Le Finale

The $64,000 question over the last few weeks has been, "What was your all-time favorite show?"  Friends asked me.  Family asked me.   Radio DJs and newspaper writers asked me.  Checkout clerks at Krogers asked me.

Well, last night's show might very well have been my favorite.  Thanks to everyone who came and sang along and danced and clapped and made us, for one last night, feel on top of the world.  Thanks to the friends that joined us on stage:  Brigid Kaelin, Paul Moeller, Peter Searcy, Ellen Carpenter, Kyle Meredith, and Aaron Walther.  Each one brought something unique and special to the songs.  It was a magical night — a wonderful way to go out.  (And to top it all off, the Reds won their game against the Brewers 4-0!)

Here's the setlist for those of you playing the "The Last Show" board game at home:

Beautiful Goodbye

When the Morning Comes

Elizabeth

Wake Up

Slip Away

When I Fall

Seventh Sign

Warning Sign

Ellen's Song

Gravity

Paris to New York

Through My Door

Happy inn

Breathe In Breathe Out

Hundefuter

Fool

Sylvia

Kerouac

The Stripper Song

Lights of Louisville

Working My Way

Untitled (encore)

R

robdidntstartthefire.blogspot.com

I Say, Watson

* I won't miss rehearsing, but I will miss going to our rehearsal space.  On the blighted stretch of road past various fast food joints and overgrown lawns there is a pet grooming store.  Then, directly next to it, there is a taxidermist.  It cracks me up everytime.  I want to know the story behind the two establishments.  Who was there first?  Are the owners friendly?  Do they ever offer joint discounts?  Ten groomings gets you a free stuffing?  Has anyone ever gone to the taxidermist by mistake and come back an hour later to find Fluffy mounted on a wall?

* I'm trying not to get too sentimental about the "lasts."  As I passed that grooming/taxidermist 1-2 punch yesterday I giggled and then thought, "Egad (my inside voice sounds like Sherlock Holmes), that's the last time I'll ever pass that!"  I thought the same thing as I was driving home from rehearsal:  "I say, that's the last time we ever gather ourselves in a space and rehearse our songs!"  I've done my last radio interview.  My last print interview (and subsequently, I've also read the last article written about me, crumpled it up, and thrown it away in a huff -- a huff!).  It's all very strange.  48 hours from now I will no longer be in a band.

* On the plus side, I've been so caught up with selling a house, buying a house in another city, studying for a midterm, and taking care of two little girls that I haven't had much time to really think about it.  (Or see the new Harry Potter movie.)  I'm not sure when it will hit me.  When my legs will get wobbly and I'll have to sit down.  Maybe that won't happen.  Maybe I really am OK with it.  

* A few programming notes:

1.  Brian, Brigid, and I will be playing WFPK's Live Lunch tomorrow (Friday) at noon.  There is limited seating available at WFPK's studios but you can also listen to the show on the air (91.9 FM in Louisville) or online (WFPK.org).  If you like the music of The Jets you won't want to miss it.  All together now:  "You must have heard it from my best friend.  He's always talking when he should be listening..."

2.  Yes, I will write about the other statements I made a few days ago -- about being a college dropout and a stay-at-home dad.  And yes, those are real.  I wanted to start out with something light before getting into the heavier stuff.  

3.  I'll continue posting on the band's myspace page and website for a few more days and then I'll move the whole operation over to my new blog site:  robdidntstartthefire.blogspot.com.  What?  There was a song about not starting the fire?  Really?  Oh yeah, well was it always burning since the world's been turning?  It was?  Dammit.  I knew I should have gone with my other idea:  singusasongyouretherobman.blogspot.com.

4.  I caught — from start to finish — Poison's "Give Me Something to Believe In" on the radio the other day.  When it first started I couldn't quite place it, then the first line came in ("Well I see them on the TV preaching about the promised land") and I kind of chuckled.  By the time CC's epic way over-the-top guitar solo came in I had the volume all the way up and was singing along at the top of my lungs.  That's not really a programming note.  But it is awesome.

R

robcarpenter11@gmail.com

Part One of Three

There are benefits to having six fingers on your left hand.  

1.  Three words:  Capitan Seis Dedos.  How's that for a nickname?  

2.  You can give awesome back scratches.  The extra finger -- the uber pinky as I like to call it -- reaches some spots that usually don't feel the warm touch of a human hand.

3.  When I use the expression: "I can count the number of times x has happened on one hand," I can count up to six instead of just five.  For example, you could not say, "I can count the number of Pope Pauls on one hand."  I, however, can.

4.  When I'm unloading the dishwasher and I'm trying to hold all the clean coffee cups on one hand so I don't have to make multiple trips to the coffee cup shelf, I have an extra finger to hang coffee cups from.  That, my friends, is worth its weight in gold.

5.  I throw a pretty mean curveball.  

Sure, there are downsides.  If, say, some spanish guy is looking for revenge because you killed his dad years ago — all he has to do is look for the guy with six fingers on his left hand.  Now, I admit, I shouldn't have killed his dad.  It was a mistake.  I went to pick up a sword he had made for me and we got to talking.  And then we drank a little sangria — maybe too much sangria.  Before I knew it I had run him through with this beautiful sword.  I'm only human right?  He who is without sin can throw the first stone, that's what I say.  And yes, I shouldn't have given the guy's kid scars on his cheeks to "remember me" by when he came out from behind a dresser to avenge his old man.  That was kind of a dick move on my part.  Like he needed the scars to remember me!  I think seeing his dad die would pretty much guarantee that my ugly mug (and my six fingers) would be permanently etched in his memory.  But, like I said, I made a mistake.  It was a different time then.  I was in a bad place — hanging out with bad people, weird albino guys, and there was the sangria (which always goes straight to my head) and, well, I screwed up.  But it's been a long time right?  Forgive and forget already.  Sheesh.

R

ps:  I don't really have six fingers on my left hand.  I did, however, recently watch "The Princess Bride" for the 4,172nd time.  

Three

16th of June.  9:05.  Door bell rings.  Man at the door says if I want to stay alive a bit longer, there`s three things I need you to know.  Three:

1.  I have six fingers on my left hand and I once killed a Spanish swordmaker.

2.  I'm a college dropout.

3.  I'm a stay-at-home dad

I could leave it at that but my motto has always been "why use a few words when you can use a lot?"  It's not a great motto.  It's no "speak softly and carry a big stick," but I'm working on it.  (I'm also working on wearing a monocle just to stick with the whole Teddy Roosevelt theme.)  Over the next three days I'll explain a bit more.  And by "a bit," I mean "a lot."  And by "a lot," I mean "sweet god that's an impressive amount of words."

R