The songwriting game

My pal Bob Schneider has an e-mail game he plays where someone throws out a title and then you write a song using the title. It doesn't have to be the actual title of the song but it does have to be in there somewhere. Jason Mraz played the game for awhile.

http://www.rollingstone.com/rockdaily/index.php/2009/01/23/jason-mraz-qa-im-yours-singer-on-buddhism-bible-camp-and-belle-sebastian/

Bob just started doing it again and I told him I wanted in.

I thought it meant I'd be writing a song a week.

In actuality, it's two songs a week.

I normally write about twenty songs a year.

Now I'm writing what amounts to 100 songs a year so the Miles Zuniga box set will be out soon.

I'm thinking of posting some of the songs somewhere so you can have a listen.

Any suggestions on the best site?

Does Blogger have a place to put MP3's?

Salut,

MILES

Fastball on Daytrotter

A while Fastball did a session for Daytrotter. The sessions are recorded at this little studio in Rock Island Illinois (home of Cheap Trick).

The sessions are recorded live.

They typically feature indie bands like Grizzly Bear, Spoon, Deerhunter etc. but they also have legends like Kris Kristofferson and Carly Simon.

We are honored to be in such prestigious company.

You can listen to the sessions here:

http://www.daytrotter.com/dt/fastball-concert/20030795-2302.html

Port Aransas Calling

In this day and age where everything seems to be changing so quickly, it's nice to go back to places that have hardly changed at all.

When I was a kid we used to go to Port Aransas almost every weekend.

I remember the blissful afternoons fishing with my dad or playing at the beach.

After I joined a band I got to check out beaches all over the globe and Port Aransas wont be making the list of Conde Naste's 50 greatest beaches anytime soon.

But it remains, for me, an oasis of calm in a world of 24 hour news, 24 hour communication and noise.

The town is still pretty much the same as it was 30 years ago.

Sure, there's a gambling boat and a video store now but overall it's still pretty quiet, especially in the winter.

Tony Scalzo (my partner in crime in Fastball) and I will be doing a little acoustic gig down there tomorrow night at a place called the Back Porch bar.

I don't know how many of you live in Texas, but if you're not doing anything and aren't too far away you should hop in the car and forget about the modern world for about 72 hours.

Come drink some beer, peel some shrimp, walk on the beach or go deep sea fishing.

It might be the best weekend you've had all year.

Aloha,

MILES

www.pabackporchbar.com

My First (and probably last) Facial

I got my first facial today.

I was goaded into it. Apparently my skin was in terrible shape and something had to be done.

I had to fill out a questionnaire before we started.

IS YOUR SKIN OILY OR DRY?

How do I know?

The truth is it's oily in some spots and dry as a bone in other areas.

It's kind of like the Middle East.

HOW MUCH WATER DO YOU CONSUME A DAY?

Gosh, I never counted it before.

Most of the time I drink water right before I pass out- I mean turn in for the night.

I'd have to say about half a glass.

HOW MANY CUPS OF COFFEE DO YOU CONSUME IN A DAY?

Wait a minute. Is this a trick question?

Doesn't coffee have WATER in it?

A better question might be how many pots of coffee do you consume in a day?

HOW MUCH ALCOHOL DO YOU CONSUME IN A WEEK?

I knew this question was coming.

Who wants to sound like a wino at the spa?

I'll just say 6 drinks a week.

With the questionnaire suitably doctored, I headed into the facial room.

The lights were low and there was Coldplay on the stereo.

Yes, whenever you're buying Chardonnay or getting a facial, Coldplay is on in the background.

I laid on my back and a perky asian woman came into the room.

I tried to banish any thoughts of a "happy ending" and just relax.

"It's a good thing you came in today." She said.

"I've got a lot of work to do."

Wow. I guess twenty years of booze, cigarette smoke and breakfast tacos can make for bad complexion.

I've never really noticed it before. Of course, I play in nightclubs for a living.

Not exactly "Queer Eye" territory.

Facials really are relaxing, if you consider having someone squeeze crap out of your pores relaxing.

Personally I found it painful and somewhat pointless.

In a few weeks, I'll just need another facial and it's not really in the budget.

They did talk me into buying some sort of soap to use on my face in the shower.

I guess Irish Spring is a little too harsh.

Now I have a special soap for my face that I have to remember to pack on my next trip.

This is the problem with modern life.

It's too fucking complicated.

Eight Miles High

Some people do very well on marijuana. They function with no problem whatsoever.

Willie Nelson springs to mind.
Bob Marley was stoned every minute of the day, but he was still very productive.
Then there's me.
I like smoking pot best when I'm headed to bed.
That way if I lay there unable to speak with a big goofy grin plastered on my face it wont matter.
Unfortunately, I was headed away from my house when I took the first of many tokes off a big fat spliff.
Things got very strange, very quickly.
I soon felt like I was wrapped in cellophane.
I was floating above the car.
We went down to this big show at the Austin Music Hall.
I soon found myself talking to people but my words were like a tape recording that I was listening to.
I didn't feel like I was doing the talking.
It was unsettling.
I was thinking if I only had a beer that would help bring me back down to Earth.
The lines to the bar were long. I felt like I was waiting to check in to some international flight.
Did I have my ID? What about my passport? No, that's expired...
Will they even let me on the damn plane? I'm so stoned that......wait. I'm not at the airport..
What am I doing here?
I knew I had to get out of that place soon.
Just then Blues Guy took the stage.
Blues Guy is an amazing musician but slow blues played by white people makes me feel I'm having root canal surgery.
I suddenly felt like I had stepped in quicksand. I couldn't move. I was sweating.
His first song seemed to go on forever.
The intro and first verse alone seemed to last fifteen minutes, maybe even longer.
I was growing a beard watching this guy get through his first song.
Now I knew I had to go. I finally just dashed out the door.
My friends had to chase me down.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." I managed to mutter.
I think the key to functioning on pot is to simply smoke it 24/7.
I actually don't know anyone who does it in moderation.
My friends pretty much fall into one of two categories, stoners and non-stoners.
Until I buy that shack down in Negril, I'm going to continue to give Mary Jane a wide berth.

This Beautiful Creature Must Die

We didn't see it until it was too late.

Out of nowhere a big beautiful hawk came swooping down from out of the sky.

Maybe it thought we were a giant white mouse on wheels.

Seconds later we heard a sickening thump.

The hawk was no more.

We looked for a safe place to pull over and then assessed the damage.

There was no sign of the hawk, but it did break something on the roof of the Sprinter Van.

Maybe the hawk is still alive......

Yeah, and maybe Elvis is still alive.

We both felt terrible and didn't really know what to do.

We talked about how bad we felt that we (inadvertently) snuffed the hawk but probably wouldn't feel so bad if it had been a pigeon.

I know if there was a squirrel crossing our path, I probably would've accelerated.

Are some animals more equal than others?

P.S. Here's a little video on youtube of this incident:

The Admiral's Club

My 1:45 flight had been pushed back to 5pm.

I hate American Airlines. They're pathological liars who will never tell you what's really going on.

Hungover and exhausted I decided to go to the Admiral's club for the same reason some people climb mountains: because it's there.

Sure, it was going to cost me $50 but it was my birthday(not really; my birthday had come and gone but I like to extend my birthday to the length of a massive music festival like Reading or Coachella.)

My fantasy: the Admiral's Club would have swank leather chairs, free booze, hot towels, delicious snacks and maybe even a gym or a Sauna.

The reality: the Admiral's club was like the lobby of a Hilton. It did have lockers to stow your stuff but the snacks consisted of Chex Mix and Coffee, and all the alcohol cost extra. There were free computers but suddenly the $50 price tag seemed quite exorbitant.

I walked around for 15 minutes trying to find something to justify the price.

Maybe there was a home theater with a huge selection of DVD's or a complimentary fortune teller on the premises.

I ended up playing poker online and listening to the guy in the next booth discuss his options portfolio with his broker.

I do admit that when I stepped out of the Admiral's club and back into DFW airport I felt like I was in a giant restroom.

The dirty tiled floors and fluorescent lights brought home why I hate airports and dread getting stuck in them: they're uncomfortable places.