Hello Gheorghies! I'd like you guys to be the first to know that I've made an executive decision. I've decided that it's time for me to grow up. Time for me to get real. I need to cast away dreams and whimsy and accept the path that stretches before me. I must "dance with the one who brought me." Not that anyone would bring me to a dance, because I'm not that strong a dancer. In fact . . . I can't dance (this is one of my great regrets, but-- alas-- it's too late to learn . . . which is the theme of this post).
I acknowledge that it's going to be rough, but I'm quitting cold turkey. And I'm not talking about chewing tobacco-- although I've been having a pretty good run at quitting that stuff . . . aside from a minor lapse last week at the pub, but there were extenuating circumstances: my old dipping buddy Pastor Rob showed up out of the blue-- he moved to Pennsylvania last year, but he made a surprise visit-- and he was packing Copenhagen. Because of the unusual situation, I gave myself a One-Night Dipsentation. Pun intended.
Anyway, enough silliness. From this day forward, I hereby swear to stop creating new fictitious band names for my music. I'm done. It's Greasetruck if I'm solo and Random Idiots if I'm with any of the other idiots who write for this blog. No more Slouching Beast or The Density or The Hanging Chads or The Looming Specters of Death or The End of Dave or Almighty Yojo or any of the ones I've forgotten to mention. Life is too short. No one cares about Tin Machine. It's certainly fun to create new band names, but what does it accomplish? A rose by any other name . . .
Anyway, to celebrate this stoic acceptance of my fate, I'm releasing a song. A Greasetruck song. It sounds just the way I imagined, which is always a miracle when I'm recording music. I started by looping a scratchy bit of clunky staccato guitar and using that as the rhythm, and then I layered synths and odd fills over that, and everything ended up coming together nicely.
But wait! There's more! Since I'm on a roll here, not only am I going to stop creating new band names and accept Greasetruck as my destiny, but I'm also going to stop complaining about the name of this blog, though it drives me crazy. Here is my final take on that topic:
--Hey, my friend TR wrote a great post about how he was touring The Sixth Floor Museum in Dallas and he looked out the window and-- holy shit-- he felt like he was in a time warp! You should read it.
--Interesting . . . where is it?
--On this blog we write . . . Gheorghe . . . Gheorghe the blog. But it's Gheorghe with two "h"s.
--You know, like Gheorghe Muresan? The Romanian center who used to play for the Bullets?
--It's sort of a play on that political magazine George. Remember that?