He's got a great voice, but has nothing else in his life to focus on, besides the band.  Which can be annoying.

I get a phonecall about five-oclock every day, detailing what he has done for the band that day.  And I think its great that he's doing stuff for the band.  I really do.  Somebody needs to take care of it.  Maybe I've checked out in some way.  He is supplying the lion's share of ambition.  After all, he's the one with all the time on his hands, anyway.

So the other night, we went to another town to hear a local blues legend play, and I ran into the politics of musicianship.  Hearing the legend was great.  It was an open jam, and I got frozen out.  Motherfucker who ran the jam asked everyone else if they wanted to play besides me, after I told him I wanted to sit in.  Egos and arrogance.  Hopefully somewhere in my biography it will read, "And they wanted to open up for us, but I remember what they did in the old days, and told them to screw off."

Well. The more likely outcome is that they will be still playing locally in bars, not accomplishing much, heavily in debt, while I keep moving forward.  Am I bitter?  Yes.

Regardless, Mick was seeing this real peice of trash named Angela.  White trash to the core, Mick had fucked her with "Three or four" other guys.  And while I'm not opposed to experimentation and alternate lifestyle type of stuff, to each their own, when you're doing that a week or so into the relationship, it calls the relationship into question I think.  You need to have some sort of a base before you do that shit, otherwise you don't know who you're fucking.  And I think that would be scary, given the times we live in these days.

She had a nice rack and a moustache, and was a total idiot.  I didn't say anything because I thought Mick liked her.  Anyway, at the jam, Mick gets up and is invited to play, while I'm frozen out.  She was standing next to me, when I see her making eyes with some burly guy in a tucked in red t-shirt.

The music goes on, I look down the bar, and there she is, in the back of the bar.  Now red t-shirt is standing next to her, talking to her.

More music, time passes, Mick is wailing, and I look down the bar again.  This time red t-shirt and Angela are cuddling.

I make a mental note of that.

A song ends, I look down the bar to see Angela and red t-shirt walk out of the bar and into the parking lot together. 

There's a break in the action.  Mick turns to me.

"Where's Angela?"

"I don't know.  I saw her going into the parking lot with some guy."

He went out there, and, surprisingly, kept his cool.

"You're leaving without saying goodbye?" 

She muttered something stupid.  He walked back in to where I was.  Red-tshirt bumped into us as he walked by, and sort-of ricocheted off.  Mick and I are not small men.

Which is Kool and the Gang.  Mick's hot, but he deals with it.  Later on, on the way home, he says something about, "She's really gonna' have to suck up to get back in my good graces."

"Is that wise?"  was all I said.  He got the point.

So now Mick REALLY has nothing else to focus on besides the band.