I lived in the OEC house, aka the Outdoor Environmental Club house. The house motto was “If it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, send it down.” Once, there was an idea to post plain sheets of paper on the wall next to the toilet with a pen hanging there on a piece of string; if pee-ers and poo-ers wanted to, they could take a moment and write a thought on the paper, so that other bathroom-goers could eventually read it. One time, I surprised myself and my housemates with this poetic blurb:

“I’m sittin’ on the can with a pen in my hand
And a stomach ache worse than can be.
But soon it’ll pass
And I’ll cover up my ass
Hoping next time I only have to pee.”

I didn’t sign this mini masterpiece, but one of my housemates wrote “Lesley is gross” next to my name, with an arrow pointing at my circled piece of poetry. Years later, that poem became its own song, aptly called “Sittin’ On the Can.”

Thus, my songwriting style began to take form, although I never would have called it that at the time. There were never any melodies involved; just some silly rhyming words that made me and others giggle. But, as destiny would have it, the OEC house was filled with hippies and a lot of old, shoddy couches. Sometimes the couches were on the lawn, or on the front stoop…and they were often adorned with guitars.

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