Ah, while I have recently been considering a staunch variety of vastly important chamber musicians and the like, I'm thinkin that for a while it's just gonna be me. I might drum on your wicked huge mellon as it sinks towards my immaculately maintained bar top. Back in the day I woulda thrown down a song with Nomar or Pedro, but my heart's been broken too many times. Ah, Nomar.
Influences
Ha. Ah, man, what is this? I dunno. The Sox. And um, this bar. That I never leave. This bar that I never leave is my greatest influence. Aw, man, I can't even believe that came outta me. Great, now I'm wicked depressed. Is polishing glasses, cleaning filth, and listening to nonsense spew outta people's mouths an influence? I can't really remember anymore the select three tracks on my jukebox that AREN'T complete garbage, so forget it.
Can you possibly begin to understand how difficult it is to be taken as a respectable bartender when you have to excuse yourself to take leak in some sand every 30 minutes and you lose your $%*!% every time somebody shines one of those little laser things on the bar? I swear, I will murder the next person who tries it.
I read a bunch, I guess, and that's some sort of an influence - y'know, like Murakami, Dawkins, Salinger, McEwan, crap like that. And the Herald.
Sounds Like
Yeah, this is just too much. I dunno. It sounds like your mom, if she was a cat who was a bartender who played the harmonica and sang about the Sox. Am I right? You know I'm right. Now get yourself to Dunkies, get me a medium regular, and don't say a word until 7pm. I'll time you.
What? What?
So there's this kid who used to come to my bar like 3 or 4 years ago. He came in like four or five times a week - kind of a regular. He's alright enough, I guess, sort of an odd duck, y'know - but who cares? He makes up this thing called Marty's Sock Puppet Portraits, and somehow I'm suddenly a part of it. Awesome. Whatever. Go Pats.
Listen, you can shut up, then you can shut up again, and when you're done shuttin up you can tell your buddies how good that drink I made you was. Cuz you know it was. You got somethin else to say? First, say it to the bottle that just veered past your sloping cranium. Then say it outside. As a matter of fact - sing it. Down the block. Past the Dunkies and the ATM and then past the other Dunkies and the other ATM next to where, ah, Sam Adams fought the Viking-Pilgrim-Founding Fathers, there's a jar for your tears. Do your best to cry me a river, kid.
Anyways, yeah, sometimes I'm workin at the bar, between tellin people to shut up and making them excellent drinks and then telling them to get out I make up songs on my harmonica. I dunno. Whatever. Go Sox, kid. Go Sox.
********** A message from our sponsor: Purchase any of Marty's 36 Sock Puppet Portraits (small framed photographs of sock puppets that Marty makes) at www.martystuff.com. Support the crazy arts! While you're at it, listen to sock puppets and people rock out together at www.unclemonsterface.com!
Sorry about all those chairs the other night! Bullocks said he could take one over his back, I say I'm gonna try it out. The song is a good one, love, though I confess I'm more of a Dodgers girl myself.
