I've been on the lookout for a while now, if you take my meaning, and tonight was a good night. A really good night. Not in the "I had a good (nudge nudge wink wink) night" sort of way, but in the, "wow" sort of way.
She's half Belgian and half Spanish, a WTF combination that is right up my alley. There was no small talk, it was straight into philosophy, religion, European vs US culture, language and semantics, and Bucky Fuller. Everything I could possibly ask for. She has dark, Mediterranean looks, speaks French, and is almost six feet tall. How could anything possibly be wrong?
...she just turned twenty one.
She wasn't alive when 'Thriller" was released. She probably knows "Chocolate Rain" better than "Purple Rain." Say Johnny Depp, and '21 Jump Street' won't even be a possibility. F i f t e e n y e a r s separates our ages. She seems to be an old soul, and I am pretty young at heart (the Facebook quiz told me I'm still 27) but day-yum!
I-yi-yi...
UPDATE
I was chatting about last night's events with a friend, and she had something profound to say. It went something like this:
"so?"
Absolute genius. I'm always creating problems before things even get started. I'm picky as hell. No one is ever going to be perfect, so if 95% is there, why let 5% be the deciding factor?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Sometimes It's Nutty, Having Most Everything Said
I just finished writing a new post. It was witty and inventive and told another chapter in a related story. Then I realized that the main thrust of this story divulges a secret that is not ready to be told. Granted, it is highly unlikely that the person who can't know about this secret is going to read my blog, or find out the secret from one of the five or six people who read it.
So, while I would love to tell you, I can't put it out there for the whole world to see. Suffice to say, someone whom I trusted implicitly took away something and someone who was precious to me. He lied to me, he hurt her, and betrayed us both. He was family to me, and I love him for all the things he did, but, knowing what I know now, I can never forgive him. On the other hand, the hurtful, cold, and even crazy things she did make so much more sense now, and while she went too far, I can start to forgive her.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Songs about F*cking
I like sex.
You're probably wondering "who doesn't," and, "why does a declaration need to be made," but think honestly; could you say those three words to anyone, anywhere? In the United States, people are generally obsessed with sex, but hate and fear talking about it.
We have an increasingly agnostic and liberal population, regardless of whether you're in a red state or a blue state. Still, we're stuck in Puritanical views regarding sex. I'm thinking about this in light of the death of David Carradine. More details are coming out about the likelihood of his death being an accidental result of auto-erotic masturbation. So many comments on these news stories disparage him as creepy, deviant, even evil person. Yes, it is a high risk behavior, but so is mountain climbing, or skydiving, or owning a pet chimpanzee, all of which may be seen as a bit crazy, but not in a negative way. Yet somehow, when you bring sex into it, if it isn't straight, missionary style, and in a committed relationship, it's morally wrong all the way up to repugnant.
You're probably wondering "who doesn't," and, "why does a declaration need to be made," but think honestly; could you say those three words to anyone, anywhere? In the United States, people are generally obsessed with sex, but hate and fear talking about it.
We have an increasingly agnostic and liberal population, regardless of whether you're in a red state or a blue state. Still, we're stuck in Puritanical views regarding sex. I'm thinking about this in light of the death of David Carradine. More details are coming out about the likelihood of his death being an accidental result of auto-erotic masturbation. So many comments on these news stories disparage him as creepy, deviant, even evil person. Yes, it is a high risk behavior, but so is mountain climbing, or skydiving, or owning a pet chimpanzee, all of which may be seen as a bit crazy, but not in a negative way. Yet somehow, when you bring sex into it, if it isn't straight, missionary style, and in a committed relationship, it's morally wrong all the way up to repugnant.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Does This Apartment Make Me Look Fat?
Facebook is a great tool for sharing info and thoughts with immediate circles, old friends, relatives, celebrities, and their pets. I like reconnecting with old friends and classmates, or being reminded why they had been jettisoned like so much detritus. I recently heard from about the oldest friend I have, in a manner of speaking (we haven't seen one another in at least 25 years). Looking at his page, I saw that he was married with two children and seemingly settled into a happy family life.
Seeing how a sizable number of my friends are in long term relationships, or engaged, or married, or expecting kids, or have kids, this shouldn't have been a big deal. Thing is, I can remember when they met, had a one month anniversary (?) got engaged, etcetera, etcetera. With this guy, one minute he's ten, the next minute he's Bob Saget. It's like not noticing yourself in the mirror until one morning, you get into the shower, catch a glimpse of something and spin around into the Karate Kid pose before realizing that jiggly person in front of you is you.
The jiggly person I'm looking at in the mirror has no defined career path, still lives with housemates and hasn't had a proper date in about a year. On the other hand, while I may not be a rockstar, I've made music that I enjoy, met and worked with some of my heroes, played a few big stages, and been given some coins for doing it. There are no regrets in any of the decisions I've made in life- I know I was not cut out to be a 'picket fencer,' but I think I need to find a little more equilibrium in my life. It's time to go ahead and make a few changes that I've been considering, but for one reason or another, haven't done. There's never going to be a perfect time, so like the old man that kept a bee colony in a shoebox under his bed, 'f*ck 'em, I want the honey.'
Monday, May 18, 2009
Dragon Music
Last Friday was kind of really amazing. More than 'kind of' in all reality.
OK, it was neat, really neat.
It was a performance with some moderately insane musicians, making not-so-easy listening music, and having a blast doing it. In truest improv fashion, not everyone in the ensemble had ever met each other before playing. C&M and N were really sweet to come show support, and seemed to ingratiate themselves with several of my other friends, whether they knew it or not ("who are the Brits? We LOVE them"). While they had some idea of what was going to happen, I don't think AD and AJ knew what they were in for, but they seemed to enjoy themselves anyway. I also enjoyed the little hello that made me remember that Rule #2 is no longer a factor (nudge-nudge, etcetera [I've become a fan of writing out 'etcetera', since I really can't come up with a good reason to abbreviate a word that isn't that long or difficult to spell]), but I have no mojo as of late, so it probably doesn't matter.
The trippy thing about the show was the family vibe. Remember, I have no mojo, let alone a preggers gf, toddlers, teenagers or otherwise. This made me feel very Donny (that's 'out of my element,' for those who don't speak Lebowskese). In an audience of a hundred twenty some odd people, there were at least half a dozen pregnant women (including the one on stage). Despite allergies to cuteness, I have to admit that the baby with shooting range ear protection didn't give me hives. There were also a couple of stories that gave me hope for the future (and might make me consider giving thought to the possibility of recuperative therapy on my baby making gene):
S is a phenomenal drummer with a huge range, but is primarily known for his jazz work. With characteristic non chalance, he mentioned how proud he was that his pre-school age son loves Iron Maiden. When he tried to play AC/DC, his son said, "no Daddy, I like the dragon music." This prompted P to tell how he had just celebrated his younger daughter's ninth birthday by giving her her first stereo system. One would imagine in most households, prepubescent girls are infatuated with whatever pop confection is on MTV or Nickelodeon or whatever the kids do these days- but not P's daughter. No, N loves the Residents. Of course, this reminded me of when P took his older daughter to see the White Stripes, and how after the show, he asked E how she liked it. She said they were ok, but the Ramones are better.
OK, it was neat, really neat.
It was a performance with some moderately insane musicians, making not-so-easy listening music, and having a blast doing it. In truest improv fashion, not everyone in the ensemble had ever met each other before playing. C&M and N were really sweet to come show support, and seemed to ingratiate themselves with several of my other friends, whether they knew it or not ("who are the Brits? We LOVE them"). While they had some idea of what was going to happen, I don't think AD and AJ knew what they were in for, but they seemed to enjoy themselves anyway. I also enjoyed the little hello that made me remember that Rule #2 is no longer a factor (nudge-nudge, etcetera [I've become a fan of writing out 'etcetera', since I really can't come up with a good reason to abbreviate a word that isn't that long or difficult to spell]), but I have no mojo as of late, so it probably doesn't matter.
The trippy thing about the show was the family vibe. Remember, I have no mojo, let alone a preggers gf, toddlers, teenagers or otherwise. This made me feel very Donny (that's 'out of my element,' for those who don't speak Lebowskese). In an audience of a hundred twenty some odd people, there were at least half a dozen pregnant women (including the one on stage). Despite allergies to cuteness, I have to admit that the baby with shooting range ear protection didn't give me hives. There were also a couple of stories that gave me hope for the future (and might make me consider giving thought to the possibility of recuperative therapy on my baby making gene):
S is a phenomenal drummer with a huge range, but is primarily known for his jazz work. With characteristic non chalance, he mentioned how proud he was that his pre-school age son loves Iron Maiden. When he tried to play AC/DC, his son said, "no Daddy, I like the dragon music." This prompted P to tell how he had just celebrated his younger daughter's ninth birthday by giving her her first stereo system. One would imagine in most households, prepubescent girls are infatuated with whatever pop confection is on MTV or Nickelodeon or whatever the kids do these days- but not P's daughter. No, N loves the Residents. Of course, this reminded me of when P took his older daughter to see the White Stripes, and how after the show, he asked E how she liked it. She said they were ok, but the Ramones are better.
Monday, April 27, 2009
On being a rockstar
"Smell that air... isn't it great to be young and insane?"
Last week, I put my bass in my indestructible Han Solo-in-carbonite case and got on a plane to Portland. The band was to play two shows in support of Thievery Corporation. It was the largest venue I've ever played, and both shows were sold out.
I've realized an odd contradiction about myself recently: I'm a musician and a performer, that is what defines me, but I HATE talking about it. I cringe when someone asks me what kind of music I like. Tell me how much you love the bass, and I'll want to curl up in a fetal position and suck my thumb. Yes, I can get in esoteric, philosophical discussions with other musicians, but for the most part, I would rather talk about unicorns or foot fungus than my favorite bands or what style of music I play.
After one of the shows last weekend, T and I found ourselves in the dressing room, trying, with limited success, to have a quiet moment to decompress. People were pulling us left and right, have a drink, meet this person, etcetera. From the audience perspective, performers are up on stage, having a great time and getting everyone else to join in. That gives the impression that we're all energizer bunnies who do nothing more than party non-stop. ...OK, fine, that image isn't totally unwarranted, but imagine this: You run into a good friend on the street, who introduces you to a new beau. In a brief amount of time, you put effort into shaking hands, making eye contact, and trying to generally make a good impression. Not too taxing, but say that couple gets married, you go to the wedding, and have to do that 50 or a hundred times. If you've done that before, you know how draining it can be by the end of the day. Now try doing it 1500 times in 45 minutes and you'll have an idea of what it's like to be a stage performer. It's pouring your entire being out to a group of strangers, connecting with each one of them and taking them on trip through your soul.
Taking a minute to regroup after that isn't asking too much, is it?
Last week, I put my bass in my indestructible Han Solo-in-carbonite case and got on a plane to Portland. The band was to play two shows in support of Thievery Corporation. It was the largest venue I've ever played, and both shows were sold out.
I've realized an odd contradiction about myself recently: I'm a musician and a performer, that is what defines me, but I HATE talking about it. I cringe when someone asks me what kind of music I like. Tell me how much you love the bass, and I'll want to curl up in a fetal position and suck my thumb. Yes, I can get in esoteric, philosophical discussions with other musicians, but for the most part, I would rather talk about unicorns or foot fungus than my favorite bands or what style of music I play.
After one of the shows last weekend, T and I found ourselves in the dressing room, trying, with limited success, to have a quiet moment to decompress. People were pulling us left and right, have a drink, meet this person, etcetera. From the audience perspective, performers are up on stage, having a great time and getting everyone else to join in. That gives the impression that we're all energizer bunnies who do nothing more than party non-stop. ...OK, fine, that image isn't totally unwarranted, but imagine this: You run into a good friend on the street, who introduces you to a new beau. In a brief amount of time, you put effort into shaking hands, making eye contact, and trying to generally make a good impression. Not too taxing, but say that couple gets married, you go to the wedding, and have to do that 50 or a hundred times. If you've done that before, you know how draining it can be by the end of the day. Now try doing it 1500 times in 45 minutes and you'll have an idea of what it's like to be a stage performer. It's pouring your entire being out to a group of strangers, connecting with each one of them and taking them on trip through your soul.
Taking a minute to regroup after that isn't asking too much, is it?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
How can we be friends if we can't be lovers?
Sorry to punish the earholes of your mind with a Michael Bolton reference, but it was the first thing that came to mind, and lately, if I think too much about what I'm going to post, I start thinking about something else.
As all five of my faithful readers know, I don't have the settle-down genome in my DNA. Having a career and a family is not something I have thought too much about. On the other hand, as I get further on with my life, I see people that I don't want to become...
-The 40 year-old dating a college student
-Dennis Hopper in 'River's Edge'
-One those people wearing clothes that are only hip on people half their age (or wears newer versions of the clothes that were hip when he was half his age)
-That guy at the bar whom everyone knows, but secretly wonders what he's still doing at the bar at his age when it's last call on a Monday night?
-Celibate
-Someone who shocks his entire social network by saying, "have you met my new girlfriend?"
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