Sometimes I wonder if I don't enjoy it more when I think no one digs what I'm doing, and the world "just doesn't get me."
As soon as I start getting a lot of die-hard fans, it always makes me very, very nervous.
Do any of you feel that way? Don't just answer with a pat, stock answer; think about it a bit first.
Do you ever have someone come up and breathlessly tell you how great you are, and all you can think is, "man, what have YOU been smoking?"
I once waited on Mick Fleetwood, in the eighties, in Boulder, CO. He was obviously strung out, and he wanted an omelet. I know, because he said, "I'd like an omelet."
I told him the kitchen was done with breakfast, and onto the lunch menu, but I'd ask.
I told the cook Mick Fleetwood wanted an omelet, and the cook thought I was nuts, so I brought him out front, and had him look over at my table.
He said, "that guy DOES kind of look like Mick Fleetwood."
I said, "man, nobody looks like Mick Fleetwood! That IS Mick Fleetwood!" and the cook said he would make him an omelet.
I brought him a water, a coffee, and omelet, and the only other thing he said or did was hold his fork up towards my heart, and said, "you're my waiter."
And he was correct! I was, in fact, his waiter.
He left me a crumpled up dollar bill as a tip, and countless people have asked me why I didn't ask for an autograph.
The thought just never occurred to me. I just don't do that!
I'm not going to be successful. I'm a year away from my fiftieth birthday, and I play covers in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
I sometimes wonder if I'm kind of happy to be a nobody, because, as I said, when people I have never met make a big deal over me, it just plan freaks me out.
Thoughts?
As soon as I start getting a lot of die-hard fans, it always makes me very, very nervous.
Do any of you feel that way? Don't just answer with a pat, stock answer; think about it a bit first.
Do you ever have someone come up and breathlessly tell you how great you are, and all you can think is, "man, what have YOU been smoking?"
I once waited on Mick Fleetwood, in the eighties, in Boulder, CO. He was obviously strung out, and he wanted an omelet. I know, because he said, "I'd like an omelet."
I told him the kitchen was done with breakfast, and onto the lunch menu, but I'd ask.
I told the cook Mick Fleetwood wanted an omelet, and the cook thought I was nuts, so I brought him out front, and had him look over at my table.
He said, "that guy DOES kind of look like Mick Fleetwood."
I said, "man, nobody looks like Mick Fleetwood! That IS Mick Fleetwood!" and the cook said he would make him an omelet.
I brought him a water, a coffee, and omelet, and the only other thing he said or did was hold his fork up towards my heart, and said, "you're my waiter."
And he was correct! I was, in fact, his waiter.
He left me a crumpled up dollar bill as a tip, and countless people have asked me why I didn't ask for an autograph.
The thought just never occurred to me. I just don't do that!
I'm not going to be successful. I'm a year away from my fiftieth birthday, and I play covers in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
I sometimes wonder if I'm kind of happy to be a nobody, because, as I said, when people I have never met make a big deal over me, it just plan freaks me out.
Thoughts?
