So maybe I'll write my life story here, not that anyone reads this thing anymore. that way when I'm on my death bed, I'll whisper the blog site address and there you go, instant eulogy.
It will probably explain a lot of things as to why I am like I am. I know it's gonna take quite a while too. And it's as I remember with a little fiction intertwined, heck why not.
So, here we go........
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Songwriting
Circa the winter of 1996 there was somewhat of a family reunion over in Sonoma with Cousin Kit, Cousin Johnny, Cousin Stevie, Cousin Nelson, Brother Scott and a number of Aunts and Uncle Mick. Coming from a musical family, one evening we attended a jam session at " Big Daddy Mur's " , retrofitted garage, jam palace. Murray was a colorful, local drummer and Sonoma is not lacking for walk in musicians. The place was dimly lit, xmas lights hanging on the interior, rugs on the wall to dampen the sound, a stage. Oddities scattered about ( I contributed a taxidermied rooster crowing on a post, one of my early taxidermy projects). Shadowy sillouhettes with gig bags and congas flowed through the door.
We all took turns getting up and playing, jamming and afterward the cousins decided that it sounded pretty good. We'd all played in bands seperately over the years, some with more success than others. We decided to write some stuff and record it on our own.
Mad Uncle Mick was the driving force behind the project, footing a lot of the bill for recording time at Prarrie Sun Studios in Cotati. A collaberation between some cousins and freinds who sat in on some tracks, it was an amazing 6 months project. I wrote 4 songs on my own and collaberated with music or lyrics on 2 others and Scott wrote one. Cousin Ricky flew out from Maryland to enrich a song " More Love" with his silky vocals.
The only problem with writing so many songs in that short of time is that I eventually developed writer's block. Then the mixing and re mixing of tracks, time, money. The studio liked the fact that we were family and gave us a discount rate of $45 an hour but then toward the end, the price went back to the normal price of $75. With all these factors we called it the End.
We passed out CDs to family, friends with good reviews. Several of the songs were played on a couple internet radio stations. Internet radio was in its infancy, the CD was for sale on MP3's website when they featured mostly Indie music. Until You Change Your Mind and What You Do To Me were in the top 40 for many weeks with good reviews from critics.
Recently, after listening to the tracks, I decided to try and market them, i.e, get a song published. Once its published, then the publishing company may pitch the song to an artist. Thats how I understand it anyway. If an artist eventually records it and it ends up on an album that sells, then you get royalties every time its played.
I found a songwriting consultant at songmd.com. An accomplished songwriter with many credits and an Emmy nomination. I sent 4 songs in not knowing what to expect. I paid my fee, submitted and waited. I didn't know what to expect really, I thought maybe a hook to get you to shell out more money for recording.... some angle.
But within a few days I received a 30 mintue CD with her comments. Well, lets call it mostly constructive critiscm. At first listen, I didn't know if this was her subjective opinion, projections based on her style but as I listened and re listened, it was honest critiscm. I learned her lean was oriented to having people break in the music business with a hit song. You have to write something good enough to break in even though I thought my stuff was better than a lot of stuff I hear on the radio.
I learned that the contemporary song structure is verse - chorus - verse - chorus - bridge - chorus. And a lot of them actually have this structure if you pay attention. I learned you want to go " up" into the chorus and the way to do it is with a major 3rd. I learned the chorus, verse and bridge should all have different rythyms, to write the melody first, then the lyrics, to tell a story rather than put together a song with a bunch of metaphors, poetic imagery thinking someone would understand what I was conveying... and on and on...
Interesting enough, the song she seemed to introspect a lot on was one that was my favorite lyrically but one that wasn't as popular among people who had heard it. She did encourage me to re write and not give up. Hey , at least I got 30 minutes of constructive critism, that means something, right? I could have been totally blown off.
Bottom line is I can't quit the day job for now. But her ideas are actually liberating in the sense that there is a definite structure to things, and I dont have to get too complex in the delivery, just tell a story, with a good melody that will make people want to get lost in the music. She told me to bleed and put my guts on the page..... ok. Back to work. I can do this!
We all took turns getting up and playing, jamming and afterward the cousins decided that it sounded pretty good. We'd all played in bands seperately over the years, some with more success than others. We decided to write some stuff and record it on our own.
Mad Uncle Mick was the driving force behind the project, footing a lot of the bill for recording time at Prarrie Sun Studios in Cotati. A collaberation between some cousins and freinds who sat in on some tracks, it was an amazing 6 months project. I wrote 4 songs on my own and collaberated with music or lyrics on 2 others and Scott wrote one. Cousin Ricky flew out from Maryland to enrich a song " More Love" with his silky vocals.
The only problem with writing so many songs in that short of time is that I eventually developed writer's block. Then the mixing and re mixing of tracks, time, money. The studio liked the fact that we were family and gave us a discount rate of $45 an hour but then toward the end, the price went back to the normal price of $75. With all these factors we called it the End.
We passed out CDs to family, friends with good reviews. Several of the songs were played on a couple internet radio stations. Internet radio was in its infancy, the CD was for sale on MP3's website when they featured mostly Indie music. Until You Change Your Mind and What You Do To Me were in the top 40 for many weeks with good reviews from critics.
Recently, after listening to the tracks, I decided to try and market them, i.e, get a song published. Once its published, then the publishing company may pitch the song to an artist. Thats how I understand it anyway. If an artist eventually records it and it ends up on an album that sells, then you get royalties every time its played.
I found a songwriting consultant at songmd.com. An accomplished songwriter with many credits and an Emmy nomination. I sent 4 songs in not knowing what to expect. I paid my fee, submitted and waited. I didn't know what to expect really, I thought maybe a hook to get you to shell out more money for recording.... some angle.
But within a few days I received a 30 mintue CD with her comments. Well, lets call it mostly constructive critiscm. At first listen, I didn't know if this was her subjective opinion, projections based on her style but as I listened and re listened, it was honest critiscm. I learned her lean was oriented to having people break in the music business with a hit song. You have to write something good enough to break in even though I thought my stuff was better than a lot of stuff I hear on the radio.
I learned that the contemporary song structure is verse - chorus - verse - chorus - bridge - chorus. And a lot of them actually have this structure if you pay attention. I learned you want to go " up" into the chorus and the way to do it is with a major 3rd. I learned the chorus, verse and bridge should all have different rythyms, to write the melody first, then the lyrics, to tell a story rather than put together a song with a bunch of metaphors, poetic imagery thinking someone would understand what I was conveying... and on and on...
Interesting enough, the song she seemed to introspect a lot on was one that was my favorite lyrically but one that wasn't as popular among people who had heard it. She did encourage me to re write and not give up. Hey , at least I got 30 minutes of constructive critism, that means something, right? I could have been totally blown off.
Bottom line is I can't quit the day job for now. But her ideas are actually liberating in the sense that there is a definite structure to things, and I dont have to get too complex in the delivery, just tell a story, with a good melody that will make people want to get lost in the music. She told me to bleed and put my guts on the page..... ok. Back to work. I can do this!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Portabello and Asiago with Tarragon Aioli
Here's a recipe from the TOMM kitchen. It turned out delicious.
Ingredients: Per sandwhich.
1 Large Portabello Mushroom. ( De stemmed)
1 Large Red Bell Pepper
Escarole lettuce
Fresh Italian Flat Bread.
Asagio Cheese
1/3 cup of Lite Mayo
3 Roasted Garlic Cloves.
Fresh Tarragon
1/2 teaspoon Olive Oil
Two Large Scallions
Sea Salt
Pepper
Balsamic Vinegar
De Stemm the portabello and brush it with olive oil. Be patient, they get thirsty. Set aside.
Cut the bell pepper into flat slices, peel the skin and rind, no seeds. Then place the pepper slice in a plastic bag with a splash of balsamic vinegar. Set aside and let it marinate.
For the aioli, coursely chop about two teaspoons of fresh tarragon. Finely chop the roasted garlic cloves and the scallion onion part. Couresly chop one of the scallion greens. Whisk together with the mayo, olive oil, a pinch of sea salt and pinch of pepper. You can adjust the taste and add more garlic, tarragon to your taste. The Tarragon makes this sandwhich. Refrigerate.
Grill the portobello, skin side down until down while charring the bell pepper. When the portobello is done, turn it over and melt the asagio cheese slice.
Cut the italian flat bread into two slices about the size of the mushroom and spread the aioli generously on the top slice. You can lightly toast the bread if so desired on the grill brushing with a little olive oil. Place the mushroom on the bottom slice, topped with the bell pepperslice, add a leaf of Escarole and I like to slice it in half. You may want to use tooth picks to hold together.
You can pair this with a bold wine to match the meatiness of the portabello. A nice Cabernet or Zin would do the trick!
Ingredients: Per sandwhich.
1 Large Portabello Mushroom. ( De stemmed)
1 Large Red Bell Pepper
Escarole lettuce
Fresh Italian Flat Bread.
Asagio Cheese
1/3 cup of Lite Mayo
3 Roasted Garlic Cloves.
Fresh Tarragon
1/2 teaspoon Olive Oil
Two Large Scallions
Sea Salt
Pepper
Balsamic Vinegar
De Stemm the portabello and brush it with olive oil. Be patient, they get thirsty. Set aside.
Cut the bell pepper into flat slices, peel the skin and rind, no seeds. Then place the pepper slice in a plastic bag with a splash of balsamic vinegar. Set aside and let it marinate.
For the aioli, coursely chop about two teaspoons of fresh tarragon. Finely chop the roasted garlic cloves and the scallion onion part. Couresly chop one of the scallion greens. Whisk together with the mayo, olive oil, a pinch of sea salt and pinch of pepper. You can adjust the taste and add more garlic, tarragon to your taste. The Tarragon makes this sandwhich. Refrigerate.
Grill the portobello, skin side down until down while charring the bell pepper. When the portobello is done, turn it over and melt the asagio cheese slice.
Cut the italian flat bread into two slices about the size of the mushroom and spread the aioli generously on the top slice. You can lightly toast the bread if so desired on the grill brushing with a little olive oil. Place the mushroom on the bottom slice, topped with the bell pepperslice, add a leaf of Escarole and I like to slice it in half. You may want to use tooth picks to hold together.
You can pair this with a bold wine to match the meatiness of the portabello. A nice Cabernet or Zin would do the trick!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Guitar Hero
My cyber friend Amy emailed me to tell me she thought Neil Young was a great guitar player. She had been listening to him on the way to work. This is not only blasphemous but so imcomprehensible that it made me choke on my water. He did make Rolling Stones top 100 list of guitarists at # 83 but go figure. I don't put a lot of credence in these things. I do like Neil Young as an artist and songwriter but guitarist? NO WAY.
So after some dialog she asks " who is your guitar hero" and I couldn't answer the question. I had to give it some thought. It's kind of like asking who your favorite painter is because there are so many different styles. You have classically trained portrait artists that paint with great detail and then you have impressionists and abstract artists with unique perspectives. Likewise, you have classically trained guitar players like Brian May, Joe Satriani, Eric Johnson and you have what I would consider abstract players like Dick Dale and Jeff Beck. Impressionists, well I would put Clapton, Hendrix, Carlos Santana in this category... something like that.
There's a lot more to playing a guitar than picking and strumming. Artists develope their own styles by using the components of a guitar to get a particular tone. Different styles of picks create different sounds. Different woods create different resonation as do electric guitar pickups. Gibsons sound different than Fenders. A tube amp gives warm vintage sound ... whammy bars, effects pedals..... it goes on and on. I have a Line 6 amp that has a knob you can turn and get about 20 different amp modulations. But instead of hauling around a 50lb amp, I just bought a Digitech box for $99 with 72 different modulations, with wah pedal built in, a tuner and effects settings. Its about the size of a shoe box and I can plug it into the PA system. That rocks!
Ok, here is my top ten list:
1. Chet Atkins - He had to have three hands to play like he did. Deceased.
2. Eric Clapton - I was at a loss for words when I met him. No need to say anything here.
3. David Gilmore - Amazing stylist. He can bend a note further than anyone I know.
4. Dickie Betts - Plays alot in the major pentatonic scale. Love his style.
5. Jeff Skunk Baxter - My favorite lick of all time = My Old School, Steely Dan.
6. Jimmy Hendrix - He was actually a really good blues player.
7. BB King - Great solos only using one or two of his strings.
8. Mark Knoplfer - Dire Straits, brilliant.
9. Ted Nugent - Gotta love uncle Ted for a lot of reasons. Stranglehold baby.
10. Stevie Ray Vaughan - Probably should be higher on my list.
Special mention goes to: Duane Allman, Warren Haynes, Bonnie Rait, Van Halen, Johnny Winter, Jerry Garcia, Mo Keb, Derek Trucks, Gary Collingsworth, Eric Johnson, Carlos Santana.
So after some dialog she asks " who is your guitar hero" and I couldn't answer the question. I had to give it some thought. It's kind of like asking who your favorite painter is because there are so many different styles. You have classically trained portrait artists that paint with great detail and then you have impressionists and abstract artists with unique perspectives. Likewise, you have classically trained guitar players like Brian May, Joe Satriani, Eric Johnson and you have what I would consider abstract players like Dick Dale and Jeff Beck. Impressionists, well I would put Clapton, Hendrix, Carlos Santana in this category... something like that.
There's a lot more to playing a guitar than picking and strumming. Artists develope their own styles by using the components of a guitar to get a particular tone. Different styles of picks create different sounds. Different woods create different resonation as do electric guitar pickups. Gibsons sound different than Fenders. A tube amp gives warm vintage sound ... whammy bars, effects pedals..... it goes on and on. I have a Line 6 amp that has a knob you can turn and get about 20 different amp modulations. But instead of hauling around a 50lb amp, I just bought a Digitech box for $99 with 72 different modulations, with wah pedal built in, a tuner and effects settings. Its about the size of a shoe box and I can plug it into the PA system. That rocks!
Ok, here is my top ten list:
1. Chet Atkins - He had to have three hands to play like he did. Deceased.
2. Eric Clapton - I was at a loss for words when I met him. No need to say anything here.
3. David Gilmore - Amazing stylist. He can bend a note further than anyone I know.
4. Dickie Betts - Plays alot in the major pentatonic scale. Love his style.
5. Jeff Skunk Baxter - My favorite lick of all time = My Old School, Steely Dan.
6. Jimmy Hendrix - He was actually a really good blues player.
7. BB King - Great solos only using one or two of his strings.
8. Mark Knoplfer - Dire Straits, brilliant.
9. Ted Nugent - Gotta love uncle Ted for a lot of reasons. Stranglehold baby.
10. Stevie Ray Vaughan - Probably should be higher on my list.
Special mention goes to: Duane Allman, Warren Haynes, Bonnie Rait, Van Halen, Johnny Winter, Jerry Garcia, Mo Keb, Derek Trucks, Gary Collingsworth, Eric Johnson, Carlos Santana.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Bob The Tractor Man
This here is the story 'bout a man who loved his tractor, his horse and Mama.
From sun up, till sun down,
Drove his tractor, all over town
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Helpin out people whenever he can.
He plowed to the East, plowed to the West,
Came across a Damsel in distress,
Hooked up a chain, pulled her car out,
That's what is job is all about.
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Drives his tractor as fast as he can,
Ridin tall, ridin proud,
Looks back over the land he's plowed.
Wears the same clothes , every day,
Dirt hides the color anyway,
Work's too improtant and he don't care,
He's not concerned 'bout the clothes he wears.
Now theres a woman in his life,
I'm not talkin 'but his wife,
They're not kin, but that's ok
Calls her Mama anyway.
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Drives his tractor, fast as he can,
Ridin tall, ridin proud,
Looks back over the land he's plowed.
Sold him a horse, and they both went away,
Never did see him , since that day,
Then I heard, 'round Christmas time,
They were seen in the Valley Springs parade.
From sun up, till sun down,
Drove his tractor, all over town
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Helpin out people whenever he can.
He plowed to the East, plowed to the West,
Came across a Damsel in distress,
Hooked up a chain, pulled her car out,
That's what is job is all about.
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Drives his tractor as fast as he can,
Ridin tall, ridin proud,
Looks back over the land he's plowed.
Wears the same clothes , every day,
Dirt hides the color anyway,
Work's too improtant and he don't care,
He's not concerned 'bout the clothes he wears.
Now theres a woman in his life,
I'm not talkin 'but his wife,
They're not kin, but that's ok
Calls her Mama anyway.
Bob, Bob the Tractor Man,
Drives his tractor, fast as he can,
Ridin tall, ridin proud,
Looks back over the land he's plowed.
Sold him a horse, and they both went away,
Never did see him , since that day,
Then I heard, 'round Christmas time,
They were seen in the Valley Springs parade.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Wrestler
It was July 2003, and I was sitting on a plane at SFO waiting to depart to Cabo to meet up with a couple of guys and do some big game fishing with Baja Raiders. Most of the plane had been boarded and the window seat next to me was still empty. I knew it was a full flight. Could I be so lucky? Most everyone was seated.
Just then, a Hulk Hogan of a man appeared in the front of the fuselage, bandana and all, an action figure come to life.... I kept my head down and tried to will away the fact that he might be coming straight toward me. Then a deep Steve Austinesque voice said " excuse me". The sight of us clearly amused the flight attendant and some of the passengers. In order to fit we spent the whole flight with his arm around the top of my seat and his head tilted to avoid hitting the overhead. Forget about the arm rest.
Turned out he was an actual professional wrestler, now retired. It was probably one of the most interesting conversations I've ever had. Super nice guy. He never reached the big league, had a $140,000 steriod habit at one time but now he gets hormone shots from his GP for muscle defintion. Enjoyable experience.
Anyway, what reminded me of this is that I watched the movie The Wrestler this weekend. Briliant movie, brilliant acting. It's about an aging wrestler has been ,that goes to extremes to get back in the game but age beats him back down. It's about men coping with aging and having to adjust. It's what all of us middle aged dudes struggle with to one degree or another. So I won't give away the story if you haven't seen it. I was fine with the ending by the way. Rourke was brilliant. A must see.
Just then, a Hulk Hogan of a man appeared in the front of the fuselage, bandana and all, an action figure come to life.... I kept my head down and tried to will away the fact that he might be coming straight toward me. Then a deep Steve Austinesque voice said " excuse me". The sight of us clearly amused the flight attendant and some of the passengers. In order to fit we spent the whole flight with his arm around the top of my seat and his head tilted to avoid hitting the overhead. Forget about the arm rest.
Turned out he was an actual professional wrestler, now retired. It was probably one of the most interesting conversations I've ever had. Super nice guy. He never reached the big league, had a $140,000 steriod habit at one time but now he gets hormone shots from his GP for muscle defintion. Enjoyable experience.
Anyway, what reminded me of this is that I watched the movie The Wrestler this weekend. Briliant movie, brilliant acting. It's about an aging wrestler has been ,that goes to extremes to get back in the game but age beats him back down. It's about men coping with aging and having to adjust. It's what all of us middle aged dudes struggle with to one degree or another. So I won't give away the story if you haven't seen it. I was fine with the ending by the way. Rourke was brilliant. A must see.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Cruising Main, Streaking and Coyote Heads
Circa 1974.... cruising main was still in vogue. No I Phones, IPODs, X Boxes, nothing like that back then, although I remember when my freinds parents bought him that Pong game where the cursor bounced around the screen, we thought that was so cool.
Scene 1: Fade into yours truly, cruising down the street, styling in a Budweiser flat cap, windows down in a '62 Ford Galaxy 500, jacked up in the back, floor mounted 8 track player, Lynard Skynard playing through the dash speakers, and an "Eat More Possum" bumper sticker. I spent a lot of time under the hood occasionally peering around it to look at the brothers across the street working on their cherry '57 Chevy. I suspect they were the ones who had put the brick of Limburger Cheese on my exhaust manifold.
Scene 2: Rumor had been making it round the campus that someone was going to streak ( run nekked in case you don't know or remember) down Main Street that Friday night. A festive crowd of hundreds ( no exaguration) gathered in anticipation. Police were out in force in the small town and for the longest time nothing happpened. Suddenly, a van pulled up on a side street and it didn't take long for the crowd to figure it out, drawing the attention of the police. From my vantage point, the scene was illuminated by a hanging bulb of a porch light on the house in back of the van. The police confidently made their approach toward the front of the vehicle, flashlights in hand while at the same time a mysterious figure opened the back door of the van and tip toed out, apparently unaware of the approaching law enforcement. What happened next was the streaker bolted down the street, crowd in tow. Me, I rolled on the grass laughing because there's not much more funny than someone running naked from the police.
It then dawned on me, all the police were downtown for the big event. So, we got in my friends truck and headed for the police station. From a concealed location I stripped down, wrapped my shirt around my head and got in the pickup bed. When we got to the front of the station I leaped out ran around the building to the front door, jumped up and down a few times and back into the getaway car. All I could see was the dispatcher through the glass door with a suprised look on her face.
Scene 3: Streaking becomes addicting, must be the adrenaline. After the police station event, my streaking was limited to a few small venues, country stores, slumber partys.... but one night me and my misguided friends learned that the Straw Hat Pizza Parlor was full of students from the Block M dance. We had a plan. Drop one guy off ( Robert) at the front door to hold it open for me while I ran through. Then Jim, my getaway driver would let me out in the front and pick me up as I came through the back door. A flawless and beautiful plan it was.
I wrapped the shirt around my head, my driver pulled up front. Robert was positioned at the front door his hand on the handle as he gave me the thumbs up. He had a big big smile on his face. As I ran through, I could see the blur of the crowd periphally through my shirt, the noise, the screaming..... it seemed everything was in slow motion, all I needed was the theme song from Chariots of Fire, yes! I hit the back door, it didn't open and I my momentum caused me to bounce off it and unto the ground. I got up and stood there until the Manager came with his keys to let me out. You see, Robert, unbeknownst to me, had walked in the front door and yelled " Hey everybody Dave Boyd is gonna streak through here" giving the pizza personell enough time to lock the back door. That made the local paper next day.
Scene 4: The high school Musical Review Talent Show attended by students, faculty and parents alike. Preface - our High School Mascot was a Coyote. I normally take great satisfaction from being an inspiration to others. For some reason this night sometime between the baton twirler and the jazz band, our Student Body President, Magna Cum Laude, scholarship ridden , Capt. of the Football Team dude snapped and ran out on stage wearing only the mascot's coyote head. He danced around naked and ran off. Maybe it was the pressure from all his scholastic acheivement. I guess sometimes there has to be chaos in an otherwise ordered universe. Nuff said.
Scene 1: Fade into yours truly, cruising down the street, styling in a Budweiser flat cap, windows down in a '62 Ford Galaxy 500, jacked up in the back, floor mounted 8 track player, Lynard Skynard playing through the dash speakers, and an "Eat More Possum" bumper sticker. I spent a lot of time under the hood occasionally peering around it to look at the brothers across the street working on their cherry '57 Chevy. I suspect they were the ones who had put the brick of Limburger Cheese on my exhaust manifold.
Scene 2: Rumor had been making it round the campus that someone was going to streak ( run nekked in case you don't know or remember) down Main Street that Friday night. A festive crowd of hundreds ( no exaguration) gathered in anticipation. Police were out in force in the small town and for the longest time nothing happpened. Suddenly, a van pulled up on a side street and it didn't take long for the crowd to figure it out, drawing the attention of the police. From my vantage point, the scene was illuminated by a hanging bulb of a porch light on the house in back of the van. The police confidently made their approach toward the front of the vehicle, flashlights in hand while at the same time a mysterious figure opened the back door of the van and tip toed out, apparently unaware of the approaching law enforcement. What happened next was the streaker bolted down the street, crowd in tow. Me, I rolled on the grass laughing because there's not much more funny than someone running naked from the police.
It then dawned on me, all the police were downtown for the big event. So, we got in my friends truck and headed for the police station. From a concealed location I stripped down, wrapped my shirt around my head and got in the pickup bed. When we got to the front of the station I leaped out ran around the building to the front door, jumped up and down a few times and back into the getaway car. All I could see was the dispatcher through the glass door with a suprised look on her face.
Scene 3: Streaking becomes addicting, must be the adrenaline. After the police station event, my streaking was limited to a few small venues, country stores, slumber partys.... but one night me and my misguided friends learned that the Straw Hat Pizza Parlor was full of students from the Block M dance. We had a plan. Drop one guy off ( Robert) at the front door to hold it open for me while I ran through. Then Jim, my getaway driver would let me out in the front and pick me up as I came through the back door. A flawless and beautiful plan it was.
I wrapped the shirt around my head, my driver pulled up front. Robert was positioned at the front door his hand on the handle as he gave me the thumbs up. He had a big big smile on his face. As I ran through, I could see the blur of the crowd periphally through my shirt, the noise, the screaming..... it seemed everything was in slow motion, all I needed was the theme song from Chariots of Fire, yes! I hit the back door, it didn't open and I my momentum caused me to bounce off it and unto the ground. I got up and stood there until the Manager came with his keys to let me out. You see, Robert, unbeknownst to me, had walked in the front door and yelled " Hey everybody Dave Boyd is gonna streak through here" giving the pizza personell enough time to lock the back door. That made the local paper next day.
Scene 4: The high school Musical Review Talent Show attended by students, faculty and parents alike. Preface - our High School Mascot was a Coyote. I normally take great satisfaction from being an inspiration to others. For some reason this night sometime between the baton twirler and the jazz band, our Student Body President, Magna Cum Laude, scholarship ridden , Capt. of the Football Team dude snapped and ran out on stage wearing only the mascot's coyote head. He danced around naked and ran off. Maybe it was the pressure from all his scholastic acheivement. I guess sometimes there has to be chaos in an otherwise ordered universe. Nuff said.
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