Things keep popping up in my inbox and RSS reader that I need to share with you guys.
First, a little story passed on from my pal, musical genius Danny Michel:
February 17, 2007
Once again, Magic happens at the Black Sheep in Wakefield Quebec.“It’s not every day something this special & fun happens at a show. A while back a kid named Levon emailed me to tell me about how he was a big fan, but wasn’t allowed to come to my show because he was only 10. So, I cleared it with the Black Sheep so he coul d come. He sat right in the front row. Then at the encore, the cops came in & there was all this commotion & he was hauled off, with 20 seconds of the show left. So me, being full of rum & cokes said “what’s going on? Get him back in here!” (excpet i think there was more swearing?) I left the stage and went outside to bring him back in. I explaining he couldn’t be kicked out because he was in the band……so I brought him on stage. but then we had to do a tune. He requested “Ashes to Ashes” by Bowie (Hilarious, because I told the crowd all night – no Bowie tunes) So we sang a duet & he sang his heart out. The crowd went mental, and the cops left. It was his 1st show he’d ever been to & he wound up having a run in with the law AND singing the encore. I think he’ll remember that one. He looked at me and said “i am your biggest fan….forever!” It was the best moment on stage for me…forever.
I love the mental image of Danny, all rummed-up, confronting the police. I especially love the “he couldn’t be kicked out because he was in the band” logic. I don’t think Danny has ever met John Sjogren, but apparently they operate by the same set of rules. (Here’s a little clip of John telling the story–with much help from his bandmates: 
Johnny’s story. That’s from a KQRS interview with the Tim Malloys back in 2002.)
My second story today comes to us from the blog of author Jonathan Carroll. Several times a week, a short entry of a paragraph or two pops up here that just hits like a hammer. Carroll has the twin gifts of observing and conveying, and these snippets sometimes show that just as well as his novels. (I’m really happy I had a chance to chat with him and to get my at-the-time-complete set of Carroll hardcovers signed, when he was on one of his rare trips to the U.S. a few years back.).
I’m going to quote the whole entry for today here, but you should explore the other entries, or if you’re handing with an RSS reader subscribe to the feed:
Recently a friend who is an artist received a letter from someone they knew decades ago, saying they had a bunch of paintings and drawings this artist had asked them to hold thirty years ago. They were moving now and after all this time wanted to return the work to the artist. Arrangements were made and for quite a bit of money, the work was packed up and sent. The box arrived but suddenly the artist didn’t want to open it. She was afraid of what she would find inside. What if that early work was terrible or completely disappointing? She had such good memories of that time. Glowing happy memories of a young earnest artist starting out, sure of both their way and of what they were doing. After a week of looking apprehensively at the box, she finally opened it. The work inside was worse than she feared. Not only was it badly done, but unimaginative. derivative and lifeless. She called me and described what had happened. I said you should look at it as if you were looking at photographs of yourself in an old photo album. Those pics of 20 year old you wearing silly bell bottom pants and a terrible haircut. Look at that young person’s work and be pleased with how far you’ve come since, etcetera. She listened and said yes yes, but you don’t understand: I’m so disappointed with that *person*. In my memory, she was so much cooler and more talented than these pictures show.
