I’m loitering on the sidewalk beside the House of Blues, thinking about where my life is headed, at least for the next hour, when up walks Andy Timmons. Of course, this kind of thing happens to me every day. I say “hello” and affable guy he is, Andy strikes up a conversation with me about Robin Trower. I’m standing next to this incredible musician, famous (at least in the universe of formidable guitarists) in his own right and he’s asking me if I’ve seen Mr. Trower hanging around. Hmm…
I explain to Andy, just moments earlier I’d had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Trower. Nonchalance is implied. Again, this kind of thing happens to me every day. He acknowledges my well-worn Eric Johnson t-shirt and jokes “that guy’s got a future, if he would just practice a little.” Heh. I tell Andy I’ll handle the jokes from here on out. I ask him if he’s here to sit in for an encore, assuming all great musicians know one another. He shrugs and says he’s only here as a fan and was hoping to meet the great man, himself. Synapses fire and the dots are connected: He is like me! Well, except for the prodigious talent… mine, not his. I offer to try and help Mr. Timmons accomplish his goal of meeting Robin Trower. Alas, it was not meant to be; of course, even Mighty Casey struck out that one time. By way of compensation, I offer Andy my extra ticket to the show. He demurs, explaining legendary rock radio personality Redbeard has it covered and will be meeting him soon. After all, it had been that kind of day.
A little later, I find myself coiffing Guiness and sitting on my brain considering the religions of the world. Naturally, I do this sort of thing every day. A veteran of the psychic wars seated beside me, wonders aloud about the many arms of Vishnu. No sooner than had he uttered the thought, than does he abandon it and begins to sing along tunelessly with Hendrix’s “Red House,” which is playing over the house P.A. You see, it’s been that kind of day. The veteran was alone on this night and was overheard to say on more than one occasion to various revelers he simply wanted someone to talk to. No one bit. I was thus compelled; it had been that kind of day.