Creation

I’m on a lot of email lists. Political ones. And this week, I have received more political emails than at any other time, including the past two presidential elections. It was as if someone, somewhere out in the political ether, thought I could stop the government shutdown, or at the very least, wanted to get me riled up about it.

I have to admit, if I pause and think about it, I get more than a wee bit agitated. So job well done, emailers. But amid all this ire and vitriol spewing forth from all directions, I’d like to talk about the bigger issue at hand – creation.

Now, work with me on this for a second. I think if you look at the general climate today, whether it is the casting off of rejects on every single reality television show, or the political rhetoric, it is about tearing down. It is not about building anything. We are in an age of destruction. And some would argue that this is a necessary precursor to whatever is about to be created. But I think it is an infirmity that is eating away at society’s core.

So to me, the real question we should be asking ourselves is, “What are we creating?” because we are, at all times, creating something. And if the answer is intolerance, animosity, rancor, or just plain mean-spiritedness, then I think we should rethink whatever it is we’re about to say or do.

I get it. It’s much easier to know what we’re against. To shut down, to close off, to hold hostage, to scream, and stomp, and criticize. I’m pretty sure we all tried that at some point in our lives – like, say, when we were two, just to see if it worked. Of course, when we saw that it didn’t get us what we wanted, we gave up the behavior. But maybe some people did get the payoff they wanted – attention. And maybe some parents did cave in to the demands of the miniature tantrum thrower. I don’t know. But what I do know is that we’ve gotten ourselves into a situation where the best interests of the many are being sacrificed for the desires of a few, and that is the first step down a slippery slope with no good outcome for anybody.

So I repeat, what are we creating? Is it a world in which poverty is perpetuated or eradicated? Is it a country where everyone is valued equally? What are we creating? Is it a country in which the right of the individual to stock up on military capacity assault weapons outweighs the right of school children not to be massacred in their classrooms? What are we creating? Is it a country where the weakest and most disenfranchised among us are cared for and about, or are they discounted, discarded, and disposed of? What are we creating? Is it okay with us that an entire generation of children has not known a day in their lives when this country was not at war? What are we creating?

It is easier to turn away from what is ugly – in ourselves and in each other. And it is definitely easier to think we bear no responsibility in remedying any situation. But whether by speaking up or staying silent, we are creating something. Whether by taking action, however small, or by remaining in denial, we are creating something.

So as for the government shutdown, I understand what Republicans want to defund and destroy – the Affordable Care Act. My question is what do they want to create?

Whatever you choose to create today, I hope it is something of abiding value, that transcends this moment, and brings you great joy.

Thanks so much for stopping by. Please tell your friends.

inspiration...with a few veggies

We only ever really teach anyone anything by example. You can tell people that there is merit in taking risks, following their passion, yadah, yadah, yadah. But seeing someone who’s actually doing it and watching their life transform before your very eyes, well, that’s a whole other thing.

Last night, I went to a dinner at the Natural Gourmet Institute in New York City, where a friend of mine is studying to be a chef. Not just any kind of chef. A vegan chef.

I believe it was my third vegan meal to date, if you don’t count the times in my life when I just ate lettuce, or when, in my twenties, a meal for me consisted of an apple.

Yeah, me and the vegetarian/vegan thing have had quite the contentious relationship over the years as I’ve tried things optimistically called “veggie dogs” and “hamburgers” that resembled the meat versions of these foods in no other way but possibly shape.

So the first time I went to a dinner party at my friend, JJ’s house, I told my father to save me some chicken for when I got home, because there was a good chance I’d be hungry.

I drove to her house and the rest of the guests, a.k.a. my friends, had already scoped out the nearest pizza place. Some also ate before arriving there, I believe.

Oh, it’s not to be derogatory about my friend…or her culinary skills. But come on, what can you really do to vegetables? And how many can one realistically eat and enjoy in one sitting?

Well, before I get back to the whole topic of passion and how following it is the good and right thing to do, let me just say that JJ’s dinner that night was one of the best meals I think I’ve had in my life. I don’t honestly know what the heck she did to the vegetables. I only know that every bite brought with it the kind of sensory delight I’d only experienced in meals containing, let’s just say non-vegan entities.

So last night, as I drove into the city to attend a vegan meal prepared by my friend and the rest of the chefs in her graduating class, I was actually looking forward to it. Now, don’t get all excited. I did notice countless restaurants in the vicinity as I drove around looking for parking, you know, just in case.

But back to my friend, for a minute. Joanne, or JJ as I’ve always known her, spent her entire adult life working at a completely different career, you know, the kind that had job security and probably a good pension. She always had a sunny disposition, so I never thought about her as being unhappy, particularly. But the truth is we all have dreams and aspirations. And hers, completely unbeknownst to me, was to be a chef.

When we were seated next to each other at a friend’s birthday dinner last year, she seemed different to me – like she was lit up, exuberant. It seems she had “retired” from her other job of many years and was now studying to be a chef.

I listened intently as she told me about the different classes with such excitement that she just could not contain her utter glee. It was like someone had let her out of prison and unleashed this vision of unbridled joy. And all I could think was I wanted to get me some of that!

So being invited to partake in this milestone three-course meal before her graduation was an honor. And when the chefs came out at the end of it to be acknowledged, she radiated even more joy than I’d witnessed that first night she told me about it.

I can’t help but think that it would be a completely different world if everyone followed their passion. I can’t help but think that people would be kinder and more compassionate and that a world where people honored their true callings would look more peaceful and love-filled. If we don’t honor ourselves, how exactly is it that we can truly honor another? When we disrespect that part of us that lights up, whether it’s about slicing and dicing vegetables, or discovering something in science, or teaching a child to read, how can we expect others to respect us when we dismiss ourselves so easily?

There’s dignity in even the most menial job done well. But we don’t often think that these days, so we look to cut corners, and there’s no pride that can be taken in that. No wonder people are angry.

I think we all owe it to ourselves and humanity as a whole to do something that we are passionate about. Maybe we all can’t quit our bill-paying jobs right now, but doing something to reignite the spark within us is absolutely doable. Feeding our souls is as important, if not more so, than feeding our bodies. Our time here is finite. So not to wring every ounce of joy out of it that we can is tragic. The world needs our happiness. It’s already seen our rage and our unhappiness.

And to my friend, the ridiculously talented and amazing chef, Joanne Sonderling, I say, first – congratulations, second – you inspire me tremendously, and third – only YOU could get me to eat vegan and like it!!!

Have a great day, everyone. Thanks for stopping by. And please tell your friends.

a holiday blog

Today is one of several designated holy days for me. I think there are five – Emmy, Oscar, Golden Globe, Tony, and Christmas.

Sure, some little girls grow up envisioning the tiara, the flaming baton, and the swimsuit competition, but not me. Nope. I envisioned Best Original Song in…well, anything, really. No tiara. And definitely no swimsuit stroll down the runway whilst being scored. SCORED. Sheesh, as if trying on swimsuits wasn’t bad enough!

So tonight I’ll take the rare night off and watch the Emmy’s. I have no idea who’s nominated, and to tell you the truth, I have not watched much television this past year, so I imagine there will be a lot of “who the heck is he/she?” emanating from my seat in front of the television.

If I had anything to say about the awards, I’d make sure the show, the entire cast, creator, and writer of The Newsroom won everything. But I know, I’m partial. I like smart, funny, and like Beyonce sings, “To the left, to the left.” So, on that note, ditto for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I think he’s only won about 250 Emmy’s so far, so I’m really rooting for a win this year.

Neil Patrick Harris is hosting, and I think he should just be knighted official host of every award show there is, though absolutely nothing will ever top his Tony hosting song and dance numbers. Seriously, people. If you have not seen them at this year’s Tony’s, go to YouTube right now!

I’ve been writing all day today, and I think I’ve reached the point where my sensor slipped out for coffee. Actually, I am in the midst of a writing blitz, so at any given hour, you can find me typing away at my new book on my laptop, at the piano working on a song, or in the shower…because that’s where all brilliant missing lyrics and melodies go to surface. I bet you didn’t know that. (And all my songwriter friends are probably pissed at me now cause I told you.)

Anyway, I decided to take a break from writing to blog. Wait for it…yeah, need to rethink that. But that just shows my dedication to you, my valued readers. Sure. That’s the story I’m going with.

Back to the Emmy’s. Do you know anyone who’s ever won one? Several members of my family have been nominated for them, and my cousin, Dan Angel, has actually won at least two that I know of. (Damn underachievers, my family.)

My friend and frequent co-writer, Debi Cochran, also won one, and that was for a song. It was a Daytime Emmy, and even years after the win, I cannot pass up the opportunity to refer to her as “Emmy award-winning songwriter, Debi Cochran.” It’s the least I can do, since she took me with her to the actual awards the night she won.

So I’m looking forward to putting my very own Emmy on my mantle one day. I’m also looking forward to having  a mantle, by the way. But these are minor details that can be ironed out later…

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And the winner is…

the moral high ground

It’s been a long time since I’ve ventured into talk about anything remotely political. To tell you the truth, I have intentionally extricated myself from the incessant chatter of cable news, a thing in which I used to partake on a daily basis, frequently adding my own voice to the cacophony of dissenting ones out there.

Oh, it’s not that I don’t care anymore. Quite the opposite. I care too much. I am incapable of not taking to heart the part of our nature that can perpetually turn our backs on human suffering or, in fact, create more of it, whether by virtue of our actions or our inaction.

You see, I made the mistake of tuning into This Week with George Stephanopoulos last Sunday to see the interview with President Obama. It’s Thursday now, and I don’t have the foggiest recollection of what was said, but I haven’t been able to shake the visual of the children lined up in body bags in Syria.

I’ll be honest with you – I don’t have the answers for how to effectively put a stop to people killing each other anywhere in the world. But I know very well what the answer isn’t and that is adding to the carnage.

Our righteous indignation at other countries’ barbarity would be a whole lot more convincing if we would put a stop to the mass murders committed every day in our own country at the hands of gun toters. No matter how many mass shootings we seem to have, no matter who the victims, their ages, the location or how preventable they are, we do not seem to collectively give a damn enough to get rid of the guns. And that is an infirmity.

Yes, I believe we must “be the change we wish to see in the world.” So to that end, I haven’t vacated my participation from current events in order to ignore their existence, but rather I’ve been making a concerted effort to offer up a version of myself that embodies the love and peace I’d like to see in the world. How to reconcile that with the crazy we’ve got going on right now, I haven’t quite figured out yet. But here’s what I think: we’ve been operating under the misguided notion that being successful looks like one side overpowering the other’s beliefs, ideals, way of life, or form of government. I think true success would look very much like a pot luck supper, with every differing body coexisting side by side at the same table, offering up their unique delicacies while maybe tasting someone else’s for a change.

I realize the unlikelihood of this type of banquet coming to pass in my lifetime. But I am, at heart, a dreamer, filled with grand ideas of worlds not yet thought into existence, daring to cling to both the innocence and optimism that would ask, “Why not?” as I valiantly charge toward the unknown.

In reality, I am a writer taking a few moments off from writing songs and a book in order to say it should not be okay with us to watch the body bags amass anywhere. Nor should the term “collateral damage” be acceptable. There is not a single person on earth who does not bear some responsibility for that which occurs anywhere on this earth. Every soul’s suffering is our own suffering…or rest assured, it will be in time.

I think it is incumbent upon us to show the same degree of mercy to each other that we ask God to show us. Then, maybe we can legitimately claim the moral high ground. Until then…thanks for stopping by. 

Peace and blessings to you...

a Kenny Loggins blog - part two

On my mother’s birthday each year since her passing, I get a little melancholy. I usually don’t plan much on that day, having made the mistake once shortly after her death, of booking a first time co-writing session in which, if memory serves me correctly, I think I spent most of the time trying not to cry - unsuccessfully. Yeah, no song got written that day.

But life has a funny way of mellowing us over time, and things that used to make me cry now make me laugh. Take, for instance, the story about a relative who, upon hearing the eulogy I wrote for my mother's funeral, asked me, “Did you ever think about becoming a writer?” Hilarious.

This year, instead of reflecting for the entire day on assorted memories of her love of ballroom dancing, anything dark blue, and movies where the underdog triumphantly prevails, I did something decidedly different from previous years – I went to a concert, a Kenny Loggins concert, to be precise.

I think I can safely say that my mother had no idea who Kenny Loggins is. (I came out of the womb singing the entire score to Funny Girl, which I’m certain, was very entertaining to people around me during my toddler years.) But I know she would be happy that I was doing something fun, and something musical, and something with my friend, Jeryl, whom she adored.

Now, there’s a little bit of a history with me and a couple of concerts Mr. Loggins played last year. It involved a new band he started, an article I wrote for the Huffington Post, a chance meeting, an elephant, a stick of gum, and a mostly one-sided conversation. Okay, I threw the elephant and stick of gum in there just to see if you were paying attention.

If you’re new to this blog, well, first, thanks for stopping by. And second, to catch up on that whole backstory, here’s the link to one of my all-time favorite blog posts http://ileneangel.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-kenny-loggins-blog.html  …which led to this joint HuffPost piece http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kenny-loggins/blue-sky-riders_b_2007436.html and http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ilene-angel/kenny-loggins_b_2007280.html…which led to…jeeze, this is exhausting, so I’m stopping now. You’ll just have to Google.

So back to last night. My friend Jeryl and I headed to the concert at Yonkers Raceway or Empire City Casino, as it’s now called. We parked in a lovely section of the vast expanse that I believe was called “China,” and we started hiking. Sure, the security guy told us there were shuttles, but a) shuttles are for sissies, and b) I remembered that I forgot to lose those the 30 pounds I’d been meaning to by the end of the summer, so win/win with the hiking.

We got to our amazing seats just before seven to hear the opening act, Blue Sky Riders, comprised of Gary Burr, Georgia Middleman, and yes, Kenny Loggins. (You can read this HuffPost review of their album to see just how much I love this band. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ilene-angel/blue-sky-riders-finally-home_b_2569825.html )

The only thing was we were about two of twelve people there for the opening act. I kid you not. The tickets said 8 o’clock, so people didn’t know about the opener, or that there was an opener, or that Kenny was in it, even.

So picture walking out on stage, pumped to play your set, excited to share your new music, looking out at a vast array of…empty seats. Oy. I felt awful for them. I tried to singlehandedly make up for the throngs of adoring fans that weren’t there, but that was a fool’s errand. To their credit, they kicked ass and lived up to every glowing thing I said about them in my review. And I’m sure they’ll take home fond memories of playing Yonkers. I know I do.

By the time the headliner came out, the entire place was packed. Out walked Kenny to perform his concert of wall-to-wall iconic hits, woven together seamlessly with the perfect amount of humorous banter in between, and sung to the kind of perfection that only a true veteran can achieve. (I know, you should see what I write when I really like someone’s performance.)

The crowd sang along, hooted, hollered, and everything else one is supposed to do at these types of events. Me, I wondered about things like can the performer hear the audience doing any of that stuff out in the open night air? Or does it just look like a bunch of people moving their lips? And which of his hits does he still love the most, and which does he wish he never had to do again. Me, I’ve got my own personal favorite song of his.

The ninety-or-so minutes seemed to me to be like five. But I knew by the time everyone was on their feet dancing to “Footloose” that the concert was winding down.

Jeryl and I went to the gated area to go backstage. And by “backstage,” I mean behind the trailers parked on the racetrack. Oh, the glamour of it all. This year I wasn’t crashing. We actually had passes. So after the radio contest winners, and the fan club members, and some other grouping we couldn’t quite identify, we were ushered in.

I would like a huge drum roll now, please, for all of you waiting with baited breath to find out whether or not I was able to carry on an actual conversation this time with Kenny Loggins…………yes, I could…I mean, I did!

But first, I have to just say a word about my friend, Jeryl. We met at a performing arts camp when we were 13. So this is a friendship that has spanned quite a while. In fact, it was at this performing arts camp that Jeryl, having listened to me play and sing my songs in a little practice room, went to the camp director and told them I needed to perform my songs in a concert…which I did…which changed the course of my life forever.

Fast forward a lot of years to me sending her a 35 page draft of a “book” and asking her if she thought this could be an actual book. (She had become a journalist – after studying acting at NYU and getting a law degree, slacker that she is.) If she had said no, I would have trusted her and let it go, but the thing is, she emphatically said yes! And once again, the course of my life was forever altered by her boundless enthusiasm for what I do.

So here we are backstage at a Kenny Loggins concert, and I have no idea how this whole interaction is gonna play out. But given what I just told you about Jeryl in the prior two paragraphs, I should have foreseen that it might involve her telling Kenny Loggins that I’m the greatest songwriter ever and generally extolling my genius, in addition to his, of course. (This is why you bring a friend.) Bless her heart, if she could have, she would have pulled up two chairs and made us write a song together right there. (That did not happen, by the way.)

So the three of us chatted amicably for a few minutes, took a picture together for posterity, and parted ways so Jeryl and I could hike back to my car. It was a far cry from a year earlier, when I think I managed to only eke out a few guttural noises in lieu of actual words.

I know that Kenny maintains a grueling touring schedule, and that launching a new band is an uphill battle in today’s music industry. But if you want to see how it’s supposed to be done at its finest, go get yourself a ticket and see him on the road. And for the love of God, come early and see Blue Sky Riders. You will be so glad you did. I know I am.

So thank you to Jeryl and to Kenny for making September 8^th this year so filled with joy.

To my beloved readers, thanks for stopping by. And please tell your friends. 

special blog mention

I’ve mentioned a lot of people in this blog over the years – some of them in passing, some who were the focal point of a particular story, sometimes to honor the memory of those who passed on. There’s been talk of celebrities, assorted public figures, and politicians. But this blog is a special one, daring to name names and point fingers – at those who have championed a dream of mine in such a way that they are making its reality possible.

I have previously talked about the struggles and growth that crowd funding provided me. But now I get to celebrate those who volunteered to take this journey with me, cheer me on, and invest in the merits of The Gratitude Project.

When I looked at the list of who, solely based on the designated perk level, garnered the special mention, I was utterly delighted, but not entirely surprised.

They say “you gotta have friends,” and mine have completely overwhelmed me with their love and support.

When I was in high school, I sang in an All-City Chorus gathered from all the high schools in my town. It was there I was paired with another singer to do a duet from Showboat. His name is Anthony Barone. I don’t think we could have conceived of then, in our wildest imaginations, that our singing would turn into a friendship that would see us through countless miles and adventures, and years, and shows, miscellaneous jobs, shared Christmases, family dinners, birthdays, the loss of parents, you name it – we’ve gone through it together. I even got ordained to officiate at his wedding…which brings me to Renato Rufino.

It is not often that you share the same depth of friendship with the spouse of a friend as you do with your original friend, but then again, most people are not Renato. Sure, we’ve been known to share a love of perusing touristy knickknacks that defies most people’s logic as well as stamina, but this alone does not a friendship make. And sure, he can cook better than five TV chefs combined, but that’s nothing compared to knowing that you can count on someone when you really need them.

So yes, it’s my pleasure to publicly thank Anthony and Renato for, among many, many things, supporting this project and me. (I’d also like to thank them for helping dig and push the car out of the snow that time in the city when dad was in the hospital. There was no acknowledgement box to check for that one, but it really does deserve a mention.)

There are moments indelibly etched in our memories, and such was the first time I met Alisa Swerdlove. We lived in dorm rooms across from each other my freshman year at Northwestern, and we would later become roommates and lifelong friends. Alisa has the dubious distinction of knowing way too much about me and using that to tease me mercilessly in the hopes that I will take myself less seriously. (You’d think she’d learn after 30 years that this hasn’t worked, but you gotta love her for trying.) Plus, she’s tasked with the almost daily chore of talking me down from the ledge. So when there’s a completed CD at the end of this project, you can all send her a lovely bouquet of flowers.

And just to prove that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in the kind and generous department, I get to thank Carole Swerdlove, Alisa’s mom, also a big supporter of mine. The multitude of roles Carole has played in my life spans a wide spectrum. I’ve been the recipient of sound dating advice, a lovely bejeweled sweater and cardigan set, a hilarious clarifying definition of the difference between “funny” and “humorous,” and a career pep talk not that long ago that went something like this – “Ilene, you’re not chopped liver, you know.” Needless to say, my affection for Carole Swerdlove is immense, and I’m glad I get to say so here.

Some people come into our lives without much fanfare. They are friendships cultivated over time, deepening with age and life paths, until it is hard to remember before they existed. Such is the case with my friendship with Tanya Leah and Arnie Roman.

And before I go any further, it was when I was having a hard day, that my friend Tanya uttered the most pivotal sentiment to this project. It went something like this: “Do you really want to be on your deathbed saying, ‘I should’ve made that fucking album?’” And so here we are, boys and girls, because the answer to that was, um, no.

I could extol, both individually and combined, the geniuses that are Tanya and Arnie, but aside from their ridiculous multitude of talents, both musical and otherwise, who they are to me is by far the greater gift – the refuge with heat and water during hurricane Sandy, the company keepers and bringers of dinner and a movie after surgery, fellow travelers who just can’t let that damn dream go while there’s still an ounce of life left in us, the people with whom there is never a superficial conversation, and yet, who share my delight at humor that involves saying the most absurd thing with a straight face. You will undoubtedly be hearing about them more as the project progresses and I post updates.

And now we move into the territory of family, starting with my beloved father, Marvin, the mild mannered accountant by trade, who tries to convince me almost daily that my songwriting skills somehow emanated from him. Shhh, I don’t want to burst his bubble, but I think I hear my mother cackling from the great beyond.

Having the support of my father for this project is not something I look at as an entitlement, but rather as a privilege and an honor not to be taken lightly. He has gotten a ringside seat these past few years to just what it is I do, and I think that, more than anything, has made him a champion of this cause. And for that I am profoundly grateful.

And then there was a band of Angels – literally – Don and Joanne Angel, Dan and Cindy Angel, and Jill and Michelle Angel, whose support truly overwhelms me and leaves me speechless…which, as you can tell from this blog, I seldom am.

There’s a saying that we choose our friends, not our relatives. But if I did have a choice, I’d pick this particular bunch of California Angels 250 times over. So if I haven’t said it enough, I treasure the joy-filled and far-too-infrequent time together, the conversations, the laughs, the shared sense of excitement about all of our new projects, the ways in which you’ve already been instrumental in my past successes and have stepped up to see that this, too, will thrive. There aren’t words or hugs huge enough.

It is not a far leap to imagine that family and friends will support a project like The Gratitude Project, but strangers? Complete strangers donating beyond generously? Well, that just takes a certain kind of soul.

Enter Doug and Lynne Morgan, people whom I’ve never met, don’t know, who don’t know me, don’t even know my music, by the way, but who nonetheless said yes in a huge way to The Gratitude Project.

Two members of the California Highway Patrol, Doug and Lynne have singlehandedly become the embodiment of faith realized for me. It is one thing to want to believe that this is a loving universe, that forces are conspiring for our good, that our noblest efforts will be supported if we but put ourselves out there, but it is quite another thing to see all that evidenced.

So Doug and Lynne, I hope I get to meet you one day soon and thank you in person, but for now, please know that the levels on which you’ve contributed go way beyond the monetary and are all very much appreciated.

Lastly, I want to thank my anonymous donors. Yes, there are one or more people who donated a nice chunk of change and didn’t want to be known or acknowledged for it. And to you I say, “Thank you…for making me eight kinds of crazy with that.” Really, no name? Why? What would be the harm in my knowing, I ask you. So I decided to give my anonymous donors my own pet name, which is…nope. Not gonna tell you. Two can dance this dance. But rest assured, it makes me smile and giggle ever so slightly.

No, really lastly, to all of you who donated any amount whatsoever to The Gratitude Project, thank you. And thanks for stopping by today. Please tell your friends.

a Saturday night gig with too much caffeine

So last night, I had the chance to play the Storefront Acoustic concert series again with my buddy, Garry Novikoff and the lovely Beth Zucker, whom I’d never met before.

Truth be told, I like playing intimate settings like this coffee and tea boutique. And I’ve done it so many times that I don’t stress about it and I have a really good time…so the audience usually does, too. The thing is last night, though no one knew it, a few other things were going on for me. And I, who feel it my duty to share with you, my beloved blog readers, the behind the scenes scoop, will relive it for you now.

I had a brutal migraine all day and I was trying out a new medication that wasn’t really working all that well, so I took over the counter stuff in addition to the prescription medication, because I had a show to do, darn it. (That’s me, always thinking of the audience.) So I got there in time as opposed to on time. And the first obvious thing was the air conditioning wasn’t working. I won’t even talk about the fact that I remembered to change my t-shirt to a performance top but forgot to change out of the flip flops. Fortunately, they had rhinestones, so I decided to call it a fashion statement.

A word about my hair. I’ve spent all kinds of money buying all kinds of goop and apparatuses in order to get it to look straight and smooth and nicely coiffed. But when I’m sweating from head to toe in high humidity, there is nothing that will stop it from turning into a wild, curly, frizzy mess before your very eyes. It was a fantastic look with the flip flops.

So I went to sit behind Garry’s keyboard, nicely set up where it always is, and I forgot that at this particular venue, the floor is slanted where we play, so even though the audience doesn’t know it, I’m very aware that I’m lopsided and my equilibrium is challenged, because did I mention that I had a migraine and was medicated? No worries, though, because I’m a pro. I’m sure I won’t fall off the stool.

Being at a coffee shop with no AC, I ordered myself a large black iced coffee, figuring the caffeine might help the headache. At this point, really, could anything hurt? So I sat sipping in between numbers, not really giving forethought to the possibility of regretting that decision at, say, 2:30 a.m. when I’m still awake.

I get to what should be my next to last song, and the play list that is conveniently located inside my head for this particular gig is telling me the title of my closing song and my closing song only. Crap. What was the other song I was gonna sing here? Don’t know. Practiced it mere hours ago. Have played it three million times in my life. What was it, again? No idea. So I go with my closing song and decide that I will just have to think of another one to do on the fly after Garry and Beth have each played. No worries.

Beth is up next and she says, “I wish I could just sit here and listen to you play all night, Ilene.” So sweet. Very complimentary. Except I can’t even remember the titles of the songs I’m supposed to be playing.

So Garry and Beth continue on in the round, during which time a childhood friend of mine who has never heard me perform comes in with her daughter. I’ve got one song left – a closing number. I finally remember the song I forgot to play earlier. It’s possibly the saddest thing I’ve written. You can’t close with a sad ballad. That would be performance suicide. I momentarily weigh whether I care or not about committing professional suicide, and I decide I do.

I ask Garry if I could possibly do two more songs, since my friend wandered in and she’s never heard me. He’s totally fine with it. I did the sad one, followed by an uplifting, leave-‘em-on-a-positive note closing song. Crisis averted.

The show ends. It was a resounding success, as determined by the sale of two CD’s. No one knows my pained expression all night was anything other than expressive emoting.

I visit with my childhood friend afterwards, who is Orthodox, by the way, and has decided that she must fix me up with the Orthodox Jewish guy who lives down the street from me, because we have this wonderful and unique thing in common – we’re both single. I do not have the heart or the strength to tell her that I eat BLT’s, have no intention of wearing a wig, and have expanded my spiritual beliefs and practices to include things that would surely make her sit shiva for me. Her heart’s in the right place, so this is a discussion that will have to wait for another day…unless she happens to read this blog….in which case the cat’s out of the bag and there’s really nothing I can do about it.

I hope you are having a great weekend. Thanks for stopping by. And please tell your friends.