June 27th, 2010.

We had a Pot Luck Open Jam tonight.  And as with every one before it, the one thing that held true is that it was different from the ones that came before.  Tonight we gathered at my friend Jerry’s house in Manassas, VA.  It was a long haul out to his place, and I think too long a haul for most of my friends – because of that we had mostly Jerry’s friends, a group much less focused on my own singer/songwriter sensibilities and more focused on sing-a-longs and covers.  A difficult environment for me, unfortunately – but a Lovely one to watch Heather bask in.  She can sing along with anything, finding beautiful harmonies and getting to play with some of the James Taylor tunes that she grew up with.  A lot of stuff that was totally alien to me….

I think I’d like to have another PLOJ out there – but with a little more focused effort on getting some of my other people out that way – balance it with a bit more original material.  I Loved listening to it and I’m adept enough to jump in on some of the simpler stuff, but without someone calling chords, I’ve just never heard the songs before and damn the folk peeps if they don’t use every chord they know… I just don’t have the knowledge!  It makes me feel kind of pathetic, frankly – not being able to keep up like that.

Kristen did well too, flitting from tune to tune on cello as if she’d spent hours practicing all of them in advance.  I don’t even get to use my ignorance of the individual songs as that great an excuse – it’s truly ignorance of my instrument and the theory that exists behind its frets.  I’m a bad rob.

It was an early end – a long drive before us and perhaps too many kids at Jerry’s house (not all Jerry’s kids, though – ha!) saw us trying to get on the road by 11pm and we’re listening to We’re About 9 and Richard Shindell on the highways, homeward bound. 

Both good artists for driving – but such different souls from my own.  Brian Gundersdorf and Richard – both such amazing writers, both such interesting masks and exquisite storytellers with unknowable souls.  I’m not a storyteller after all – I burn things and throw things.  I’m a tantrumteller, a screamer and dancer, full of passion and inarticulate for all my pain.

And joy.  Incoherent for all my joy.  Don’t forget the joy. 

The music pouring through the stereo encourages a further feeling of incompetence.  Tales that I could never tell with voices that I can never have.  There’s a new sound in the background of one of these songs that I’ve never heard before… some sort of interesting whisper that I can’t quite grasp.

Whenever I wish for someone else’s talents I think of Terry Pratchett and his words about how funny the world would be if we were all the same.  It’s not always a comfort though, because damn do I wish I could add a couple of things to my repertoire of skills.  I need some time.  And some money.  To spend on some lessons.

I see advancement all around me.  Passing by.  I’m sitting still and stagnant and I’m a bit afraid that this is all I am.

But I DID work out this morning.  And I did everything I’d meant to.  So tomorrow I’ve and check everything off….

Add to money and time… willpower, please.