Hot Damn!
I haven't updated in a long-ass time. On occasion, I have the urge to share a little nugget of nothing with all of you, but those moments rarely occur in proximity to a computer if you can believe that. I think I'm gonna begin carrying a micro-cassette recorder with me and so that I might make audio notes-to-self. I'm sure there's a fancier, digital way of doing that but, frankly, I'm just not interested if I can't stop in the middle something and record a cryptic, personal aside.
Happenings?
Go see Saw and Saw 2. Seriously. Yeah, there's splatter galore and more than a few moments that will (will) make you squirm, but both movies have really great twists and give your brain a little more to chew on than your average maniac flick. Think of them as morality tales - really, really twisted morality tales.
Went to a suspension gathering (can't really call them parties) on Friday. I hadn't been to one in probably a year, and it just felt like the right offer at the right time. I like the vibe at those gatherings. Sure, there's a lot of new-tribal posturing and too much Portishead (who I like in moderation), but the overall atmosphere of respectful, quiet observation of a person's leap of faith and surrender to experience is what really appeals to me. I come for the hooks and stay for the pie.
This gathering came to an unfortunate end, however. Rest assured, no damage was done to the suspendee or, to my knowledge, any of the attendants, but there was drama. The loft space that was being utilized was in close proximity to a warehouse which, on that evening, was playing host to a rave. Raves? Over them. Even when the music's right, the population of children lost in K-holes is more than I can stomach. This rave ended abruptly and badly. I never got the story, but I can speculate. This was a drug fueled event, in a nasty part of town, that ended with a handul of gunshots and, shortly thereafter, the arrival of the flashing lights. Honestly, I couldn't care less what happened over there. Callous? Maybe, but my pulse doesn't even raise thinking about it. Fortunately, everyone at the suspension kept their heads. The 30ish of us filed out quietly to let the organizers take care of the suspendee in peace and left without incident. I'm glad that the suspended woman was wearing headphones and the melee didnt seem to register with her. If things were different... well, I suppose things could have been different.
Aside from the abrupt ending brought about, without a doubt, by a bad mix of attitude, mouth and general ickyness, it was a genuinely enjoyable evening. good for a Halloween weekend.
What does it say when an event ends in gunfire and, though I'm safely out of harm's way, my response is irritation and muttering 'Morons'? This is the 2nd time in the last couple of years that I've found myself adjacent to gunfire and have had the same reaction. Should I worry about my own instincts for self-preservation?
Sold a bass ('84 Alembic Spoiler) and a bass head (Peavey) this week. Kinda bittersweet on both counts. Both had been with me for a long time. I got the amp when I was about 14, and the bass around 16. Lots of music. I'm having moments of sentimental regret, but I know it was time for them to go. The head hadn't gotten much use in years. Amplifiers began piling up and that one just fell into the background.
The bass is a different story. I bought it at 16. I wanted an Alembic badly because John Entwhistle had played them for a number of years. He was without a doubt my first influence on that instrument, and I can still hear his impact on my playing. It was kind of an odd instrument. It had a short (32") scale, so it was really easy to play (despite having a neck like a baseball bat). From a physical perspective, it was a really easy instrument to learn on, but there were some limitations - seen most readily in the contrast between the small neck and my gargantuan hands. Seriously, it's hard to buy gloves. Yet, as other basses came and went, that one stuck around. I used it different ways in different contexts, and it always seemed to find it's place. For whatever reason, I found a synergy with that instrument and could pull the tones I needed out of it when and where I needed them. I knew it like the back of my hand.
Somewhere along the line, I met Rob Elrick. I bought an amp from him (really nice UK made Trace Elliott) and had a chance to play a few of his basses. Wow. Just wow. At the time, I was nowhere near being in a position to talk to him about commissioning an instrument, but I knew I wanted to someday. Years wore on, and things had finally fallen into place. I called Rob. We got together, looked at some woods and the electronics he was using, tried a few things and came up with a configuration. After years and years of working towards it, I had a bass built by Rob's hand (he has no employees), in a workshop adjacent to his kitchen, with impeccible skill and artistic sensibility, strapped to my body and perfectly cradled in the hands that completely eclipse a soda can. That's the Elrick pictured below.
I hated to see it go, but my dear Alembic went to a person who had been searching for one, and was truly glad he'd found it. I advertised it as the 'best short-scale bass you'll ever play' and the buyer agreed. Good bass. Good home.
I just got copies of Popcorn and Mac the Ripper, along with a whopper of an external hard drive - appropriately named 'Mr. Big.' A friend has been utilizing this setup to burn protected dvds for ages now, yet I can't make it work for me. The left eye-lid is twitching as the rage continues to build.
My cousin is embroiled in a loud and heated conversation with himself in the kitchen as I write this.
I grew a beard. Pics in time, true believers.
I think I need to read a book about, or even by, Harry Houdini. My mind keeps tracking past 'What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.'
I'm visiting the Pacific Northwest for New Year's. When I think about getting off the plane and opening my eyes for the first time, my head lolls back and I exhale with an audible 'Mmmmmm.' Looking forward to a vacation has never felt so blissful. I never would have thought so, but faith and bliss go together like chocolate and more chocolate.
Next time I have the means to buy a car, I shall procure and restore a '65 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. No joke. This isn't some adolescent 'pimpmobile' fantasy, and this isn't an ode to the great American land-boat. I love cars, but feel like they've lost their souls. I've had a few in recent years and none have moved me in that special way. That connection with a car -MY car- is important to me. It's a relationship that extends beyond make and model. It's a vehicle. It can show you the world and be there with you as you take it in. That's not a throw-away relationship. In my world, that counts for something. Trite as it may be, I love the road - night or day, city or country. I love driving, feeling, touching, staring at and smelling cars. When I hear that perfect exhaust note, or catch that perfect line in the sun, I'm gone for a few minutes. I 'shush'ed and ex in a parking garage once upon spotting 3 cars under Ferrari covers. I could hazzard guesses as to the identities of the other two, but the third was the rare and beautiful Enzo. They'd only been out for a couple of months, and I hadn't yet seen one in person. Even through a cover in a dark parking garage, I knew exactly what I was looking at, and needed a few moments to take it in.
As for the Caddy, all I've gotta do is find a good frame and body. The rest is up to me.
PeggySue, we're gonna have ourselves on hell of a garage. Can you smell it?
I'm seriously considering the possibility of going to, for lack of a better term, beauty school. I've been aimless for longer than I care to discuss. Reasons are reasons, but aimless is also aimless. I've spent a great deal of time looking at who I believe myself to be - taking stock of the times, places, events and epiphanies that have contributed positively to the whole for which I strive and know with gladness that I shall never reach.
Where does beauty-fucking-school fit into all of this?
Here's the long and short of it.
I need to work with my hands.
I need to see and feel something physically different at the end of a task than I felt ot saw at its beginning.
I loved cooking professionally. Truly and deeply. It provided a wonderful outlet for both physicality and creativity.
I love sales. I love retail. I've been fortunate to work at a level that demands precise work with a demanding clientele. I love playing the characters they need to see. Give 'em what they want, and you can virtually help yourself to their wallets. I've got no beef with placating egos. None. Love thy hustle.
I need something that is fairly flexible and self directed.
I need each challenge, interaction and problem to be different from the last
These things among others have been on my mind lately. I'd been considering grad-school, but it doesn't feel right at present. The learninating is a powerful draw. I know I'd go back and pursue literature. I know what school I'd likely attend. I can practically put together a course of study. I just can't find the application in my practical life. Not right now. When I find it, that's where I'll be. Not before.
I've thought about hair on and off for at least six years. It keeps popping back into my mind. The people that have tended to my own coiff have all been creative folk, free to appear and express themselves as they are. Selling themselves and parts of their personae seems integral to the job, yet the job itself doesn't seem to define them. They have the opportunity to create art that people take with them, wear and show the world each and every day of their lives. That became a powerful lure once I started to wrap my head around it.
Self directed. Creative. Hands-on. Skilled. Adaptable. Intimate and personal. I see the potential for all of these things while potentially sacrificing less of myself to this profession than I have to certain others. It's enough to make a guy think 'Just maybe.....'
Lesley and I talked about it last week, and we're getting together again tomorrow to look a little deeper. I was surprised that she was as supportive of the idea as she was. When I ran the idea past her and wanted to know how she went about certification and apprenticeship, I half expected her to tell me I barking manaically up the wrong tree. She didn't do that. We'll see what we see.
***
I've seen a few of these lists of 20 posted in journals. Nobody tagged me. I just wanted to try my hand as an exercise.
Bless me doctor for I have sinned and sinned and sinned. It's been at least a lifetime since my last confession and under no circumstances will I repent. Find me a cross and pitch it inverted. This is just the first 20.
1- I label and date everything in the fridge.
2- When I was 3, I was playing along to Mozart on the piano by ear and was offered a part in an opera at 9. I haven't been able to play seriously or regularly in over five years. I've lost most of my theory and my ear is badly out of practice. Part of my soul is currently MIA.
3- I identify with Marv in Sin City more readily than is probably healthy.
4- I think Harley Davidson leather smells different from all other leather.
4a- I find brown leather to be almost entirely unacceptable.
5- I don't get Burningman. Nobody's even attempted an explanation beyond 'It's really cool.' I even tried to watch the streaming webcast this year and I still didn't get it. I might be a lost cause on this one, kids.
6- I read nothing but crime fiction for over 3 years. Private dicks, smoking guns and femme fatales.
7- I'm perfectly comfortable eating alone in a restaurant.
8- I've had pneumonia five times, and have had permanent damage done to my lungs. The first time I had it, I thought I was fine until a friend convinced me to go to the hospital where I was told that I only had 15% use of my lungs. A reasonable person would have quit smoking at this point. Did I?
9- The tattoo on my back is about deception and abused trust.
10- I bowl backhand, and throw really, really hard. I can't drop my wrist far enough to roll underhand.
11- I didn't hear the Misfits for the first time until I was 19. Things have been better since.
12- In high school, I would regularly go to bars, see music and drink with one of my english teachers.
13- While I have never been a collector, I don't think that comic books are given their due as a means of eloquent social statement and depth of character development. I think the artwork is sold far short as well.
14- The first time I heard 'Living Space' by John Coltrane was one of the first times I can remember having a truly quiet mind. I've spent years flailing away, trying to recover that feeling. <<<<I felt like a college student having a freshman revelation as to the nature of absolute truth when I wrote that.
15- I recently switched to a natural toothpaste, but I don't trust it yet. I've been eating Altoids and chewing green Orbit like a madman for a couple of weeks now; ever fearful that my breath has become rotten, but nobody has said anything yet.
16- I want to be a father, but am afraid of my own genetic history.
17- My cats mean more to me than most people.
18- I was in love once. We got it out of our systems and love eachother now more than we ever have.
19- I read people (including myself) very quickly and very well. Conceited as it sounds, I'm rarely wrong in assessing a person's character. I've been called an empath by more than one person. This has been both an incredible blessing and an incredible curse. Nothing can be un-seen or un-felt.
20- My dad and I were/are frightening reflections of one another. Body language, verbal cadence, ear, insight, outlook, aesthetic - everything; right down to me mirroring, in my life, many of the mistakes he made in his. The one thing I hope above all else is that he didn't die believing he'd failed as a parent. He didn't.
*Bonus*
Today I was jealous of a couch.
I haven't updated in a long-ass time. On occasion, I have the urge to share a little nugget of nothing with all of you, but those moments rarely occur in proximity to a computer if you can believe that. I think I'm gonna begin carrying a micro-cassette recorder with me and so that I might make audio notes-to-self. I'm sure there's a fancier, digital way of doing that but, frankly, I'm just not interested if I can't stop in the middle something and record a cryptic, personal aside.
Happenings?
Go see Saw and Saw 2. Seriously. Yeah, there's splatter galore and more than a few moments that will (will) make you squirm, but both movies have really great twists and give your brain a little more to chew on than your average maniac flick. Think of them as morality tales - really, really twisted morality tales.
Went to a suspension gathering (can't really call them parties) on Friday. I hadn't been to one in probably a year, and it just felt like the right offer at the right time. I like the vibe at those gatherings. Sure, there's a lot of new-tribal posturing and too much Portishead (who I like in moderation), but the overall atmosphere of respectful, quiet observation of a person's leap of faith and surrender to experience is what really appeals to me. I come for the hooks and stay for the pie.
This gathering came to an unfortunate end, however. Rest assured, no damage was done to the suspendee or, to my knowledge, any of the attendants, but there was drama. The loft space that was being utilized was in close proximity to a warehouse which, on that evening, was playing host to a rave. Raves? Over them. Even when the music's right, the population of children lost in K-holes is more than I can stomach. This rave ended abruptly and badly. I never got the story, but I can speculate. This was a drug fueled event, in a nasty part of town, that ended with a handul of gunshots and, shortly thereafter, the arrival of the flashing lights. Honestly, I couldn't care less what happened over there. Callous? Maybe, but my pulse doesn't even raise thinking about it. Fortunately, everyone at the suspension kept their heads. The 30ish of us filed out quietly to let the organizers take care of the suspendee in peace and left without incident. I'm glad that the suspended woman was wearing headphones and the melee didnt seem to register with her. If things were different... well, I suppose things could have been different.
Aside from the abrupt ending brought about, without a doubt, by a bad mix of attitude, mouth and general ickyness, it was a genuinely enjoyable evening. good for a Halloween weekend.
What does it say when an event ends in gunfire and, though I'm safely out of harm's way, my response is irritation and muttering 'Morons'? This is the 2nd time in the last couple of years that I've found myself adjacent to gunfire and have had the same reaction. Should I worry about my own instincts for self-preservation?
Sold a bass ('84 Alembic Spoiler) and a bass head (Peavey) this week. Kinda bittersweet on both counts. Both had been with me for a long time. I got the amp when I was about 14, and the bass around 16. Lots of music. I'm having moments of sentimental regret, but I know it was time for them to go. The head hadn't gotten much use in years. Amplifiers began piling up and that one just fell into the background.
The bass is a different story. I bought it at 16. I wanted an Alembic badly because John Entwhistle had played them for a number of years. He was without a doubt my first influence on that instrument, and I can still hear his impact on my playing. It was kind of an odd instrument. It had a short (32") scale, so it was really easy to play (despite having a neck like a baseball bat). From a physical perspective, it was a really easy instrument to learn on, but there were some limitations - seen most readily in the contrast between the small neck and my gargantuan hands. Seriously, it's hard to buy gloves. Yet, as other basses came and went, that one stuck around. I used it different ways in different contexts, and it always seemed to find it's place. For whatever reason, I found a synergy with that instrument and could pull the tones I needed out of it when and where I needed them. I knew it like the back of my hand.
Somewhere along the line, I met Rob Elrick. I bought an amp from him (really nice UK made Trace Elliott) and had a chance to play a few of his basses. Wow. Just wow. At the time, I was nowhere near being in a position to talk to him about commissioning an instrument, but I knew I wanted to someday. Years wore on, and things had finally fallen into place. I called Rob. We got together, looked at some woods and the electronics he was using, tried a few things and came up with a configuration. After years and years of working towards it, I had a bass built by Rob's hand (he has no employees), in a workshop adjacent to his kitchen, with impeccible skill and artistic sensibility, strapped to my body and perfectly cradled in the hands that completely eclipse a soda can. That's the Elrick pictured below.
I hated to see it go, but my dear Alembic went to a person who had been searching for one, and was truly glad he'd found it. I advertised it as the 'best short-scale bass you'll ever play' and the buyer agreed. Good bass. Good home.
I just got copies of Popcorn and Mac the Ripper, along with a whopper of an external hard drive - appropriately named 'Mr. Big.' A friend has been utilizing this setup to burn protected dvds for ages now, yet I can't make it work for me. The left eye-lid is twitching as the rage continues to build.
My cousin is embroiled in a loud and heated conversation with himself in the kitchen as I write this.
I grew a beard. Pics in time, true believers.
I think I need to read a book about, or even by, Harry Houdini. My mind keeps tracking past 'What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.'
I'm visiting the Pacific Northwest for New Year's. When I think about getting off the plane and opening my eyes for the first time, my head lolls back and I exhale with an audible 'Mmmmmm.' Looking forward to a vacation has never felt so blissful. I never would have thought so, but faith and bliss go together like chocolate and more chocolate.
Next time I have the means to buy a car, I shall procure and restore a '65 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. No joke. This isn't some adolescent 'pimpmobile' fantasy, and this isn't an ode to the great American land-boat. I love cars, but feel like they've lost their souls. I've had a few in recent years and none have moved me in that special way. That connection with a car -MY car- is important to me. It's a relationship that extends beyond make and model. It's a vehicle. It can show you the world and be there with you as you take it in. That's not a throw-away relationship. In my world, that counts for something. Trite as it may be, I love the road - night or day, city or country. I love driving, feeling, touching, staring at and smelling cars. When I hear that perfect exhaust note, or catch that perfect line in the sun, I'm gone for a few minutes. I 'shush'ed and ex in a parking garage once upon spotting 3 cars under Ferrari covers. I could hazzard guesses as to the identities of the other two, but the third was the rare and beautiful Enzo. They'd only been out for a couple of months, and I hadn't yet seen one in person. Even through a cover in a dark parking garage, I knew exactly what I was looking at, and needed a few moments to take it in.
As for the Caddy, all I've gotta do is find a good frame and body. The rest is up to me.
PeggySue, we're gonna have ourselves on hell of a garage. Can you smell it?
I'm seriously considering the possibility of going to, for lack of a better term, beauty school. I've been aimless for longer than I care to discuss. Reasons are reasons, but aimless is also aimless. I've spent a great deal of time looking at who I believe myself to be - taking stock of the times, places, events and epiphanies that have contributed positively to the whole for which I strive and know with gladness that I shall never reach.
Where does beauty-fucking-school fit into all of this?
Here's the long and short of it.
I need to work with my hands.
I need to see and feel something physically different at the end of a task than I felt ot saw at its beginning.
I loved cooking professionally. Truly and deeply. It provided a wonderful outlet for both physicality and creativity.
I love sales. I love retail. I've been fortunate to work at a level that demands precise work with a demanding clientele. I love playing the characters they need to see. Give 'em what they want, and you can virtually help yourself to their wallets. I've got no beef with placating egos. None. Love thy hustle.
I need something that is fairly flexible and self directed.
I need each challenge, interaction and problem to be different from the last
These things among others have been on my mind lately. I'd been considering grad-school, but it doesn't feel right at present. The learninating is a powerful draw. I know I'd go back and pursue literature. I know what school I'd likely attend. I can practically put together a course of study. I just can't find the application in my practical life. Not right now. When I find it, that's where I'll be. Not before.
I've thought about hair on and off for at least six years. It keeps popping back into my mind. The people that have tended to my own coiff have all been creative folk, free to appear and express themselves as they are. Selling themselves and parts of their personae seems integral to the job, yet the job itself doesn't seem to define them. They have the opportunity to create art that people take with them, wear and show the world each and every day of their lives. That became a powerful lure once I started to wrap my head around it.
Self directed. Creative. Hands-on. Skilled. Adaptable. Intimate and personal. I see the potential for all of these things while potentially sacrificing less of myself to this profession than I have to certain others. It's enough to make a guy think 'Just maybe.....'
Lesley and I talked about it last week, and we're getting together again tomorrow to look a little deeper. I was surprised that she was as supportive of the idea as she was. When I ran the idea past her and wanted to know how she went about certification and apprenticeship, I half expected her to tell me I barking manaically up the wrong tree. She didn't do that. We'll see what we see.
***
I've seen a few of these lists of 20 posted in journals. Nobody tagged me. I just wanted to try my hand as an exercise.
Bless me doctor for I have sinned and sinned and sinned. It's been at least a lifetime since my last confession and under no circumstances will I repent. Find me a cross and pitch it inverted. This is just the first 20.
1- I label and date everything in the fridge.
2- When I was 3, I was playing along to Mozart on the piano by ear and was offered a part in an opera at 9. I haven't been able to play seriously or regularly in over five years. I've lost most of my theory and my ear is badly out of practice. Part of my soul is currently MIA.
3- I identify with Marv in Sin City more readily than is probably healthy.
4- I think Harley Davidson leather smells different from all other leather.
4a- I find brown leather to be almost entirely unacceptable.
5- I don't get Burningman. Nobody's even attempted an explanation beyond 'It's really cool.' I even tried to watch the streaming webcast this year and I still didn't get it. I might be a lost cause on this one, kids.
6- I read nothing but crime fiction for over 3 years. Private dicks, smoking guns and femme fatales.
7- I'm perfectly comfortable eating alone in a restaurant.
8- I've had pneumonia five times, and have had permanent damage done to my lungs. The first time I had it, I thought I was fine until a friend convinced me to go to the hospital where I was told that I only had 15% use of my lungs. A reasonable person would have quit smoking at this point. Did I?
9- The tattoo on my back is about deception and abused trust.
10- I bowl backhand, and throw really, really hard. I can't drop my wrist far enough to roll underhand.
11- I didn't hear the Misfits for the first time until I was 19. Things have been better since.
12- In high school, I would regularly go to bars, see music and drink with one of my english teachers.
13- While I have never been a collector, I don't think that comic books are given their due as a means of eloquent social statement and depth of character development. I think the artwork is sold far short as well.
14- The first time I heard 'Living Space' by John Coltrane was one of the first times I can remember having a truly quiet mind. I've spent years flailing away, trying to recover that feeling. <<<<I felt like a college student having a freshman revelation as to the nature of absolute truth when I wrote that.
15- I recently switched to a natural toothpaste, but I don't trust it yet. I've been eating Altoids and chewing green Orbit like a madman for a couple of weeks now; ever fearful that my breath has become rotten, but nobody has said anything yet.
16- I want to be a father, but am afraid of my own genetic history.
17- My cats mean more to me than most people.
18- I was in love once. We got it out of our systems and love eachother now more than we ever have.
19- I read people (including myself) very quickly and very well. Conceited as it sounds, I'm rarely wrong in assessing a person's character. I've been called an empath by more than one person. This has been both an incredible blessing and an incredible curse. Nothing can be un-seen or un-felt.
20- My dad and I were/are frightening reflections of one another. Body language, verbal cadence, ear, insight, outlook, aesthetic - everything; right down to me mirroring, in my life, many of the mistakes he made in his. The one thing I hope above all else is that he didn't die believing he'd failed as a parent. He didn't.
*Bonus*
Today I was jealous of a couch.
VIEW 22 of 22 COMMENTS
Ooooh, the burn.