nyc dispatch 7.21.08
11am - arrive at screen test for reality show involving the kid's band i play bass in. the idea is wife swap except it's lead singer swap. our lead singer trades with some other band's lead singer and reality show mayhem ensues. i tell the director an imaginary story about trying to get the lead singer from deicide to cover the upside down cross tatoo on his forehead with a baseball cap so the parents at the art museum gig we are about to do don't freak out. he wants to start with deicide's big hit, 'kill the christians,' but i suggest 'a day at the beach' or 'dad's new car.' he laughed. you never know.
2pm - drop off the drums at the movie shoot the trio is doing with linda fiorentino and chazz palmentieri. the set is some west soho club i do not know. outside there is a small army working to ready the shoot and inside there is even more confusion. wires criss-cross every step and people with head-sets run complicated choreographic patterns back and forth across the room. there is obviously no place for the drums yet so we put them in the kitchen and go to lunch.
4:30pm - finish a fantastic lunch at lupa where i start drinking. punt e mes at first. then a couple of chilled shots of vodka.
5pm - meet up with the bass player at milady's. i know an ex-cop who used to hang out here with his partner. met him at a ratdog show. he got me out of some trouble once. we play some pool. drink some beers. bass player has weed so we take a slow walk back to the job site.
6:30pm - check in at shoot. not sure when they will be ready for us.
don't go too far.
6:45pm - some bar in western soho. more drinks. i try to call the cocaine dude i know but he won't deliver just one line, so i forget about that idea. the bass player suggests we slow down a little but we ignore him.
8pm - lunch and the set is now closed down for an hour. i try to eat some vegetables and some not too bad tasting foil wrapped fish.
9:30pm - definately can't drink anymore and the drummer has gone missing. i have a splitting headache and try to find some advil. i can't really acount for the next couple of hours.
11pm - we get dressed in a stifling gymnasium. my shirt is completely pit-stained by the time i walk the two blocks from holding over to the set.
midnight - we shoot our scene a few times. i find out for the first time that there will be a close up of my hands playing the solo i played three days ago. i get to listen to it three or four times. while waiting for a reset i ask ms. fiorentino how it was working with vincent d'onofrio in men in black. she confirms my suspicions that he is a lunatic. i mean, what is that shit he is doing in law and order? it's like the dude went to the walken school of punctuation removal.
2am - after talking to the fourth p.a. i finally find out i can't get 20 bucks to get home in a cab because they need the receipt, so i go over to varick and wake up a livery cab driver asleep in his front seat and ask him for a receipt which i produce to somebody who pulls out his wallet and hands me a twenty.
on the way home i'm thinking about poor heath ledger. it's just not easy being in films. lots of waiting, repetition. it's kind of boring for the actors. you don't really get a sense of the kind of job you've done until it's long over. it's easy to get distracted and go down a wrong path. maybe i'll just stick to music. that acting shit is hard work.

pittsburgh dispatch 3.11.08
my father's nursing home is a broad, sprawling, conjoined, single story la-la land. from his window i can see the sky outside is low and threatening. the hills are khaki colored and the trees are empty. i've come to visit him one last time before i leave town. he doesn't know me anymore, but he and his wardmates love it when i play the piano. everyone, that is, except dorothy.
'you stink! you don't know any good songs,' she growls at me in a raspy two-pack-a-day voice.
'well, what song would you like me to play?'
'shut up! i hate you!'
'well, i don't hate you. i love you.'
'you do?' she takes a wild hair and tucks it behind her ear, smooths the front of her dress and bats her eyes at me like a silent film starlet.
'play your cards right and you might get lucky tonight.'
and she does a sexy saunter down the flourescent lit hallway and gives me one last alluring look before disappearing into her room. i look over at my dad and he's got that blank smiling stare as he rubs his hands together over and over.
'how's it going old timer?' i ask him.
'it's coming out!'
and now he's laughing. great. i take him back to his room, remove his diaper and get him over the toilet. i'm able to sit him down and with a little effort i wipe the shit off his ass.
'you doing ok, pop?'
'you betcha boots.' he says.
i tell him i've been playing some golf down in florida. he doesn't respond so i say,
'yeah, i shot 74 one day,' ever eager to get my father's approval.
'hmm.' the old wheel slowly cranks and he suddenly lights up,
'that's pretty good!'
my sisters talk to him like he's a child, but i refuse to treat him that way. to me he's frank sinatra having a cocktail before dinner after a long day at a job he can't stand.
'i got to take off, pete.'
he doesn't understand. but as i walk him back into the hallway (they tell me he walks up and down the halls for hours at a time) he doesn't look up but he says,
'thanks, dredarino.'

nyc dispatch 3/24/08
i'm sitting outside the gourmet garage in the village eating a vegetarian, macro, wheat-free, vegan, spelt, sushi snack before my gig at small's when this cute girl with a mohawk plops down next to me.
'whew,' she sighs.
i look over and notice two very nasty looking wounds just above her forehead.
'damn, are you ok?'
the wounds have a crisscrossing stitch making an 'x' and are bruised vivid shades of crimson and gold and it's just then i notice how perfectly symmetrical they are. i lean in for a closer look and realize they are tatoos.
'oh shit,' i say, 'that's where they pulled out your horns, isn't it?'
'yup.'
'wow. so you must be a big jazz fan.'
'what??'
'yeah, you know jazz was the devil's music way before death metal and bands like deicide.'
'really?'
'sure. but don't take my word for it. i'm playing right across the street in half an hour. you should check it out.'
'you?' and she looks at me for the first time.
'well i don't look very evil in my uncle junior glasses and my argyle sweater, but i am channeling satan in there.'
'yeah right.' she gets up. 'i think i'll pass.'
and she walks away.

4.1.08
it started off like any other day. i made love to my wife two times making her cum each time. i swam 3 miles in our stationary wave pool then dined on a breakfast of ostrich eggs and seedless kiwi. i had my bath of fresh rainwater drawn by our french maid servant and it was while my valet was dressing me that i began to get the sensation this day was going to be different. i practiced for a couple of hours on my steinway that was once owned by glenn gould, then put the finishing touches on my third piano concerto – the one with the 100 member castrati chorus in the second movement. still i couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. so i decided to go for a drive. i had a couple of hours to kill before meeting clint to look at some dailies from our latest and last collaboration - a tribute to the spaghetti westerns that launched his career. i took the long way down the coast in my '74 bmw 3.0 cs, met clint (he was in a mood) and played 18 at pebble on my way back. didn’t play all that well but managed to shoot par. still, there was just something about this day that didn't feel right. so i hung around and had a nice meal at club xix in the lodge there at the golf course. it was during the meal i received a phone call from jack dejohnette asking me to come up to san francisco and play with him for his upcoming week at yoshi's. so i drove up and got a room at the fairmont and played the first night. after the gig i was in the hotel bar thinking about what a great day it had been. and that feeling about it being a strange day finally went away