There are times when gigs go well, in the sense that if you're playing a club or restaurant, its a good gig if you can be heard over the chatter and clinking of glass. Even better when someone looks up and bobs their head a bit before diving back in to the beef wellington. Better still if there is a smattering of applause indicating an attention level seldom seen in those who dine out. Just got back from the hana hou where Meaghan and I played to a crowded lanai. We're starting to get some regulars. Tonite, the regulars combined with the randoms and the family friends to create a synergy rarely seen. Rapt attention. Food came in second. It was interactive. There was the kind of appreciation one might feel at a small jazz club where the crowd is in the know and hears the tears that go into the music. Some players in the audience too. That's the best, when a musician gets to play for peers. It's a tuneup and a springboard. Tonite, in spite of the usual handful of clams, we held the audience and raked in the kind applause and post gig kudo's that make up for all the nights that someone slurred a request for "mustang sally". I have to say that Meg is the consummate pro. She has the casual funny, great story telling ability and she's way into it. Really never seen her get flummoxed. Laughs most gaffs off. Nice. While we're on the music news, the video posted the evening of the 15th of april on youtube has now gotten 7,305 views in just four days. We've gone bacterial. Some tell me that with that kind of start, its got a life of its own and one only need wait and goof on the spread. I find myself stopping strangers on the street (especially german tourists) and insisting that they whip out their smartphones and punch up youtube. "C'mon man, you're gonna love this." " C'mere dude, i'll give you a doob if you watch this shit." Mostly they make haste in a tangential tack. One cannot be overly zealous when it comes to self promotion. No bigger buzz kill. Unless its mom, with whom i share the new numbers at the top of the hour, 24/7. What i'm loving the most about the whole process of making and posting this work is the collaboration with some wonderful and talented young musicians whose mugs are being taken in each time some sucker checks us out. There is a collective resonance there that makes us all closer and happier. To quote nurse Jessica, "Groovy." My little splash in the vast puddle that is the "network" will send out a ripple which will ricochet off a few planets and fly, fragmented at vast alien populations galaxies away. And when they hear the staticee redacted version of the song, they will seek out this "sweet smoke", repent of their sins and say "It is gooood."7319 and counting. Been gearing down a bit on the farm stuff, mostly because we're short on fruit and long on the need to redefine ourselves in the light of wetter condition, more insect predation  and the recently discovered t.o.f. syndrome which effects most humans on the wrong side of sixty five. "Tired old Fart" syndrome was first diagnosed at the Happy Chanukah Rest Home in west palm beach florida. It's the kvetching that gives it away, aside from the actual smell of tired old farts. It was determined by a team of skilled specialists that if any given subject spent more than eleven and a half minutes of each hour kvetching that they were candidates for a new theraputic protocol involving silk stockings, shaved legs, a doily and steak tartar. In some cases heroic doses of antibiotics become necessary. There's really so little known about the origins and causes of t.o.f. that new methods of treatment are popping up all the time. My favorite includes cold milk and brownies while watching Dr.Strangelove. Come to think of it, that's what I used to do to avoid studying. 7451 and up. The trade winds are bringing the misery to the north shore with reports of mold creeping from clothing to toothbrush and calls coming in asking if there is any sun in the world. Even though there is still a good deal of moisture in the ground out here, the effects of the wind and sun are beginning to show as the rich green pastures start to pale. Another couple of weeks and the straw color will dominate after which the absence of rain will leave wind and sun to blanch the earth. Me likey. Hot and dry, baby. Hot and dry. The meat birds have moved to an outdoor "halfway house" facility. They are now four and a half weeks old and big enough to roam free, but the feral cat that I refer to as the ripper still lurks. Older hens have been found beheaded and or gutted as though Dexter was on the job. Traps have not worked, bait has not worked, repeating the words go away peckerhead has yet to work, so I worry about the little plumplings. We're loading them up on honohono grass which is a runner like plant that is rather succulent and obviously preferred to the pellet feed that they get in small measure. The glycine and garden clippings have also gotten approval from the council of cockerels. So be it. Easter and four twenty are here and I, for one hope that the convergence of resurrection and reefer make it less necessary to be nailed to a cross to have a good time. Amen brothers and sisters. Amen. The more you show, the more we'll grow. 7459 and growing. peace, jp