Some parts of my Book of Blues come from experience. And some parts of the blues book come from research. And there’s a little “other roads traveled” fantasies and truths cut-in for flavor.

And sometimes, my blues book ideas come from mischievous curiosity.

Take last weekend in Indy.

I went down to watch a reunion concert for an Indianapolis Metal band named Dent. The drummer, Jason Carr, is the co-owner of The Bean Cup – the place where I had my life-changing experience on Halloween.

One of my hometown friends who lives in Indy went with me.

We got to the theater to find there was no alcohol. The band didn’t start for another hour. Not that I need it, but especially for my friend – who isn’t the biggest metal head – he was gonna need something to get him a little high (in the “I get high with a little help from my friends” using-alcohol sense [Lennon/McCartney]). The Carrs and Karrs told us that the bar around the corner had, low and behold, GUMBALLHEAD.

We got to the bar, my buddy saw some goth, and instantly he wanted to drive back east five blocks to pre-drink at his buddy’s.

His buddy didn’t have Gumballhead but my buddy had the car keys. GRRRRR.

Pre-drink and the concert came and went. Whoops, hollars, weak attempts at mosh pits, pleasant “hello’s” and delightful “goodbye’s” flew by as scripted.

I had the car keys. It was time to go.

Typically this would scream “Broad Ripple,” but one buddy was having issues with his girlfriend and my ex from the area was having a birthday that night and would probably be there. Instincts said to follow the road elsewhere.

And the road lead us to a nice little place near my buddy’s condo on the north side. The place was quiet, had pool tables, and though they’d never heard of Gumballhead, they had a suitable substitute: hot waitresses.

I saw her. My buddy gazed at her. The two guys at the other pool table had already started to try and work her.

And the fun began.

Come to find out, if you spend an obscene amount of money at this place, they take your picture and hang it on the wall. It was worth it.

The guys at the other table ended up being Good people. A couple rounds of shots, a couple more pitchers, and all three of their bellys got so full that when they tried their best pickup line, they fumbled over themselves.

And that guy left over was the gentlemen who was willing to drive for a friend and only drank when the waitress “questioned” his constitution.

I admit, it’s fun when waitresses question my constitution. They’re the fun ones.

And I call that, “the advantage of the designated driver.”

That’s for keeping Finn away from Gumballhead!

Typically, hitting on the help is pretty classless. You won’t be their first and you won’t be their last.You won’t even be either on that work shift. But if you really want to pick up a waitress who isn’t a slut, you don’t try for it all in one night. That leads to disaster more often than not. You space it out over a few days. Let her realize you don’t suck as a person (unless you suck as a person, then study up on “The Prince”). And, make sure she’s a Good person too or you’re waisting your time.

So we went back the next day. My excuse to my buddy was the truth: the weather sucked last night, we were the reason she didn’t get cut early, and she had to be back at the place early the next morning. Besides, he was buying and I got to pick the place.

Apparently karma was watching.

We got to the place and, GASP, they didn’t have the Bears game on. I had no more bullets left in the chamber. If you’re from The Region and have ever cheered for Walter Payton, you have to abide by a couple rules. Rule #1: if the Bears are playing, the bar you attend must have it on on at least one screen. This place did not.

So we had to leave.

We’ll see if the road takes me back there next month.

And, for those interested, the above picture is NOT her. Images changed to protect the Good people.

(photo credit: Sublime via Flickr)

Popularity: 36% [?]

Since my 99 week pilgrimage started, I’ve had many people ask what my next steps are going to be. I’ve even gotten a couple projects from these conversations. I am grateful for the questions and appreciative of the concern, but I can’t say for certain, yet, as to where I’m going.

Sleepless nights, numerous conversations, and apprehensive afternoons have been fidgeted away because, like Max Power who had having trouble focusing on his last PPC Hero blog post, I’ve been gripping too hard to the question, “What to do next.”

Then something changed, a little.

1) Bless the cursed marketing promotion for John Mayer’s, “Who Says.” I’m not the biggest John Mayer fan. It’s not because of his talent. He’s a craftsmen. It’s because I haven’t been in his target market of 14-year-old girls. But in his song, “Who Says,” not only is it a well crafted, finger-picked song, but I’ll confess I relate to it.

“It’s been a long time since ‘22′
I don’t remember you lookin’ any  better
then again I don’t remember you…”

The images in his video also captivate me:  the sharp lines and right angles of his European-styled apartment, latest fashion trends of his city friends, walking the streets at night, great food, good drink… But none of the scenes caught my attention more than the scene with the old wooden chair along a white wall with a Martin acoustic guitar in its lap 13 seconds in.

Most of us who fall in love with our guitars dream of this spot. Many of us work through our days to get back to this spot at night. I used to even turn off the lights so I wouldn’t watch my fingers.

2) After I saw the “Who Says,” video I stopped over at oldold man Finn’s house to check on his place. He’s snowbirding in Ft. Myers. I’ll be down there soon to visit.

I went into his house, checked the rooms, and saw my Martin guitar sitting in his living room. It’s been sitting there almost two years in its black hardtop case. I don’t have the space to store it and I didn’t have time to play it. I sat in the old dining room chair, pulled the guitar out of its case, and placed it in my lap. The first thing that hit me was the fresh smell of Mahogany. The second thing that hit me was how it felt like I was hugging an old friend.

Some people get into careers to feed themselves. Some get into their careers only as far as it takes to feed their family. I dove deep into my career so I could always have a space to play guitar and work on my book of blues. Once I got in there, I found my career, my guitar playing, and my blues books can all help each other. That’s why my topic of my site is:

“Live Music. Blues Books. Inbound Marketing, Social Media, SEO, Blogging…”

All my passions have become family. Now I have to bring my family together.

I still don’t know where the next step will be, but it’ll involve live music, blues books, and inbound marketing.

It has been a long time since 22. And don’t remember her looking any better, but then again I don’t know if I remember her anymore.

(Here’s a live version of John Mayer’s “Who Says”)

(photo credit:  Marite 2007 via flickr)

Popularity: 25% [?]

(I’m working towards this scene, but forgetting to rest as I go)

I woke up, got prepared for a meeting in New Buffalo, MI, and called to confirm. They answered, said it would be better if I backed it up a day, and I was none more thankful. Now I’m backing up my trip to Indy.

Heaven bless the nature of the business.

See the night before I went out with my old boss and a few co-workers. My old boss claimed it was my birthday and people flocked out. Imagine my surprise. Not only that, it was my third birthday this year. And a, “thank you,” goes out to all who came.

Sometimes you have to blow off steam. I forget that.

I don’t do it enough. I try to pretend I’m a machine. I think about how I’ve got 16 days before I go to Ft. Myers, Margaritaville for three weeks and then think I can work straight on till I board the plane.

I’m not a machine.

So when I went back to bed and didn’t wake up until 3pm, refreshed, invigorated, and mostly free from Gumballhead hangover, my body was trying to remind me to balance myself.

In sports, they would call my last few weeks, “playing to the level of the competition.” Some teams can give the best in their sport a run for their money on any given night and then turn around and falter to the league doormats.

If I can’t perform at my best every day, then I’ll never get to where I want to go. Right now, I have no real pressure or deadlines except ones I imply on myself. The best realize the only real pressure to worry about is the pressure to be the best “you” you can be. Everything is temporal and fades away with time.

I’m getting too old not to remember that.

And someday, I’ll be a craftsman.

Are you doing your best every day?

(Photo Credit: Pat Kono via Flickr)

Popularity: 18% [?]

I’m posting tonight from Terry’s Pit Stop just outside Lake Patoka State Park in Birdseye, IN, hidden within the outskirts of the Hoosier National Forest, a half-gallon of gas from the Ohio River, an hour west of Louisville and a million miles from reality.

Terry’s Pit Stop has the look and feel of a log cabin bar. Dale Earnhart, Jr. still wears Budweiser in this place. They honor him with POS (point of sale, jerks ) displays – full length cut-outs and glass paintings. Football, beer, white Christmas icicle lights and karaoke round out the ambiance.

The patrons are all older than I am – by at least a decade. I probably won’t find my future ex-wife in here but after sitting awhile proving my desire to fit in, I’m meeting many a Good people.

I can understand why it takes them a second to warm up to me. Many of them were in high school or later when the US Army Corps of Engineers submerged 9,000 acres of their backyard in order to make this flood-control lake that has become quite the wooded retreat. Now hundreds of thousands of outsiders fill their streets, forests, and watering holes each summer.

They handle my intrusion with grace and southern comfort – so long as I don’t get called up to sing…even though this is the Georgia Satellites!!! Now I’m gonna see my smiling face on the cover of the Rolling Stone! Living my life in a slow hell / wait a minute, Mr., I didn’t even kiss her…(lyrics are from Dr. Hook’s “Cover of the Rolling Stone,” KidRock and Sheryl Crow’s “Picture” and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Gimmie Three Steps”)

This city boy’s never listened to so much KidRock and Kenny Chesney before. And I haven’t run screaming. Too many people are smiling, communing, and laughing for my cynicism to wax and wane because it’s obvious they know something I don’t about happiness.

How the hell did this city boy get here?

It started three days ago when I was in Orlando, FL, finishing my duties at the NBAA convention, savoring my first Kobe beef ribeye and watching the back of my eyelids flutter when I checked Twitter for updates. Douglas Karr tweeted, asking if anyone wanted wanted to go to a resort two hours south of Indy and blog the experience. Instinctively I jumped at the chance. I found out later that the assignment was on behalf of the Indiana Department of Tourism.

Hunter, leave me alone.

Maybe it was the not-cheap wine that had me tweet aloud my interest. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that comes from working a convention. Or maybe it was the chance to be more than 150 miles from the nearest friend, family member, or colleague for the first time, well, ever…Whatever it was, this turned out to be this year’s salvation decision.

I’ll write a draft on here tomorrow of my experiences at Lake before I submit my post to VisitIndiana, but as for right now I’m going to start good conversations, learn about life before the Patoka dam, and listen to how everybody down here has a connection to John Mellencamp.

And for the record, it took almost three hours before a Cougar classic. And for prosperity, it was Authority Song.

Douglas Karr, you’ll never know how much I needed this trip.

Popularity: 11% [?]

By fortunate accident, I ended up in Scouts' Row at Wrigley Field for the 2009/09/01/Game with Houston. And, yeah, that's Jerry Krause - the architect of the rise and fall of the Chicago Bulls in
the 1990s

So when I finally got to my seats at the Church of Baseball – Wrigley, I ended up sitting in the denomination’s front office seats along Scouts’ Row. Section 22, Aisle 6.

“Ended up sitting?” Yeah, ended up sitting. “End” would imply a journey, and the implication would be correct because in this case, the journey was even more fun than the destination.

We got to the city early enough so me and mama Finn started to walk to the stadium. Save a little on the cab fare, get in a little walk.

When we caught the taxi, we ended up getting into the place in fine fashion. Dropped off at Clark and Addison, right at the footsteps of the Cathedral.

There wasn’t a wait at Will Call so picking up the tickets should be a snap. And they were, right up to the point where they didn’t say they have my tickets. (more…)

Popularity: 18% [?]