Eccentrick #3: The gift of gifting

The art of gifting is prime real estate in one’s creative life.  Rather than the regular instruction manual, today’s Eccentrick allows these fellows the leeway to lead by example.  

From Wikipedia: 

[Jack] Nicholson shared a friendship with author-journalist Hunter S. Thompson, described in Thompson’s autobiography “Kingdom of Fear” where, according to Thompson, they would exchange “bizarre” presents which resulted in a perceived assassination attempt against the actor. Thompson appeared outside Nicholson’s home on the night of Nicholson’s birthday, having set off a high-powered spotlight and gunfire, playing a tape of animal cries through an amplifier to awaken him. Thompson then left a freshly-cut elk’s heart on Nicholson’s door as a joke before leaving when it appeared that nobody would exit the house.[32] Following the death of Thompson in 2005, Nicholson and fellow actors Johnny Depp, John Cusack, and Sean Penn attended the private memorial service in Colorado.[33]

 

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Eccentrick #2: Bathe With Intent

Step one, ignore all societal notions of baths as insults to masculinity. It’s a well-known fact that both Robert Duvall and Clint Eastwood are both bath lovers, though of the cowboy washtub variety. Step two, spend a good 20 minutes at CVS on the bubble bath aisle, methodically removing caps to sample the varying scents. Best work this out publicly, by saying things like, “Oh, no, no, no…this just won’t do.” I recommend something that smells like Mentholatum. Step three, fill tub as high as you possibly can, and get yourself some kind of TV tray for your ash tray, whiskey, and pipe. Step four, roll Willie Nelson’s “Stardust,” and prepare to be wowed. Eastwood prefers the Pointer Sisters, but he’s old hat. Fire up your pipe and watch the smoke rings curl. Clint enjoying the Pointer Sisters

ECCENTRICK NO.1: bossanova bliss

Import a bossanova playlist to your phone (Joâo Gilberto is your best bet by far).  Press play and maintain a pleasantly audible volume (quiet enough to be the backdrop of conversation, loud enough that all of your new friends will hear you coming).  Leave Joâo playing from your pocket as your soundtrack to the world.  Saunter and be amazed at how interesting the simple act of interacting with humans becomes.  Everything from buying a cup of coffee to attending your kid’s parent-teacher conference become instantly more wondrous.  You might feel the sudden urge to ask new found friends (i.e. “Pork Chop” from the corner of 7th and Avenue A) to stop everything and accompany you to the antique store.  This trick is exponentially enhanced by a pink carnation in the lapel pocket.  

 

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Paparazzi

I always liked this Gaga song. I wanted to focus on its obsessiveness. The media world of today is full of so many peep holes. It’s easy to peer into the lives of others, as obsessively or innocently as you like. Unlike glancing at someone across from you in a subway, cyber-peeping is one-sided. Those you are looking at don’t necessarily know you’re looking at them or have the chance to look back. “Paparazzi” was always a creepy, pathological tune about one-sided romantic obsession. I decided to make it about living life through a porthole.

Let me know if you dig.

Judged Again

Tune I penned with a couple friends after reading the John Grisham book, “Innocent Man,” about the botched and unjust conviction of Ada man, Ron Williamson.

Listen Here.

“Judged Again”
Dick/Allensworth/Greenberg

Wait for the day to end,
to Make another one begin,
It don’t matter ’cause the sun don’t shine on me

I Trace the lines of iron bars,
Pace the floors, Pitch the cards,
Curse the birds and every song they sing

When I die,
tell the angels just to leave me
Where I Lie,
close the gates and hold the jury in
‘Cause I don’t want to be…
Judged Again

I might Cry, every time I’m stealing,
Try, just to keep from feeling,
Lie, just to keep my only friend

But I Swear on my mother’s grave,
Bang the gavel, Call my name,
Place the bible underneath my hand

When I die,
tell the angels just to leave me
Where I Lie,
close the gates and hold the jury in
‘Cause I don’t want to be…
Judged Again

I see the blood on the hands,
of every innocent man

When I die,
tell the angels just to leave me
Where I Lie,
close the gates and hold the jury in
‘Cause I don’t want to be…
Judged Again

Wait for the day to end,
to Make another one begin,
It don’t matter ’cause the sun don’t shine on me

Esqueleta’s Bones

Ever notice how pets resemble their owners? Here’s a tune about a cat and a woman. When me and my gal first started carrying on, her cat, Esqueleta, would vie for attention. Once I ignored her accidentally, only to wake up the next day to find a pile of cat shit on my brief case. It seems that females of all species mete out scorn with a surgeon’s precision. Enjoy the video: Esqueleta’s Bones.