jeff conlin - fall 2005 archives

(short weekends start w/longing)
I hope my writing doesn't come across as a series of complaints and why mes. I don't think it does, but I just spent the last couple of minutes looking at last year's entires just to check. I can't believe its been a year since mom's passing. Feels like either a month or a decade depending on the day. It happened in a time of great change and personal growth anyway... but... that's not what I'm on tonight.

A little web nostalgia had me looking around at other peoples' sites, or at places I once frequented. Had no idea SabMag member Ed Rogers passed on last December. Another one of those head-scratchers, as he was possibly one of the most vocal (almost to a fault) safety nuts out there when it comes to riding.

Again, not a death-focused mourn rant... but more, what captivated me were the compendium of emails that followed his passing, much like that of Egons, or anyone who had a loosely-knit community that frequently masqueraded as family.

Dave, arguably one of the most influential people in my establishment as a motorcyclist, after picking apart the dark irony of someone like Ed being in a fatal crash, responded with what is often processed as a cliche, but should be anything but... "Live every day is if it may be your last."

I think the last few years of my life have seen that philosophy growing stronger. Hell, right now I'm sitting on my rickety front porch with a bottle of screw-top wine and a very expensive cigarette (I started occasionally smoking shortly after my mother's first heart attack... go figure). The "every day as your last" mentality is obviously tempered with Sara's favorite, the "all things in moderation" mentality, but I stress the all in "all things"

While it doesn't surprise me, it does sadden me when I see people so focused on attaining one goal, on achieving one dream, regardless of its inherent good of bad, that they lose sight of the daily triumphs and tragedies, the supreme tragic comedy of everyday life. So often lately, my reflexive utterance of, "Its been a tough couple of years," is supposed to come out more like, "It's been a remarkably beautiful interplay of overwhelming emotions"... but I'm afraid not everyone can immediately relate to that statment like they can, "... a tough couple of years."

My brief trip to Minnesota was very refreshing. There are few better feelings than simply being able to share in that beautiful interplay with someone who also gets it. The advantage there is that you're both usually looking at different things, but can relay your distant points of view to eachother, usually while smashed against eachother on the couch... after just having eaten the most incredible rack of ribs you've ever had (made by a Korean girl in an electric range in Minneapolis, no less - not some open pit soul food kitchen in Memphis... how bout that)

I'll stop being the front porch philosopher tomorrow and go back into the daily routine, but for right now, I feel compelled to remind anyone who still reads this to just think about the big picture, the poster board of photographs on display in the vestibule that make up the space between when you enter and when you leave... there are dark stretches in between the cheesy snapshots of all smiles and silly poses and clothing and haircuts that you'll regret in a decade... but they're usually responsible for, if not at least forgotten by, the sheer joy felt on that next moment around the corner.

I raked my yard today. Cut the grass. Twisted my ankle. Laid in the hammock. Went to the laundromat. Hit pause on the DVD player and slowly sat up as a cute little black mouse casually strolled into the middle of the living room floor, looking at me as if to say, "What the hell are you doing here?" And now, I really want ribs.

Best wishes to Tom and his family in their tough time. Best travel and adventure to Matt and the still-wandering monk formerly known as Kasima. Thanks to Dave and the other 'Maggots for setting this pose-uhh-rider down the right road. To Heather for the gloithannan sharing. And profound respect, support, and dreams of future couch-smashing to Sara.

(i've lost you, i've lost you)
Was hoping it'd be time to have one of those stupid one paragraph nonsense posts... but no. Today was one of those days that starts out easy enough, then just gets deep. Stupid deep.

Work went into a quick tailspin... and the more I think about it, I was probably more of an instigator than I'd like. But its the whole "why can't you just ignore everything else and function?" mentality. I can't anymore. I like that job, but maybe now just isn't the right time to be there. I need to be somewhere with slightly better morale; a place where I can be myself. I think I've lost a lot of that. I hate repeatedly saying, "Its been a tough couple of years," but it has. And I haven't stood up to it quite as well as I think I could have. Folks who really know me have noticed a difference... more edge, more cynicism. Not quite me. No good.

I was "allowed" to take three hours off to make it to Egon's memorial service. Talk about a kick to the gut. On a lot of levels. Egon may very well have been the best man who ever lived. I don't think any of his friends (and he had hundreds) knew the full picture of him. The service went for almost two hours, just because so many representatives of his multifaceted life spoke about his impact. Be it his Vietnam veteran friends, his executive VP at EDS, the kids he mentored through a variety of educational/self-improvement organizations, or the representatives of the many volunteer projects charities that he devoted just as much energy to as his full time job (often more). Moto went last, and concluded the service with each moto putting flowers in Egon's boots, symbolism he created to encourage walkers during moto duty on the 3-day Avon/Komen Breast Cancer events. The conclusion was one of the most raw waves of emotion I've had in a long time, and provided some much needed contrast.

I love memorials that are celebrations of life, affirmations of a job well done on this earth. Frankly, I was challenged and humbled at this particular one. Of course, I'd walk away from the most casual of conversations with Egon feeling energized and challenged. I want to return to having that effect on people. I remembered in the middle of the service, though, one of the last exchanges Egon and I had, wherein he said very enthusiastically (as usual), "You know, you're one of my favorite people." An honor when anyone says that, but it means even more now that I have a better glimpse into just how great he was. I really regret not spending more time with him. Isn't that always the case?

So then I went *back* to work. Luckily things were better, but still. Who is asked to go back to work after a close friend's funeral?

Took the long way home on the bike, ate dinner, listened to music on the good stereo (best ridiculous amount of money I've spent on anything next to the bike), and did some laundry. Went to Greektown to dry it (still no 220 line here), which allowed me to hang out with my cats. Talkted to a good friend whose new marriage is falling to pieces, and he is now the fourth Great Guy I know to be linked to someone who willfully disregards his patience and love and instead wants to push him away with drastic psychological and physical threats. I know the most violent domestic problems are male against female, but I wish there were more of an academic acknowledgement of the fact that not only do nice guys exist, but they're usually getting shit on. Its just sad. Life's too short, and when you're truly loved and respected, why throw it away for the sake of drama and power? Ehh, rants for another day.

Stress be damned, changes are coming and things are looking up. And right now, I'm going to Minneapolis. Why did I even bother doing laundry?

(aquamarine... aquamarine...)
Egon's actual motorcycle accident was fairly benign... washed out in a corner... possibly gravel, or entering a little too hot. I've been there before. Simple low speed lowside. No big deal. What actually killed him was a Jeep coming around the corner while he was getting back up. That's a tough one to take, and I'm not going to say anything about the Jeep driver because I don't know the details, but it makes you wonder.

Motorcyclists go over every hill, around every corner, and through every turn anticipating something not being right on the other side. It could be something as simple as gravel, a fallen tree, or in most cases, an idiotic driver in your lane, cutting corners or drifting across while adjusting the radio/phone/etc. I saw it four times just today.

*ALL* vehicle operators should drive anticipating the worst. As my dad said his dad always said... "Don't just drive yourself, drive everyone else." Last night I almost got nailed... going through a shopping center parking lot. I was going straight, and a woman in the opposing lane somehow managed to make a left turn RIGHT INTO ME. I saw her actually talking on the phone and looking behind her. I assumed the worst, and it came true. I gunned the bike right when she initiated the turn, just clipping the very back of my pannier, then looked forward and jammed on her brakes, looked at me as if somehow it was my fault, then looked scared to death, jammed on the gas, and took off before I could say anything. Just another day.

But I'm not complaining. I had an amazing day today. Nothing terribly special, just perfect weather, changing leaves, and about 250 miles on the bike, forgetting completely about daily stresses, and remembering why I love motorcycles and motorcyclists so much.

I've missed my old Glory Days of riding. Days I'd just get on the Magna or CB750 and find new places... which itself was just an outgrowth of that mystical feeling of being an 8 year old pedaling the BMX bike to the next neighborhood over and seeing what their people, houses, stores, and parks were like. That vibe is back, as is the urge to occasionally stop and take some pics. In light of Egon's passing, there's something kind of profound seeing a riderless bike in the middle of the local paradise. Or maybe I'm just bike-narcissistic.

(o captain my captain)
Dammit.

Just found out that Egon passed away on his bike out in West Virginia this past weekend. I'm not going to post a picture because I don't have any that show his big goofy smile clearly enough. He loved life no matter what, and had a way of energizing even the most apathetic, battle-weary troopers in the midst of volunteer Moto Safety duty. The last year or so was hard on him, but even the last time I saw him, instantly following a painful divorce and fighting prostate cancer, he had that massive smile, gave a giant bear hug, and talked about how happy he was and how we should get the DC Aidsride/Tour de Friends crew together and all go riding soon.

The dark, twisted irony in this is his hilariously sick fascination with the dark side of riding, always the one to pass on a gruesome video link of a bad stunter wreck, or the latest NHTSA fatality information... often with a laugh... just to keep everyone loose but mindful of the daily risks involved.

But I'm envious... it was a beautiful weekend, and the leaves in West Virginia are at their peak. If he was just away trying to clear his mind and enjoy himself doing what he loved most... I can't think of a better time for death to sneak up on you.

He was one of the genuinely good people out there, though, and his is truly a profound loss.

So since I'm without an adequate picture of Egon, I'll appeal to his dark side and post a well-meaning but obviously misinformed sign I found one day deep in the heart of West-by-God Virginny.

Not true. Gonna miss that guy.

(points for originality)
So we won. Apparently the difference between us and the second place band (great, long-time friend of mine Clarence Turner) was 1/3 of a point. They had the best set I have ever heard them play... but we did too. (apparently it will be rebroadcast on WPFW 89.3 shortly. I'll let ya know)

I'm not used to winning things. I'm not really used to competition. If you know me, you know I'm possibly one of the most uncompetitive people on earth. Blame it on being the little brother or whatever, but no matter what the event, I'm always the one finding ways to make it collaborative and fun-for-all.

But damn it feels good to win sometimes, especially when its something you regularly downplay in your life. Call it a gift, call it a hobby... but for some reason I just play blues organ. Apparently quite well. I don't really think so, but... hundreds of people feel otherwise, and along with the guitar skills of Andrew, bass vibe of Phil, and insane drum stylings of Billy... some of Washington's most trusted blues afficionados have decided that we're the best ones to represent DC in the international blues competition.

Yeah, its all a big joke anyway. Luckily Clarence knows that. He's been kicking ass for the last 4 years trying just to get recognized as one of the best blues men in the DC area, and for that reason combined with the phenomenal set, I pretty much assumed they were going to win anyway. Of course, the very idea of a blues competition sort of going against the core definition of the music itself... but whatever. We won! And We're going to play our fool asses off down there, and more importantly, have the time of our lives (again).

Coming home, I had a great seeing-through-the-fog moment, which I need dearly right now. I'm only 27. I have a house, a car, a motorcycle, a strong family despite rapid attrition, good friends, critical recognition for my artistic endeavors, a special little lady thinking about me 1,000 miles away, and, right now, an open bottle of wine. Things aren't so bad. And if something in my life is so bad, what's the reasoning for sticking with it? (re: the work rant below) This next few weeks should have some interesting developments, I think.

(iridescent grid)
"Tribe" is a great concept. Beyond brotherhood, friendship, or like-the-cut-of-your-jib-ness. If you're tribe, its a primal basis of understanding... elements of survival, respect, and shared destiny. I only bring it up because at a blues gig in Gaithersburg of all places last night, a piratey looking guy approached me and said, "You and me... we're tribe." Turns out he was one of my uncle's best friends through the 80s and 90s. Performance artist, musician, poet, madman, burnout... my uncle was an amazing guy who passed on just as I was beginning to really be able to appreciate him. But being able to swap stories and hear how his social circles thought of him, completely out of the blue in one of DC's most generic whitewashed suburbs of all places, was a very cool perk in an otherwise very stressful week.

I'm on a hair trigger at work... for some unexplained reason, finding it incredibly difficult to subject myself to further stress and strain there for no seeming gratitude. My brother and I have talked about this at length this week... we don't ask for much when giving our all, but its a lot easier to give 110% when the person who is ultimately benefitting (be it a coach, a boss, or the owner of the business) is at least able to say, "Hey, you're doing a hell of a job." No, all I seem to be hearing about lately are the minor details that, compared to the major concepts involved in keeping the business strong and moving forward, are relatively insignificant. Now I wholeheartedly realize that I've never owned a business, and the viewpoint is different from the top, but after the amount of quality work we've achieved in the last few months, all the while being painfully understaffed and overstressed, we're all on edge, and would much rather hear, "Hey, great job. Here are some small things to work on from here on out." versus, "Why can't you do this better?"

The managers and employees who have been there longer are all telling me, "Ehh, just get used to it, don't take it personal... that's how things work here. So long as we just get everything done well and keep in mind it will never be enough anyway, we all can pick up a check, go home, and drink half a bottle of wine to forget about it all for 12 hours."

Idealistically, I'd like to say I never want to be in that kind of job, there's just no excuse to live life like that. However, it would be a lot easier to do that if I were making remotely decent money. Not that we're underpaid... its just the wrong field to be in to expect a healthy check regardless of workload. So in the end, its an incredible amount of work, mostly unappreciated, for very very little money... and little idealistic payoff (originally the passion of motorcycling was the draw, but the high percentage of dick customers has eaten away at that as well).

Surely I could be overworked, underpaid, and at least come home with more of an idealistic payoff, right? Not to mention 75% off tuition at Hopkins...

Last night was Colin's Halloween party at Housewerks. Amazing building, amazing party.

Omar (who pretty much is Jack Skellington) casually commented that parties like that, and places like Bayard Station just don't exist in DC. Its true. DC has no respect for its history as a place, only as an idea.

Baltimore, on the other hand, does a great job defining itself by its history, and holding on to (most) of it. But that's a long ramble for another day.

(Colin, drumming, in his Vampirate Cowbunny costume, in front of the "Mister Jones and his GIGANTIC 6-foot beard" banner from a long-forgotten carnival)

I satisfied a long-time dream of mine of riding through the city while wearing a tux. Actually, I'd have preferred to ride through DC, with an aluminum attache case handcuffed to me, while wheelieing past the State Department... but maybe later.

Care to join Daddy in some whisky, baseball, or DEATH?

Off to blues ourselves straight down to Memphis. Again. Yes?

(whoosh)
Wow. So its 40 degrees and windy outside. Its 55 degrees inside. I fired up the furnace an hour ago to warm it up to a whopping 63. Now its back down again. By my rough estimates, it will cost me about $29,873.34 to keep the house at a barely liveable temperature through this winter. Which I think is more than my gross income this year. Excellent.

Back doing more music (need the money more than anything), mostly with the Westcotts, though I'll have the home studio hooked back up this week and can do my own thing more. Hopefully some new projects will get underway this winter locally as well. I'll need to occupy my time.

I have a lot to say, but am not sure what of it really applies. I love that. I need to just sleep. And try to stay warm. Wool socks, ahoy. Kitties too, hopefully this wekeend.

Would you be my friend if?

(Stadsvandringar)
Setting deadlines is the only way I get anything done. Realized that 90% of the house coming together took place in the last week and a half, primarily because I knew Sara was going to be here Weds, and the party was going to be Sat. And in that time this place turned form a dirty, empty wreck, into a clean, furnished, semi-wreck.

It was great having folks over if only to validate my choice of living here. After so many contractors question my sanity, the input of folks who I know and trust saying, "we get it," helps.

Only about half the folks I was expecting showed up, but that was great, because everyone there was brilliant in their own way (or else why would they be my friends), and watching them all interact on different levels was amazing. ...from what I could remember. I believe I was pretty toasty.

Michelle agrees.

However, Omar showed up and everything got tremendously serious.

Life gets back to "normal" now. For the first time in a few years. Maybe a little much to say right now, but it just feels like things are a lot better... having a newfound sense of place (literally and figuratively), as well as a more vivid sense of self than ever... never a bad thing. Drama on the periphery, as always, but not nearly as influential. Blah blah blah. I have lots of beer left over. And a kick ass home theater system. Movie night at my place this weekend. Rock.

Next on the agenda - kicking ass at the DC Blues Society showdown. Some good friends are in the competition, and I don't want to upset any longstanding allegiances... but Daddy wants togo back to Memphis this year, and either way, I'm going to. There are evangelists to fight.

(ruining America)
Saturday, Hausvarmen Party, Come on by - 6pm on.

Laid back, low-key... my kind of thing. Everyone's invited. I'll have a grill, beer, sodas... maybe other stuff. Maybe not. Whatever. Its that kind of house - heck, its only had furniture for a week. We'll be outside mostly anyway. (Too many people inside and it might get bloody)

For the Washington-ish-ians :
Your favorite x95 North.
I-695 E Towards Glen Burnie
Exit 3A - MD-2 North (follow ramp all the way around to merge)
Up the hill, RIGHT at Church St. (second light) Go 1 mile.
LEFT at Virginia Ave.
4601 Virginia Ave.

Ferra Bawlmern's :
Geau east ranny Beltway, tourwards Glimburny.
Git owff'a exit Free A, allaway ranny ramp, onna teau norf.
Gup dill, just passa Creab Shack, right adda sneawbauwl stand
Passa liquor store anna EZ-Bee, left onna Birchinya Abnu
fauwr sicks eauow wonn, Birchinya Abnu. Oer by Mikey!

(let's try it one more once)
The first property offense on this block in 10 years... 3 weeks after I move in. But I just saw the most attractive police officer ever. And I'm getting ahead of myself.

Around 1am, I had just turned off the TV and was walking upstairs when I hear a banging on my front door. Awww, crap (Do I go get the .38 now?)

Scrawny white kid with basketball jersey says, "Hey man, did someone break into your car just now? 'Cause they did mine. "

Hmm.

I walked out to my driveway and found my car's hazard lights on. And the front seats both reclined. And the dashboard torn apart. And stuff thrown around. And here we go again.

My neighbor's son-in-law's voice was sort of fuzzy. Fast. Distinctly south Baltimore. "...n' I sawed your lights on, n' my shit's all messed up, n' I saw you was sittin' in your living room an thought you ain't just come home so I knocked on your door and my dad saw 'em runnin' that way... n' that just don't happen round here."

Sorry man, I think I brought it with me.

I went inside, grabbed my phone, called the ever familiar 311 non-emergency response number, and halfway through waiting for an answer, I heard, "Holy shit, look oer there!" One block over, someone was sitting in ol' Mike's truck, trying to hotwire it. (Mike's the rockstar who just makes this neighborhood soar to new heights of south Baltimore greatness.)

Son-in-law took off running. I cancelled the 311 call and shifted to 911. "We have multiple larceny from vehicle, and the suspect is being chased by one of the victims. Come quick. Please."

"Multiple? And you're currently pursuing the suspect?"

"No, I'm not," suddenly I hear two loud cracks. Then another. "Uhh, someone else is, and you need to be here now."

Son-in-law's wife's voice comes into focus, "N' I don't need this shit here now 'cause nothin' happens oer here, and I can't afford to get a new stereo, and i hope they kill that sumbitch 'cause if they don't I..." her voice trails off as I run full speed down the street to see what the hell those cracks were. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I can't let that poor scrawny kid take on however many folks are involved in this crap alone... and I've got enough pent up Irish rage to kill a small army.

I turn the corner, and in a moment of absurd glee, I see Mike, grey mullet shining golden in the mercury vapor light

, no shirt, zubaz pants, Marlboro menthol dangling from his mouth, kicking a scrawny white junkie in the face, barefooot. "You dumb motherfucker. (thud)". The sound of skin-covered bone on skin-covered bone is one of those ones that is so subtly unnerving that it makes you wonder why movies take the trouble of dubbing in such a ridiculous "poosh" over every hit and kick.

"Easy, easy, easy.... let the city take care of him from here, bro. Its just a stereo."

"Oh, you mean this?" Mike holds up what appears to be my car's Sony head unit, sinewy cables and frayed wires dangling from it like tendons and veins. He then looks at the junkie, "which felt better, motherfucker? Running away with it, or having it smacked upside your dumb fuckin' head?"

So that's what the cracking noises were.

Everyone apparently knows everyone, and five voices all trail off into static. I stand there, thinking just how strange it is looking at the sad, empty eyes of someone who just stole from you, still reeling from last month, much less a similar car breakin back in 1999. Its impossible to look at the pitiful whimpering junkie, slowly rocking crosslegged on the asphalt, begging for a cigarette, apologizing to everyone... and not feel a little bit sorry for him. He's not a pro. Hell, he's not even an amateur.

Then Officer Kam showed up. With her pony tail, her cuffs, her gun. I could go into more detail, but out of respect for the badge, and general decency (pffft) I'll just say that it made getting broken into (again) far more enjoyable. My short hair and phonetic-alphabet skills made her furrow her brow and cock her head to one side, "Are you an officer?"

"No... just a fan." (and a total fucking dork)

Its clear she was new, and the other officers that showed up were giving her pointers while cuffing the junkie and throwing him in the van. But this case is hers. 15 minutes later, she knocks on the door to get a few more details, Marlboro menthol dangling from her lip. "You don't mind showing up if this goes to court do you?"

Not at all. Go get 'em, Officer Kam-

(boom boom boom)
Last night, I left work at 8:30pm and took the long way home. That meant jumping over the Bay Bridge to the eastern shore, into Delaware, over the Chesapeake/Delaware canal, then down 95 into Baltimore. 185 miles vs. the standard 12. I needed that.

Thursday is always errand day. Went to the MVA this morning. Like a scene from a bad sitcom, I walked to the main desk, received my number, and was told, "Step over there and you'll be called shortly." It was about 10:35am, and I was handed number "E478". I looked up at the digital readout, indicating they were on "D80". I ran 3 other errands around Baltimore, then took a drive to Annapolis to go to the Only Good Home Depot In the World, got lunch, got my car washed, and took a leisurely drive back. Walked into the MVA around 3:45pm and they were on E440. Luckily, enough people bolted from the wait, that I got taken care of quickly. Found out I had an unpaid parking ticket in College Park from December of 2000. I had just bought the Nissan, and it still had temp tags. I figured they wouldn't link it to temp tags... guess they did. $30 five year old ticket paid, plus the MVA's all-new mandatory $30 "processing fee". Maryland drivers beware - pay parking tickets immediately...

Mashups are getting really good... considering you don't really need much artistic skill to make them. I wasn't all that blown away by the Grey Album. I admired the ambition, but it wasn't really listenable (maybe it was just Jay-Z's voice). But the bar is continually being raised. Heck, it makes Kelly Clarkson sound good.

Kelly Clarkson vs. Frank Black (damn you, Heather)

Kelly Clarkson vs. American Analog Set (DAMN YOU, Heather!)

Grandmaster Flash vs. Modest Mouse

and perhaps the most absurdly wonderful :
Electric Six vs. Prodigy vs. The A-Team

But audio is easy. (I was doing similar re-editing of songs at 12 back in 1990 with two variable-pitch tape decks.)

Video takes a whole other dimension of skill. If you haven't seen this yet... I can only hope its the wave of the future: re-cutting of films into trailers for a completely different genre.

West Side Story as a suspenseful biological thriller.

The Shining as a heartwarming tale of love and inspiration.

Genius.

It's damn cold. I love it. Orion poked his ugly head up above the horizon tonight around 1am. You know what that means... (you do? nerd!)

(brand new leopardskin pillbox hat)
My house's hot water smells like bread. I like the smell of bread. But not when I'm taking a shower. Frankly, I'm better off just not thinking about it at all. New water heater installs next week. New electrical next week. Rolloff dumpster to get rid of all the debris this week. New LR paint and furniture... its coming together.

Remember... Saturday, 10/15... come by, say hi, drink a Boh (whole case in the refrigerator... $5).

Played a blues jam for the first time in... years? Ran into guitar player (and Ferrari/Mini/BMW collector) Jim Rosenthal at work last weekend, and he filled me in on a surprisingly good Sunday night jam at South River Cafe right outside Annapolis. Its always a nice feeling, too, playing for new folks and getting good feedback. Still looking more at developing a new sound on my own this winter... but occasional jams keep you feeling like a part of the community.

Speaking of music, Matt sucked me into a standard blog meme (5 current favorite songs and why) and because not much else writeworthy is going on... here you go :

Having all of your music stolen, especially after a very music-heavy emotionally overwrought year tends to really shake things up. Dare I say it, I haven't been glued to the speakers much lately. Once the house gets a little more settled, I think I'll be setting out on a massive new music expedition.

. 9x9 - Benevento/Russo Duo - Best Reason to Buy the Sun (2005) epic, rhythmic, organic but with a loop-based modern structure... and odd timing that keeps you thinking

. Because/You Never Give Me Your Money - Booker T & the MGs - McLemore Ave (1970) Memphis' best ever soul band covering the Beatles. Nothing bad about that at all

. Unclean Waters - Dirty Dozen Brass Band - Buck Jump (1999) if ever there was a theme song for Hurricane Katrina's aftermath, perfectly delivered by one of New Orleans' most popular acts - saw them live in Minneapolis just after the storm

. Untitled - Languis - Orange (2005) a modern but authentic homage to the likes of Can and early Kraftwerk... real drums, layered ambiences, driving bassline... good thinking/driving/riding music

. I'll Play the Blues for You - Albert King - I'll Play the Blues for You (1972) at once both mournful and flirtatious... classic soul/blues with a great progression and Albert's smooth voice and guitar work.

Talking with Sara in the midst of her edu-legal hell results in new daydreams filled with ideas of a trip to Japan next year... or maybe a few months living in Ireland and trying to get a celtic/blues/soul band together... who knows? Trying to just exist in the moment for a while. In that vein... where the hell is everyone else?

(sad songs are nature's onions)
Just watched a documentary on Greg Brown, courtesy my favorite people in the universe, Aaron and Tessa Rendahl. Greg is an Iowan folk singer who made a name for himself in Minneapolis, but chose the narrow road of independent labels, small town circuits, and keeping close to the family farm. Really good stuff. It accompanied two CDs they sent to set my new music collection off on the right foot. Nicest thing I think anyone's done for me in a long time.

Oh, I'm in the new house. Slept here for the first time last Saturday, following an evening of deep personal deconstruction of our respective last years with Kasima. My solution involves starting over in a new place. So does his, only as a Buddhist monk in Thailand. I'm jealous. I could use a year in paradise living simply and basing my needs on the kindness of strangers. I could use a renewed faith in mankind right about now... but its getting there.

There's a room in my new house. Its supposed to be a dining room, but who needs one of those? Bachelors eat standing up in the kitchen, or on the couch. Or in the car. Never in a dining room. No, this room between my kitchen and living room is actually a dream I've had since I was about 8. It has five keyboards and a boatload of recording gear all set up and ready to go. There's extra room for other musicians, and microphones can be run anywhere in the house for vocals. I've been musically burned out for about the last year (general indication of mental health, really), and my goal is to get back into it on my own, keeping the ability for collaboration wide open, but not focusing too much on playing out.

The Greg Brown doc really reignited my desire to play with Mike Roy again. I'm sure living on a farm in NC with a new wife and a child takes precedence... but it should also be some serious songwriting fodder. Have laptop, microphones, motorcycles, and wanderlust... will travel. On that note, Sara mailed me some CDs as well, and her copies of the pix of last years' cross-country trip. Rebuilding the good memories is easier than I thought it would be (with a little help from folks who care).

Been waiting for Comcast to get here for the last 4 hours. The electrician came by and had a lot to say. Mostly in the vein of, "Wow. This isn't good." He'll call me later with an estimate. I don't think that's good... but the ability to cook and dry clolthes is sort of a big deal.

Well, it will be a long road, no question... but the first steps are done. I love sleeping here, my room is set up, the sound of birds and crickets totally trumps sirens and rat footsteps.

So join me. Put October 15th on your calendar. It will be the busiest day of work all year (Oktoberfest), but afterwards, around 6pm or so, I'm going to have a casual little shindig involving nothing more than a grill, some picnic tables, lots of beer, and anyone who wants to come by. Hopefully, a lot of people will.

9/15/05 - 2:22am EDT (giant steps)
Sleeping in my bed for the first time in a week and a half (I hate that couch, but I didn't have the energy or mental drive to deal with the room much until now). Figured out why the pillows were out of their cases... apparently the geniuses didn't plan ahead and needed something to carry everything else out with. So the laptop, movies, PS2, some of Tom's stuff AND my nice pillowcases are gone. The assholes also took my Yes watch. Now, on my childlike wrists, it was more or less a boat anchor... but still, from a collector's perspective, it was without a doubt the most fascinating timepiece I've ever seen (definitely not a "watch").

I have a new computer, the music collection is coming back together slowly (the amazing folks at Apple let me re-download every iTunes purchase I've made. That's a rare thing from what I understand... maybe sweet-talking them and reminding them I'm a Switcher helped.)

As when my 35mm camera was stolen from my car with undeveloped portraits of my grandfather as well as the travelogue my then-band's last cross-country tour... its going to take a while to let go of the sentimental weight of the photographs. Sure, most of them are up here, but in 800x600 resolution. Definitely not suitable for archival/framing purposes. Pictures of my grandmother, my mom... the two of them together. The last couple of family holidays when we resembled something more familial. Not trying to sound over-dramatic... but still... those days are gone, and the main conduit to their memory has been taken. Sucks.

I requested Friday and Saturday of this week off a few months ago to help out with Hero of the Day (the illegitimate stepchild of the AIDSrides), but was denied because we were so understaffed. Then, out of the blue, I find out I have Friday and Saturday off now... and have already cancelled my travel plans. But I haven't really moved for shit yet. So here we go. Andy's moving into the house as I move out, so I'm going to be working pretty much non stop from Thursday night to Sunday night moving, setting up, and fixing up the new place. Daunting, but in the end, it will be nice to have a place to actually call home, in the truest sense.

I'm tentatively planning for a Sunday afternoon housewarming throwdown some time in mid-October. Details posted soon... when I figure out how long it will take to make that cute little piece of crap somewhat presentable. Ahem... I mean *MY* cute little piece of crap. Now who wants mufflers?

9/11/05 - 2:02am EDT (infinite loop)
Who's sexy?

Yesterday I left work on a borrowed bike (strongly considering acquisition, but decided I'd be dead or imprisoned sooner than later), then had to run one special errand. I called Sara, "I'm on a Ducati, and I just got a Smith & Wesson."

A brief second of silence was followed by, "Wow... that's hot."

I found her finding that hot to be h-o-t.

I'm still kind of pissed at the whole burglary thing... but so life goes. I likened it to losing a whole two and a half years of my life... to which Dukr reminded me, "those two and a half years sucked anyway, right?". True that. To new things-

Got a new computer (1.42GHz iBook with Superdrive), and love it. Held out in the Windows world long enough. Made Windows machines do things they were never meant to. SCSI, USB, Firewire, video, multitrack audio, etc. Know Windows inside and out, but XP is just awful, and Microsoft has gotten worse in general. Of course, I was doing most of this stuff on a 7MHz Amiga with 4MB RAM in '92, so I laughed when the salesman told me I should strongly consider getting the $2300 Powerbook for fear the 1420MHz, 512MB iBook wouldn't be "capable".

Marking a true rebuilding effort - the new laptop's music library has a strange initial offering : Marumari remixes, Christian McBride's Philadelphia Experiment, Wayfaring Strangers, Bloc Party, and Sonny Stitt and Don Patterson at the Left Bank. They just happened to be lying on the coffee table. Actually, I also figured out how to salvage what's on my pair of iPod Shuffles into the new collection, so I'm up to 486 songs from nothing. In a twisted irony (is there any other kind?) the very first random song played from the new collection was Stanley Turrentine and Shirley Scott doing, "They Can't Take That Away From Me." No shit.

Now that I've got a computer, I can at least put a few pix from the Wisconsin excursion up...

9/7/05 - 11:24am EDT (THE worst of humanity)
Someone broke into the damn house.

Had an excellent time in Minneapolis. Saw the famous State Fair, saw Garrison Keillor live with special guests The Dirty Dozen Brass Band (with an amazingly upbeat tribute to New Orleans), explored the remote Apostle Islands National Lakeshore in northern Wisconsin... ate way too much food... that sort of thing

Came home feeling ready to jump into fall. Finish moving, work on the house, get back in shape, all with more free time and less commitments than this summer allowed me... and the first order of business was just putting some great pictures I took at Apolstle Islands up on the website.

Turns out, while I was gone, someone broke into the house (in Greektown) via the bomb-shelter sort of false basement room. They completely ransacked the place, but left most of the valuables.

Of course, what they took is irreplaceable. My laptop, with 40GB full of photographs and music, emails and letters, basically the last two and a half years of my life... and all of my DVDs... and my Playstation.

The keys to the bike were right there, the nice stereo, the TVs, the DVD players... take anything, its all insured. But leave my memories and my music. Its one thing to have your privacy broken, your sense of security shattered, and have to clean all that mess up, but then to take the one thing that can never be replaced...

But at this point, its just to be expected... not sure what else can go wrong this year, but sure enough you can read about it here when it does.