regardless of how small or petty the infraction may seem. There is payment due. It is called Karma. It is also, in some strange circles, referred to as a law of physics: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. To coin a phrase, what comes around, goes around. If you truly believe in non-aggression and non-harm, you take personal responsibility for your every action, and do not seek (or expect) forgiveness. You expect a bill, and you are prepared to pay it. Even if it is mere, lowly germs who have given their lives to afford you better health, you are inclined to thank them for the sacrifice.

As one non-Christian practitioner who thinks that the beliefs of others should not be parodied out of ignorance, particularly to sell products, I think this oversight (and I’d like to think that’s all it is) is nothing to sneeze at. But it certainly has inclined me to purchase Puffs instead.

Share This:

If Not the Heartland

Just a random question …

If you’re not living in the “Heartland,” what body part exactly is your home located in? Does that part have no “heart”? Does the “Heartland” have no brain, hands, feet, stomach, mouth, genitals?

Or is that just TOO EASY?

Share This:

To Be Ambrose Bierce for a Day

chaste, n.

The state of being pursued, but not yet within the grasp of the pursuer. For example, it could be said that one is chaste, or in fact chased, until they are caught or captured. Quite often the value placed upon chastity, which is of course the affliction associated with the quarry’s unnaturally extended ability to outrun its would-be captors, is determined by the perceived value of the quarry as a showpiece once it is mounted, or otherwise preserved as a trophy of some kind. Unfortunately, this measure of quality is too often determined only by the pursuer (i.e., beauty in the eye of the beholder) relative to the more or less flimsy, variable and/or whimsical tastes of its own society. As a result, being a worthy adversary with respect to said capture is prized when the object being hunted is pursued by someone else, and decried as unfair when pertaining to the object of one’s own inclinations. But then again, such are the characteristics of double standards, after all.

Share This:

Come Out to the Cherokee

Sometimes, it’s the craziest little line that starts off a whole chain of thinkin’. This one, of course, is not based in reality whatsoever; but it does beg the question … when IS that Jeff Rachall website going to be updated?

You think that I’m lying when I say I’m in a band;
this going out all weekend, you say you don’t understand.
And furthermore, you’ve searched the ‘Net but never found a trace
that proves beyond a doubt that I’m not lying to your face.

It’s not another woman, or some poker game I’m in;
it’s not long nights of drinking, contemplating ways to sin.
I know that country music’s not your favorite cup of tea;
but for our sake, so you’ll believe, please do this thing for me:

They won’t put my picture up on the group’s new website,
so I can’t prove I’m in the band if you’re not there tonight;
Come out to the Cherokee, where I said we’d be ’til two;
then you’ll know my word is good and I’ve not been untrue.

You think that I’m lying about playing songs all night,
and worry that I’m straying as soon as I get out of sight.
I’ve tried hard to convince you that my word on this is true;
but there’s only one way I know to prove myself to you:

They won’t put my picture up on the brand new website,
so I can’t prove I’m in the band if you’re not there tonight;
Come out to the Cherokee, where I said we’d be ’til two;
then you’ll know my word is good and I’ve not been untrue.

17 MAR 2006

Share This:

Half Crazy

I’ve always been a fan of reggae, calypso and island music in general; and the songs “Margaritaville” and “Two Pina Coladas” seemed to be missing what I’ve always seen as a crucial element in the description of relationship recovery: that madness, or craziness, that seems to engulf you on both the way in and way out, particularly where a protracted separation is required both medically and legally. A number of my songs touch on this factor in one way or another, with the ultimate purpose of finding something to laugh about in the situation as the best therapy.

I’ll tell you that I almost lost it
once or twice but now I’m doing fine.
There may have been an incident that put me down
somewhere along the line.
I’ve been held back, and I’ve lost track,
it got to be too much and I got lazy;
they tell me parts don’t make the whole, but
no one’s ever really just half crazy

I’ll tell you I was loco over you
but now I’ve come back to my sense.
Still, any man who’s studied Freud will tell you
there’s no middle of the fence;
and I’ll admit there’s quite a bit of time
where what I did is kinda hazy
I’m no exception to the rule, ’cause
no one’s ever really just half crazy

You told me that I’d done things wrong,
that I’d forgotten how to talk to you;
and furthermore, you’d gotten sore
that I could never give you what you’re due.
That may be so, but I don’t know,
the right and wrong of it still kinda phase me —
seems like we’re two sides of the same mind:
no one’s ever really just half crazy

You acted like you didn’t want
the things I did because they were insane,
and made me question who I was and every thought
that came into my brain.
I’ve been a wreck, in retrospect
you really should have known you couldn’t save me;
but knowing’s just one piece of mind and
no one’s ever really just half crazy


Share This: