Do you know how hard it is to obtain a Busker's Permit? Let me tell you. It is hard. You have to appear in front some sort of Council and pay lots of money. Neither of which I have (where I am going to find a Council?). And then they may take away your permit. Its like Fascism all over again. The government takes your permit and then enlists you in the army. And my own city does not appreciate our kind. How dare they! Bankers... Ponder, permits.
um. She knew! Obviously. I have now come to terms with reality. Again. How many times shall this world reject me? Lots, let me tell you. At least I got into band camp. Maybe that's why?
Ponder, 4 weeks till Band Camp!
A Funk Song:
Jack is the preacher's son
He is quite the son of a gun
Jack is the preacher's son
And he's only begun
That was Not A Funk Song.
Symposium is tomorrow! I can't wait. I really want to play "When the Saints Go Marching In" and really 'soul' it up. It's the last one of the year, but next year it will be even more awesome.
Really bored and not productive blog post, but here we go:
The Life and Times of Emily:
Emily, after graduating high school, got a job at the local Bojangles. She worked diligently and eventually moved up to the position of manager at age 23. But she grew tired of her tasty work and packed her bags, moving to the prairie to start a new life. Pretty soon, she met a beautiful farmer named Gary, a man of large stature and kind eyes. Gary was deeply in love, as was Emily. They eloped to Las Vegas to get married in matching Elvis costumes, and moved to Florida to clean assisted living communities. For years, they loved each other in the Southern Floridian sun. Suddenly, Gary was called away to serve in the Third World War (2029-present), after a skirmish had erupted in the Balkans (again). Emily stayed at home and turned her sorrows to the grand sport of Tennis, and adopted the ways the Tennis Mom. She forfeited her existing car for a Minivan, and refurbished her wardrobe with skorts and Underarmour. It was not long before the transformation was complete, and Emily would never change. She was at a tennis match when the Barackian Third Continental Army called to confirm Gary's death. She never looked back. On the eve of her fiftieth birthday, Emily realised the sin of her obsession and recognized the error of her ways. She became a nun, moving to Sister Mary's Holy Convent of Arizona, an arid but hospitable location. It was there that she was re-introduced to her child-lover, Kevin. He worked there as a janitor, working the day shift and then going to jazz gigs at night as a bassist. They immediately re-engaged, and Emily was secretly for some time when the Mother Superior, Agnes, found out. In an ecclesiastical frenzy (claiming it to be the wrath of Jesus Himself) Agnes fell upon Kevin and Emily with a letter opener. Kevin and Emily were canonized recently as Martyrs of Love, Kevin the Patron Saint of Bassists and Emily the Patron Saint of Tennis Mothers (ironically, Emily was agnostic!). They live is Suite I-IIm-V7 on the Holy Boulevard of the Lord's Good Assisted Living Community (LGALC, or "Heaven"). Ponder, there is a good life story.
I thought I was out of touch with the life stories, but I still got it!
Good night folks.
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