Category Archives: Gilbert Neal

What’s happening to me?

I told a friend of mine that she hugged poorly. What’s happening to me? I mean, it’s true. Don’t get me wrong. But still…who bitches about hugs?

Louie” was amazing last night. I’d write my own synopsis but I’m barely able to lift my fat fingers. You can debate whether or not you perceived what Melissa Leo did as rape or not, but the fact s are that she’s pretty fucking brave as an actress, that Louie CK is pretty awesome for portraying himself as so vulnerably…insecure, sexist, selfish, whatever. And it makes me glad to be a fan, sensing that I was watching something on the small screen that might not have played out like that before. Sort of how I felt after watching the meta-within-meta of The Simpsons episode called “The Day The Violence Died“. Or the famous Scott Tenorman episode of South Park. The LA Law episode that contained the first lesbian kiss in prime time. That kind of thing.

I’m the happy recipient of song 2 (out of…14…?) from my new CD. All shiny and nice. Wanna hear it? Notchett. Notchett.

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The numbers are in. I’m out.

I am a paying member of Jango.com. My songs are scheduled to play with artists that are more well-known and ostensibly similar in style. In my case, according to Jango, all-knowing, all-seeing, those artists that overlap the most with my stuff are Tears For Fears, Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell, Van Morrison, The Pixies, Chris Brown, and…. GG Allin? Man, you take a dump on stage once and they never forget. I suppose if I do it again it will be a tribute band-type thing.

So anyhow, I threw up two of the songs from the upcoming CD on there to see how well they would fare. I put what I felt were maybe the more accessible tunes from the other CDs up there as well. I was surprised.

If your songs are played at all, you either payed for them to do so (seedy-sounding I know) or they show up organically, which means that your tunes have been determined to be right in that station’s wheelhouse, format-wise. Trial and error stuff.

If someone really likes a song they hear, they can “fan” you, and you’re notified via email of same. Frankly I’m wondering lately if these people fanning me are real or made up in order to keep me re-upping my fee (I pay about $10 a month for about 400 plays, but organic spins are free).

People fan your music about 2% of the time.  I broke down which songs did the best and which songs tanked.

1. New song from CD, which pleases me no end. The fewest spins but the most “fans”.

2. Median Man (from “Our Deepest Apathy…”)

3. Jesus (from “Drink The Beast With Me”)

4. Calico (from “Vultures and Diamonds”)

The three songs here did WAAAYYYY better than their brethren. 5-8 were below average. And in last place was ANOTHER song from the new CD which I really thought would have done better. I’m surprised that it tanked, at least on Jango. I guess if I were a shrewd judge of taste, I’d have exported the work of this blog to Korea or Myanmar or some other.

 

 

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That’s twice.

The first time, I was sitting in the parking lot of an office that specialized in endodonics. Root canal. I had never had one before. I was terrified. It was five years ago. I made nice with the front desk, and as I was 45 minutes early, I decided to wait in my car. Then I went back in and told the girl I would reschedule, cancelled the procedure, and drove away. I chickened out. The pain, of course, was as brave as ever, and soon became intolerable. It wasn’t bad. I had to have it done in two stages, the first being insufficiently anesthetized in the allotted time to prevent my pain from making my whole frigging body twitch. The second time did the trick.

I went back to have another one done, and this time there was literally no pain.

So today I’m at the ball-cupper, ass-reamer guy’s office (we will refer to him as “general practitioner”) for no other reason than that I needed to re-up my prescriptions, and Duke Health will not allow infinite refills unless you go to see someone once a year at least. He seemed irritated today. He asked me how I was, and I said he seemed really busy…I think i might have said “just endless, from one scrotum to another…” to which he replied as you did in your mind: “What do you mean?” and I really didn’t know. All those old people in the waiting room, the incompetent intake associate, the fact I had to go there…it was all summed up in that one phrase. Maybe I was talking to myself instead of him. I think he was pissed when I told him he looked tired.

When the girl weighed me i asked that she not read the number out loud, and she nicely obliged. The doc told me that I had put on weight. I told him it was my combination of sausages and lethargy. I opted to have blood-work done to see how high the cholesterol was. But as I sat there with the number 17 card, the dude next to me started coughing. That pushed me over the edge. I turned to the 5 or so people waiting with me for blood-work in the cramped lobby and asked, as if in a butcher shop, “Who has number 18?…here ya go…”

Having done my good deed, I left.

Now I gotta lose weight for realsies. It sucks.

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Land of the Lost

Woke up, made the kids breakfast, and then lunch. Drove them the Weaver Street Market to buy some half and half for the guest who was arriving at my home (who cancelled as I was heading home due to a headache) at 7:45. Dropped the kids off at 7:30. Got the cancellation, went home. Made coffee and drank it while watching The Sopranos on A & E. When that was over, watched DVR’d The Daily Show. I don’t like John Oliver. Went back to sleep until 10:45. Panicked, wondering where the day had gone or was going. Went to make a ham sandwich. Noticed some large black ants were being swatted around by the cats. Used deli mustard and swiss cheese. Drank a Coke Zero. Watched Relapse and It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. Made another cup of coffee. I could use a therapist for a week solid. It struck me that people need to pay other people to listen unconditionally.

Thought about recording some music. Didn’t. Won’t. Why bother? I have about five different unresolved conflicts with family and friends that just don’t seem to be moving. Played Soccer Bashi on the Wii. When I think about Soccer Bashi I feel a weird sort of anxiety.

I wish I had a job.

That ham sammy is just sitting there. I feel a scratch in my throat.

Olivia thinks the song “In My Life” might be about a soldier.

Sometimes I think I show signs of an addict. I feel like I burned so many bridges that now people won’t come near me, like an addict.

Get out. Take a walk!

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Heit. Heit. HEIT!!!!

This guitar cost $35 new. The coke residue in this guy’s wrist hair is worth more.

It’s not really memory lane. More like “memory alley” or “memory space between buildings you think is a walkway but isn’t”.

One day my mother put an ad in the Penny Saver trying to sell my Heit guitar. The one I bought at Brand Names. No, I think what happened was that a dude put an ad in the Penny Saver LOOKING for Heit Guitars. He was a collector, he said when he came to our house to investigate mine. We believed that someone who collected them should pay more. Someone who valued something I did not value but merely possessed should be punished. I know I wasn’t the only one who felt this. When my band-mate Joe was throwing out a flood light (blue), I said I’d take it. He, without missing a beat: “Five dollars?”

So this bookish fellow come into our house and examines my Heit. See, it was a classic because it was a. used, b. missing a volume knob, and c. missing a tuning peg that needed to be turned with pliers. I was not smart enough to know that “music stores” “sold” “parts” to “guitars”. I thought  was stuck, and that was that. Kind of like when the gas cap to my 1989 Chevy Spectrum rolled off the top and onto the I90 because gas caps (I heard from a guy on the street who claimed to be Paul McCartney’s OTHER Uncle) cost $100-$200. So I never replaced it, and that’s how the Dry Gas companies stayed in business those years.

“How much you want for it?”

I was about to say what I paid for it when mom “shhhh”-ed me and offered up “$100”.

He just look at her with the saddest expression. Like the girl who watched the girl who interviewed Karl Childers. And he shook his head and walked out. No sale. My mother muttered “He’ll be back…” and sauntered off to silently extract a bottle of Old Mr. Boston from its Biriulkian cluster in the hopes that her dejected son didn’t hear the muted clunking under all those week-old hamper-fermented clothes. But alas, he did.

I had heard that Strats and Les Pauls increased in value as the years went on, but you almost never saw Jimmy Page with a pair of pliers on stage. “clk…….clk……clk clk…….thum….thummmm…….clk clk…….(still flat)….thummm……”

All the fun ends tonight. A street is a strip of land adjoining buildings in an urban context, where people may reside, assemble and interact. A road is a strip of land connecting two or more destinations over which people and goods are transported. When a road passes through an urban area it may also serve as a street.

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New video! “All We’ll Ever Be”.

The great Mark Duncan of Guerrilla Pictures had made another video of yours truly. The song “All We’ll Ever Be” is from my latest CD “Vultures and Diamonds”. It is available on the iTunes and CDBaby, of course. This video compiles three live performances from this past year, blended nicely by Mr. Duncan. Please enjoy. “Shall we linger in the bliss of forbidden happiness? Or maybe we are all we’ll ever be. ”

 

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