I want to be upfront with you about the way I’ve felt lately, and I know that you feel the same way I do considering how close we are (both figuratively and physically). I need you to know that the decisions you make have a profound effect on my happiness and general comfort level—and I must say, your decisions lately have inevitably led to a great deal of discomfort and unhappiness on my part, hence this letter.

You see, it all started with your latest purchase: a pair of briefs… underwear, at the local designer clothing store. For years now, you have done right by me, taking great care in purchasing what I like: boxer briefs. Generally, and in my humble opinion, I think you look far more attractive in them; they are loose and casual, comfortable and dynamic in their flow and adhesiveness—I feel quite at home in them.

Now, I am all about self-exploration (I mean, come on, we’ve had our fair share of creative shenanigans together—you remember that time with the rubber bands?), and I certainly want you to try new things, or in this particular case, retry new old things that you used to do 20 to 25 years ago when you didn’t have a choice (Christmas was always socks and Fruit of the Loom briefs from mom and dad—hi mom and dad), but I digress.

Look, I was fine when you came home with the first pair of brand new designer briefs from the store a week or two ago, but then (as if to add insult to injury) just a few days ago, YOU-BOUGHT-TWO-MORE-PAIR! What on Earth were you thinking? I’m getting the sweats and chills just thinking about it—it’s like I’m stuck with this decision in much the same manner as I am your leg, and I don’t like it! It’s like my creativity and general comfort level suffocates, as the borders of your briefs draw closer and closer to me with every wash and dry cycle—those 100% cotton abominations of nature! YOU… should be ashamed! That wedgie you are feeling right now up your fault line is no fault of mine and you know it—think of the cocoa brown stains that could happen if you weren’t thorough! What would a lady friend think of that? Neither of us wants or needs another dry spell. Answer me!

[deep breath] I’m sorry…

I need to know: is it something I did or said? Look, I love you… and I want you to be happy. Talk to me; we can work this out. I just want everything (specifically, our underwear) to be more like how it used to be—when the things between us were fresh, more boxer-brief-like, and consensual.

Sincerely,

Your Testicles

Although described as a Greek slave, Aesop is attributed as the creator of many popular fables including, “The Tortoise and the Hare,” “The Goose That Laid The Golden Eggs,” “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” and more to the point of this blog, “The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothes.”

Most biographical material found on the man is panned by experts as being mythical (with good reason)—furthermore, an overwhelming majority of historians also question whether he actually was the author of the fables that are attributed to his name. Considering that most fables were passed down by word of mouth and that a few of Aesop’s fables have been found in earlier works in writing dating back to Ancient Egypt, Ancient India, Assyria, Babylonia, and Sumer—I share their scrutiny. It’s fair to question whether Aesop even existed.

Whatever the case may be, I find fables fascinating because of their elegant moral and practical message summed in a concise story often using animal protagonists. The relevance of their message has managed to traverse thousands of years and many languages, and has even found its place in popular religious texts such as the Bible. For example, the Gospel of Matthew (7:15-16), Jesus said, “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them.”

Wise words… and if I may add, I worry about far more than just false prophets.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=KSJEbj2H1pA

THAT SHEEP AND THOSE SHEEP
Words and Music by Mike Vitale

a wolf in a meadow
came across a body
a lamb who had perished
wandering from its herd

the wolf had a notion
disguised is woolen shoddy
to infiltrate their ranks
with an appetite so naughty, singing

that sheep and those sheep will be all mine
sure enough a few followed behind
then the few became the whole herd
a flock of sheep that hung on every word

supper time
the shepherd went home
he left his herd alone

the wolf would conceal
his snarl and bloody grin
and preach of forgiveness
amongst his new brethren

the fruit of his words
a labor towards fruition
to feed his hungry urge
and shady disposition, singing

that sheep and those sheep will be all mine
sure enough a few followed behind
then the few became the whole herd
a flock of sheep that hung on every word

supper time
the shepherd went home
he left his herd alone

supper time
the shepherd went home
he left his herd alone

Having done a few college and university tours all by my lonesome, I can attest that having company makes all the difference.

In fact, just a few days into my first tour up the West Coast, I found myself deeply starved for human interaction: I remember having a quite an interesting and long winded conversation with some random dude on the street in Seattle who was trying desperately to sell me crack or a hand job only moments before… and if hindsight truly is 20/20, I think I should have been doing this a long time ago, and I don’t mean smoking crack, accepting hand jobs from strangers, or having longwinded conversations—I mean touring with dudes like Cory.

We had a lot of fun on our brief stint up the West Coast—

April 18th 2010 – Visalia House Concert
April 19th 2010 – 210 Café in Visalia, CA
April 23rd 2010 – Red Rocks Café in Mountain View, CA
April 25th 2010 – The Kilns in Bend, OR

but in all honesty, Cory beat me to the punch in terms of blogging about it in a very engaging fashion. So, if you find yourself yearning for a more comprehensive and chronological account of our exploits, I invite you to check out Cory’s blog (not to mention his music):

http://coryjoseph.com/?p=218

More blogs coming soon (I have a lot to write about), so stay tuned.

- Mike

These are from a book called “Disorder in the American Courts,” and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters that had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
________________________________________
ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
___________________________________________

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes .
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
__________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn’t it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
____________________________________

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: He’s twenty, much like your IQ.
____________________________ _______________

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Are you shitting me?
________________________________________
ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Getting laid
___________________________________________

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
WITNESS: Your Honour, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?
__________________________________ _________

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
WITNESS: Take a guess.
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
WITNESS: Unless the circus was in town, I’m going with male.
_____ _______________________________

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
_____________________________________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All of them. The live ones put up too much of a fight.
________________________________________
ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
_________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WIT NESS : The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: I believe so. If not, he was by the time I finished.
___________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Are you qualified to ask that question?
_____________________________________

And the best for last:

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

I recently had the luxury of sitting down with myself to conduct an exclusive interview.  Having interviewed and/or spoken to several artists just like myself, I was definitely looking forward to the conversation regarding various topics.  However, while on a surface level, Mike seems like a wonderful person, in my own humble opinion, it became increasingly apparent as our interview unfolded that he doesn’t handle questions very well—you decide.

Mike:  So, what was the inspiration behind this interview with your self?

Mike:  Well Mike, I think a one-half serving of Playboy’s Playmate of the Month interviews, and God knows what else—I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.  It’s like the story behind the breasts, except—I don’t have breasts.

Mike:  Well, we should probably be moving forward to the first question.

What are your biggest turn-ons?

Mike:  Wait, isn’t this the second question?—never mind.  I guess you’re the expert.  Hmm, turn-ons… definitely when someone asks good questions—and a sense of humor: I like that.  You seem to lack one of these traits.

Mike:  What are your biggest turn-offs?

Mike:  Talking to myself: this conversation is over.  Just kidding.

Mike:  What’s the worst place for a guy to hit on you?

Mike:  Pretty much anywhere.  I had a guy hit on me at a bar a few months ago—I was shocked by his horrible singing voice, and he was taken aback by my preference for vagina.

Mike:  What’s the worst pick-up line you’ve ever heard?

Mike:  It’s less of a pickup line, and more of an effort to get my attention.  The same guy I mentioned previously was snapping pictures of me from the table next to ours trying desperately to make eye contact with me—I think he had his fair share of wine that night and was craving some Italian.

Mike:  What’s the best or most creative pick-up line you’ve ever heard?

Mike:  What is it with you and pickup lines?   I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone use a pickup line on me before—I’ve had someone buy me a drink.  Does that count?  My roommate asked me once if my parents were retarded—I said, no.  He then qualified this with “you’re pretty special.”

Mike:  What approach is most likely to work with you?

Mike:  Are we talking about boys or girls?  Honestly, where the hell are you getting these questions from?

Mike:  What signals do you give to a man when you want him to make the first move?

Mike:  You seriously took these questions straight out of a Playboy Playmate of the Month interview, didn’t you?  Did you consider reversing the gender to make this appropriate and applicable in terms of a standard interview?  What can someone possibly walk away with here?  They’ve learned nothing about me!  Can you ask me something meaningful?  I don’t know—perhaps something about my new website that just launched, or maybe my new E.P. that just went on sale today?  How about something about iTunes, and how they take 33% of an artist’s profits right off the top, and how it’s better to buy the music directly off an independent artist’s website.  Maybe something about buying my new CD online at http://www.mikevitalemusic.com.

[At this point, I seem noticeably flustered].

Mike:  I’ll ask the questions, thank you very much.  Have you ever been in a situation when two men competed for your attention at the same time? Who won, and why?

Mike:  This is ridiculous—I’m done [removing microphone from collar and throwing it on my chair as I walk away].

Latchkey Kid
Words and Music:  Mike Vitale

Coloring books when I was nine
Anything that I could do to pass the time
Finished up my homework after I go home from school
Built a blanket fort in my living room

Set the oven to 400 degrees myself
Perched up on the countertop to reach a kitchen shelf
It’s dinner time, and my parents are nowhere to be seen
So corn dogs and fish sticks are my routine

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Waiting by the phone for my parents to call
Staring at our family portrait hanging on the wall
My daddy says, “no TV” if stay up too late
Too bad he aint here to regulate

I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a Latchkey Kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in

Sometimes my father would come home late
And my mother would be drunk by then, smell perfume, and throw a dinner plate
No one to read me story when I tuck myself into bed
So I dream of love
I dream of love
and then start my day again

I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid, and nobody cares about the trouble that I’m gettin’ in
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid
I’m a latchkey kid

Step 1:  Keep your mouth shut.

Step 2:  Keep it shut.

Step 3:  Wow, that was tempting, maybe I should speak up… no I’m resolute.

Step 4:  Don’t make eye contact.

Step 5:  Was that a camera flash?

Step 6:  Woops, I looked.

Step 7:  Wait, did he just wink at me?

Let me explain.

It all started off as an innocent evening of music going.  I was out to watch two of my many favorite local talents, Yeah, Brother, and Danny Maika.  At the conclusion of Yeah, Brother’s set at McClain’s Coffeehouse, I rendezvoused with two friends of mine, Max (who plays Banjo in the group Yeah, Brother) and his lovely girlfriend, Taryn, for an evening of minimalist debauchery at another local haunt of mine, The Pint House in downtown Fullerton a few blocks away.

Now, Taryn, Max, and I arrived just in time to catch Danny’s set.  Having my heart set on getting a little heady, I ordered a few pints of Guinness, and if I were to measure my progress in getting pissed by glasses consumed, I was somewhere around 3 or 4 before my interesting predicament occurred.  It all started with a note:

“So, whatcha drinkin’?”

The note was passed along to me from a young lady I am an acquaintance of, sitting at the table next to us.  Now, for the record, Brittany was not the author of the note; she was just the messenger.  In fact, the penman was a dude next to her whom I had made eye contact with briefly and gave a friendly smile (mistake #1 for those of you who may be keeping count).

Now, that evening, I was running under the assumption that everyone at the neighboring table are friends of one another.  Since I knew a couple of people in their group, and I was bouncing back and forth talking with various individuals seated there, I didn’t think much on the note I received, and cordially replied verbally to the written inquiry by saying to the gentleman out loud, “Guinness” (mistake #2).  I resumed my conversation with Taryn and Max, enjoyed listening to Danny Maika, and went on with my evening as planned.

As fate would have it, when our waitress magically appears at the table again with another round of drinks for Max and Taryn, she also happens to have a pint of Guinness that I didn’t order.  I was perplexed and pointed out that I didn’t order this drink, to which she replies, “Yes, I know.  He ordered it for you,” pointing to the author of the note; he waves.  Decision time:

a.)   Do I accept the beer from the stranger at the table next to me?

b.)  Do I refuse the beer?

I’m not one for being rude or un-cordial, so I accepted the beer and enjoyed it (mistake #3).  By doing so, perhaps I implied any number of things to the gentleman that bought me the beer:

1.    My cordial smile and head nod when we made eye contact earlier in the evening meant something more than “hello.”

2.    Like the Skittles ads, I taste the rainbow.

Unfortunately for him (and awkwardly for me), neither of these are true, however, at this point, it was too late.  I spent roughly the next 45 minutes avoiding his heavy drunken gaze and continued efforts to flirt from 10 feet away.  These included awkward long stares that I couldn’t help but notice from my peripheral as he tried in vain to initiate a visual exchange by persistently snapping photographs of me with a bright flash; he then would follow this with several stares or gestures that made Taryn laugh hysterically next to me.  At this point, I had already been taking flack from her considering my acceptance of the free drink and my explanation that I think it carried intentions beyond getting me drunk.

At the conclusion of Danny’s set, my drunken admirer invited himself over for a friendly chat, in which case, I stuck around for a minute or two, and then excused myself to go use the restroom.  Upon my arrival back, I catch the tail end of Max, Taryn’s, and my not-so-secret admirer’s conversation about him being an Interscope Records recording artist who was dropped from his label because his music was “too dark.”  I thanked him for the beer, after which he replied, “my pleasure” with a hint of facial grimace, and then he left.

Joey, if you ever end up reading this, I mean no offense and find your advances flattering, however, I prefer to keep the company of a woman.  I can’t help it and hope you understand.  Please don’t take offense, and thank you for the Guinness; it was cold, delicious, my favorite, and I appreciated the gesture.  If I can carry anything home from this story, I think it’s cool that we (as human beings with feelings and passion) are progressively moving towards a world where one man can hit on another in an open public space and the worst thing that happens is a blog.  My hat goes off to you Joey (and I mean that with the most respect possible); you know who you are and you are proud of it!  I wish more people could truly say that about themselves.

So, until the next time I get hit-on by a man, or until I find something else to write about, this is Mike Vitale saying, salutations, and thank you for reading.

- Mike

Now, at this point in my tale, it’s important to point out that I had just gotten paid from my job as a shipping/receiving specialist at the local sports store (I’m not sure what was so special about the shipping and receiving there), so this situation found me with a large fold of money in my pocket.  As I gingerly thumbed through the half-folded earnings (from my days spent counting the contents of boxes full of blank t-shirts) it later occurred to me that maybe that maneuver of mine was not so smart, mind you, in the present company of our new homeless friend; this realization (especially) became increasingly apparent in the company of a starved glare fixated on the contents of my hand.  Having traversed through a cornucopia of twenty-dollar bills in order to arrive, at last, at several smaller dead presidents, my fingers finally settled slowly on three or four one dollar bills; I hand him my small Sally Struthers’ Donation to his self-serving humanitarian effort with a smile that would have illuminated a candle-lit-rural home during the turn of the 20th century with the electricity of my contribution; and I suppose I wished he would have felt something like that farmer turning on his porch light for the first time, illuminating that slow and cold early morning jaunt between his house and the dairy stall to milk Bertha.  No such luck though. As it turns out, I was Bertha, and he could care less how either of us had arrived at that milking stall.  What I received instead was a slow pause, a long look at the new shade of green in his right hand, and then a strong and cold stare back with the expression of someone who was just handed a Ziploc bag full of diarrhea.  He sort of mumbles something under his breath and then exclaims with the passion of a true professional panhandler: “Is that it?”

There’s nothing quite like someone looking a gift horse in the mouth.  I then handed him a ten-dollar bill before he said one of the most alarming things in the history of my existence on this, sometimes, cold and dark planet, “You better pray that I don’t see you again tonight.”  The words rolled off of his mouth with the grim expression of someone who felt the world had turned a cold shoulder on him a long time ago, and he was out to get what wasn’t coming to him willingly.  His intentions with that phrase were veiled in a Wizard of Oz-type mystery and I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant with such a cryptic response to what I thought was a kind gesture.  Did he mean that he would beat me down and rob me blind if he saw me again OR was it a joke to express the fact that he thought I was a pushover?  Either way, it wasn’t meant to be flattering and I felt the sting of an open hand across my face, as I had been bitch slapped by his parting words.

This experience tarnished my outlook on contributing to the community for a long time.  Now, it’s not to say that I haven’t given money to someone on the street in the meanwhile: quite the opposite.  I just find myself exercising a lot more scrutiny (if you can’t already tell by the tone of my story) and I’m ashamed that this is the case.  Yet, exclusive of the circumstances described above, I had an experience yesterday that reminded me of how beautiful giving can be.

I was outside of Ralph’s, in the parking lot (on my way to use the Coin Star machine inside the store) when I saw a woman, her adolescent child, and small puppy sitting in the back of a Chevy Trailblazer hatchback.  The mother was holding a sign that said, “Stranded without gas, food or money.  I just want to get home to Texas.  Please help.”  I saw that her car had Texas license plates, so I handed her a few dollars shyly and started to walk away; she tried to thank me as I headed towards the entrance of Ralph’s, but like a complete jerk, I kept walking (I wish that I had a do-over for that moment).  The Coin Star machine inside the store faced towards the parking lot and as I was cashing in my change, I noticed that her dire situation changed dramatically within the short amount of time I was inside the store.  She had several people walk up to her and hand her money.  I thought more on what I had done (walking away like that when she was trying to thank me) and decided to strike up a conversation with her and find out her story before I went to grab something to eat.  In our conversation, I introduced myself and found out that she and her daughter were planning on moving to California (as I could see from their car full of possessions), but that it didn’t work out and she “just wanted make her way back home to Texas.”  She explained to me how this was her third day sitting outside of Ralph’s asking for help.  She said that the last two days of asking for assistance had brought her nothing but empty stares, or worse yet, not even a glance from the people who passed her by, but that her luck had changed just a moment ago when I handed her a few dollars.  She told me that a complete stranger came up after me and handed her a $100 bill shortly after I walked into the store.  She had a fist full of money that she was clutching at with a swimming desperation and started to sob, not from pain, but from joy.  She thanked me a told me that God was with me.  Just as she did so, another woman stopped in her Lexus and handed me $20 to give to her.

Perhaps the world isn’t such a cold place after all, and that the people who need help, still get it.  This goes out to Matilda and her family.  I wish her a safe trip home.

- Mike

I woke up this morning at around 8:00 A.M. and I was giddy to get out of bed.  I cooked breakfast and practiced my guitar playing (a Charlie Christian Solo).  Now, the thing that I found particularly fascinating was my enthusiasm to start my day.  As of late, I have been looking forward to waking up and being alive.  Now, admittedly, I fear that this pleasure I describe is fleeting, as the more I talk in absolutes to my life (or anything for that matter), the more I find them to be untrue.  Nonetheless, in the case of this morning (as well as for the past month or so), I hardly sleep as much as a normal person should, and prefer to get up early like a fisherman or a surfer in pursuit of the perfect catch.  But why?

As I was cutting up the vegetables for my dirty eggs, I mulled over this question for quite some time and tried to collect a number of facts that I thought might be relevant to the happiness I was feeling:

- I don’t work for anyone else; I am in business for myself.  Therefore, I can get up and work whenever I want to work (or need to… most of us have bills to pay).  However, I am really eager to work hard as I have found that I work with more diligence for myself than I will for anyone else.

- Music is my business.  I get to focus on my main passion in order to survive.

- I have people around me that love me (and I too them).  This is hard to ignore and I dare say that I could live another day without this.

- I have been trying (perhaps entirely in vain) to hold on to a piece of my youth; the ever elusive side of me that used to sit in my room when I was 5 or 6 years old, making things and being creative.  It seems like this is becoming increasingly difficult to hold on to as I get older and just as our own human metamorphosis never seems to stand out as much when we look in the mirror at the same face everyday, for this reason, I experience this most prevalently in my peers and it comes across in a very frightening manner at times; it’s like a dark ominous shadow that crawls over the face of my loved ones and pollutes the very essence of their youth.  Life and the pursuit of survival seems to do an efficient job of stealing this sort of essential life blood from our veins.  I too worry that this is a battle that I won’t win… however, I can say that I have escaped the grasp of this eclipse this morning.

- I am surrounded by creative gifts that artists birth into this world like an expectant mother.  I get to wake up and take all of this in like a deep breath, whether it be a good book, CD, or a piece of art work… maybe even a delicious recipe.

- Health?  I’ve been running a lot.  This does something special for my head; it makes me think in a way that I relish.

Who is to know for sure why I have been so anxious and giddy to greet my day.  I am sure that I will rejoin the ranks of pessimism here shortly.  Perhaps someone will step on my rose-colored glasses (just please don’t do it today after you read this blog… let me enjoy this).  Happiness is so fleeting.  I’ll try not to hold on too tight; it might be fragile.

I’m reminded of a great scene from a movie that I absolutely adore:

Here’s to staying young on the inside and I’ll try to be careful what I wish for.  I hope this finds some of you feeling equally well; if not, I would happily trade some of my joy for anyone’s pain.  It’s the least I can do.

-Mike

Speaking of which, whatever happened to Jeff Goldblum?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=deppIzXmmY4

More importantly, whatever happened to Steve Guttenberg? He owned the 80′s as only Steve Guttenberg could:

Police Academy
Cocoon
Short Circuit
3 Men and a Baby
[not to mention all the sequels that these movies inspired]

… just putting that out there. I’m sure you’re just finishing up

Don’t forget to wash your hands.

~ Mike