Gypsy Tales V.2

The term "Gypsy" has historically referred to a person of Romanian descent who followed a generational inclination to not subscribe to cultural expectations of living in a home, in a neighborhood, for a lifetime. As far as I can tell, they come into and go out of the world without real deep tap roots. They are kind of  hard to round up statistics on, by virtue of the fact that they never stay anywhere too long, but my educated guess would have to be that probably only .003% of the current American population fit the criteria to be called a Gypsy. They are not to be mistaken with the Homeless, the Grifters or the Gangstahs. They are also not thieves. They often have a bizarre super-power that makes you tell them your deepest, darkest secrets. Yes. Bizarre. But, true. Very, verrrrry good listeners here, baby. There aren't too many of us, so you needn't worry about your own personal depository of deep and dark escaping.

Contemporary Gypsies are nomads and drifters. Most of them grew up in conventional  homes with typical expectations. They had limitations (I've not yet met a trust-fund baby who was a Gypsy, but I can't rule out the possibility) and they were rooted in what our culture told us was normal. Some still have family, mostly disenfranchised, and some have none. Some are grandmas and parents and some are on the run from the law and parking tickets. I've never met the bad ones, though I'm sure they must exist. The ones I know and love are smart, clever, reasonable, brave and articulate people who either chose to leave the grid, or got squished off.

The best equipped and most responsible Gypsies have actual transportation, but they are few and far between. The most clever and able one's have learned to navigate every single conceivable part of any transit without ever having to actually own a car. This includes all the major and secondary highways, state laws, campground sites and costs and train, plane and bus schedules. They know how to troll Craigslist for a ride and then how to conduct thorough research on the potential drivers they will be crossing the country with. Gypsies aren't really very stupid because they rely heavily on their cunning to keep them alive and moving.

Gypsies are, generally, awfully dang handy to have around, as well. This could easily be one of their greatest strengths. They possess MacGuyver-like mad-wicked skills and a ton of random crap to help pull off most  impossible missions. I would always, most definitely, want a good Gypsy on my team. They are at least as valuable as dentists, lawyers and geeks. At least. They can reroute servers, birth babies, run metrics on your SEO, fix toilets, set broken bones, build digital brands, clean garages and pull teeth. At least. I'm talking about a handy little tribe of people, for the most part.

In tandem with their inherent handiness, is what seems like a defiant sense of tenacity.  Tell a Gypsy that something is simply impossible, and there's about a 93% chance that the impossible will be accomplished. That's the equilivant of a double-dog dare and well, who doesn't love a good story? 

Gypsies tell Fish Tales, while we're warming our feet by a fire with our comrades. Gypsy tales rarely involve fish,  but they always involve the telling and embellishment of ...."oooohhhhh. Yea, Vlad......You think THAT was impossible?!? Well, this one time, guess it was about two years ago cuz I was in Minneapolis.God, that was a bad choice for a winter relocation. But, I'm walking down the road to camp and a bus full of orphaned unicorns rolls three times right in front of me. The nun who was driving had suddenly gone blind. I had that bus back on the road, that nun in glasses and those cute little unicorns all patched up by lunch the next day. Now, THAT was impossible, dude." 

*Note: This story just for illustrative purposes, gypsies are not brain damaged. Our real stories involve the people who employed us to do the impossible, mostly. And, while sworn to secrecy within said employers jurisdiction: All is fair in love and war while in the company of other gypsies. We never use real names or share specific locations, but the stories are fabulous.

Gypsies don't stand on street corners, sporting signs that have sadness on them, begging for spare change. Not so much beggars. In fact, should it come to pass that a Gypsy has to ask for even so much as a smoke or a dollar, a little part of him has died inside. Gypsies are bound by the centerpiece of Gypsy wisdom that makes it clear:  Gypsies don't beg. Now, we'll stand on a street corner, on a drizzly winter night and sing freaking Jimmy Buffet songs until the sun comes up as long as somebody feels like tossing dollars in the case, but we would rather die than ask you for a smoke. We are not beggars. That alone helps differentiate us from the Homeless.

Gypsies can transform into handsomely groomed, charming, gregarious, well-versed and subservient as hell  partners in crime, too. It's a pretty sweet bonus feature. We work exceptionally well in positions of support - we will gladly do what ever it takes to help you steer this ship into the iceberg and we will tell you that you look fabulous while doing it. 

We will, however, always hold you to the terms that were agreed upon when you elected to own a Gypsy for as long as necessary because it's only reasonable. We expect every agreement and handshake to be true and bankable. Although, not a lot of actual "banking" going on in the Gypsy world, just so you know. A whole lot of prepaid cellphones and credit cards. But, if you employ our services for 29 hours at $20/hour - rest assured that is on a list in a notebook and quite possibly on a spreadsheet in Excel. Gypsies are always aiming to get a little bit ahead because their computer is dying, the bridge broke on the guitar or there's this one tooth that is coming into a fine fine abscess. 

It's hard to say whether the Gypsies travel because they have to or because they want to. My guess would have to some combination of the two.

I think that's enough for tonight, kids. You look tired.

 

Maybe tomorrow I will tell you more about The Gypsies.

I am hugging you goodnight.

A Little Dental Love.

Hey you guys! I know it's been a long long time since I sat down and completely felt compelled to shower a random merchant or business or anybody with some unsolicited love, but it's your lucky day! I am so feeling it.

For reasons that defy description, and quite frankly are just too sad to go into, I have had the distinct pleasure (and I use that word with just a smidge of sarcasm) to spend thousands of hours in the company of dentists. Over the course of the last 40 years I established an opinion about dentists that was far from favorable. I truly thought they were all just a little crazy (understatement of the year) and were sadists. All of them. As far as I could tell, from my many years of sampling, they got off on causing other people pain under the guise of providing care.

Here in Kansas City, the penniless (artists) do have options if they are in dire need of some kind of dental care. I found a place, not far from home, that would agree to see me (maybe) if I could be at the clinic and in line by 6am. The clinic does not open until 8, but you are given a number determined by your place in line, that allows you to see a dentist that day. Or not. By the time the doors opened at 8 (and it was coooooooold!) there were no less than 30 people lined up. The security guard was only able to issue 6 numbers on this particular day because they were short on providers and I was lucky enough to score the 6th, and last, precious piece of paper that guaranteed I would be able to see someone.  I felt a little like I'd won the lottery.

They used to let people wait inside on these cold and nasty days, but too many fist-fights had broken out and the arrangement had to be changed to minimize the violence. Once inside and registered at the right place, I was told to have a seat and that it could be a one hour wait, or it could be an 8 hour wait. After 7 hours I was taken to an exam room and told that someone would be in shortly. Shortly in this case was only an hour, so I guess it wasn't that bad. 

The man who came in never introduced himself to me and was clearly, thoroughly pissed all the way off. That's cool, I figured he was just an unhappy soul and I wasn't about to hold that against him if he was going to make my mouth stop hurting. In the end, he pulled a tooth without the benefit of anesthesia, broke my jaw (not an especially hard feat given it's history) and I'm pretty sure his assistant (a slight little thing of about 300 pounds) cracked a rib when she used her knee to hold me down. The two of them had an interesting conversation about some "bitches" at a wedding the previous weekend and neither of them ever addressed me. It was, by far and away, the most unpleasant dental experience I'd ever had. And, I kinda thought I'd already raised the bar on dental unpleasantness. So, there was that.

A couple weeks later, one of my best friends told me about an incredible dinner she and her daughter had gotten to share with a gentleman who had a dental practice in North KC. They had shared some of my story with him and he encouraged them to tell me to get my self into his office as soon as I could and he would help.

It took me a couple more weeks (and another abscessed tooth) to get the strength to call and schedule an appointment. And, from the very first point of contact - I have to tell you: I have never ever experienced a dentists office anything like this one. All the support staff are genuinely kind and helpful; just the vibe from the phone call made my blood pressure drop dramatically.

Upon meeting my new dentist (Dr. Goodman) I was absolutely sure that this trip down dental lane was going to be a completely new and unexpected departure from any of the others I had experienced. And, I was not disappointed. I'll spare you the gory details but I feel the need to tell you: Don't be afraid to go to the dentist anymore. ONLY if you go to this one, I can only speak for the other 138 I've seen when I tell you to avoid them because they just aren't really nice people, but...  Dr. Goodman has restored the element of virtue to dentistry and has become one of the strongest reasons I can find to stay in this town.

Y'know, he's good enough reason to drive from far away - you don't even need to live here. He'll be my dentist to the end and I wouldn't lie about something of this importance. We need our teeth on so many levels. It doesn't have to be horrible and dentists don't need to take out the frustration of their unfulfilled lives out on their patients. And, not everybody in the world is motivated by money - not to say any of this is free, but this practice understands compassion and real life. Trust me: If you need a dentist, you need to make an appointment. You can thank me later.

copyright 2011 moemasters yadayadayada thesethreethings

They can't take away public radio. Huh uh.

If you listen to and like public radio in Kansas, you'd be well-advised to do a little cut and paste action on this letter, and send it to Governor Brownback.

(300 SW 10th Ave # 212S Topeka, KS 66612-1504)

Everybody loves to get good and meaningful mail, I'm sure our Governor is no exception.

Dear Governor Brownback,

I understand that you face a daunting task in working to rein in the seemingly out of control Kansas budget. I do not envy you your position and am writing in the hopes of making a salient appeal to your sense of justice and your deep appreciation for the nurturing of an informed constituency.

There is no arguing the fact that traditional journalism has taken a turn that leaves room for true investigative and in-depth reporting – the kind of journalism that is almost exclusively provided through the public radio venue. 

The democratic principles this country was founded on are dependent on the citizens having access to balanced and fairly shared information. The proposed funding cuts you have suggested for Public Radio would greatly compromise this accessibility.

We are extraordinarily fortunate to have many different public radio choices on any given day in most parts of the state. If the currently proposed legislation, on both the state and national level, defunds public broadcasting, my favorite daily radio station (KMUW) will lose 20% of its annual budget. For me, this would probably mean no more Prairie Home Companion, Fresh Air (with Terry Gross – who doesn’t love Terry Gross?) and most of my favorite weekend and local programs. There probably wouldn’t be any more state house reporting or local news coverage as well. That sure makes it feel it like the end of the road for one of the bigger and more highly respected public radio stations in our state.

I sure wish you would reconsider, or maybe explore other options to save the kind of money you’re looking at saving by implementing this drastic funding cut. I would be more than happy to schedule some time with you and discuss some of the suggestions I have heard shared recently online. I have a schedule that can easily be arranged for a little you and me time, and I make a great pot of coffee

Thank you very much for your time,
Sincerely,

YOU NAME HERE
YOUR ADDRESS/PHONE HERE
ANY RANDOM PS: YOU WOULD LIKE TO ADD HERE

I wanna show you sumptin.

This is one of my Happy Places. Some people go to desert islands or mountains or oceans. But I go here. This is the building where my good hair and skin care lives and I harvest hugs in the Real World. It was once the Firestone building, but I think we should call it the Abdiana building now (since they paid for and installed that big ol huge freaking sign up on top.)

Skyline Downtown Salon is on the 4th floor and that's where David makes my hair look like I've wished it would for the last 20 years. I never (in a million years) would have thought that I would find so much contentment in a salon.  But, it is pretty dang cool.

This is an architectural rendering of this building that's taped on the front window.

There is way too much to tell you about in the course of one short blog.

The vibe is way Über-cool. The stylists and the clientele are all completely chilled out, as far as I could tell. Every single person that I saw either said something nice to me or smiled. I would pay for THAT on almost any given day.  It's kind of phenomenal, really. 

This is just how they roll at the salon.

I went there over lunch and didn't think I was hungry. The salon had offered me (and provided) a nice glass of white wine as I was getting comfortable and food wasn't a priority.

But, then Johnny came by with this tray of sandwiches and salads. "Seriously?!?!" I said to myself. "Somebody is bringing me food on bended knee?"

MMMmmmkay. I'm in.

I got a "Cuban" and would recommend you do the same.

Seriously.Good.Eats.

Mr. Mansour did the magic he does with my hair, we shared and absorbed some secrets and I enjoyed a satisfying and good meal. Yet again, it kinda rocked to be me.

He was so very contemplative. She seemed a little vacant

My friend (and my stylist) is a man named David Mansour. He has written a book called "From Abba to Zoom" and is showcasing a small portion of his vast Barbie Doll collection at the salon right now. I loved the way these guys looked.

Bling on the table. Holiday Bling. Right here. That's what this was.

I hopped across the street to The Cashew. They have a photo booth on the first floor and all the workers were sweet. The Boulevard Wheat was cold.

This is what the counter looks like. Delicious.

Nick applies make up, Jamie engages and all the clients are happy.

This is the door you would walk through to be well taken care of.

The boutique is colorful and contemporary.

The salon is spacious and busy but never hurried. I can just see you here.

They have a good selection of art and wearables.

That's it for today. Mostly a photo blog and mostly advertorial content, but seriously: You ought to check them out when you're in KC. I think you'll be happy.

copyright 2010 moemasters yadayadayada

one of the very best dives.

Dear Kirby's

Thank you. So much.

Thanks for being my spot of home town kindness. Dude. I am SO glad you are right where I left you. I spent 40 years in your town being raised and raising others, and I'm so glad you are still around. All my blood-family is gone and all the estates have been settled - but you're still there for me. That rocks out loud and I get goosebumps just knowing what you've got there... And, wondering if anybody found that bit of safety that I hid under the tank in the girls room.

It's been a minute or two since we were first introduced and I am more amazed all the time that you remain my personal landmark when I'm in your town.

Remember that first time? That one time when me and Dickie Zundel made lightning happen over the pinball machine by the bathroom? I think it was Pacman.  Seriously. We were both talking with our hands because the Blivets were bone-crushingly loud.... And, honestly - the wiring was ALL jacked up. There was blue lightning. That was a great night. I think I met the guys from America later that weekend. And, maybe Warren Zevon. I can't remember exactly.

I worked on the university Grounds Crew for so many years (with Caruzzi and Culp and Chenoweth and ...and, only because I could not pass algebra.) Then I got to get degrees there (not at your place, but across the street) with a whole bunch of other bohemians (Charlie and Mary and Shannon and Brian and Carmody and...) and then, I got to make money by singing in that teeny weeny corner. HolyCOW, I could hardly breathe. You have treated me so well.

Remember that night that we stood on the roof and drove golf balls at the President's house? I think it was a 4th of July. That was the first time my kids almost got to inside. There may have been cheap whiskey involved. There were fireworks, for sure.

I still can't believe that Playboy immortalized you recently by deciding that you are, indeed, one of the Best Dive Bars in America. That's just nutty. Of course you are... Like you needed those strokes. And, it took 'em long enough to find you...

You've often made me feel like I'm living in a Dr. Suess book... something about something, and OH the things that I've seen. You are not for the weak of heart (or mind.) And, thank the Gods that this is true. Some of the greatest friendships of my life have been spun in your wake. It's like your reputation precedes you.

Just recently I have been schooled in the science of Dominoes ~ at that table by the jukebox where you check your Book of the Face. I have engaged in several lively debates where I was successfully dissuaded and I have gotten to hug friends I hadn't seen in fifteen years... all there... in your living room. I put my feet up on your coffee table and I've always been gardening. My bad. Sorry 'bout that. I have a dust-pan and a good stiff brush...

So glad you tolerate fools. Thank you for that... it just makes the landscape more rich. I have lived in many places and worked as a musician in most of them - Kirby's is very uniquely Kirby's. nobody rolls quite like you. That old-school jukebox full of 45s. Mmm. Yea.

I walked out of Wichita a decade ago and not only did I not look back, but I expressly walked away as fast and as far as I could. I didn't pull a complete Forrest Gump, but what I did shared the same zip code. OHHH Yea, sure - I was an unbalanced girl with a laptop and some seriously great walking boots. I needed some space and I was holding a grudge. Like none other. I'm bad that way.

Some number of days ago, I was being severely beat up in Dominoes at one of your tables and my friend Jody showed me this. It's in that notebook, under the TV to the left (to the left) and it's kinda worn. I laughed so hard I cried. OR I cried so hard I laughed. I had traveled almost half a million miles to see this, and it was right where it should have been. Thanks for this.

"What happens can be sad. You can find yourself lost. Just keep moving forward. It's rarely easy. You can't wish your situation different.You can waste lots of time looking for external wisdom, signs, motivations, advice - but ~ ultimately what you need will come from within.

It will hurt. Just know that now. It isn't fair and it sucks. But it is what it is. At the end of the day, you are still you, and that IS an amazing place to be. There is no way around it, you can only go through it. Go full force. The pain is only temporary. Feel it completely so you never find yourself here again. Indeed you are alive.

Find peace and joy where you can. Paint, dance, pray, eat, have sex, create, play. Pick up an instrument or a book. Wherever it is for you, go there frequently and drink up. You need to gather it where you can to endure this time with a heart like yours. 

Darkness is never really pitch black. Keep moving toward the light.

You will fuck up, it cannot be helped. Stop striving and just be.... It's too exhausting and quite frankly ~ It's a waste of time. Look around you... be aware of the human condition and extend yourself some grace.

And for God's sake, don't be so self destructive."

copyright 2010 moemasters/anonymous KIRBY'S BEERSTORE

.

Meagan Bernadette has a Birthday

My little sister is celebrating a birthday today.

Meagan (bernadeegan) is my little sister. She was born 7 years behind me and we share very limited memories of living in the same house and growing up together. She spent a lot of time in boarding schools and I did not so much. Unless you have known me from birth or so, there's a good chance you've not yet met Meagan. She's a peach and you ought to meet her.

Short of that - the best I can do is introduce you to her like this. Hey! This is my sister Meagan:

She has four sons and lives near the mountains in Colorado. She and I never really had the opportunity to know each other until we had to share a couple funerals.

She has perfect nails and unbelievably enviable hair. She can sing like a lark and either doesn't know it or hasn't realized it yet. When she laughs it's not really all poetic like a good north wind stirring up a strand of Aspens, but it so seriously heart-felt that it makes anyone near her laugh too. She laughs often and just thinking about her laugh makes me laugh. I'm so very lucky to know this. And, she doesn't even know this. She's nutty-humble and quick to a blush. 

And,yet - girls got some serious sassy goin' on. She has enough backbone to raise four sons and keep a life on track while still laughing. Tell me that doesn't take some doing. One time we had a fight (yea. one time.) It was the only really serious screaming disagreement I have ever entered into and it was with her. She held her own and we both almost fainted. She was my first Sensei in the study of Sassy. We were both able to laugh about the screaming match within days. I had wanted to scream like that for about 45 years.

 
Meagan has no real governor between her brain and her mouth, so you never really have to wonder what she's thinking. Her candor is invaluable. If you want an honest opinion (or, many times even when you don't) she is more than able to deliver. It's really cool, to tell the truth. She's become a barometer for how I am and what I'm up to. It's an unexpected and sweet little slice of life to find out what it's like to have a person who shared your mom. She can channel our mom like none other. She calls me on my bullshit. Not many people do that. She is one.
 
Once, when she was very little I told her that my best friend had a tail. She believed me. Another time I told her that all those little utility stations along the turnpike were UFO tracking stations. I think she believed that until she was in college. And, once Meagan believes something - it IS the truth. Dad told her about the annual spaghetti harvests in Italy and I still have to fight that battle on the holidays. You've really got to work overtime to make her believe anything other than what she's sunk her teeth into. She is pliable, gullible and naive. It's so endearing that you'll stay up way too late just to feel it. You just want to hug her.

She sent money to our brother in prison longer than anybody else. She has hope. She believes in the intrinsic goodness of everyone and is completely open to whatever the wind blows in. I can talk her into just about anything. She exercises forgiveness like most people eat and breathe, it's just organic.


She is amazing. And, it's her birthday.

So, Good vibe my sister Meagan today.
Life is short...good vibes are forever.

(Subliminal messages portion of this love bomb: Meagan ~ You guys need to pick a date during the winter to come HERE and do the holidays. All of you. I'll try and wrangle up my kids and that will be our holidays this year. NO gifting, just time shared. THINK about it.)

copyright moemasters 2010

photo credits: Lauren Grace Photography Chicago, IL and me

Best Bluegrass Year Ever

Hey! I almost forgot this one story, and I thought I'd already told it before, but I can find no evidence of having done so. Y'know... But, then again - it was 20 years and 3 laptops ago, shit really does just happen sometimes. Regardless, I call dibbs on do-overs. I gotta tell you about this one other year in the Grove.

I wax romantic on the whole Bluegrass Festival thing this time of year because it marked the only extended times in my adult life where I was as carefree and well-tended as a six-year old for some days every September, and it truly was a life-changer. For me. I get that it's not for everybody. 

I've made it pretty clear lately, and through a 30 year pattern of living: I am all about the collective. I find value in our strengths as a collaboration. Lots of people playing together nicely totally blows the wind up my skirt.

All that being said: I totally dig the vibe of the Bluegrass Festival in Winfield. Sure, it's got some short-comings (First of which is that you practically have to rob a bank to do it right anymore!) but, it's way more good stuff than bad. And, I can just about guarantee that you've not felt the electricity of setting up camp in a cool grove of trees with about 4000 other people. The whole thing is just a rush.

And, everybody is nice. I know that sounds like hyperbole, and I may or may not be inclined to lean that way, but seriously - I swear. Every single person is nice, and laughing and joking. Some are singing and playing already. They are all just so happy to be there. It's just this crazy chill, and for lack of a better word, collective vibe.

One of the very first years I got to go with a band, we had crafted an elaborate plan that involved Joolz and I setting up about 8 dome tents and helping Pete with the Tepee. It didn't seem too terribly unreasonable, and we pulled it off with minimal calorie burning. 

We dropped like stones on our bags in the tepee after dark. At some godforesaken time in the middle of the night, we were awakened by a clap of thunder that would (and probably did) wake the dead. The skin of the tepee had been caught in some sorta updraft deal and was like an upside down umbrella in some torrential rain. The ropes on it helped us get reigned in and we tied it down enough to make it quasi-secure.

When we turned around to check on the dome tents - they were all completely gone. Seriously. Blown away. Then we saw them rolling into the future like big ol' tumbleweeds, It was a serious long moment of slow motion "nooooo."  And it's pouring rain with a hard-core driving wind. Yea, it's every bit as awesome as it sounds. And, we probably had some beers before bed, weren't quite awake yet... The stars had aligned just right to provide this moment of hilarity.

A succession of people were trotting by, with the wind at their backs. When we all gathered to where the tents in the Grove ended up, there must have been 60 of them. Not many of us could remember exactly what kinds of tents we had, and we'd all put up tents for other people and they all kinda looked the same at 4am in the driving rain. We discussed it and made a pact to split up the tents so everybody got the right number, and not worry so much about the make. It worked out fine in the end. I don't think anybody ever noticed.

A couple of days later, some series of events intersected and we found ourselves all loaded into the back of Julie's truck with our instruments in hand. We were headed out of the Grove to give somebody a show.

There was a little house out near the edge of town (I just threw that in for poetic license. I think it was really on 9th street, but can't swear to it) with a large, multi-generational family living in it. The grandma was a woman who had a name like "Mama Sumptin." Not really  Mama Sumptin, but she had the air of someone who had a "Mama" before their name. She walked with a walker and she had her hair all up in one of those colorful turbans that some older girls wear. 

For the life of me, I cannot remember who brokered this deal. But, we had arranged to give her a concert on her front lawn, with her entire family and some of the neighbors assembled on the porch, in exchange for some fresh-out-of-the-oven Sweet Potato Pies. She was famous for 'em.

As far as anybody could tell, she had the time of her life. As did her kids and their kids. I know, for certain, that those of us who got to do the playing felt like we'd totally gotten the better end of that deal. All we did was what we normally would have done, just in a better location. AND we got steaming hot pies for it. And, they were so thankful and gracious. It was one of the best gigs ever.

The rest of this festival is a blur of all-night song showdowns on dusty roads, nerves before taking stage, the smell and fog of a thousand campfires, banjos, pickled things and chemicals from Boeing that made the fires go crazy. And that one Proclaimers song. We were an army that night. We stormed the castle AND we took prisoners.

I know for certain it was all about the collective back then. I haven't been there much for a while, so I like to imagine that it still is. This year was just one of many, in terms of stellar times. I see the pictures and hear the stories - I know it's still a collaborative effort and this makes me smile.

copyright 2010 moemasters yadayadayada