Tuesdays at Java Lords

American author Jack London once said, You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. During the past couple of months, I really needed to kick myself in the pants to sit down and write. I don't know what it was. I was going places and seeing strange things.

My inner narrative was chattering up a storm but when it came time to write, I just couldn't make myself sit down in front of the computer. The past couple of weeks has reminded me to never fail to use and share my gift.

I know I'm supposed to be writing. Yes, the content is sometimes questionable but I'm supposed to be the crazy scribe that I am. The Universe proclaims it.

In February, for inspiration's sake, I began frequenting a coffeehouse in Little 5 Points. The name of the place is Java Lords. I must say that the hot white chocolate there is to die for! Sweets and I discovered this place on a particularly cold afternoon while buying Bilal/Foreign Exchange tickets. You can order any coffee or hot chocolate or hot tea and spike it with a variety of flavored syrups. White hot chocolate with hazelnut and raspberry! Mercy! I'm drooling...but that's neither here nor there. I asked the hippie-esque barista if they have an open mic night. She said yes, every Tuesday night starting at 9. During open mic, Java Lords features $3 beer and a $3 cocktails special. Like I wasn't going to go. Puh. Leeze.

So the following Tuesday, I went for the first time and watched about five or six different acts. There was this old dude playing a guitar and singing. He did both things terribly. I'm serious. It was not good. However, the crowd was so polite. There was not a smirk or sneer on anyone's face except for my own. Out of shame, I tried my best to look pleasant and then finally I just decided to text someone. I possess no poker face. Once old dude finished crooning, the crowd applauded appreciatively. How nice is that? No heckling or anything. Just an appreciation for the enormous balls it takes to bear one's soul to a crowd of strangers. That's cool. Reason #38 for my current romance with Atlanta, Georgia.

Next up was an Igbo comedian by the name of Odinakachukwu. (I dare you to try to pronounce that.) He was telling Black jokes in a predominantly White crowd. Ha. I probably laughed the loudest and most often.

We are now Facebook friends. He was followed by a couple of forgettable, angst-ridden guitarists who whined rather incoherently over home grown melodies.

I sighed. I smiled. I clapped politely. After this cool magician did a couple of tricks, I made my exit and vowed to return the following week.

The next week, the old dude who'd gone first on last week took to the stage again. He was no less drunk and no less horrible at both his strumming and his grunting into the mic. What I made myself notice was his extreme level of commitment.

I like when people commit. In time and with less alcohol, he will improve. About three more acts went on as I drank my fruity cocktail and waited for Cousin Von to arrive.

Then this trio out of Austin, Texas got up on the mic and what they did was beautiful. I will let the following video speak for itself.

I can't recall what the name of their group was (The Blue Mints?!?!?) but I will never forget the way I felt as I watched them perform. They moved me. Their whole vibe seemed....pure. As if they were doing what they loved in the hope of reaching some momentarily captive ear to share a bit of their version of soul. It's not unlike what I'm attempting to do with this blog or anything else I write. I just want to share with someone... anyone who's willing to read a few paragraphs. Maybe stir up some shock or revelation or laughter or the feeling of knowing that someone else out there is thinking the same ridiculous thing I am. So it took me a month and some change to write down this particular piece. Sue me.