Where the hell am I playing?

You used to be able to can catch me on Sunday nights at the Union Jack in glamorous Hayward, but there was a bit of a crowd control issue there, owing to the countless throngs of adoring admirers, trampling each other for dish towels baptised by my own perspiration.  My agent is working on booking me at more suitable venues.  Be sure to check here for updates on my upcoming gigs at the Arco Arena and Spartan Stadium.

Until then, you might be able to catch me at open mic on Tuesdays at the Starry Plough at 3101 Shattuck in Berkeley.  If you wanna send me an email because this page is so lame, click on the link below, or sign the mail list page and I'll put you on my exponentially expanding and increasingly impossible to manage email list.

Also, in the off chance you want to book an engagement, you can email me at the link below.  I can play for drinks or money, but it's probably cheaper to just pay me, as I rather fancy myself a bon vivant.

Here I am playing a sporting, albeit solitary, round of billiards in my den after a long day at the post I admittedly, in all liklihood, and by some accounts, take too seriously.   At the risk of seemingly unredeemingly maudlin, I dare conjectecture that said post---or at least the blessed or accursed attributes that lead me to the aforementioned duty---in conjunction with my not negligible fondness for libation, may partially be responsible for the demise of my artistic endeavors, such as they are---or were, as it were.  Alas, alack.  Don't cry for me, Argentina.  I'll always have the fond memories.  Did I tell you about the time I openned for Green Day and Primus?  Or was it the Beatles and Bob Dylan?  Mozart?  Bach?  Did I yet impress upon you the fact that I knew people who knew people who are or were at least breifly famous?  Yes, it's true!  They may not remember me, but that's only because we go back so far!