West of Mars

I often talk to other authors who are trying to promote themselves. Go here, I’ll tell them. My friend Breeni has interviewed a number of book bloggers. You can look through the profiles and choose who to approach about sending out review copies, or doing a guest blog, or an interview, and/or a giveaway. And don’t forget to drop me a note at Win a Book so I can plug it and get you even more attention.

Those authors have a luxury I don’t: they get free copies from their publisher.

Me, I’ve got to pay for each one I send out, so I’m being stingy (that said, if you’d like the .pdf of The Demo Tapes for review, give a yell. Those I don’t have to pay for).

Still, I think I’m doing pretty well. Not only have I done three guest blogs now, I’ve had friends and book bloggers (and both) plug The Demo Tapes. And in J. Kaye’s case, she’s plugged it more than once.

Check ‘em out:

J. Kaye
And J. Kaye again.
Three times … a charm, right?
Thomma Lyn
Lakota Phillips
Ashley

And have you seen the front page of Front Street Reviews? Barb has outdone herself this time!

Huge thank yous to these ladies who’ve blogged about The Demo Tapes so far. Huge thank yous to you who’ve opened your wallets in this tight economy and bought copies — especially those of you outside the US. Shipping The Demo Tapes to you isn’t cheap!

Now, if you’ll excuse me (not while I tend to how I feel), I’ve got the rest of the Internet to conquer…

Come join the Trevolution!

Word comin’ out of Riverview this week is that the annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration hosted by Chelle’s favorite boys, ShapeShifter, was a bigger hit than ever. They pulled in more money, had more fans around, and even invited a few drag queens to dance up on that stage with their handsome selves.

Believe it or not, but there’s some bitchin’ goin’ on about this year’s shin-dig, and it’s comin’ from some very interesting places, if you catch my drift. If not, here’s a hint: it’s comin’ from every big name star who was pining for an invite to join the party. Seems like if you’re in a band other than ShapeShifter, you weren’t wanted anywhere near that Rocket Theater place the band took over for the benefit. And now there’s some mighty peeved people out there in music land.

Now, my name being Chelle LaFleur and all, I had to get the skinny about what those ShapeShifter boys think they’re doin’, tellin’ all their friends to kiss off. That ain’t no way to treat no friend.

“I know, Chelle,” that handsome Mitchell Voss told Chelle over the phone on her desk at the Trumpet’s office. “We realized we’d hit a crossroads this year. We could have made millions — I’m not kidding. Millions. We had musicians like Sammy Spencer offering to donate cash for the chance to be there. Cold hard cash, and a lot of it, too. He didn’t even want to get on stage. He just wanted in. Those guys who were coming around were offering us so much money for tickets that our heads swam. We could have helped out a ton of kids if we’d gone that way.”

So why didn’t ShapeShifter bow to the mighty dollar?

“It was Eric, so blame him,” handsome Mitchell said. “He’s always been the force behind this, and when he reminded us that the idea was to show our fans they don’t need to be millionaire rock stars in order to make a difference. That five bucks means something in this world, something more than a cup of coffee. The party’s about helping kids have the means to make music, sure, but it’s about giving hope and power to people who think they don’t matter, too.”

Am I hearing this right? ShapeShifter, one of the world’s biggest bands, went for the little guy over deep pockets?

“It’s about the fans, Chelle,” Handsome Mitchell said. “They want to believe they can make a difference, and we’re lucky enough to be able to show them that they can and help them do it. One of the hardest parts can be choosing who to support. Where do you start? Save the panda? Buy land in the Everglades? Rebuild homes in New Orleans? What about the tsunami victims from all those years ago? You think their lives are normal yet?”

To be honest, Chelle ain’t given them a thought in a long time. I ain’t about to head over to Sri Lanka and wherever else got hit with that monster wave to see, but Chelle’s bettin’ the man’s right. About all of it: that them people ain’t got their lives back any more than a lot of the folk who’re tryin’ to repopulate this city of mine. He’s right that you gotta start somewhere.

You heard it first and you heard it here: ShapeShifter’s all about giving their fans a voice. Gotta love a band who helps people believe they can make a difference.

Yeah, I was going to leave it with our last post, but blame this on Wylie and Shelley. They asked; I delivered. The mystery of where Deadly Metal Hatchet’s missing invite has been solved: ShapeShifter turned into equal-opportunity dissers. Nice to know my boys have integrity.

Well, ready to end this year’s Musical Hanukkah celebration? I think that in keeping with the theme of the holiday — hope and miracles — this year, we’ve opened more cans of worms than we’ve wrapped up.

Mitchell knew three things immediately upon waking. The bed wasn’t his. Not with sheets that smelled faintly of perfume. Kerri knew better.

The house wasn’t his.

But the hangover? That was entirely his own. His own making, too.

He wished he could go back to sleep, but the image of what had happened when he’d walked into The Rocket Theater the day before wouldn’t leave him. It figured; it hadn’t let him drink it into oblivion, either.

She wasn’t in bed with him. He didn’t need to send a leg or arm exploring to know that. If Kerri was there, he wouldn’t have been on his stomach, his left cheek probably drowning in a pool of drunken drool.

But she was behind his eyes, giving Chrome and Penis warm hugs. Penis had even lifted her off her feet when he’d embraced her. Loudly. Excited to see her.

And then turned to him and said, “I’m in the middle of something. Is it okay if she shows you where the dressing room is?”

It wasn’t that they’d been all over his wife; he wasn’t sure, but he thought Chrome might have felt the contours of her ass. Kerri watched women crawl over him on an almost daily basis, especially when they were on the road. It was her turn to get pawed a little bit. Maybe later, when he was less hungover, he’d think it was a turn-on. Not now, though. Now he was still steaming over the whole thing.

It was that they’d been glad to see her. Friendly. Had wanted to sit down at some point and catch up, had invited her to stop in one day when she was free and shoot the shit.

Him, they’d thanked for moving the benefit to their place. Hadn’t even bothered to shake his hand. Had, in fact, avoided him as much as they could.

Sometimes, being a dick sucked.

Kerri and Trevor would probably gang up on him if he tried to whine about it. They’d tell him that he’d decided to be a dick on purpose, that he’d wanted to keep people at arm’s length. He had no reason to complain when he got what he wanted.

Still. Sometimes, being a dick sucked.

So did hangovers.

Don’t forget that if you’re new here, use the Cast tab to be taken to the Cast of Characters page. Or think about picking up a copy of The Demo Tapes, which collects twenty (roughly speaking) of the outtakes buried in these here archives. Join the Trevorlution with your own chronicles of Trevor Wolff, bass player hardly-extra-ordinaire. But no one ever said we loved the boy for his musical talent, only for his personality.

Springer stuck his hands in his pockets and wished for a smoke. He was out, though, dead broke — for a change. But it was worth it. Another year at the Musical Hanukkah Celebration, even if he hadn’t won the lottery this year. Can’t win what you don’t enter, Springer had told his girl, then pointed out that if she’d pay for things when they go out, maybe he would have been able to afford it.

She’d gotten all snotty about it. For a change.

Springer decided that overall, he didn’t miss cigarettes. Except for times like this, when he was waiting around outside The Rocket Theater, him and a bunch of other ShapeShifter fans, hoping to see the band when they showed up. He was bored. Smoking would give him something to do.

His girl sure wouldn’t give him something to do. As soon as she started pulling the diva routine, bitching about how they never went anywhere because Springer had no money, he tuned her out and wished she was gone.

There were some wishes Springer could make come true, all on his own. And they didn’t involve money, either.

A new, better girl was sure to appear. From somewhere. Right then, Springer didn’t much care. All he wanted was to maybe see Eric, see if the guitarist recognized him from that day at Gus’ Guitars. After all, Eric had remembered him then from last year’s Musical Hanukkah. It could happen.

He’d been looking for a limo carrying all the ShapeShifter guys, so he didn’t pay attention to the red Audi when it pulled in. No one gathered there did, really. No one in ShapeShifter drove a red Audi. Mitchell had the new Durango, Daniel had a Jaguar, Eric drove an Acura, and Trevor still had his bike.

Ten minutes later, none of those cars had appeared, but Eric came out the stage door, blinking at the light of outside like he’d been in the dark theater for awhile.

Springer stared, his mouth falling open a bit, his brain racing. When? How?

“Who has tickets for tonight?” the guitarist asked.

Without him telling it to, Springer’s arm went up. So did three others — one girl, dressed in faded jeans covered in ballpoint drawings, and two guys who were the usual black t-shirts under their flannels.

“You four, then, c’mon,” Eric said and motioned them forward.

Security appeared out of nowhere and made a line between the four of them and the rest of the group.

“Well, this is one way to get in without waiting in line,” the girl chuckled. Springer liked her; she had a flat, open face and yellow-blonde hair. Freckles over her nose and spreading across her cheeks under her eyes. She wore one earring in the lobe of her ear, a ShapeShifter dragon S. Springer knew those earrings; the band had sold them through the fan club. She had more piercings in the cartiledge of her ear, and wore an ear cuff that at first looked like a dragon.

He peered closer. She blushed and covered it with her hand, pulling it off. “I shouldn’t… not here,” she said.

But he’d seen. A naked man, quite obviously showing off her favorite part of a guy.

“Okay,” Eric said when they were inside. He’d walked them across the stage, where Springer had reached out and touched the edge of Daniel’s drum riser, and down a flight of stairs. They were now in some small room. One of those candle things sat on the table, in front of a deli tray that hadn’t been touched. “This is Daniel’s doing, so let me get him. Wait here.”

“Can we eat?” one of the other guys called out.

“Not yet!” Eric yelled over his shoulder.

In a second, Eric came back in with the famous drummer.

Springer licked his lips and told himself that passing out would not be cool.

The girl touched his hand. He looked at her; the gleam in her eyes said she was thinking and feeling the same things he was.

“Here’s the deal,” Daniel said, pushing some of his hair behind his ear. Just as fast, he shook his head so the hair fell free. It was as common a gesture as any Springer had ever seen; the guy did it almost constantly. “You heard about the recent terror attacks in India, right?”

Springer joined the others in nodding, even though he barely knew about them. Just that there’d been attacks and people had died. It sucked, but then, so did most things.

“There’s a group of ultra-Orthodox Jews, from the group whose rabbi was killed in those attacks, who’re calling for us to join with strangers and share the light and hope of Hanukkah.”

Springer wondered how this affected him.

Eric stepped to the table and picked up a book of matches. Daniel stepped back and motioned to the four fans to come closer.

Striking the match, Eric read something unintelligible from a piece of paper between the candle thing and the deli tray. He touched the match to the middle candle, then the two on the left of the candle thing.

“There,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “I hope I did it right, but if not, God knows my intentions are good.” He looked at the four fans. “You guys can dig in here and go on up to grab places on the floor. The doors’ll be open in about forty-five minutes. Oh, here. You should have these,” he said, pulling backstage passes out of his back pocket. He handed one to each fan. “Don’t try to get in our dressing room, though. Security won’t let you.”

As he handed a pass to Springer, he paused. “I keep seeing you around. What’s your name again?”

“Springer.” He was glad his tongue wasn’t taking off like it did the last time. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel like he had a second head or something; it was hard to stand here and be cool in front of your hero.

“Springer. Good name. Hey, will you make sure your friends here don’t knock over the candles? It’d be bad news if we burned this place down.”

“I’ll send someone in to get them out of here,” Daniel said. He leaned around Eric and extended a hand to Springer. “Nice to meet you and thanks for keeping an eye on things for us.”

They were gone fast like that. It felt like the air returned to the room and Springer could think and breathe again. The two guys were busy digging into the deli tray, but the girl was looking at Springer. “How cool was that?”

“How cool is all of it?”

“I’m Trinity.”

“I’m Springer.” He blushed. “I bet you figured that.”

“Eric knows you.”

Springer bobbed his head. “Seems to.”

“I need to hang around you more often.”

He could feel the blush spread down his throat. “We’ve got all night.”

And so the Hanukkah Celebration begins here at the Meet and Greet. If you’d like to know what this experience Springer last had with Eric was, go here. Remember that by buying a copy of The Demo Tapes or the Hanukkah T-shirt at the merchandise table, you’ll be helping make a real-life donation to the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation. And while we’re speaking of real life, Eric’s comment about the Chabad House’s invitation to everyone to join in the hope of the Hanukkah season by helping Jewish friends in the nightly candle lighting… that’s very real. Forget about the presents, forget about the decorations and hustle and bustle and remember the hope that this season brings with it. Happy Hanukkah, everyone.

They’d been waiting for it, saving up the gas money. Driving from Phoenix to Riverview wasn’t going to be cheap. They’d tried lining up some gigs, but it was a bad time of year to do that on your own. People were spending money on presents, not on live shows. The right-sized clubs wanted bands who could draw, not unknowns.

“But we’re not unknown!” Scott had tried arguing. “We’re Deadly Metal Hatchet!” Even telling the club owners and promoters that they were friends with ShapeShifter hadn’t helped.

Still, they weren’t going to miss the annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration up in Riverview. They’d agreed to sleep in their van if they had to, unless they could find a nice girl who was willing to let them crash on her floor. They even agreed they wouldn’t fight for her and her bed.

The only thing they were missing, really, was the invitation.

“What are we gonna do?” Lido asked. “It’s Saturday. The gig’s in two days and we gotta leave like an hour ago if we’re gonna make it there on time.”

Scott shook his head and held his hands up. “There’s nothing we can do. If they didn’t invite us this year, they didn’t invite us.”

“I thought they liked us,” Fozzy said, shaking his head. “Fuckers.”

“They ran that cartoon of the Hatchet last year,” Lido said. “Maybe that’s why they didn’t invite us this year. They need to rotate through all their friends.”

“There are an awful lot of people who are better friends with them than we are,” Scott said.

Fozzy got up and stalked across the room.

Scott shook his head, knowing what was coming next. “Don’t do it, man. They’ll never forgive us.”

“I’m not doing shit,” Fozzy said, bending over the notebook on the table, a pen already in his hand. “The Hatchet is.”

“It may not be personal,” Scott warned. “This might change that.”

Fozzy didn’t answer. He just spread his legs farther apart, bringing his face and body closer to the notebook.

Scott bent over, forearms planted down the length of his thighs, face hidden in his hands. “Fozz…”

“Not me,” the guitarist said. “It’s all the Hatchet’s doing.”

“Dude,” Scott said, standing up and adjusting his glasses. This whole scene hurt, and the Hatchet was only going to make it worse. “They gotta raise money. How much money can we help them raise? If it weren’t for our t-shirts, we’d be broke. It’s all about money, and we can’t help them much. I don’t blame them if they blew us off.”

“Maybe the invite’s just late,” Lido said, glancing nervously at Fozzy’s ass.

“Maybe,” Scott said, giving Lido a grateful look.

“I say we go anyway,” Gecko said. He gave Scott and Lido a small smile. “Maybe we can get tickets or something.”

“With what money?” Scott asked. He shook his head and turned his back on everyone. They just didn’t get it. The band wasn’t bringing in a lot of money. They should be practicing now, not waiting for Fozzy to finish letting the Hatchet destroy them. Letting the Hatchet loose on ShapeShifter… this was suicide of the worst sort.

Fozzy threw the pen down and stalked away. Scott held his breath.

Gecko picked up the drawing.

There was the ShapeShifter logo, or something close enough to it. Just like Scott had expected.

But instead of the Hatchet tearing it apart, the Hatchet lay below it, almost as if it was bowing.

And a tear escaped from its head.

“Maybe our invite is just late,” Gecko said.

“Maybe,” Scott said.

I hope you’ve been following this year’s Musical Hanukkah Celebration posts. Join the fun by getting your hands on the official 2009 t-shirt at the Merchandise Table. Remember that a portion of all profits from the sales of the t-shirts and my own book, The Demo Tapes, will be donated to the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation so that kids can make music of their own. And hopefully be better than the guys in Deadly Metal Hatchet.

Penis swallowed and nodded at Chrome. He wasn’t ready to face the ShapeShifter guys just yet. Sure, it was seven years later — and probably as many inches that he’d grown since then — but if they recognized him, he’d have to wrap himself in chains and throw himself into the river.

He snapped the elastic around his wrist, glad he’d brought the extra. Reggie didn’t like him meeting new talent with his hair down; he said Penis lived up to expectations when it was pulled back. But he needed that elastic to snap. No darting outside. No toot. No drop. No stolen minutes with Chrome.

Pure professional.

He paused behind the curtain. If there had been an audience, they’d all be staring at his back, judging his ass. But the real judges were in front of him, on the other side of that curtain.

He’d been seventeen and stupid. He’d thought throwing parties for the band after almost every show would make them let him into their world. He’d been too stupid to know when he was being used. He’d done everything everyone had told him to — and a few things no one had mentioned. Not once had he gotten anything more than a companionable chuff on the arm and a gruff “Nice party.” He wasn’t even sure they knew his name.

Chrome started talking and immediately, Penis stiffened. He remembered those voices. Sure, Mitchell’s was a bit rougher these days, but after touring the way ShapeShifter did, it made sense. Daniel’s voice, though…

Penis closed his eyes and remembered. He snapped the elastic and pulled himself back to the present.

“Ahh, you’re the ShapeShifter guys,” he said as he stepped around the curtain. He swallowed hard as they looked him over — the same way everyone else did, he realized. Like they were expecting someone who looked like a penis. “I’m Penis.”

It was a horrid nickname, but it was also a safe hiding spot. No one thought to look beyond the nickname and at the person who wore it. He was Penis, the guy who ran The Rocket Theater.

The band’s manager started talking ten miles a minute, pulling him in one direction while the band guys walked off in another with Chrome. That made it easier to focus on business and forget they were two men he’d once dreamed of being best friends with. It had been a long time ago that he’d wanted that, before two stints of rehab and the meeting that had given him the chance to prove himself here.

He was the one who was pushing to open The Rocket Theater to someone other than the queens. He loved the queens, but dammit, he wanted to see if he could handle it this time. Being around rock and roll. Handling the hard-on the music gave him without drugs, without cheap sex, without whoring himself to guitar players and drummers and singers.

As they met up with the band, he snapped that elastic around his wrist. He could do this. It didn’t matter if they recognized him. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He was Penis, and The Rocket Theater was his.

“This just keeps getting worse,” Mitchell mumbled as they walked up to the stage door of The Rocket Theater. Okay, so there weren’t any queens hanging around outside, blowing kisses at them like he’d been afraid there would be, but JR still trailed behind them like some little brother who wanted nothing more than to hear the older kids liked his plan.

Maybe, Mitchell thought, if this was okay, he’d pat the manager on the head.

“It’s just a walk-through. We’ve done a million of them,” Daniel said.

“Not with a guy named Penis.”

Daniel gave him a sidelong look. “Better than a girl named Penis.”

“Think they hire women around here?”

“They hired Kerri, didn’t they?” Daniel knocked on the stage door, then tried the handle. It was, of course, open. The action behind it was minimal; mornings at most clubs like this were quiet.

“The queens hired her, not the theater,” Mitchell said, following the drummer through the door and holding it for JR. He couldn’t deny that this was a better theater, or that he’d had more than a few fantasies of ShapeShifter being the band who’d break the stranglehold the queens had on the joint. The fact that they were able to do that and stay open was pretty damn amazing. Their audience wasn’t nearly as big or as thirsty as the All Access crowd.

“Help ya?” A stage hand showed up out of a shadow or something. Dressed in black, with dyed black hair, he had a body carved at the gym and colored in a tanning bed. Mitchell wondered if he did more hands than stage.

“We’re looking for Penis,” Daniel said.

Mitchell admired the guy’s straight face although if it had been him talking, he’d have been equally as cool. They weren’t ShapeShifter for nothing.

Besides, they’d left Trevor at home. There was no one to start the snickering.

“Before you ask, he does not have a strange-shaped head,” the stage hand said.

“Why would he?” Mitchell asked, as blank as possible, like he didn’t get the joke. A quick phone call to Kerri before they’d come over had cleared it all up: the guy’s name was Richard. He’d been through rehab twice and he was the lord of the manor, deservedly so, Kerri said. He knew everything.

“Why Penis?” he’d asked her.

“His name’s Richard,” she’d said. “What’s Richard’s nickname? Dick. What’s another word for a dick? A penis.”

“Coulda called him Schlong,” Mitchell had said.

“Penis sounds better. Wait until you meet him. It fits.”

The stage hand eyed Mitchell, clearly expecting to be hit with a joke. But Mitchell just kept staring. Finally he said, “So where is this Penis dude?”

“Ahh, you’re the ShapeShifter guys,” someone said from behind a curtain. He stepped out into the backstage area. Well over six foot four and skinny as hell, with one of those protruding Adams Apples and the curl to his shoulders and back that extremely tall people adopted when they spent too much time with short folk, he had his red hair pulled back in a pony tail. “I’m Penis,” he said, offering hands.

JR took over from there while Mitchell and Daniel let the buff stage hand show them around. The dressing rooms were huge and well-lit, as Kerri had said they would be. One wall in each room was given over to clothing storage, including wigs. Mitchell wanted to try them on and goof a bit, but the stage hand was looking a little
nervous.

“Something wrong?”

“Penis will be looking for you. We don’t do a lot of live music and when we do, it’s nothing like what you guys play. You’re the best to tell him what we need to change. He’s eager to get to work on this.”

Mitchell and Daniel exchanged a look. Sure, JR had babbled something about theater management doing whatever it took to make the band happy. They’d heard that before, too many times. And too many times, it had been nothing but hot air. “You’re for real?” he asked the stage hand.

The guy nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding back.

Mitchell frowned, wondering what it would take to get this Chrome dude to spill, but he was already hustling them back to the stage. He’d changed the subject, too, to the catering. “Whatever you want in your dressing room, that’s no problem. We’re used to all sorts of strange things. I mean, I thought eating disorders were limited to teenage girls, but you’d be surprised.”

This, Mitchell thought, from a guy so buff, he probably ate baby food out of the jar to avoid any and all fats.

“There you are,” JR said as they stepped onto the stage. Mitchell looked out into what would be the audience. He couldn’t help but grin. There was something about a stage that got him every single fucking time, especially a stage he was going to be playing from. JR stepped up beside him. “What do you think?”

When the manager actually waited for his answer, he said, “Perfect.”

“I’ll say,” Daniel said, pacing off the width of the stage. “I never knew it was this big.”

Penis smirked. “We hope to get a lot more of that.” He held a clipboard that he looked down at. “Now, tell me what sort of sound you need us to get. What goes where. The whole works. We guarantee the backline will be perfect.”

“We’ve got all that,” Mitchell said. “We’re ShapeShifter.”

He watched Penis carefully. The guy tried to mask his irritation, but Mitchell caught it. Sure enough, The Rocket Theater wanted to move into live rock shows. Why else would you worry about the backline for a band like them?

He shrugged. Whatever their story was, it was theirs. All he needed to focus on was the chairty show. He’d make the calls when he got home, get the right people on this, figure out what was going on, why they were doing this, and how it would impact the scene.

But for right now, all he wanted to do was stand and stare at the audience and remember those dreams he’d had when he’d been younger.

So we’re getting closer to the holiday and the show. Feel like you’ve walked into the middle of something? You have.

Have no fear, though. This link will take you to the set-up for this piece. This link will take you to the introduction of this year’s celebration, complete with links for the new t-shirts available to us real people. Remember that any copies of The Demo Tapes or any t-shirts you buy will include a donation to the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation, which works to bring instruments to our kids, so they can join their school band or orchestra. It’s a worthwhile donation on your end, and you’ll get either a book or a t-shirt — or both! — to remind you that even something as small as a buck has power. Come join us.

For those of you who think the only legacies coming out of Pittsburgh are our Steelers (what a game yesterday!) or steel mills, I’ve found another for you.

I’m talking about it over at Shelley Munro’s blog. Come on over and visit!

Mitchell glared at Daniel. The drummer had told him they’d wait for him to get started. Daniel had promised he’d tape JR’s mouth shut if he had to.

But, of course, JR’s mouth was flapping and he was halfway through whatever it was he’d flown across the country to tell them.

“Oh, good, Mitchell. You’re here so I can talk about this. I promised Daniel I wouldn’t until you arrived so now that you are, the deal goes like this. All Access can’t do the Musical Hanukkah Celebration this year. They are too maxxed out in terms of capacity and I’m getting requests from all over the world from people willing to pay four times the ticket price to get in the door. I know this is for charity and that four times the ticket price is still cheap, I should maybe listen if they’d offer ten times the ticket price but between the demand and the size of the dump”

Mitchell growled. All Access may have been a dump, but it was their dump.

“so switching to a new place would be a smart move and I’ve managed to get a hold of the people at The Rocket Theater, who are willing to open their doors to you for the night, with the same terms All Access offered, that being”

“The Rocket Theater?” Mitchell howled, standing up from the chair he’d just sat down in. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“say they’re willing to make any changes they need to, so that they can accommodate live music”

“JR!” Mitchell bellowed, silencing the manager. He leaned forward, to get in JR’s face. “The Rocket Theater is where the drag queens hang out. They don’t let anyone else in there, and you tell me they’re willing to let us in? What’s the catch?”

JR shuffled through his notes. “As you should know, Mitchell, The Rocket Theater was funded by Anatole and Anna DeBartolo back in 1834. Anna DeBartolo’s maiden name was Anna Voss and I believe she was a distant relative of yours, thus making it likely that the motivation here is tied to you and the fact that you are, still, a member of the famed Voss family who founded Riverview. Given that there don’t seem to be any drag queens in the city who are related to the Voss family, this seems like their best chance to get a Voss on their stage.” JR gave a satisfied nod and, for once, stopped talking.

“And the drag queens are going to want to get on stage with us?”

JR opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Mitchell threw his hands in the air and spun in a circle. “And do you have any idea what happens to Kerri when we walk in there? She is fucking mobbed, man. All those queens trying to hide their hard-ons over my wife, who’s this legendary makeup whiz. So now you’re telling me that she’s going to have to deal with that shit all night? When she should be having just as much fun as every other person in there, she’s gonna get guilted into working? Oh, fuck no. Kerri can’t have it that easy. Can’t sit and watch us. Instead, she’s gotta get fucking mobbed with all this, Kerri, dear,” he said, slipping into a falsetto and holding his fingertips up near his cheeks.

Daniel burst out laughing.

Mitchell ignored him and kept going, “You look incredible tonight. So much better than I do. Do you think you could take a minute of your oh-so-precious time and fix me up a bit? Just a touch, you know? Maybe my lips need to be lined better.”

Daniel bent in half, but not before Mitchell noticed the tears running down the drummer’s cheeks.

“You think I’m fucking joking? The last three times she dragged me there, that’s what it was. Now, when she gets invites to go? She won’t. So how the fuck am I supposed to tell her that we’re moving into The fucking Rocket Theater for the night — and letting the queens in, too!”

Mitchell had barely finished when JR started in again. “I’ve written stranger things into a contract. This ought to be easy to say that wives and girlfriends of the band are to be approached only by members of the ShapeShifter crew, or we could be more specific and say that Kerri Voss is not to be approached by any person wishing to have their makeup done for an appearance on the stage with the band and while we’re talking about this and since you mentioned it, why don’t we have the drag queens also enter a raffle to be allowed on the stage? If you make the local musicians do it and since this is all about charity it would seem to make the most sense. Maximize our donation. And while I’m thinking about it,”

“NO!” Mitchell howled, dragging out the sound to cover up some of JR’s babble.

JR actually took the hint.

“We’re moving theaters so we can get more fans in, right? We can’t leave fans out in the cold while we’ve got drag queens strutting around with us and whatever star makes a big enough donation. JR, you’re losing sight of what this is about, man.”

“My understanding,” JR said quietly. Not that he was ever a loudly spoken person, probably because he was too busy getting the words out to worry about the volume. “My understanding is that this is a charity function, conceived simply to raise money to help support music education in public schools, which are currently cutting music education budgets by amounts that would alarm you if you knew what they were. Daniel, I know you got your musical start in school, and I believe that Eric did as well, although I’m sure the time he spent at his dad’s church influenced him to no small degree. You know how very important this is, so why are we letting Mitchell tell us that we shouldn’t be thinking of the revenue and should instead be focused on the fans?”

Mitchell growled. Daniel signalled him quiet.

“Because any of those stars can make a donation on their own,” the drummer said. “When we include our fans, we remind them that anyone can make a difference. That five bucks helps. You want to let some queens in? Fine. They pay the same ticket price as everyone else. They pay the same price for the raffle to get on stage as everyone else.” He took a deep breath and held up a hand to keep JR quiet. “But I’m telling you now, JR, if I look out and see the place has more transvestites than ShapeShifter fans, I’m turning him,” he pointed at Mitchell, “loose on you.”

JR actually paled and was quiet for thirty full seconds.

Ahh, and so this year’s Musical Hanukkah Celebration begins to ramp up. Not sure what’s going on? Click here to go back to the original post that kicked off this yearly tradition. Or check out the category called Musical Hanukkah Celebration and read from the bottom up.

Remember that any purchases you make of The Demo Tapes and of the Musical Hanukkah Celebration t-shirts will help fund a donation from me to the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation. Let’s provide ALL our kids with musical instruments. Maybe one of them will go on to found a real-life ShapeShifter.

1. Do you get to read as much as you WANT to read?

(I’m guessing #1 is an easy question for everyone?)

2. If you had (magically) more time to read–what would you read? Something educational? Classic? Comfort Reading? Escapism? Magazines?

Mitchell here. I’m answering this for Susan, who’s ignoring me and trying to get through the 500+ books piled up in her office. Something about wanting to be able to sit at her desk and look out the windows, not at a wall of books. I tried asking, but she gave me a look dirtier than the ones I’m famous for.

Use this link. See if anyone’s busy reading The Demo Tapes, or if they’re just wishing they had the time for it.