In Which I Eagerly Anticipate A Visit From @MarianCall

In two days time, we welcome Marian Call.

Her tour this year will hit all fifty states.

In Wyoming her stop is -- and I'm all

Excitement to announce this, O my mates! --

In Cheyenne. Heroes Only is the sole

Emporium of comics that will host

A concert on this tour. D'you find this droll?

A sweet chanteuse a-playing at what most

Would name geek central? Ah, but you've not heard

Her album, Got to Fly, then, I suspect.

Nerd-friendly? She is proud to claim that word

As epithet, or was last time I checked.

So come and join us on this Wednesday night.

You'll see this lady's future's firefly-bright!

In Which My Wounded Dignity Is Soothed By The Music Of The Spheres

Spring snow is wet and sloppy, and so slick

Today's word really ought to just be "fall"

(The verb and not the season: quite some trick

To make it through the winter, almost all

Of it, and not once take a digger, but

Do so today, spectacularly, too!).

I don't mind, though; my Exoplanet nut,

Roald has set my mind at much ease through

This music that he found, for list'ning while

One gazes as the sky and contemplates

The worlds that spin out there. I have to smile

Despite this bone-deep chill. A hot bath waits

But not just yet, I'm digging all these tracks,

And it's high time I kick back and relax.

In Which I Prepare For #BrainHackWithDrums

I've had me one fine soporific day

That could lead to a listless, hopeless night.

To free myself from ennui's bitter sway

A weapon I'll turn loose for this, my fight.

The Jedi, IsoBan, says music is

A way to hack your brain, and this is true.

The cobwebs being thick, I'm choosing this:

A lot of great drum music, shared with you

On Blip.fm. So tune in if you please,

For Buddy Rich, Jon Bonham, Cozy Powell,

Some gamelan and Ondekoza. Jeez!

So much to choose from I am like to howl!

So pound those skins, boys, shake me from my trance

And look the other way; I might just dance.

In Which Iambic Confetti Is Thrown For Phil Rossi

A troubador who scares one sexy is
Our dear Phil Rossi, but that's far from all,
There's music, too, when he reads one of his
Great podcast novels; that Virginia drawl
And growling voice is perfect for those tales.
If you'd prefer some print, here's Crescent, creeps
In space for all. I've gladly watched its sales
A-soaring; 'specially as our boy just keeps
On having wee ones. Piper joined the crew
Just days ago! And Phil's started a blog,
Not Just a Dad. You see why I say "phew!"
To top it off, he has a way with grog.
So all signs say his birthday will be made
Of finest win. Such shall be our crusade.

In Which I Thank My Medicine Men

It takes strange tools to patch a torn-up heart,
Takes songs and tales and poetry and play.
Comes time for me to thank those who, in part
Have made or done the things which, I may say,
Have proven the best medicine for me.
Phil Rossi wrote a song that e'en before
The hardest blow came down did help me see
A light at tunnel's end. And there is more:
For Jeremy Shipp's novel did a lot,
As did a poem by Gregory Wright
He wrote just for me, to tell me I'm not
Alone, not even in the darkest night.
Thanks too, to my White Rabbit and John Ladd:
Chess therapy is good, too, when I'm sad.

In Which Cheyenne Becomes A Hipper Place And I A Happier Cheyenneian

Cheyenne's martini bar is quite a place,

Suite 1901, in the Frontier shack

Downtown. The drinks alone will melt your face,

So good they are; nor is there any lack

Of other blandishments for such as I.

We missed the live bluesman who played last night,

But won't again, myself and funny, spry

Melissa. Owner John, to my delight

Says he has plans for tunes five nights a week.

There's only one TV and that is small,

And the decor? Quite tasteful, smooth and sleek

Mid-century modern - that's my fav'rite! Call

Me anytime, you locals, when you go

My second home awaits me there, you know.

In Which I, Too, Feel I Am Getting Older

A party girl I've never really been.
I'll go out now and then to see what's new,
But generally I'm the type who's seen
Off in the corner, a good friend or two,
Sometimes a small crowd, list'ning to my tales
And telling theirs. But last night found me out
In noise among the hip-hop crowd. Details
Don't matter overly. We had to shout
To be heard, and the tunes were all the same,
Some chanting, thumping bass, an endless drone.
These days, to me, what music's worth the name
Needs more than just a heartbeat. On my own
I pine for something somewhat more complex
That makes imagination stretch and flex.

In Which I Reflect On The Best Gig Ever

Untold volumes of Guinness went down well,

Untold gyrations on my part took place

At my best bud's live gig. I cannot tell

How long 'twill be before my smiling face

Will unfreeze from its happy rictus, or

When my poor throat will heal from screaming, "Hey!

I want to hear Hangover Head." What's more

I danced hard, did shots, wrote a song. I'd say

Last night was a resounding success. Zound,

You Bhtches! Try to top that, if you can!

You all were spot on in your parts and sound --

Oh, sound! There's nothing like a ten-year span

For mastering your instruments and rigs.

Here's hoping 'twas the first of many gigs.

In Which The Gig Is Tonight! Tonight! Tonight!

Tonight's the night I've waited for so long,

Bhtch Comes Alive tonight at the Morseland!

And while I don't think I will hear a song

I wrote for them, I know that this here band

Will rock the socks right off my dancing feet

(Though that's not hard; I do eschew those things)

And make me laugh like new again. Too sweet

'Twill be to hear again how Brickyard sings,

The Blowman on guitar, Hairbo on bass,

Our Chickenshake on chickenshake, and, too,

The Killer Queen on drums and then - my face! -

Toupacque Bougeur as well. It has been too,

Yes far too long since such has been my chance.

All hail for me this happy circumstance!

In Which I Celebrate An Instrument And Drop A Subtle Hint

Just yesterday I overdid my ride
Home from my job, on my own dear Deep Blue,
Despite the cold wet drizzle that sure tried
To get me down. But I just sailed on through
An extra five or six miles, rocking out
To Beau Jocque and to ol' C.J. Chenier
And Beausoleil! An iPod that's without
Accordion is one devoid of cheer,
I say, and I know one who'd quite agree:
Stephan Spiegel, my fav'rite troubadour
On squeezebox and on mandolin though we
Have yet to hear him play. I do wait for
A Ustream concert soon. What do you say,
My sweet Stephan? It sure would make my day!

In Which I Start Seriously Anticipating A Live Gig

I must admit, I've truly got an itch
Today to see live music, but I've got
A month yet ere I go to see some Bhtch,
My buddy's band. Just recently I've caught
This urge in earnest; it's consuming me.
I've been a friend and fan so very long!
I'm like the Conchords' Mel, as you will see
If you're around, especially if one song
I wrote for them gets played: The Donut Ranch,
Or one I will not name here: too obscene
(But you can go and listen; just don't blanch
At the portmanteau cursing); here I'm clean,
As is my podcast. O, October 9
At Morseland! I've got chills all up my spine!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Answer A Question

O Bootsy, dear, not only do I blog
But I do so as Shakespeare might have done
(Well, if he was reborn now as a dog
Or typing monkey - but it's all in fun!).
And Bootsy yes, I am a funkateer
Though a white girl who calls Wyoming home.
How glad I am you've joined the Twittasphere
To funk it up. Wherever else I roam
I have you and your peers well on the brain,
Thanks to the iPod and to sim'lar tech.
On bike commutes, long car rides, I keep sane
In no small part due to you and your tunes' help.
So thanks for all the music and the smiles
I still enjoy while eating up the miles.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Sadly Must Decline A Kind Invitation

O Geo, what a dreadful tease you are,
A-sending me announcements such as these.
You know I'd be there were it not so FAR.
Alas, my accolades will need a breeze
Of gale-force just to bring them to your ears.
But know that I shall call out all the same
To hear that мавпа song. Admist the cheers
Imagine mine, too. This do I proclaim:
Someday I'll see you live and make some noise,
And then you'll wonder how you did without
The fangirl squee that tells all of the joys
Of hearing smarter music. Oh, I'll shout!
Till then, dear Geo, go and knock 'em dead.
I'll be there with bells on inside my head.

In Which I Spend An Afternoon With Phil Rossi

Phil Rossi's book's great chart rush is today,

As I may have said once or twice before.

He's on Ustream right now and, yes, hooray

He's playing tunes and reading tales of yore.

I've died already to a nerdgasm

(Redneck-flavored) from when he up and played

A NIN tune "Hurt" with much more than just some

Cash-flavor (Johnny Cash, that is). I'm flayed

From watching him play through this set.

His book is doing well, and he's aglow.

MsInformation's there with me; we'll get

Him uncovered ere he decides to go

Off to the pub to drink and celebrate.

Huzzah for Phil! His novel IS that great!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Prepare To Help With A Chart Rush

Phil Rossi scares Scott Sigler, my shirt reads.
Today we help his book rush up the charts
At Amazon. It's just reward for deeds
Of podcast novel promulgation. Hearts
Have raced and pulses pounded as he's read
His creepy sci-fi tale to us online
For free. That Crescent's sure messed with my head.
And I can't wait to hold its weird, malign
And creepy goodness in my hands. I'll wait
Till thirteen hundred hours, E.D.T.,
Click over, order, then, O happy fate,
Go watch his online concert! Cover me
In happiness on his behalf. Go buy
His book and dig it. What a guy!

BONUS SONNET: Bye-Bye, Mr. & Ms. American Pie

Two icons of my childhood, both are gone.

I still recall when his hair caught on fire,

And still laugh loud when she sits on the lawn

And tries repeatedly just to inspire

A quiet moment to reflect on trees.

My sister loved MJ much more than I,

As girls. But I remember -- quelle suprise

Our skating in our dad's garage to my

Small turntable with Thriller on and more.

In later years, the freak show dwarfed the man

And Farrah sort of faded to decor:

Her poster long outlived her actual span

Within the public eye. I bid them peace.

At last the tabloids, flashbulbs for them cease.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Wish Milton Mermikides Many Happy Returns Of The Day

O had I only known back in the day

When I dwelt near the Attitude Gauntlet

Of Berklee College, that amongst the fray

Was such a guy as Milton! I regret

That I missed my chance back then for to meet

This person I admire now. Glad I am

At least that I can in this manner greet

Him on his birthday. But now, can I cram

Encomium enough in what I've left

Within this sonnet? Milton's music brings

Out patterns from what we would miss, bereft

Of his keen ear to notice them - such things

As bloodwork data, evolution, and

The brain's own rhythms -- such is his command.