Got to see Chris in the hospital Monday; he’s out of intensive care, and can have visitors. He still can’t talk very good, and was fading in and out of consciousness a lot (I presume that was the drugs); I understand he’s nonetheless doing a lot better than he was. I took him a coffee cup from Tommy Boye the DJ, and best wishes from everybody. Talked to his nurse, too, after I saw a note on the wall saying he was scheduled for discharge the following day—but nurse advised it was not going to happen (thankfully—I don’t think he’s at all ready to be without 24-hour care). He’ll be there a while yet. Chris is hoping to be able to come to the gig on the 24th (though he knows he won’t be able to play).

And the trip into Portland was good for a song (I thought it might be—first long trip I’ve done in the truck in weeks). I now have (I think) my entry for the April challenge of Jon Harrington’s writers’ group over in England. “In the shadows” was supposed to be the theme—so my song ended up being about a stalker.

I’m not sure I like this trend. My last three songs have been sensitive, sympathetic—maybe even celebratory—explorations into the minds of real lowlifes: a mugger (“Last Song of the Highwayman”), a serial killer (“The Dead Sweethearts Polka”), and now a stalker (tentative title “In the Shadows, I’ll Be Watching You”). Performable in public? Not very; at best, they’d be suitable for a “niche” market—and I’m not sure what niche, either.

I’m also not sure it’s finished. I’ve asked the experts at Just Plain Folks, but virtually nobody’s said anything as this is written. (And it’s always possible they may just say, “Joe, you are one sick puppy.” They’ve said that before.) I was trying—without really saying so—to make both the stalker and stalkee rather similar (and sympathy-generating) characters. What does happen when a stalker picks somebody to obsess about whose life is as boring as his own? Somebody who’s as scared of taking risks as he is himself? I was trying to use just the stalker’s comments about the stalkee to bring that out, and I’m not sure I succeeded.

And speaking of stalkers… I appear to be being stalked by two colleges, both offering degrees in graphic design. (Ooo. I would like that.) My fault, really; that’s what I get for responding to one of those “here’s how to finance your education” ads online. One of the colleges is really costly (I expect the other one is, too). I really enjoy the attention—and I know college has gotten real expensive—but it is still tempting to ask them how many bedrooms their degree has got.

Found another contest to enter—this one soliciting original songs for a putative new TV show, “Please Don’t Stop the Music.” (I searched the Internet, and did not find a TV show by that name, however, either in production or planned.) They say they do not want “singer/songwriters,” just “songwriters,” and I’m not sure why. I probably qualify, since what I do could hardly be characterized as “singing.” The rules are fairly complex and picky, but there’s no entry fee (I like that). And I’m good at following picky rules—I’ve had to do it for a lot of job applications. (I also didn’t see a deadline. Isn’t it normal to have a deadline for these things?)

Notices are out for the April 24 “Deathgrass” benefit concert for Val Folkema; between the “joelist” and Facebook, there are almost 1,100 names now. We start at 6:30, and play for an hour and a half—straight through, I think, unless the organizers say otherwise. Doing it that way means I need to cut only three songs from the setlist—but I still don’t know which ones they should be.

Music Wednesday (at the tavern), Friday (at City Hall), and Saturday (at the library), and band practice Sunday. New strings to put on the guitar. And I really should record the stalker song.

Joe