Played a weird show yesterday afternoon my fellow journal guys. Private birthday party for some business geezer's wife at a dingy little lounge just outside the city, surrounded by nothing but desert and drunks in stetsons.

You know, playing Tom Jones classics at four thirty in the afternoon is just plain wrong, even by Vegas standards. There's something inherently sad about it. Gin-soaked cat ladies with mustaches who never got a husband and old, leathery, crinkled guys lamenting the good old days where you could get a horse, a steak and some punani for a hundred bucks and still have change left over for a fifth of Jack Daniels.

This was a party however, but it's still wrong if you ask me. It's like drinking daiquiris from a highball glass, you just can't do it without cringing at the magnitude of wrong that suggests.

It all went ok though, despite that fuckin', deadbeat Pedro letting me down last minute with a hangover sent from el Diablo himself. He broke up with his dancing chica and was self medicating his way back to normality. I had to recruit my old buddy Perry DiSopo on bass and occasional guitar, since it was a full band effect this show needed and he's a full-on kinda guy.

Perry and I have jammed a number of times over the years and despite his being somewhat advanced in age he can still shake it with the best of 'em, so it wasn't as uncomfortable a job as you might expect. Think a shriveled, more orange Tony Bennett with Parkinson's and high on amphetamines and you'll have a decent idea of what that entails. Happily his legendary hip didn't give out - last time he did a guest stint he swiveled it a little too far. People were hugely impressed till they realized the dude had dislocated the fucker and his sexy 'come hither baby' look was actually saying 'holy shit I'm dying get a fucking paramedic you c**ts!'

Also the guy's not at all pleasant to look at and I'm sure he wouldn't mind me saying so. The years (and the liquor) haven't been all that kind. He kinda looks like someone superimposed an elephant's ass on his cheekbones. More contours than a map of New Mexico. Cool guy though. Straight up fella. His blood is 100% gin at this point in time, the crazy old fucker.

The lady having the birthday was delighted. She drank, clapped and jiggled around like a 14 year old Latina at a Menudo concert, only in a much less aesthetically pleasing fashion. There are parts that really should not wobble that just took on a life of their own. But the old gal had a damn good day and I think my version of "It's Not Unusual" sung with her sitting on my lap, made her whole fuckin' week. Wish I could say the same for my leg, I feel like I've been kneecapped by Al Capone. Plus the chick kept licking my neck, what the dilly is that all about, y'all? That ain't kosher.

Still, a couple C notes isn't too bad for a little leg discomfort and a soggy neck, know what I mean compadres? Rock out.