The rest of the weekend involved complete and total resignation
to The Jack Bauer Power Hour, as we finally join 2002 and dive into "24".
13 hours into it, its predictable, over-the-top, and completely addictive. I'm
especially digging on the amount of Mercury Grand Marquis action shots.
New round of random photos
up, just clearing space on the cameraphone. Debauchery at Taco Fiesta, Greek
independence day, Nathan Scott Phillips being cute, and the first look at the
new BMW K1200S. Whee.
4/29/05 - 9:22pm EDT (he
hagia kai megale paraskeue)
I was upstairs, windows open, enjoying the general din of the city while putting
away laundry and entertaining the kittens... when one of those beautiful, surreal
moments that this neighborhood tends to crank out occured.
Both cats' ears perked up, as did mine, when a chorus of female voices echoed
an ancient melody, bouncing off the geometric masonry of 8 city blocks. The reverberation
added an even further angelic effect to the sound, as the sirens' voices were
joined by a host of others in the second verse. The tune was complex and foreign
to my ears, but profoundly powerful... I was drawn out the back door, into the
alleyway, and up the street. Literally hundreds of people stood in the streets
surrounding St. Nicholas Church (the community hub of Greektown's namesake), dressed
in black clothes and holding large candles. Above the omnipresent orange glow
of the city's sodium-vapor streetlights, the church entrance flickered and glowed
a bright yellow, as the people's dark features and sharp, intent faces were contrasted
brightly by the candlelight. Tonight is the orthodox observation of Good Friday.
Other neighborhood residents were drawn out, the clash of cultures was entertaining
if not sort of sad. My-first-thugg-life boys making fun of two thousand year old
traditions, while gaggles of trashy teenage girls giggled and shouted at eachother
while flirting mercilessly with anyone in line of sight.
But that's all to be expected in a city in transition, and is even kind of heartwarming
in its own right. That such a strong core community still exists, as other parts
of the city are being flooded with either gentrification or poverty, it amazing...
and their presence and active role in the neighborhood is surely being noticed.
The shut-ins leaned out their upstairs windows holding candles, looking solemnly
up the hill, singing meekly. Greek flags still fly all over, left from the Greek
Independence Day parade a few weeks ago. License plates from Virginia and Pennsylvania
fill the streets tonight, and all of the restaurants lining Eastern Ave. are closed.
Now, back at the house, the sole voice of a cantor reciting melodically stories
and verses in Greek can be heard, bouncing and echoing out of time with the brash
clang of a large bell. Not knowing a word of Greek, nor understanding any near-eastern
music theory... I can still clearly feel the emotion and intent of the service.
The neighborhood kids are probably bored and off doing something else, while not
a single siren nor helicopter has been heard in the last 45 minutes.
4/28/05 - 12:18pm EDT (do you realize?)
Well that's more like it. I think instead of some cathertic resolve, I was pushed
to more of a concessionary "Ehh, screw it." point. The catharsis may
well have been just typing for an hour.
I've been more... silly, for lack of a better word (I hear Stewie Griffin saying
that)... than I've been in quite a long time. Still anxious about the house (no
idea what my chances are at this point), but however it works out will be ok in
the long run.
Jamaica looms, and I can't wait. Kasima and I have already began discussing plans
of a coup d'etat while we're there. Arrange for US corporate sponsorship of all
facets of Jamaican government and commerce... should be pretty easy to put in
place, and wind up paying off in a complete and stable leisure state. "Jamaica,
by Altria." Kasima has agreed to be the "Secretary of Fuckit... Whatever"
Picked up a last minute gig in Bethesda with Clarence Turner. I've definitely
missed playing good blues lately. Problem is, none of the blues I was playing
recently was remotely good. Clarence is... when he's got the right folks behind
him. Tonight should be good.
Last night, Rachel tried to hook me up with great women of world history on the
Dead Celebrity Soulmate
Site. I wound up being most compatible with Frida Kahlo and Evita Peron. Joan
of Arc was a distant 3rd. I guess its better luck than I've ever had on Onion/Salon/Nerve.
4/24/05 - 2:42pm EDT (a way to make you smile)
You know those types of movies (usually starring Ben Stiller... or Buster Keaton)
where an affable, nice-guy type is hit with a series of catastrophes, unfortunate
coincidences, and/or things "just not working out", and you can do nothing
but watch and sympathize as he tries to maintain an even keel, knowing full well
something even more fucked up is right around the corner, waiting for him?
Its standard theatric comedy theory... a little
misfortune gets an emotional response, a little more gets a laugh, even more gets
a much stronger emotional response, even more brings the viewer to utter discomfort...
hold them... hold them... then a little more results in the brain caving to the
surreality of it all and hiding behind riotous laughter rather than attempting
to sort out the facts.
I'd much prefer Buster Keaton in my role right now. Not so much Stiller. Well,
maybe a young, pre-Zoolander Stiller.
The house, to put it lightly, could use some
structural work. It was to be expected, sure, but I wasn't counting on the
need for hydraulic jacks (though, honesty, that's kind of cool in its own right).
I don't have the money or know-how to pull this off, or if I did... I think it'd
be a long, drawn-out nightmare. Then again, pretty much any house that an underemployed,
single guy living in the mid-Atlantic can afford is going to be one. All part
of the experience, right? Jury's still out on this one, but time is running out
fast. Its just too hard to walk away from this.
Was looking at a very good condition used BMW R1150RS
that came into the shop on a trade. Not that I have any money to spend, and technically
I have a $6000 motorcycle of my own
already, (but it wound up being -surprise- a lemon and I haven't had the time
or money to fix it. I could, though, then sell it and get this BMW...) Anyway.
Took it out the first day on some errands, battery died in the middle of Main
Street Laurel. Push started it... uphill... on a 90-degree day... in leather...
4 times... before it worked. The next day, with a fresh battery, I took it home,
but chose to take the longest, winding, twisting route I could come up with. Once
onto 108 heading west, the engine bucked, kicked, sputtered, and died. Considering
the still-unresolved drama with my own bike, and the story of my last one... I'm
convinced I'm cursed and am reconsidering the whole motorcycling passion to begin
with. No shoulder, two-lane country road at night... bad idea, so I push it uphill
again, about 1/4 mile, to a driveway. Rachel (in the middle of a 19 hour workday)
picks me up, has a meltdown about her own craptastic day, then heads back to work.
Two days later, the techs find out that the fuel gauge sensor was stuck. That's
all. It said I had gas when there was none. I'm a moron.
Oh, and still no word on my car, but last I heard, it's not totalled... so I guess
that's good.
Speaking of Rachel... a long, honest, and surprisingly stable conversation with
her the other night solidified a lot that I figured on already, but hoped wasn't
the case. She's a very stubborn and control-oriented person, and sometimes subjects
herself to something she doesn't want just to prevent losing dominance. I know
it doesn't make grammatic or rational sense. And while she seemed to have no problem
falling for me while she had a "boyfriend", that's not the case when
he dumps her like the pitiful coward he really is. Despite all I've done for her
in the last few months, what was once there, is now just... nothing. Not like
I'm trying to bribe her... it just doesn't make any sense to me at all. But in
the end, the pattern continues, and she becomes, what, #3? #4? The nice guy curse.
Kim recently said she thinks I intentionally seek out and thrive in the whole
'i can't live without you, but I can't be with you, you're too good to me, blah
blah blah' role. Yeah. 'Cause I absolutely heart being right back here,
yet again... (though I guess there is something inherently Irish about it all).
Speaking of which, Kim and Mike's wedding was yesterday. Against the advice and
expectations of most, I went, and frankly, I thought it was beautiful. I got out
of work late, was stuck in traffic, then the heavy rain started. I walked into
the sanctuary, soaking wet, just as their vows were starting. Was half-tempted
to pull a Graduate just for fun, but... didn't. I'm happy for them, and I think
they've got a great future. I guess in some way I was hurt during the reception,
though. Some of her family was really happy to see me, and some seemed to shun
me altogether. The toasts and speeches were about how perfect and effortless their
relationship is, and how no one was more loved and respected. Standard wedding
protocol, I know... but (fully admitting she and I were just not compatible on
the long-term), I feel like the 4 years we spent together, most of which were
spent working through some serious mental and emotional blocks leftover from earlier
in her life, were completely forgotten... or worse... chalked up to "yet
another bad mistake before everything magically got perfect for some reason."
But that's just my problem... because honestly, no one else really cares anymore,
and why should they?
I did, sadly, have to walk out in the middle of the reception once the first dance
started and they played what I had always held and understood to be "our"
song. Nope... that's it... leave it to music to push me over, but Daddy's
had a very long week/month/year/years and its time to go.
Actually, I did have to go anyway. Plenty of catsitting to do. No big surprise,
I'm watching Nathan Scott Phillips (Rachel's mom even made me cookies saying,
"Thanks for taking care of my grandson"), as well as my Tiff while dad's
away. Slept in Bowie last night and half-hoped mom's spooky ghost would come hang
out and hit me with some insight on everything going on lately. She always believed
in things like that, so I figured why wouldn't she hang around there? Well, if
she did, she didn't say anything... but I think she moved my spoon at some point.
I don't remember putting it in the sink. I do, however, remember the resolution
I made to purchase a high-end shiatsu massage chair. Amazing.
So with no supernatural urging, where I stand right now is something like this
: 1. True gratitude and recognition are two different things, and seldom do they
meet. You're not going to get a big shiny trophy (and most of the time, you self-centered
jackass, you don't deserve one to begin with), but sometimes you do get to see
someone or something move onward and upward because of your dedication, which
is even better. 2. Everything good involves risk. Unfortunately, so does everything
bad. Everything just does. Unless you do nothing. Which is what I do most Sundays
anyway. 3. Typing out rambling diatribes and half-scaring any readers into thinking
I'm about to completely lose my shit is actually a very simple way to alleviate
stres and feel better once all is said and done. So are high-end shiatsu massage
chairs. F'n amazing.
I'm going to try to get the seller to cover the cost of reinforcing the foundation
and joists of the house. I'll handle the other problems. If he balks, he can take
$10k off the final price. If he balks again... it'll be a damn shame, and I keep
renting, I guess.
Maybe now's the time to start thinking about going to my aunt's empty place in
Colorado for a few months... on a BMW R-RS perhaps?
4/17/05 - 4:19am EDT (homebase)
Too late to write, but...
... mine.
(location,
location,
location)
4/15/05 - 12:49am EDT (birds and insulation)
Besides the fact that it has a front porch, is surrounded by parkland, has an
actual yard with big trees ready to support a hammock, a driveway, some new appliances,
an amazing city skyline view, tall vaulted ceilings in the large master bedroom,
and flower beds and boxes ready to go... a stone celtic cross sat on one corner
of the lot, and an old but hearty dogwood sat ready to bloom on the other.
If this wasn't supposed to be mine, it shouldn't have existed in the first place.
I signed the formal bid for my first ever home today.
aaaand... I'm a little nervous.
(much, much more to come, I'm sure)
4/9/05 - 12:59am EDT (blah2, more top5, 1978)
The business manager at the shop pulled me aside today and said we needed to talk.
She said that in the last few weeks, I've been noticably "distracted".
That's a good word for it. Very high stress levels outside of work are combining
with very high stress levels at work (compounded by the low - but reasonable considering
the industry - pay) and I'm burning the candle at both ends. No good. But it was
constructive... if nothing else, its great working somewhere that legitimately
cares about you enough to say when they're concerned about more than just the
bottom line (though that is obviously a big factor, too).
Ah well, let me distract you (and myself for that matter) with good music. Not
good music, great music. Here are two somewhat polar slots from my holy Top 5
list. Representing the Memphis Soul Sound that more or less defines my entire
existence... quite possibly the song I will hold up as "best damn song ever
recorded" : Eddie Floyd's "I've
Never Found a Girl". Closer to #5, and part of a 3-way-tie (naughty)
for the ambient/electro front... Hardfloor's "AM
Trip" (tied with Harthouse partners Cygnus X "Hypermetrical",
and WARP's Aphex Twin "Alberto Balsalm")
The former was one of the first powerhouse singles coming out of Stax following
the severance of ties from Atlantic Records (~1968), but preceeded most of the
post-MLK racial tension that sprouted up in-house. The MGs crafted what is possibly
the most Memphesian backing sound with Duck's heavily shuffled bassline playing
perfectly off Booker's downbeat piano chords and Al Jackson's trademark clock
drums. This was one of Booker's first (and best) string arrangements, complete
with a very funky pizzicato countermelody in Steve Cropper's guitar solo. Its
rare enough for strings to exist in Memphis soul, but these were even given the
space traditionally occupied by horns. Allowing the strings to hold their own,
the horns are reeled back into a small corner, but emit one of the most memorable
hooks under the second verse, later used as the head for Booker's classic, "Time
is Tight." As far as songwriting goes, stealing from the Old Testament and
saying good love is like "burning fire shut up in my bones" is about
as serious as it gets. Genius. I could listen to this song forever.
The latter was from the last days of Harthouse records (~1993), and also signalled
the end of a long-established production era of electronic music... sort of a
tribute album to the "acid" sound of super-minimalistic loop-based songs
utilizing nothing but early-80s Roland x0x synth boxes (TB303 for bass and lead
lines, TR808 and 909 for drums). I think the track would be stronger (at least
as a tribute) with the use of an ARP string synth rather than the unidentified
vector-based strings in this mix, but the epic nature of the strings and straightforward
drums, against the rarely-used triplet setting on the TB303 bassline makes for
even greater head-nodding potential. Late 1993 signalled the move to more sophisticated
production methods, sampling techniques, and eventual dominance of ProTools and
like products, so this (also being one of the last major releases from Hardfloor
and Harthouse respectively) is a standout on a lot of levels. The turboVolvo was
brought home many a late night to this, itself being a quirky silver box from
the early 80s much like the Roland TBs and TRs.
In an entirely different realm of the music spectrum, I saw the Trachtenberg
Family Slideshow Players tonight, and to be honest was a little underwhelmed.
Maybe it was part of the act, but the stage presence was almost uncomfortable
at times, though the general motivation, content, and delivery is thoroughly enjoyable.
If you haven't heard of them, its worth looking into, especially if you like multimedia
nerd-rock that could either be a scathing critique of American culture, or a sentinmental
look back at a more simple time. Or both. Or neither.
Ed
Schmidt.
4/8/05 - 1:10am EDT (blah)
Well, another awesome weekend came and went, spent mostly (surprise) in the company
of Rachel. A combination of soul barbecue, rock and roll (Water School, I love
you; Guy Werner, I love you almost as much), and Greek Independence Day tomfoolery
was nicely rounded off with too much ethnic food and alcohol, and a tour of some
secret Baltimore neighborhoods I'd love to be in shortly.
Then things went south. I had the flu for the last 2 days. Things kicked off nicely
with a full evacuation from every conceivable port over the course of 6 hours,
followed by extreme aches and pains, and a fever. 16 or so hours of sleep and
a jug of Gatorade later, things are looking up. Sorta.
Finally got the Nissan in for its post-railroad-crossing-of-death inspection,
and the shop was pretty sure it will be totalled. Yay. Exactly what I need right
now. I loved that car... reliable, quick, fuel-efficient, great-handling, removable
roof, spacious hatchback... and, well, it was paid for, with at least 3 good years
left in it. Bah. The official word comes tomorrow. I'll shut up for now.
Been looking into getting a place of my own lately, too. Just too poor to justify
throwing any more of my money away on rent. The real estate market around here
is enough to make me cry, and I'm pretty flexible when it comes to condition and
environment. On the upside, it turns out I've got stellar credit and can qualify
for "undocumented" loans. I think I'm gonna buy a $2m mansion for a
week or two, then re-sell it. Who wants to party?
The more I think about it, though, I realize that I'm just barely getting by,
and as much as this whole idealism kick has been good for me, it certainly isn't
doing much to provide a stable, relatively comfortable, even bohemian existence.
The cost of living around here is just high, and skirting the poverty line certainly
isn't doing me any good.
Big changes coming, I think. Not sure what, but something's got to give.
As much in the hole as I had to go to make it happen... the trip to Jamaica can't
happen soon enough.
via Bob's del.icio.us
acc't. :
Create your own South
Park character
Is it just me, or is that frighteningly close?
3/31/05 - 2:03am EST (cruel only to be kind)
Exercise your cat with technology.
Be sure to exercise
your car, too. Don't want either of them getting fat
and bored.
That's all for today.
3/30/05 - 1:36am EST (gots
no guacs)
A moment to gloat, as I hit you with a double shot of my music/geek credibility.
Not only can you download my live,
completely improvised New Years Eve set with funk gods Russell Batiste and
Stanley Perkins from Archive.org... you can also download me from iTunes! (Actually,
its Water School's blissful analog-tape pop masterpiece "Break Up with Water
School" album, but I'm on three tracks, dammit - speaking of which... keep
on reading).
Hate to keep harping on all things moody... so I won't. Great day, actually. My
friggin' car disaster is still unresolved, but the insurance company will look
at it today or tomorrow. Too bad I raised my deductible to offset the rate hike
back in the city, but oh well. Back in the gym with ferocity, great (painfully
suburban) night out with Rachel, and everywhere I drive dad's borrowed Grand Marquis
at night, people pull over and let me pass, assuming I'm a cop. I'll soak in my
respect any way I can get it.
NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS NEWS
HEY! LISTEN UP!
GREAT SHOW COMIN' YOUR WAY!
Saturday night, Talking Head Club, Baltimore
Listen as the wry, brash, jocose orgy of local nrrrd rock talent smashes a bottle
in your face and then makes you cry with a smile in each ear. Its your last chance
to catch the J
Roddy Walston machine before a slight hiatus (the last time I said it was
your last chance... was a LIE), plus I'll be sitting in with Water
School who, in addition the aforementioned album, have even better new songs...
and Goldbug (much like the Richard Scarry character who appeared in every page
of Cars
and Trucks and Things That Go) will keep you engaged, enraged, and unshaved,
with great dignity, no less. Wonderful, yes.
HEY! I'M NOT DONE!
REMEMBER FRIENDSTER?
ALWAYS WONDERED HOW THE GETFREESTUFF.COM SITES WORK?
LIKE THINGS LIKE BOOBIES, NATURE, AND CHILDREN?
THINK MYSPACE IS SUPER-SUPER CREEPY?
Seriously, if you answered "yes" to even just one of those, take a look
at the brilliance of Kasima's new project, "CauseAffect.org".
Combining all the perks of a good social-networking site, with a central theme
of charity, and using the tried-and-true internet model of linking to advertisements
and trial offers to raise money, they've got a great idea going. Its just started
and is still growing and maturing, but you can join up today, enhance your social
circle, get a few decent free/trial offers for products that are actually halfway
decent, and raise mad cash for your favorite charity in the process. Tell 'em
Daddy sent ya.
DCAR folks - I'm trying to get this hooked up for Food and Friends as a potential
addition to fundraising, not to mention keeping the massive social network of
like-minded folks together... keep checking back.
3/28/05 - 10:01pm EST (owned!)
3/28/05 - 12:23am EST (take,
eat)
The rainy drive home tonight was accompanied by Ethel
Barrymore reading the Easter story on a recording of a Mutual Broadcasting
Network "Family Theater" show from 1947. I always love WAMU's Sunday
night vintage rebroadcasts, especially around Christmas. Something warm and sentimental,
a connection with a world I only know from stories of my grandparents... but the
Easter story... not so much. The delivery and dialect of a stage actress born
in 1870 on a vintage tube microphone on heavily saturated old magnetic tape sound
adds an even more disturbing vibe to what Bob likes to call, "The Zombie
Jesus Story". (Though it was certainly more straight to the point than the
high-production-value song and dance numbers I remembered from the Mount Oak days.)
Anyway, this weekend started out with great promise and a fuzzy reunion vibe.
The Kat Parsons show was predictably surreal. In addition to Kat's excellent set,
I spent a lot of time catching up with friends I haven't seen in 9 years, yet
feeling like there was no gap in time at all. As typical with that kind of situation,
there were some moments of dark, selfish joy hearing (and spreading) the dirt
on mutual friends (or just my own dirt - as a recently-rediscovered picture of
Karen Lee, Kristin, Kim, and I at a party in 1995 provided some comic relief in
the back of my head).
Not as predictable was running into Repo, hearing about the place she's looking
to buy (preferably with someone else) in north Baltimore complete with 2-car garage
and separate apartment. I've started the process of finding my own place to own
(honestly can't afford to buy, but sure as hell can't afford to keep renting)...
and maybe splitting a place is the way to start. We'll see.
Also, an old friend from the theater department is looking to quit his business
position at a reputable magaine and get into more longform radio documentary production,
he just has no experience on the technical end of things. I've been aching to
get back into something like that, but have no concept of the business side. Of
course.
Saturday was the unveiling of the 2005
BMW Motorrad line, and work was a madhouse. Came home, dropped unconscious
on the couch for a few hours, then hung out with old college roommates Nate and
Shane at Brewer's
Art. They're both doing very well these days; Shane still holds down his gov't
day job, but is finishing a fleet of old VW hot rods in his spare time, and Nate
is playing with every metal torch known to man up at RISD in the graduate new
media program. I love a school where metalwork falls under "new media".
Later that night, Kasima and Cito were over in my neck of the woods doing... research...
for Bob's bachelor party, and called me over. On the way there I hit a railroad
crossing like no other on earth and bottomed out my car. You could feel the energy
transfer through the wheels, suspension, frame, body, seats, right up the spine.
All the idiot lights came on, then the oil pressure light stayed on. That usually
means you have about 10 seconds to total engine meltdown, so I pulled over and
had a quick look. A gallon or so of oil slowly oozed out from around my front
right wheel.
Sweet.
Honestly, I don't know enough about this car to even know where the oil pan is...
so I'm just hoping (though that would be really bad design) its there. I can't
imagine I punched the engine case itself, but... hell, anything's possible these
days. Towed it back to my neighborhood and had one chance to glide into a tight
parallel space... nailed it, thankfully. This morning, there was still some oil
dripping out. Poor thing.
Later, Andy came by, we relived
our childhood briefly, then headed to Dad's for steak, beer, politics, and
general family good times, as well as further coordination for the final resting
of Mom's remains. In a way that makes me kind of sad. Ashes are just ashes, but
oddly enough I've grown used to seeing them sitting on a shelf in their unassuming
plastic continer upstairs in my old room. The absurdity of that alone is I'm sure
a source of laughter to Mom somewhere. At one point, Dad mentioned how proud he
was that Andy and I were so self-sufficient. Andy and I exchanged facial expressions
better suited for the punch line of a dirty joke. Obviously, he didn't mean money
as Andy lives with his girlfriend and I'm sure I"m going to have to swallow
hard and raid the Bank of Dad here very shortly, but more in terms of identity,
emotions, beliefs, and general societal functionality... I never thought of self-sufficience
on those terms, but the more I thought about it, it made a lot of sense... maybe
I'm even too self-sufficient at times; giving exponentially more than I ask for
in return... not for any sort of self-congratulatory purpose, just the opposite.
I think its a combination of how we were raised, and personally, how I have always
sought to gain and keep friends. I guess in the end, I'd rather have my inner
shit together and be poor and single and mildly doormat-ty, than the other way
around (and it usually does seem to only work out only one of those two ways doesn't
it?), though frankly, its getting a lot more tiresome lately.
Tangentially, I tried sending a quick email to Kristin, and the mailer-daemon
came back with the automated message, "I'm afraid I can't deliver this message
to the address specified. This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't
work out."
I'm trying to find some witty way to tie this all together, but... not tonight.
3/25/05 - 1:38am EST (real estate)
Days off rule. Woke up late. Stayed on the couch and watched Harold & Kumar
Go to White Castle with Nathan Scott Phillips (not high as apparently required,
but was diggin' on some organic corn chips, hippie style)... went home, cleaned,
did laundry, then went out to dinner with Big Daddy.
In the same restaurant where one of my life's more poignant moments went down
a few months ago (drinking the same microbrew, no less), Dad and I are basically
doing a progress check, reminiscing, catching up, opening up, generally realizing
that we're both doin' ok and feel similarly in a lot of respects. One of the better
examples actually of a trend that started a few years ago where we simultaneously
connect not just as father and son, but as really good friends. Always a good
thing.
Surprisingly (though I guess it shouldn't have been), the jukebox picks up where
Heather and I left off last week and plays Modest Mouse's "The World At Large"
while we're in the middle of a complex deconstruction of love, life, loss, and
all associated ephemera.
I swear, I'm not seeking out these little cathartic, (literally) melodramatic
moments, but life continually plays out like a Hughes-meets-Braff film thanks
to Muzak and honest conversation.
"Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn't understand.
I know that starting over is not what life's all about.
But my thoughts were so loud, I couldn't hear my mouth."
I think the trend lately is simply letting the last few months finally set in.
Not in a dramatic way, just developing a deeper understanding of everything (and
I mean everything) in the last few months... and moving forward with it.
Since you're all really waiting for less rambling and more dirt : things are actually
pretty good between Rachel and I. I don't understand peoples' aversion to being
up front with the truth... I was able to get some things off of my chest regarding
my view of how she treated me, and she opened up to a lot of other crap she was
going through, and we both met with some decent understanding, which if nothing
else, has allowed for some very helpful dialogue, as well as a much more relaxed,
very fun time hanging out. Everyone wins.
Regarding my handling of all that, I think, especially post-Mom, I'm was putting
myself in a position where I was ready to give someone everything; Ready to be
The Perfect Boyfriend; Ready to fall and be fallen for... (probably also looking
for the presence of a strong, fun, independent but compassionate woman seeing
as how that was suddenly very lacking)... but not patient enough to let it happen.
The wrench there, of course, was my basically waiting for someone (sometwo,
actually) who shared that same desire, but couldn't seem to do anything to make
that happen (much less make it legal in one case). No, no, not a 17 year old (I
wish). Or, on the other hand, I was waiting/expecting for something completely
spontaneous to pop up and amaze me and go from there. The funny thing is, I have
close friends who have followed both of those paths, married, and found themselves
in fairly craptastic situations either way. I've since taken the advice of Bo
Diddley (as well as Heather McD), "shut UP and sit DOWN!"
Not that I'm lacking in examples of happily married couples (nor is my focus remotely
close to marriage itself), but I'm talking about close friends whose general attitudes
and philosophies really line up with mine... for some reason, they're all neck
deep in the shit.
Oh well. Drama on the wane, no use in rambling further about old, beaten-to-death
horses here. ERHS Reunion of sorts tonight at Iota for the Kat Parsons show...
looking forward to seeing how that all pans out.
Walking through Locust Point the other day, this made me laugh out loud :
... and so are you.
3/22/05 - 11:20pm EST (should
have known better)
Today at the store, while looking for some Visine Allergy to help combat Otis'
shedding, a raggedy little hipster corrected my selection. "Dude... you don't
want that crap... THIS is the stuff, man!", he said holding up Clear Eyes
standard redness-reliever eyedrops. "That Ben Stein stuff. Really works,
dude. Really. Don't leave home without it... you know? Haha."
The Dude abides.
BB King's 1969 version of "Thrill is Gone" (heavy on the Wurlie and
string section) is filling up the air here at 621 S. Macon... there is clean laundry
on the bed, piles and piles of CDs that haven't been refiled from the great music
gathering orgy... and a very content ball of orange fluff smashed up against the
laptop.
Things are actually not too bad lately, though the existential headlock (standard
paranoia/frustration lineup of mom, relationships, money, job, future) still pops
up with the occasional mood swing, regular trips to the gym seem to be helping
loosen that hold... (and its still cheaper than Zoloft).
.m
nnnnnbhhhl';';;] (thanks, Otis)
The museum on site at the BMW Motorcycles shop where I work is one of those
places you find something new every time you look around. Today's big discovery
was a framed print ad from 1967,
"If you want to be happy for a day, drink;
If you want to be happy for a year, marry;
If you want to be happy for a lifetime, ride..."
Of course, that was followed by "... a BMW Motorcycle" (and when you
look at the
'67 BMW, you have to agree)... but at this point, maybe some of my angstiness
comes from looking at my wild continent-slayer
every morning and knowing its still in need of serious love. Maybe I oughtta
just fix that and see how everything else falls into place?
Based on most of the examples I've seen of love and marriage lately (sorry,
kids)... I'm definitely more interested in getting my motorcycle back on the
road than finding love right now. Fuzzy snugglin'
and late night neighbor-annoyance aside, of course. Then again... Damn. I don't
know. Step one is to stop falling for that which is impossible to have (unless
it gets its ass in gear, of course). But that's another rant for another night.
Break out the whiskey and watch me turn into the Notre Dame mascot!
3/19/05 - 2:11am EST (empire of dirt)
There are few feelings better than knowing that you have a few people in your
life who, for lack of a better description, just get it.
Long overdue evening spent in DC with one Heather
McD, laughing at the sea of empty hipster pretention flooding Northwest, listening
to really bad live smooth funk, downing bourbon neat, burning through Nat Shermans,
and spilling out the darkest depths of our souls while trying not to notice the
multiple events of absurd conversational/musical irony spilling out of the jukebox
at DC9. Girlfriend rolls deep, ya herd, and isn't afraid to be real. Shame not
everyone can pull that off, with style no less.
Plenty of new things on the calendar... but I'm sleepy and don't feel like updating
now. Maybe tomorrow.
Favorite absurd musical irony of the night, while on the always-introspective
ride home, Mr. Shuffle pulls out some Phoenix...
"I got a very good friend who says he can't believe the love I give; Is not
enough to end your fears. I guess I couldn't live without the things that made
my life what it is" (oh, Gabriel would be proud.)
One last thing... its been called to my attention that a wide and rather surreal
variety of readers grace my little blatherings with their eyes. If'n you'd be
so kind... throw in a comment and make your presence known, even if in a wacky
pseudonym. Daddy out-
3/17/05 - 1:22pm EST (braugh)
Happy St. Patrick's day.
(Now who wants a not-so-little Irish in 'em?)
3/10/05 - 2:39am EST (make that... change)
I didn't grow up with MTV, so the first time I remember making a connection between
what I saw and what I heard into something new, joined together, was at the age
of 9. Michael Jackson's new hit "Man in the Mirror" was on the radio,
and I was in my friend's parents' van going through a less-than-stellar part of
DC, storyboarding a hopeful-yet-realistic docudrama in my noggin, set to MJ's
cheesy pop.
Tonight, leaving Columbia after a successful trip to the gym and a very unsuccessful
trip to Rachel's to help Nathan Scott Phillips' ear mite medication administration
process (and a happy 1-month
anniversary to the two of them, I add), my head - in the same place its been
for a while now - was filled with sentimental and introspective thought... mostly
of loves past, present, and future, combined with the sordid emotional sagas of
many others close to me (yours, perhaps?). Naturally, little mister Shuffle decided
Windy
and Carl's Consciousness was on deck, and rather than just thinking idly as
I drove, I more or less floated on a sea of introspection, all the way across
the skyline of Baltimore up to the 13th floor of the Belvidere Hotel.
Quickly snapping out of that, I put my funk hat on and dug on the vicious stylings
of Mofofunka's Sean Beier and his side project "Sophisticated Otis"
(no relation to my equally funky kitten). Shortly after showing up, Sean threw
me into the fray, sitting in on keys for two songs and mixing it up with some
hard improvised latin funk out of the blue. Coming out of the DJ set, they continued
on the live house/disco vibe and I wailed away on percussion for the first time
in years.
Wound up reconnecting with some old Baltimore music mainstays, making some new
friends, and a whole lot of new potential music connections. At one point, someone
asked me, "How do you get all of these connections and hookups... do you
just work really heard at it?" Just the opposite, I dont' do a thing but
show up, and it all just happens. I often wonder what my life would be like if
I were one of those goal-oriented people who aimed for something, rather than
let the opportunity form itself in front of them. Probably not as happy, I'm guessing.
Sure doesn't seem to work out for anyone I know in that vein... at least emotionally.
Anyway, had a great late night with plenty of free bourbon served up by a beautiful
amazon who - swear to god - said, "Thanks, Daddy," every time I tipped
her... I headed home, only to be brought back down from funkspace by the Shuffle's
playing of Sigur Ros's Staralfur, just as I drove by Mercy Hospital - the last
place I ever saw Mom's body. Not as chilling or emotional as you might expect...
in light of recent vibes, it just continued in the vein of calm, sentimental,
hopeful introspection.
Not sure when this vibe is going to break, but all told, it sure as hell beats
drama, frustration, and hopelessness. Not so much elation, joy, and regular doses
of phat booty and homemade pie... but a boy can dream...
3/10/05 - 12:37am EST (hold
on to your ego)
First off, I just got an invite to sit in with the legendary George
Porter, Russell Batiste, and Brian Stoltz at the Funk Box this weekend. Well,
at least Russell asked... George and Brian haven't, and are likely not down with
the idea, but my fingers are crossed. There's absolutely no reason on earth I
should share the stage with the likes of them... but... the iron's hot. Basically,
I was going to the show anyway. Now, on the suggestion of Russell, I'll just have
my gear backstage anyway... "just as a coincidence."
OK, based on suggestion and internal drive, the exploration of a fully automated
online streaming radio site with Heather, mi compadre in todas cosas musical,
is underway. In the meantime, though, I will continue to share in my newfound
music momentum one track at a time, against the wishes of the authorities.
Pet Sounds is one of those albums everyone knows (or knows of), but probably hasn't
listened to closely (much like Revolver, What's Goin' On, and any of the other
seminal albums of that era). Knowing its critically acclaimed is often enough
for some.
Listen to "I Know There's an Answer",
especially this new stereo mix (purity be damned, it sounds good). The words alone
are pure genius, then the music just grabs hold and doesn't let go. The woodwind
breakdown kills me, and puts to shame Daddy's woodwind breakdowns on Mike Roy's
"The Killer"
or "Dead and Gone".
(Ghettoboe, if you're out there, know that you're sorely missed!)
Continuing on this musical inertia, I had the great fortune of seeing The
Duo (otherwise known as Benevento and Russo or simply, "Organ and Drums")
last night at the Funk Box, and had my head completely blown apart.
Sure, they lay down some tasty, nasty, greasy, syncopated open funk jam stuff
in the vein of MMW or therabout (like me)...
as well as some deep, deep soul shut up in the bones (like me),
but their newer material has this ethereal, epic, prog/emo/classical vibe to it
that rises and falls, carries you along... perfectly placed builds, inversions,
crescendos, breaks... with a postmodern, almost chaotic periphery, but at its
heart a very simple, powerful melody and progression. (like me)
OK, no... not at all like me. But still... easily the best live show I've
seen in a long time, and some of the most beautiful live stuff ever, plus it was
obvious they were having a great time in the process. It was enough to make me
just want to give up playing music altogether - but be perfectly at peace with
the decision.
I can't find any of their online tracks in the epic vibe I'm mentioning, though
this interesting cover of Tears
for Fears comes close. Equally impressive was that they had some extra time
at the end of the night, and pulled out of the blue a very powerful rendition
of Paranoid Android, then eased out with an even more chilling take on Elliot
Smith's Waltz #1, all with just a Hammond, Wurlie, drums, and huge mess of effects
and samplers. Their new album comes out on Ropeadope in a few weeks, and I'm so
gay for it you may as well call me Nelly.
In the meantime, here are some pix
from Mofofunka's most excellent opening set (which had the crowd totally in the
pocket), as well as a few from The Duo (before my camera battery died).
The hopeful-and-content-yet-melancholy vibe continues
successfully, with a little help from Bill Heid's "Blues for Margie"
in the background. At least I know I'm not alone there. Not sure I know anyone
who's not in it, actually. Tomorrow's my day off and I'm going to spend it re-building
my home recording studio and hopefully beginning the Mike Roy DVD authoring
process. Good things, those.
3/7/05 - 12:52am EST (operation suburbification)
What a great weekend. Went out with Kasima Friday to discuss some ideas for CauseAffect
(I'll introduce you all to that very shortly, but have a look around if you're
curious) as well as Bob's bachelor party. It was also Steph's first night as bartender
at New Orleans Bistro in Bethesda, so off we went. Wrapped the evening up with
more drinking and some Katamari
Damacy. Good lord that's some addictive trippy Japanese nonsense.
Saturday I was off, so it was both relaxing and productive... cleaned up, organized,
and even sat down with the footage from Mike Roy & the Wonderland Band's final
show, preparing for the forthcoming DVD edit. Later, I accompanied Rachel on a
"mystery shopper" trip. That's usually an interesting way to make a
few bucks and maybe score a free meal... but this assignment was far different.
This would propel us into the belly of the American Consumer Culture beast...
bombarding us with noise, flashing lights, arcade games, infomercials and pro
sports on giant televisions, oversized kitschy... everything, and a whole lot
of grease. Jillian's
at Arundel Mills. It doesn't get any more hopeless and disturbing than that.
After an hour of walking around trying to find some place to sit down and not
be overwhelmed with cigarette smoke, unruly pre-teens, really bad music, unnecessarily
bright and colorful automated trackspots, fake Japanese steak chefs randomly throwing
food, or hordes of rednecks watching "the games", we were more determined
than ever to stick it out, if only to be able to write a chillingly honest critique
of the experience and pass it along back to the management.
Honestly, the whole experience bolied down to one particular dish: potato chips,
smothered in melted cheese and bacon, with two small scallion slivers, and a bucket
of ranch sauce.
Then on top of that utterly surreal experience, we then had to go back home and
administer Nathan Scott Phillips'
ear mite medicine, which results in about half an hour of self-inflicted "I'm
a horrible mother" rantings from crazy-cat-lady-Rachel, even though if she
doesn't give him the medicine, the ear mites will eat away at his poor little
cat brain and homeboy will be straight up retarted. I've seen it happen.
Sunday morning involved a wakeup call by one newly-chipper NSP,
then the time came for yet another mystery shop meal, but this one in my old 'hood
at the new Silver Diner in Greenbelt. A most rockin'est breakfast accompanied
by Downs-syndrome high-fives, angry church ladies, a very poo-filled bathroom,
and a ripoff jukebox that had an unnecessary habit of repeating songs from Grease.
The Americana overload continued with a trip back to Bowie to see all the new
overdevelopment that's exploded in the once-farmy outskirts.
We dug on the Conlin Family Homestead for a while since we were in the neighborhood,
which is always a nice respite in the midst of chaos. Actually, the drama of last
month is at a nice distance, and it was pretty cool being able to hang out as
friends and show Rachel just what my family life was all about, especially since
it doesn't stray too far from what her's sounded like. Back on the road, with
a stop for Nathan (and Otay&Shirlay) acoutrements at PetSmart, and my first-ever
experience in a BJ's Wholesale Club. All I really have to say about that is...
$3.59 for a GIANT tub of (sic) "Garlic Spred". Evening came quick, and
as if we hadn't had enough food, Rachel had an overwhelming desire to complete
the circle and grab one last round of drinks and fried crap. Some old favorites
were packed and the only quick solution cut deep into my soul... Bennigan's. Now
I don't care how awul and disgusting the fake-ass-local-americana-chain-restaurant
places are... nothing upsets me more than Bennigan's for copping someone else's
culture in the name of the same old fake-ass-local-americana-chain-restaurant
fare. But at least the Guinness was on draught, and fairly reasonably priced.
(Daddy's vulnerabilities are easy spot from a mile away)
Honestly, it was a weekend best described as Andersonian in feeling (Wes, that
is) in its fuzzy, sentimental, generally-happy-though-pensive vibe, so how better
to wrap it up than (well, first to terrorize NSP once more with one more round
of ear mite medicine... then) hit the couch for some Royal Tennenbaums, while
listening to the background sound of bile transport and hardening arteries.
Mmm, culture.
3/2/05 - 9:02pm EST (I
know there's an answer...)
I'm exhausted... haven't been sleeping well, and missed the Enon/Water School
show tonight because of work related complications. Plus my sickeningly cute little
iPod shuffle was missing for the last few days. I almost tore the house apart
until I found it under my ottoman, in a pile with about 8 catnip-filled mice.
Then I smiled.
So the across-the-board upswing continues, and one of the biggest gainers are
music and general well-being (no surprise they're side by side). As I've spent
much of the last two weeks finally sorting out and centralizing my music collection,
I've found some incredible new inspirations, as well as fodder for even deeper
mining in the short term (why I don't own the entire Can
discography is beyond me... what they were doing in '72 trumps what most "original"
hipster darlings are even pulling off today). Some classics (Pet
Sounds, for instance) have all new levels of appreciation behind them, while
the hunt for new sounds is more fruitful and serendipitous than I can handle (Sweden's
one-man Dungen
being a good recent example; acclaimed,
but impossible to find. I just found the CD stuck in a - rather cool, apparently
- customer's motorcycle).
(aww, heck... Dungen's so tasty, I'd be happy to share some in a hearty middle
finger salute to RIAA. Hell, let's make it a double and throw in some pop
deliciousness from the first demo)
So anyway, with exception of the JRoddy session and Memphis, I haven't touched
a board in two+ months. The last great gig was The Meters, and that blew my mind.
All the travel of last year, combined with the laughably low income has almost
been like a test... if I can keep a clear head after a few 500 mile days in a
row, and keep fed and clothed on $18k/yr... why not hit the road and live the
dream ASAP?
With all the new musical inspiration, and a few months of supremely heavy emotional
mojo to exorcize... its almost like its now or never. I was seriously bummed that
the Mike Roy project
seemed dead in the water following last summer, but as if on cue, all of the sudden,
totally new things are moving. Old respected colleagues of the Baltimore and DC
scene are talking about new projects, exhanges of ideas, collaborations in new
sounds and styles. That's what I need... and with a wide open mind, schedule,
and future... I think I may soon wind up with the tough decision of figuring out
which direction I want to take it. The Westcotts are still at the top of the list,
and even that is looking like its going to start pushing new directions... but
either way, something so important to me does not need to manifest itself in local
blues gig paying $50 with bandmates who don't bother showing up until the second
set...
Then for further inspiration, a co-worker just resigned to kick his already-notable
professional bluegrass banjo career up a few more notches back into full-time...
then I get sent a link to a friend
from high school who is apparently working her ass off and getting plenty
in return. Last night I listened to Mike Roy's latest recording again (made in
the midst of his absolute lowest point in life), and realized just how powerful
music really is to the soul (that recording, for instance, absolutely crushed
me - but it was beautiful in its raw honesty)... and if its just helping a few
thousand people help shake their asses, or if its something profoundly fragile
and complex shared in an intimate setting... its real, and its screaming for me.
No more excuses (except for that whole play-by-ear, no-formal-training, no-proficiency-in-flat-keys
thing)