Dave the Horn Guy

Meet Dave, the Horn Guy. He attached horns of various pitches to a jumpsuit. He dances in order to play the correct horns at the same time. Some horns have to be pressed by hand, some by closing a knee or an elbow. This is a very impressive feat, and I couldn't help thinking that you'd go crazy if he was the tenant in the apartment next door.

Dave can flat play those horns. He's got good sideshow patter, and various low-tech gimmicks for the audience. But the main feat he accomplishes is to play complicated chords and melodies on his horny jumpsuit. Learn more about Dave at http://www.davethehornguy.com/ .

It was bloody hot the day we saw Dave, and I felt better about the Big Wooden Radio "long pants" rule. At least Joe doesn't insist on coveralls. Ouch!

Catfish Keith often plays in a three piece suit. Not for this sweaty boy. My performance criterion is "how will this look when I'm soaked with sweat?" Keith has a look, and it is a cool look. He backs that look up with W.C. Handy-award-nominee-authenticity and some serious joy. He's from Scotch Grove, Iowa, and I drive by that turn off every week and think of Catfish Keith.

When Keith took on his moniker, he was just beginning to catch on. Word was that Greg and Bo and Beau and the folk folks referred to him as "the kid." My friends and I mostly were picking at open mikes and at each other's houses, but we thought this "fish name" thing might be the way to go. Cam Waters became Swordfish Cam, and Seth Levy was Gefeltefish Levy, Calliope became Dophin Safe Calliope, or some such thing. I coudn't figure out what to call myself, but Cam knew that I was mostly living off sandwiches, made from big bowls of tuna salad. He piped up with an evil grin: "Sam 'Big Tuna' Thompson!" I became Big Tuna.

When I worked at UAY, a lot of the kids called me Tuna. I didn't mind, and they felt as though they were getting away with something. One kid ran in the door at 8:30 a.m. yelling "Tuna, you got to get me to school! I can't be late again!" I took him because he called me Tuna.

So without Catfish Keith, and Cam Waters, I wouldn't have my moniker. These days a lot of folks don't know about Tuna. Managers and Clincal Supervisors and Consultants generally don't use such names. When you think your kid is nuts, and you're desperate for help, you don't look in the phone book and decide to call Big Tuna, LISW. But maybe you should.

Perhaps I digress.

We had a great care conference at Ridgeview. Mom went to the Hy Vee and bought three bottles of wine. We had decided to try a number of different interventions, but Mom did exactly as she pleased. I am beginning to root for my Mom!

So far she's not falling down or anything, so we'll see how things go. My point is that she has a terminal illness and if she thinks she's happy, and we can support that feeling, why shouldn't we? She's almost past the point of insight, and I think this is going to be a blessing. Awareness of the negative inevitable, without hope of cure or reversal, is far too sober a thing. My Dad was conscious and aware of his condition almost to the end. I'm sorry for that. I hope Mom can be happy and as comfortable as possible. I hope she thinks she's in charge.

What the care conference needed, what Ridgeview needs, is Dave the Horn Guy! A human being can only stand so much accordion and bingo. I want Dave to play the Star Spangled Banner on his jumpsuit and squirt the old folks with his big splash squirt cannons and wow them with his digital loop effects. Don't think old folks don't want to have fun. I used to play poker with Shorty and Marie. They ate new fish for ors d'ourvres . . . hoovers d'voires. . . ours d'ovaries. . . .

This weekend, I vow to have some fun. I vow to be silly while I take care of biz. I promise to blow off minor offenses and tap into the cosmic vibe. I'll find my center and ponder it. I'll make some music and mow some grass and drive blue highways. I might take my Mom. Buy her a glass of wine.

Peace. S.