Thursday, September 20, 2012

Pathetic Little Men, Part II

Well, it's been two months now, I've done a few little shows, nothing big, just a little show here and a little show there, but that's how it starts.

Since I last posted about pathetic little men, I have , of course, run into a few more.  I was in a mall, and saw one of those 10 minute massage kiosks, so I paid my $10, and this big Greek looking guy worked on me.  He did a good job, and I ended up going to him a couple more times, and talking with him while he worked.  I made the mistake of telling him I played music for a living.  He said he knew some people, so I told him I'd pay him for his connections, should anything become of them.  As is the case with some people, this guy has the uncanny ability to run into people, a couple of them being some Hawaiian musicians that just happened to be in the same casino, at the same time, at a table just inches away from where he was.  He got to talking to them, then called me frantically to get me to talk to one of them.  I met with him (the massage guy, Greg) one day, after he invited himself, at which time he proceeded to tell me who to email, what to say, and what to send.  Lucky for me, I didn't actually send any of the emails, because it was obvious the guy had no idea what he was talking about, he just wanted to establish his superiority.  He proceeds to call me 5, 6, 8 times a day for the next couple of weeks, and I, of course, quit answering or returning his calls, but not before he gets me in touch with these Hawaiian musicians.  I go to one of their rehearsals, they ask me if I'd be interested in playing bass, I said I could for a while - till I started to work on my own - my solo.  A couple of days after the rehearsal, one of the other guys - Henry, calls me to ask if I'd work with him doing a back yard luau, I of course, said I would.  I get to the place, and the first thing this guy does is tell me how he has played with all the "big stars" in Hawaii - every one of 'em, all his life.  We finally get on the stage, he sings 3 or 4 songs, while the guy who hired us is yelling for Hawaiian falsetto.  Henry asks me if I know any, so I did "I Kona".  Well, I guess Henry didn't like me doing that, because he tried to sing over the top of me through the whole song - even though he didn't know the song.  After that - for the duration of that gig - about 3 straight hours, the only time I sang is when he had to go deal with his granddaughter - who was supposed to dance hula for the show, but was hung over.  He had to leave the stage 4 times.  So, I would start to sing, he would go to his car where his granddaughter was - which was about a hundred yards away, talk to her, come back the hundred yards to the stage, and start to sing over the top of me - all in a matter of about 30 seconds.  Now, this is a 60 year old guy who I'll be damned if he didn't make all that distance in professional football player speed.  As I said, the green faced little bastard apparently didn't like me singing.  I guess I should mention here that he's one of those guys who knows parts of many songs - a verse, maybe a chorus, sings them over and over, pretending to know the song.  Between that, his voice lacking any kind of good, and his Strat copy that he must've bought at WalMart being horribly out of tune the whole night, made for an embarrassing night for me.  So, at the next rehearsal, I confront this numbskull in front of the whole band.  They scold him a little, but then they proceed to let him get his way - positioning himself to take over the band - and it wasn't even his band, the other two guys brought him in.  As if that's not enough, the band had already asked me to play at this anniversary event for a Hawaiian food joint here, which I said I'd do.  Well, after I'd been going to their rehearsals, Henry decides to bring in his son in law at the last minute, and the guys in the band let him do it.  That was enough, I pulled out of the band, so much for that.

Next, I'm trying to get into some of the casinos here.  Long story short, Gary Raffanelli, a poster boy for the lounge lizards from hell, gets on the phone and proclaims his superiority, his "accomplishments", and his priceless "critique" - for which he charges $95 an hour - so he claims.  At one point, he got told to quit being a smartass, slowed him down for a minute, but he picked it right back up.  Thankfully, he's nobody I really need to deal with.  Oh yeah, he has a few websites on the internet where he uses the third person trick to congratulate, glorify, and worship himself.

On a slightly different note, and I lifted this from my son's Facebook page - most or all guys who drive full size pickup trucks drive like idiots - this can't be a coincidence.  As I've said many times, the bigger and noisier the machine, the smaller and less functional the body parts.  Add the goatee and baseball cap, and you have a genuine pathetic little redneck who is in a rage because he can't... well, you know.

Ok, done for now.

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