The Reverend Vince Sings all your favorites

Sunday night at a bar on East 4th Street the Reverend Vince Anderson brought it in full force. I drank a German pilsner beer and watched Torbet hit his drums wearing a shirt that said " The Crack Don't Smoke Itself". At one point Vince rose to the pulpit (!) and expalined that it made sense that Valentines Day was in lent. For you Catholics, this should say it all. For the uninitiated, lent is a time of sacrafice and atonement. His message, accented by the "fuck yeahhhs!" of those in attendence, was that love is not a holiday destination (lent ends with Easter). It ain't Christmas. It is a passage experience that consists of giving up, waiting, and being quiet. It's silent. It's thinking. Good shit.

Afterwards, Suki, Wilder, Paula and I went to East Village Karaoke where I had my first private room Karaoke. I was a little awkward at first because the set up reminded me of booths at the porn shop, the difference being that everything was clean and for the most part the machinery in the rooms worked. Paula's rendition of "Golden" by Jill Scott was a mantra. Wilder rarely finished a song without making sweet love to himself, and Suki singing "Xanadu" helped the universe make some sense. I sang every chance I got and felt good about my read of "everyday I write the book" (how can you not with two women singing the backup parts?) Suki knew at the end of our stay that my cut of the Karaoke cost was more money than I was really prepared to spend, but I assured her that it was worth it. I remembered this tonight when I concocted my second and final meal of the day from tuna and old pasta, and believe me - I am not complaining - the memory made my meal even better.

Over the weekend I had many conversations around the idea of "favorite songs". Having submitted a list to a friend in Louisville that was based on my sense of songs that are great regardless of who does them, I was inspired by my friend Bill to use a different criteria that defined a "best" song as one that you remember where you were when you heard it (this was also a big part of my Mom's enjoyment of music). For an afternoon, I blew my mind apart with memories, enjoying the thought of songs that keep within them some powerful times in my life. Part of me is still the age I was when I first heard them. I discovered some amazing shared connections: everyone around me that day had had a Zen experience with a song that Michael McDonald sang on. Roomie/bandmate Adam and I both share a deep experience with Robbie Dupree's "Steal Away", (a song that if Michael McDonald didn't sing on, he should have.) And roomie/bandmate Paul and I both were forced to like a song that Peter Cetera sang JUST because our girlfriends at the time said it was "our song". His : "You're The Inspiration". Mine: "Glory Of Love".

On a walk to more Karaoke, Suki reminded her friend Jaleel of a time in Louisville when he interupted his pizza delivery to knock on her door just to come in and dance to "Kung Fu Fighting" as it played on the radio. Jaleel bravely confessed to not remembering the occasion and, speaking as all of us at one time or another, said, "I wish I was that person you remember in the story. I'd like to be him." Ah...growing up. We forget! Another case for the greatness of song and the greater-ness of friends.

Tonight I saw a second play about cloning since I arrived here. I've been noticing quite a search for meaning and purpose in creative works as of late. I will wait for a good buzz before I share my take on it all (its really a big part of why I blogged in the first place). But right now I am, like many currently living in this world, far too sober.