well well well

After watching a GnR video this weekend, That random composer dude does in fact look JUST like Duff McKagan.


Weird huh?

So, if you don't know, I'm one of those white guys who drives a german sports car and doesn't ever give money to panhandlers.

Make what ever judgement you wish.

This AM I was with friend J.F. and we passed a panhandler on the way to my car. He very nicely asked us for spare change, which we declined. He then wished us a happy holiday with a genuine smile.

As this was about 15 feet from my car, we stood in the general vicinity for a few moments finishing up our conversation, and as J.F. left to go back to work, Panhandler Man approaches me and starts praising the quality of my particular brand of car. Even though I know where this must be going, I have nothing really to say other than to nod and agree, already feeling the full court press of his guilt trip. And then he gets to the basket and throws.... "Are you sure you don't have any spare change."

Nope. Sure don't. (internal monologue) Though your guilt trip did the first 1/2 of it's job masterfully, as now I want to go sell my car and buy a Rusty 1985 Volvo.

We should start

here

And then I'll have you know that I was at a independent filmmakers cocktail party/discussion forum last night in Belltown (Bada Lounge. Don't. Ever. Go. There.) and I'm chatting with a couple of people I know. C. leans in and mentions to me

"Dude, do you see that guy at the middle of the bar with the long ratty hair who looks like a troll?"

Me: Ya

C. That's the Bass Player from Guns N Roses!

Me. Duff?

C. Yeah Duff McKagan.

Me. You mean former bass player. Didn't know he lives in Seattle.

C. Yeah. Up on capitol hill. He comes to ALL the independent cinema events in town.

Me. Hm.

T. (after listening in to this with mild interest) Nope. It's Not. His name is (redacted) and he's a film composer who's lived here for 20 years.

C. Well it LOOKS just like him.

So what if I'm repeating myself.

This is an old dream.

The Demon Pixie's Mad Libs/Bon Jovi Dream brought this back to the top....

This is an old dream of the type that are so fucking realistic that you can smell the fog... feel the subtle vibrations of a bus driving by your house... the kind where gravity is the new sensuality... the kind where one wakes up sweating and it takes about 3 hours to fully come to terms with the reality that what your brain just gave you was, in fact, a luscious ghost that you will never hold in your arms.

So I was working a rock festival in Northern California... Bill Grahm Presents kindo thing.
Hanson was supposed to be going on next. But there's a problem in mmmmbop city. They have no singer. (now I realize that 'they' are the singer, but this is a G.D. dream! so cut me some slack).

They have no singer, and are looking for someone-ANYone to sit in with the band.

For some reason, I fit the bill better than the 17,000 other people in the near vicinity. Maybe it's because I'm a tallskinnywhiteboy.

So they ask me to fill in as lead singer.
And they go on in 20 min.

And I tell them.... "Gee... ya know kids, I really don't know a single fucking one of your tunes."

And they say 'Hey Sven, no problem, we don't play that teeny bopper shit anymore.'

Me: "Huh?"

They: 'Yeah, we only play Led Zeppelin tunes now.'

Me: "Let's Roll."

So there I am, on stage in front of 17,000 screaming punters.... The sun is low in the afternoon sky. My Friend Jim is mixing monitors. It's hot. I'm Shirtless and in jeans.... bra's are being thrown on stage...I can feel the wood deck flexing under my feet. The backline is pumping out such an massive sound that I can feel a static charge build up in my hair... best of all, I'm not only shaking my ass but also resonating like the endorphin/pheromone pumping Banshee that is Robert Plant.

We made it through 3 songs before I woke up... They were:

Whole Lotta Love
Over the Hills and Far Away
Ten Years Gone

Brain, I love you.

oh please oh please oh please

why don't you get out of my dreams!

I mean, it's been so many years now, and this being in my dreams for mostly symbolic value has a seriously diminshing worth.

I mean, what's it doing for you?
Nothing. thought so.

Well, it aint doin much for me either... and besides, if you're gone, Jeff Curnes gets to spend more time in my dreams.