No, not that kind of surprise...
Pulled on a pair of jeans this morning, which is what I wear just about everyday unless I'm going to a wedding or a funeral, and found a nice surprise in the pocket.
Usually I reach in and find a stray guitar pick.
And isn't it nice when you stick your hand in your pocket and find a dollar or two?
This morning I found sand. From a time most recently when I was sitting on the beach.
I need the ocean in my life the same way I need oxygen to live. When I'm near the ocean I can breathe again (which is what I say about Sue, too.)
Just a little of that life-sustaining stuff in my pocket.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Boston MBTA Transit Police
Every morning I race through South Station and see a group of MBTA transit police standing in a cluster.
Today I saw six or seven.
Then it hit me...shouldn't they be spread out a bit? Covering different areas? Communicating on walkie-talkies? What is this: Safety in numbers?
I guess you could say I have a problem with authority figures.
Today I saw six or seven.
Then it hit me...shouldn't they be spread out a bit? Covering different areas? Communicating on walkie-talkies? What is this: Safety in numbers?
I guess you could say I have a problem with authority figures.
Greenpeace
Walking through Downtown Crossing today, minding my own business, munching on one of my favorite snacks -- fast-food french fries -- when I see a small group of people wearing green windbreakers. About the same time the lone woman in the group catches my eye. She hesitates, then breaks free and comes over to me. Hmmm...it's nice to know that some women still find me attractive, even if it is a tree hugger.
"Excuse me," she says, then launches into Greenpeace, global warming, all that. Is it me, or is she nervous? I'm wondering .
"Okay, we know about Greenpeace and we know about global warming," I said. "What do you want me to do?" I am such a man of action. Is she imagining me striking a pose on the bow of a Zodiac, fearless in the face of a Japanese fishing factory? (Aliteration can be so much fun sometimes.)
They were there to get people to join. Monthly donations. All that. I told her -- I promised her -- that I'd check the site. Which I did.
And which I'm passing on to you, now, gentle reader, thinking that this will assuage a bit of my guilt for driving a gas-guzzling pickup. (Actually, it won't. I love my truck. Face it, in that regard, I'm an ass***e.)
If your guilt is worse than mine, or at least existant, here's where you can donate.
"Excuse me," she says, then launches into Greenpeace, global warming, all that. Is it me, or is she nervous? I'm wondering .
"Okay, we know about Greenpeace and we know about global warming," I said. "What do you want me to do?" I am such a man of action. Is she imagining me striking a pose on the bow of a Zodiac, fearless in the face of a Japanese fishing factory? (Aliteration can be so much fun sometimes.)
They were there to get people to join. Monthly donations. All that. I told her -- I promised her -- that I'd check the site. Which I did.
And which I'm passing on to you, now, gentle reader, thinking that this will assuage a bit of my guilt for driving a gas-guzzling pickup. (Actually, it won't. I love my truck. Face it, in that regard, I'm an ass***e.)
If your guilt is worse than mine, or at least existant, here's where you can donate.
Jan Garbarek
Finally found some great music to put in the CD player in the alarm clock. Jan Garbark's Officium.
Sue turned me on to Garbarek. She heard him in concert in a cathedral in Poland, the way this music is meant to be played and heard. Renaissance and medieval music with a sax. Religious music, so beautiful and sexy at the same time. Not sure the church meant for it to be that way, but there it is.
Sue turned me on to Garbarek. She heard him in concert in a cathedral in Poland, the way this music is meant to be played and heard. Renaissance and medieval music with a sax. Religious music, so beautiful and sexy at the same time. Not sure the church meant for it to be that way, but there it is.
The Rose Kennedy Greenway
They tore down the Central Artery here in Boston and put up a parking lot.
When they tore down the ugly girders of the elevated Central Artery for the Big Dig, the plan was to make that huge swath of land between downtown Boston and the waterfront a green space named after Rose Kennedy.
But what are they doing? Just bricking it over. It's looking more and more like Government Center, much criticized for being just this barren open spot that's hotter than Hades in the summer and feels like Antarctica in the winter.
When they tore down the ugly girders of the elevated Central Artery for the Big Dig, the plan was to make that huge swath of land between downtown Boston and the waterfront a green space named after Rose Kennedy.
But what are they doing? Just bricking it over. It's looking more and more like Government Center, much criticized for being just this barren open spot that's hotter than Hades in the summer and feels like Antarctica in the winter.
Coffee crisis
Oh, no, life can be so terrible...
The coffee maker here at my end of the floor is still on the fritz. It only fills the cup halfway. Horrors. My life is really tough, huh? I actually have to walk to the other end of the floor to get my free cup of Joe.
I found this out when I was getting my third cup of the morning. Yes, if a doc told me that I'd have to cut out coffee or die, I'd say, oh well, call the undertaker.
This morning I actually thought about my coffee consumption and almost reached for the decaf instead of the high test Kenyan. Then I compromised and grabbed the Maison Melange. Good grief. What is the effing world coming to? Does it make it taste any better to say house blend in French? Some might think so.
I thought about this as I trudged up the hall to the other coffee maker and said eff it. I like my whiskey neat, my beer without fruits and nuts in it, my women feminine, and my coffee strong.
I got the cup of Kenyan here by my elbow, to the devil with it all.
The coffee maker here at my end of the floor is still on the fritz. It only fills the cup halfway. Horrors. My life is really tough, huh? I actually have to walk to the other end of the floor to get my free cup of Joe.
I found this out when I was getting my third cup of the morning. Yes, if a doc told me that I'd have to cut out coffee or die, I'd say, oh well, call the undertaker.
This morning I actually thought about my coffee consumption and almost reached for the decaf instead of the high test Kenyan. Then I compromised and grabbed the Maison Melange. Good grief. What is the effing world coming to? Does it make it taste any better to say house blend in French? Some might think so.
I thought about this as I trudged up the hall to the other coffee maker and said eff it. I like my whiskey neat, my beer without fruits and nuts in it, my women feminine, and my coffee strong.
I got the cup of Kenyan here by my elbow, to the devil with it all.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Future of Music Coalition
The Future of Music Coalition is a not-for-profit collaboration between members of the music, technology, public policy and intellectual property law communities.
The Coalition is sponsoring a petition for Net neutrality. What is that? From their site:
The last decade has seen an independent music revolution powered by the Internet. An obscure band like OK Go rockets to national attention on the strength of a clever YouTube video. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah sells thousands of records based on blog buzz, and Sufjan Stevens sells out concert halls solely on the basis of Internet play. Fans have never had such a dizzying array of music choices before, and artists have never had an easier time reaching receptive audiences. And that's just music - the net has opened the door for a wide range of media from political bloggers to amateur filmmakers. A big reason these changes have occurred is because the Internet treats all users the same. Whether they are major players like iTunes or an independent record label like Dischord, everyone has equal access to the Internet. If the web has worked so well, why change it?
Some cable Internet service providers such as Verizon and AT&T have proposed charging Internet content providers for having their web sites load faster. It's essentially a toll for using the Internet "highway" these ISPs have built. The proposal would create a "tiered" web. Companies that are able to afford the fees would have better service. Those that can't pay would be relegated to slower service. In the worst-case scenario, ISPs might even block certain web sites.
Sign the petition
The Coalition is sponsoring a petition for Net neutrality. What is that? From their site:
The last decade has seen an independent music revolution powered by the Internet. An obscure band like OK Go rockets to national attention on the strength of a clever YouTube video. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah sells thousands of records based on blog buzz, and Sufjan Stevens sells out concert halls solely on the basis of Internet play. Fans have never had such a dizzying array of music choices before, and artists have never had an easier time reaching receptive audiences. And that's just music - the net has opened the door for a wide range of media from political bloggers to amateur filmmakers. A big reason these changes have occurred is because the Internet treats all users the same. Whether they are major players like iTunes or an independent record label like Dischord, everyone has equal access to the Internet. If the web has worked so well, why change it?
Some cable Internet service providers such as Verizon and AT&T have proposed charging Internet content providers for having their web sites load faster. It's essentially a toll for using the Internet "highway" these ISPs have built. The proposal would create a "tiered" web. Companies that are able to afford the fees would have better service. Those that can't pay would be relegated to slower service. In the worst-case scenario, ISPs might even block certain web sites.
Sign the petition
Keith Richards did not snort his father's ashes
Keith Richards has denied that he mixed some of his father's ashes in some blow and snorted it, as he was quoted in a magazine article.
For some reason I'm just a bit disappointed.
Going over the same painful ground
Just going over the same painful ground.
There was some time this morning before running for the train to practice the scales and continue trying to learn some bar chords.
Bar chords are hard. Everyone will tell you that. Eddy Vedder will, too. He tells a great story of stealing a music book from church that held nothing but open chords. But I don’t want to keep playing the same old basic chords. I don’t want to keep strumming the same old C-F-G, A-D-E progressions with a few minors thrown in for spice. Even though it sounds pretty.
I’ve gone over this ground so many times…hearing that same dead sound…Bm7…seeing my fingers bent and twisted like the legs on a dead spider…Bm…been frustrated so many times the same way…knowing where my fingers are supposed to go. But if I want grow I know I have to keep doing it, though there is no promise that I’ll get it, really.
The other chords sound so good. You’d think it would get easier. It doesn’t. But…I finally got F, didn’t I? F. Named well. F, like effing F.
Going over the same painful ground.
We do the same things over and over again in our lives. Making the same ugly sounds. Twisting ourselves in ways that hurt, trying to make beautiful music. And it keeps coming out ugly.
Are we truly condemned to keep making the same mistakes over and over again until we get it right? One life after another until finally we’re beautiful? Over the same painful ground until we’re beautiful?
Sometimes it seems I just keep swapping positions.
Someone hurt me as badly as I hurt someone else.
One night, it seems so long ago, I told Sue if she totaled me up and described me to her friends, the bottom line would be they would tell her to run like hell. She told me, in essence, that there was more to me than my sum total.
And I remembered another night that what Sue said to me I told someone else. And I thought, don’t make the same mistake she did.
Swapping places.
Looking in another’s eyes and knowing you’ve known that person your whole life, all your other lives. And knowing they just don't get it. Knowing you’ll do it all over again. That same ugly music. Those same contortions.
So…pick up the guitar. Again and again and again.
There was some time this morning before running for the train to practice the scales and continue trying to learn some bar chords.
Bar chords are hard. Everyone will tell you that. Eddy Vedder will, too. He tells a great story of stealing a music book from church that held nothing but open chords. But I don’t want to keep playing the same old basic chords. I don’t want to keep strumming the same old C-F-G, A-D-E progressions with a few minors thrown in for spice. Even though it sounds pretty.
I’ve gone over this ground so many times…hearing that same dead sound…Bm7…seeing my fingers bent and twisted like the legs on a dead spider…Bm…been frustrated so many times the same way…knowing where my fingers are supposed to go. But if I want grow I know I have to keep doing it, though there is no promise that I’ll get it, really.
The other chords sound so good. You’d think it would get easier. It doesn’t. But…I finally got F, didn’t I? F. Named well. F, like effing F.
Going over the same painful ground.
We do the same things over and over again in our lives. Making the same ugly sounds. Twisting ourselves in ways that hurt, trying to make beautiful music. And it keeps coming out ugly.
Are we truly condemned to keep making the same mistakes over and over again until we get it right? One life after another until finally we’re beautiful? Over the same painful ground until we’re beautiful?
Sometimes it seems I just keep swapping positions.
Someone hurt me as badly as I hurt someone else.
One night, it seems so long ago, I told Sue if she totaled me up and described me to her friends, the bottom line would be they would tell her to run like hell. She told me, in essence, that there was more to me than my sum total.
And I remembered another night that what Sue said to me I told someone else. And I thought, don’t make the same mistake she did.
Swapping places.
Looking in another’s eyes and knowing you’ve known that person your whole life, all your other lives. And knowing they just don't get it. Knowing you’ll do it all over again. That same ugly music. Those same contortions.
So…pick up the guitar. Again and again and again.
EMI and Apple sell DRM-free music
EMI and Apple have agreed to sell DRM-free (digital rights management) music on iTunes. DRM is the coding on CDs and music files that keep you from copying them.
This agreement between Apple and EMI means that you can download a song from iTunes, and you don't have to have an iPod to play the file, and you can do whatever you want with the file: share it, burn it, play it on any kind of device you want.
The files will also be higher quality, so they'll sound better.
This is all great for the consumer.
EMI doesn't have a lot to lose here. EMI doesn't sell hardly a percentage of what, say, Sony sells. Sony's sitting back to see how this works.
Apple knows that it's supreme coolness factor (translation: awesome marketing prowess) will keep it alive and kicking.
But...the price of a download will go up from 99 cents to a buck twenty nine? Why? There is no reason to raise prices when EMI is doing exactly what it should have done in the first place: share quality music.
So...the greedy bastards just can't contain themselves, can they? You can't change a leopard's spots. They're clinging to the old business model, and it ain't working. Hint to EMI: you're not going to build loyalty by bilking people. Why don't you leverage what could appear to be far-sightedness and dare I say coolness and hipness and really entrench your customers? And do what Apple does and continue to deliver cool products to cool people?
But again, EMI is on the ropes. This move is desperation as much as anything.
Stay iTuned.
This agreement between Apple and EMI means that you can download a song from iTunes, and you don't have to have an iPod to play the file, and you can do whatever you want with the file: share it, burn it, play it on any kind of device you want.
The files will also be higher quality, so they'll sound better.
This is all great for the consumer.
EMI doesn't have a lot to lose here. EMI doesn't sell hardly a percentage of what, say, Sony sells. Sony's sitting back to see how this works.
Apple knows that it's supreme coolness factor (translation: awesome marketing prowess) will keep it alive and kicking.
But...the price of a download will go up from 99 cents to a buck twenty nine? Why? There is no reason to raise prices when EMI is doing exactly what it should have done in the first place: share quality music.
So...the greedy bastards just can't contain themselves, can they? You can't change a leopard's spots. They're clinging to the old business model, and it ain't working. Hint to EMI: you're not going to build loyalty by bilking people. Why don't you leverage what could appear to be far-sightedness and dare I say coolness and hipness and really entrench your customers? And do what Apple does and continue to deliver cool products to cool people?
But again, EMI is on the ropes. This move is desperation as much as anything.
Stay iTuned.
16 people murdered in Boston
Sixteen people have been murdered in Boston so far this year. Officials are pointing fingers, the mayor, the chief of MBTA security. The Guardian Angels are in town. Governor Patrick is looking for more money to add police to the streets.
People are scared, outraged.
This is Boston. Imagine if we were living in Baghdad.
People are scared, outraged.
This is Boston. Imagine if we were living in Baghdad.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Borders Bookstore clerk is a s**t
Not that I should have been spending the money, but I went to Borders, always a dangerous place for me because there is so much there I want to buy...so many CDs, books, and magazines.
Went upstairs to the music section (I can hear Richard Pryor's great routine on the crack pipe calling him.) Walked up to the sales table. Figured I'll just finger those couple of CDs I was looking at last week. But...
...what the...?
Songs for lovers? Songs for your baby? Songs for the hopelessly romantic? Songs for when you're alone. What is this s**t? I'm not making up these titles.
I asked a clerk, "There were CDs on that table last week..."
"Oh," he said, "we change that monthly. That was last month. Those are back on the shelves."
"Oh," I said, turning.
"And they're full-price now." Did I notice a bit of a gleeful smile (smirk?) on his squirrelly little face?
I'm into people who share things. Who are interested in making the world a better place. The clerk is a...clerk. I'm sure he thinks he's working beneath his station in life, but I don't think so. It's just that opening for the person who licks the penguin crap off the rocks at the aquarium was filled.
Went upstairs to the music section (I can hear Richard Pryor's great routine on the crack pipe calling him.) Walked up to the sales table. Figured I'll just finger those couple of CDs I was looking at last week. But...
...what the...?
Songs for lovers? Songs for your baby? Songs for the hopelessly romantic? Songs for when you're alone. What is this s**t? I'm not making up these titles.
I asked a clerk, "There were CDs on that table last week..."
"Oh," he said, "we change that monthly. That was last month. Those are back on the shelves."
"Oh," I said, turning.
"And they're full-price now." Did I notice a bit of a gleeful smile (smirk?) on his squirrelly little face?
I'm into people who share things. Who are interested in making the world a better place. The clerk is a...clerk. I'm sure he thinks he's working beneath his station in life, but I don't think so. It's just that opening for the person who licks the penguin crap off the rocks at the aquarium was filled.
Powderfinger
Shelter me from the powder and the finger
Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger
Think of me as one you'd never figured
Would fade away so young
With so much left undone
Remember me to my love,
I know I'll miss her.
Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger
Think of me as one you'd never figured
Would fade away so young
With so much left undone
Remember me to my love,
I know I'll miss her.
Time
When kids are little parents try to get them to understand the concept of time by saying things like, "We'll be at grandma's in the time it takes to watch two Barney's," referring to a popular, annoying TV show when my kids were little. (I don't even know if Barney is still around, or thankfully some TV studio has hung that stupid purple costume up on a hook somewhere to mold away.)
This morning I told Kathryn she could sleep a little longer: as long as it took Bob to eat his breakfast. Even in her dreamy, half-asleep state she smiled. Not sure why, if the reference took her back (way back, to her) to her toddler years, or she knows that Bob inhales his food and she didn't have a lot of time to snooze. He can eat an entire roast in less than a minute and come around sniffing for more.
Anyway...time is just a concept, a marker. Time doesn't exist, it's just like zero, it's just something we use to measure something. It's a placeholder. Time isn't the thing; it's the thing we measure what's important.
Not too many people can wrap their heads around that, though.
This morning I told Kathryn she could sleep a little longer: as long as it took Bob to eat his breakfast. Even in her dreamy, half-asleep state she smiled. Not sure why, if the reference took her back (way back, to her) to her toddler years, or she knows that Bob inhales his food and she didn't have a lot of time to snooze. He can eat an entire roast in less than a minute and come around sniffing for more.
Anyway...time is just a concept, a marker. Time doesn't exist, it's just like zero, it's just something we use to measure something. It's a placeholder. Time isn't the thing; it's the thing we measure what's important.
Not too many people can wrap their heads around that, though.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Boston Red Sox opening day
I guess I should make some mention that major league baseball season starts today. Baseball is ingrained in me as much as Catholicism. It was such a big part of my life. I grew up in Cincinnati during the days of the Big Red Machine with Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, and Tony Perez, with the three "Bs": beer, baseball, and brats.
But last year, I didn't go to a single baseball game. I just can't afford the price of a ticket, though maybe that's not quite true. Just today I spent $60 on a concert ticket. Over the years I've just gotten ot the point where I think the players are just a bunch of overpayed babies.
Hopefully this year I'll be under the stars with maybe a bucket of chicken watching the Cape Cod League.
Now that's baseball the way it's meant to be watched. A warm summer night, sitting on a blanket on the grass on a hillside with your sweetheart, maybe your kids. They pass the hat instead of charging for tickets.
But last year, I didn't go to a single baseball game. I just can't afford the price of a ticket, though maybe that's not quite true. Just today I spent $60 on a concert ticket. Over the years I've just gotten ot the point where I think the players are just a bunch of overpayed babies.
Hopefully this year I'll be under the stars with maybe a bucket of chicken watching the Cape Cod League.
Now that's baseball the way it's meant to be watched. A warm summer night, sitting on a blanket on the grass on a hillside with your sweetheart, maybe your kids. They pass the hat instead of charging for tickets.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
I was on a roll back in January and February, reading books on the train at a clip of about one a week. My old pace. I used to read three and four books at a time. Then things, mostly theater, that selfish whore, encroached on my time and the books starting stacking up next to my bed.
But part of the problem was just finding a book that I like. With all the books you see when you walk into Borders or Barnes and Noble, you think finding a good book wouldn't be so difficult. But I've maintained that percentage-wise there is more crap in a bookstore than on television. Factor in the self-help books and the ghost-written "autobiographies" of not-so-talented but popular personalities and you'll see what I mean.
Sue handed me a book within minutes of my walking into her apartment this weekend. We both love to share books and music. She says The Secret History is a goodie. I just started it yesterday morning when I got up before Sue and was drinking a cup of coffee and sitting on the floor with old Bob. I read a little more today on the train. Set at a liberal arts college in Vermont and dedicated to Bret Easton Ellis, there's no doubt I'll be living with privileged, snotty, self-indulgent twerps for the next week.
But part of the problem was just finding a book that I like. With all the books you see when you walk into Borders or Barnes and Noble, you think finding a good book wouldn't be so difficult. But I've maintained that percentage-wise there is more crap in a bookstore than on television. Factor in the self-help books and the ghost-written "autobiographies" of not-so-talented but popular personalities and you'll see what I mean.
Sue handed me a book within minutes of my walking into her apartment this weekend. We both love to share books and music. She says The Secret History is a goodie. I just started it yesterday morning when I got up before Sue and was drinking a cup of coffee and sitting on the floor with old Bob. I read a little more today on the train. Set at a liberal arts college in Vermont and dedicated to Bret Easton Ellis, there's no doubt I'll be living with privileged, snotty, self-indulgent twerps for the next week.
Thrasher
It was then I knew I'd had enough,
Burned my credit card for fuel
Headed out to where the pavement turns to sand
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
And my suitcase in my hand
How I lost my friends I still don't understand.
They had the best selection,
They were poisoned with protection
There was nothing that they needed,
Nothing left to find
They were lost in rock formations
Or became park bench mutations
On the sidewalks and in the stations
They were waiting, waiting.
Burned my credit card for fuel
Headed out to where the pavement turns to sand
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
And my suitcase in my hand
How I lost my friends I still don't understand.
They had the best selection,
They were poisoned with protection
There was nothing that they needed,
Nothing left to find
They were lost in rock formations
Or became park bench mutations
On the sidewalks and in the stations
They were waiting, waiting.
The reason God made blogs and country music
Years ago a man was engaged to a woman, but today he and another man have been together for 18 years. Long ago, he didn't know he was gay. He probably didn't know what to feel, what he was supposed to feel.
One more reason for this blog. Just to let others know there's one more miserable human being out there...just doing the day-to-day, just doing the best he can, and sometimes that isn't very good.
Last week I was reading (in No Depression? American Songwriter?) about how depressing country music can be. And the really good country can be real wrist-slashing, I'm-going-to-hang-myself music. But, at least according to the article, the reason people listen to it isn't because they want to feel miserable, it's just the opposite: It's so they'll know they're not alone. When you're going through the miseries, you tend to feel completely alone. And it helps to know you're not.
So much of everyday life is stigmatized. So much of what we go through we hide through shame. God bless the person who isn't afraid to talk. God bless the person who isn't afraid to listen.
One more reason for this blog. Just to let others know there's one more miserable human being out there...just doing the day-to-day, just doing the best he can, and sometimes that isn't very good.
Last week I was reading (in No Depression? American Songwriter?) about how depressing country music can be. And the really good country can be real wrist-slashing, I'm-going-to-hang-myself music. But, at least according to the article, the reason people listen to it isn't because they want to feel miserable, it's just the opposite: It's so they'll know they're not alone. When you're going through the miseries, you tend to feel completely alone. And it helps to know you're not.
So much of everyday life is stigmatized. So much of what we go through we hide through shame. God bless the person who isn't afraid to talk. God bless the person who isn't afraid to listen.
First Encounter Beach, Cape Cod
A bottle of wine, a baguette, ripe cheese. Apples. In a knapsack. A spread from Sri Lanka. A guitar. A dog. A man. A woman.
High tide went to slack to low.
The wind came up.
We got back in the truck and took the long way home.
High tide went to slack to low.
The wind came up.
We got back in the truck and took the long way home.
Old Silver Beach, Cape Cod
Out off the causeway the water was so clear, right down to the weed beds.
Nestled in the rocks, the sun tightening the skin on our faces, and just off a can's bell started tolling. A Cape Cod moment. People travel miles to see what we see when we look out our back door. In that moment, there is nothing but peace. No anger, fear, no worries, not even love. It's just the moment.
Nestled in the rocks, the sun tightening the skin on our faces, and just off a can's bell started tolling. A Cape Cod moment. People travel miles to see what we see when we look out our back door. In that moment, there is nothing but peace. No anger, fear, no worries, not even love. It's just the moment.
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