Sometimes When You Least Expect It

Back in the olden days, when I was a New Waver in Austin, Texas, some of my buddies were in a band called the Tickle Monsters. They mostly played at a beer bar called The Beach which eventually became a sucessful TexMex restaurant called something else entirely.

Some of the same fellows were in The Derelicts which was managed by The Man from San Antone. His habit at the time was to leave me in the care of cocaine dealers while he went off to bang the girl next door. He was smart that way because I was so diverted that I didn't care where he was, and since he was the biggest and the richest and paid all my bills, nobody ever messed with me. I was a Nice Girl and Property, after all.

That's what drugs can do for you, but we're talking about the Tickle Monsters at the moment. These were mostly the same guys I went to high school with - the ones who baked magic mushrooms into a pizza directly under the nose of one of their clueless, suburban moms. The Tickle Monsters sang a song that included the line:

Sometimes when you least expect it
Life gets fun.

Today is one of those days.

An impoverished Brazilian musician is bringing over a bottle of cachaca so that we can have Caipirinhas on my terrace at sunset.

This fellow went to school with my friend Bev years ago when she lived in Brazil on account of her father's job with an oil company. A couple of months ago, she suggested me as a friend for him on Facebook, of all places, because although he lives in the suburbs, he often comes into the city to work in the studio. I think he's an actor too - which goes a long way to explain why he's impoverished. That and an exwife who gets better alimony than I do as well as his two teenagers. Two teenagers can bankrupt anyone.

He's been hovering on the horizon for a little while, but today is the first time I actually called him back instead of sending a text or an email the next day. If I had to identify an event that convinced him to be more persistent and frequent in contacting me, I would have to say it coincided with me sending an invitation to join a Cause on Facebook -- the Marijuana Policy Project. He wrote me a note to say he'd be happy to join that except for privacy on the internet issues. Some people have issues with their privacy on the internet. After a correspondence that was mostly political in nature, he suggested he come over to my place with some toys.

I don't have a clue what he means by "toys," but the living room will have to be straightened up enough so that it's suitable for company.

There could be homemade CDs of Brazilian jazz are in my future.