Welcome to where the seeds of dreams are planted--where one can sip from the charmed chalice of life & meet interesting folk through (hopefully) intelligent conversation.

One never knows nor can expect who will sail into the fray--what we do know is that no soul here is perfect no matter how we try. So let us celebrate & raise our mugs to the idiosyncratic nature of life--to the Kramer's & Norm's of the world, the Roseanne's & Allan Poe's. Some old, some lost, some tortured, some blessed, all souls sharing a drink at the same time in the same place. The ensuing tales are authentic with names trending towards monikers. The flag waving on our doorstep means we're open, so come perk your curiosity in Le Harbor Bungalow Cafe.

Bonjour! Mesherfin! Hasta la vista! Your barista.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Killing Your Audience



The holiday spirit infected the Point Called Fell’s like rabid ratcoon. Le café was no exception. Gingerbread chai’s aside, the barista hauled in a 7-foot, snow-sprayed fake pine, Shelly strung up the cellar dwelling multi-colored Christmas lights and about 30 patrons carried a holiday dish to the café bar to hoot it up over some freshly shucked oysters and booze.

“Hey, how’ve you been? Where’ve you been?” Frank was so excited after the barista walked in the shop, he just missed spilling his glass of red wine on his finely pressed slacks. Instead a puddle collected on the floor before his table.

“Wow, and I thought I was early,” said the barista.

“So what’s with you? It’s been weeks,” Andrea inquires as the barista handed Shelly a jug of eggnog and potato chips.

“So much, where to start? Well, the book I’ve been editing for my friend is now released.”

‘The musician—about forming a band?”

“Yes—exactly. Killing Your Audience…and Why They Deserve It. Are you on Kindle?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s available for download this week. Check it out.”



“Let’s try out these oysters,” the barista made his way towards the back of the room.

“Be careful of them raw shuckers,” Curmudgeon Jim advised. “I have more than one friend who got hepatitis C from them.”

“That’s why you’re supposed to shoot them with vodka,” explained Jawbone holding out a bottle.

“So who is this fellow that wrote the book,” Curmudgeon asked.

“A guitarist I played music with in San Diego. We had a nice run in a band called Riot House.”

“Look here guys!” Picture Jim snapped a photo.

“He volunteers at a high school music program. Couldn’t find a book to guide his students, so he decided to write it.”

“Guide them how?”

“It brings the young, aspiring musician out of his bedroom, through his garage and into the clubs—practically step-by-step. Will’s more a storyteller than a writer—and his stories are priceless, candid.”

Slurrrrrrrrp!!! “Mmmm…tasty oyster,” exclaimed the barista. “Get me some eggnog, I don’t want to catch anything.”

“Save some room for my chicken-fried steak,” said Jawbone.

“I can’t get too filled up, man. I’ve got to perform in about an hour.”

“What? Where?”

“Baltimore Songwriter’s Christmas party. The encore performance of the new eggnog song!"

“Well since you’ll be here tonight, come by Leadbelly’s Christmas night. Odds are I can talk Curt into letting me play it then. This baby’s goin’ straight to the top!”

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Noggin’ It Up



 When the brisk wind whistles by
And brown leaves float to the ground
The trees they stand there naked
‘Til winter’s snowflakes abound
 This is the season
To roast a yule log
And settle by the fire
With a glass of eggnog


Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up

Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up
Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up
 Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up!

Be it rum, brandy or bourbon
Cognac, vodka or beer
Mix me up an eggnog
I’ll spread your holiday cheer

When this cup fills me up
And my belly’s a heavy load
Pour one more before I reach the door
And keep me off the road

The ‘nog goes way back
To the Middle-Aged centuries
At full moon near the Caves of Odin
Skulls were raised in ceremony
Later Cluniac monks got real drunk
On a posset of egg, milk & fig
They drank so much of that righteous stuff
Their stomachs got real big

Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up

Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up
Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up
 Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up!

Be it rum, brandy or bourbon
Cognac, vodka or beer
Mix me up an eggnog
I’ll spread your holiday cheer

When this cup fills me up
And my belly’s a heavy load
Pour one more before I reach the door
And keep me off the road


Then along came America
With a plethora of farms,
Cheap Caribbean rum & nutmeg
And a heaping of Christmas charm

Nananana, nananana noggin’ it up...

 

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

The Angels


I'm a beat up old soul stuck in a town with no heart
If I hear that damn song again I'm gonna swallow real hard
Where are the angels with flowers in there hair?
There aint no such women here, in my beer I will stare

The barmaid is kind enough to hand me a smoke
The sidewalk is cold but that woman's a joke
She can't name a song to play to save her own life
So I stick out my thumb and I hitch the next ride

The club down the road is much of the same
I can't find no coffee & I can't find your name
I'm running in circles & seeing in doubles
Can't you tell my heart's broken? Don't you know I'm in trouble?

So I throw back my beer & I trip down the stairs
And I notice the stars, never knew they were there
Then I felt a warm touch, soft lips on my mouth
She said, "Let's get out of here & travel down south."

The angels are out there sometimes in disguise
Never expected, always a surprise
I picked a flower & duly prepared
And placed it upon her angelic soft hair