An Eighth Note Away from Home

Do you ever hear songs so beautiful they make you cry? Like someone just spilled out the contents of their heart, like perfume, onto staff paper, and waved it through the air...I had forgotten the emotional rhythms that a song could evoke - rhythms pounding not so deeply within the shell of everyday life - shell so fragile that good reverb could just up and chip it away.

I am pausing a movie right now to capture this thought, because it is very seldom that a movie can stir...really stir. I'm inspired to write, to play, to think - but mostly, to feel. And I'm saying that's a good thing.

Short Story

There was a time in Ireland, not so long ago, when midgets roamed the lands, setting up camp outside of small towns. The townspeople thrived on the nomadic dwarf industry in those days, manufacturing goods particularly suited to the midget consumer.

In fact, it was extremely difficult for these towns' "normal" sized people to function comfortably, as local goods and venues were too small.

One cool, rainy day in March, the O'Dometer little people crowded into a pub with dirt floors and wooden kegs for walls.

Stuck indoors all day with nothing to do but drink the walls, one lady dwarf got a little "free" and started doing the funky chicken dance. This woman was quite unattractive, and the midgets hated "the chicken." They were SO mad!

You know the rest. The piles of stools. The pole...

Anyway, the lives of the people in that angry mob were cut short because of their brutality, and all the midget bars in Ireland were shut down. But if you're ever in Ireland, ask them about the midgets and their bloody stools. They'll understand.