Another Day on the Stoop
Go ahead and say it. I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, I’m not a “good” blues guy. I have “failed” in my attempt to be a blues guy. I seem to have the entire package, yeah---I’m blind, jaded, beaten down, black, scarred inside, poor, from East St. Louis, play blues guitar, and write blues lyrics. But because I spend all my time sitting on the steps of my building eating M & Ms instead of singing the blues, I’m an “inadequate” blues guy. You think I don’t know it? You think I don’t feel that sense of failure with every unbelievably delicious mouthful of M & Ms I take from the 64 ounce bag? Because let me tell ya, if these damn M & Ms were only five percent less fantastic, I’d be on stage with the greats night after night. But have you ever seriously eaten one of these things? Ever had a mouth so crammed with them that you can’t even smile even as you tremble at the anticipation of chewing up all that rich, crunchy chocolate? Well, maybe you have. All I can say in my defense is, I’ve made my choice. I’d just rather eat the M & Ms than use these teeth and gums to sing of loss and redemption, and I prefer that my hands play not the chords of loneliness but the sweet rhythms of the greatest snack food ever put on God’s green earth by the Mars Corporation of America. And I can’t deny that in between long, lazy summer bouts with the 64 ounce bag, I enjoy watching and studying the films of Whit Stillman, whose gentle, witty character studies of young white preppies in love appeal to me for no reason I really understand. And while we’re at it, sure, I do work full-time as an IT specialist for Oracle, specializing in server analysis and e-commerce solutions. I guess you’re gonna throw that in my blind, jaded, beaten down, black, scarred inside, poor, East St. Louis face too. Well, tell you what, I’m just not interested in the criticism anymore. I’m gonna sit right here and eat my usual pair of 64 ounce bags of M & Ms today just like I do everyday. I wish you all the best at the Heartbreak Club tonight watching Ten Pennies McGee, Five Nickels Richardson, and Dirt-Diggin’ Donnie “Dinkie Dawg” DuRoi do their thing. They’re fine fellas, I ain’t denyin’ it, it’s just that I’m more partial to sharing this evening with my good friend Roger Federer. He’s due by here any minute now, so why don’t you amscray, son. And take your political flunkies and your Secret Service and your crowd of reporters with you, if you don’t mind. I’ll be voting for Mr. McCain, thank you very much. Good day to you!