Animals Are Not Vegans

There was some kind of super-bloody battle on my porch Tuesday night.

In my usual state of morning mess, I tripped out the door with the dog, praying that my younger party-on neighbor wouldn't get home while I was standing in my ancient, gigantic Benetton shirt and staring at all of the blood while the dog was running away to try to find the latest birdy burial grounds, a half-assed cemetary where my lazy cats dump the bodies. For the dog, finding this spot is better than oil bubbling up from the garden.

Fast forward to later when I got in the car to go off to Phoenix and chattered away, describing the morning gore, Namoli dead-panned, "Animals aren't vegans."

I couldn't stop talking about it: later still while in conversation with the drummer "... and because cats are, pound-for-pound the most vicious animals on the planet, I have a BONEYARD in my COURTYARD."
I know - I make the effort to be both educational and open when I talk to strangers.

Yesterday, I spent the day at a recording studio, a real one, with bagels and coffee and studio musicians, one of whom plays steal guitar for Glenn Campbell, that lovable country star who got a dui in Maricopa County.
I can't remember if it was a big deal because he didn't have to go to Tent City for his mandatory jail time or if it was a big deal because he DID have to go to Tent City.
I think it was decided that he would be in too much danger in Tent City.

For those who are not in the know, Tent City is this weird publicity machine/Cool Hand Luke jail situation in the county where Phoenix and Tempe are located. In what I am SURE is an attempt to address that jail over-crowding, which is OF COURSE not related to mandatory minimums and statutory sentencing, the sheriff in Maricopa county decided it would be good management if he made inmates wear black and white and live on bread and water in tents.

Regarding jail food, bread and water is about all you can eat anyway so, not harm no foul there.

But that's just my experience.

Anyway, don't quote me but from what I understand, there is more drug trafficking, gang war, and tattooing in Tent City then there is in a normal setting where there's air conditioning. Maricopa County's brilliant crime prevention tool, Tent City, is so dangerous that country music stars from the seventies who get a little tipsy on their way from the country club to their Scottsdale spread can't be treated like a normal prisoner because simply by nature of name recognition, they might be attacked in the prison yard by a skin head straight edge, shot up with home made heroin and the ensuing lawsuit would bankrupt the county.

But hey... what do I know?
I live in Pima County.

With the exception of WUC, which is what I call Wendy's Ubiquitous Camera, hanging out in a recording studio is really cool and there are lots of pretty lights. Too bad the magazine selection ranged from 'Downbeat' to 'Guitar Monthly' because if there had a few People magazines and maybe an Us Weekly, I would have been in heaven.

It's not like I've ever been to a studio before. I mean, when I say I have no musical talent, I mean that I have NO musical talent. People with a little talent who try to pass themselves off as being any good really piss me off, so even though I can play classical piano and won some junior awards and stuff.... let's go with my admission of not having any musical talent.

It was really cool to hang out all day there and although I was bored out of my mind for parts of it (which is where I could have used a Glamour Magazine, for sure), and although if I hear that fucking song one more time, my head is going to explode... yesterday definitely ranked as one of my high scores in Cool Points.

I was the Studio Babe, I guess, the Fluffer if this was porno. Luckily for me, it was not porno. The guys were all middle-aged long-hairs in their running shoes and their dude shorts. You know.... those knee-length shorts that all freaking guys wear, regardless of how ugly the shorts are?

These are some seriously talented people and admittedly, I entertained myself by spending a LOT of time trying to catch a glimpse of myself in all of the reflective surfaces and also thinking of cute stuff to do when that camera was directed at me. Not that a camera in your face is a bad thing but let's be honest here.... I would prefer that it not be such a sneak-attack type of situation. If I was the focus and if I could remember that I need to hold my stomach in all day... no sweat. As it were, I am not used to WUC and am mildly concerned about looking like I have a double chin or something.

Since a lot of my day was spent curled up in a chair and thinking to myself, "That one didn't sound as good as before," but not being able to say anything about it because hell if I know what the bridge is, I was ill-prepared for the times when I looked up and found that the camera was on me and I was unfortunately chewing a hang nail or fixing my bra strap that kept falling down.

The deal was this: Namoli found this really good studio and really good producer. He's kind of a no bullshit type of person and is at a point in his career where it seems like he would rather work on what he wants to do, rather than tell everyone that they are great and charge them $50K to make a record.

The decision was made to privately fund the professional recording of this one really brilliant song. Now.... this isn't my money, I know that.
And the song is BEAUTIFUL.
It's just that it's not the most marketable song. The musicians loved it. They thought it was a great song and that Namoli is a great talent and that it was a joy to be working with her.

Ultimately, I think I've become a total Corporate 'Ho and in the beginning of something, I will always push for quick, dirty, and done while others will push for slow and hopeful.

I learned a lot yesterday, and not a bit of it had to do with soundboards.

Here's what I learned:
1. Studio recording is pricey.
2. Mediterranean food is popular and delicious in Tempe.
3. Kenny Loggins' "Forever" is one of my all-time favorite songs.
4. My mom has a sense of humor. When I mentioned that maybe now that I have lived half my life without my dad I would be released into adulthood or something, she was all, "Oh Sarah, I hope so." And she meant it to be funny, which it was.
5. A Bata drum comes from Cuba.
6. I feel guilty if I drink coffee that wasn't prepared either by the loving hands of Coffee Man or at the place where he works.
7. I love not being in my cubicle lately, which is different from how I felt a few short weeks ago.

And that's that.
I'm back to wanting to be a housewife. If I were a housewife, which WAS my original plan in life, I would have already done the laundry that's sitting in my car and I would have cleaned up the bloody spots on the porch when I got home from the studio.
As it is, since I had to come to my cubicle this morning, I toasted up a Lean Pocket and went to bed.
I'll try to get to the porch today.
Or not.
I'm getting drained by other people and what's going on badly for them and I haven't been able to recharge to save my life.
Probably Sunday afternoon I might clean the porch but honestly.... I'm deflating fast so it might not get done until god does it with the magic of rain.

arizonasarah at 8:42 a.m.

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