Everybody told me you can't get far
With 37 dollars and a crap guitar.
Actually, the lyrics are, "With 37 dollars and a Jap guitar<" but it's an easy fix to appease the PC crowd, and I kinda like crap guitar better anyway.
Just speaks to overcoming adversity, that's all.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
A half-million dollar condo
There's changes in the wind...
Sue and I were out this weekend looking for apartments in Boston. We get so despondent. Sue found what looked like an apartment in Washington Square so we headed up into Coolidge Corner to look around. (The apartment was taken, anyway.) I don't know what I ever saw in that part of the city. We were grabbing a bite to eat, watching people go by on the sidewalk and I thought to myself, these are going to be be my neighbors. I've done the young, urban couple thing. I've done the push the baby carriage around. You get older, you change. Hopefully for the better, right? But I couldn't see myself having anything in common with most of the people we saw.
We walekd. And talked. And sat. And talked.
We saw a sign for an open house and went in. A condo for a half-million dollars. Good God. Just a normal abode in Brookline. Nothing that special. And what I thought about, as we trudged down the stairs was that, yes, it was a nice place, but I know what happens--if you have that kind of money to begin with.
At some point something happens. Something changes. Someone loses their job. Or a change happens at work. Or you change. And you not only have this monster mortgage, but you have condo fees and other bills including credit cards to furnish the condo in the manner in which it is used to being decorated because you can't just put some cheap fouton in the living room. And so you have to give up something really important in your life to pay those bills.
You compromise your dreams, your hopes, your values. And it gets to the point where you don't even know you're doing it. Or if you do you just get mad, or depressed, but you just do whatever it takes to keep that condo. You don't see your kids. Don't see your spouse. Work so hard under so much pressure that the love you once had in your marriage or your relationship just whithers.
Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Some people can deal with this, no problem. I can't. I couldn't. Didn't want any part of it then, don't now.
Sue and I were out this weekend looking for apartments in Boston. We get so despondent. Sue found what looked like an apartment in Washington Square so we headed up into Coolidge Corner to look around. (The apartment was taken, anyway.) I don't know what I ever saw in that part of the city. We were grabbing a bite to eat, watching people go by on the sidewalk and I thought to myself, these are going to be be my neighbors. I've done the young, urban couple thing. I've done the push the baby carriage around. You get older, you change. Hopefully for the better, right? But I couldn't see myself having anything in common with most of the people we saw.
We walekd. And talked. And sat. And talked.
We saw a sign for an open house and went in. A condo for a half-million dollars. Good God. Just a normal abode in Brookline. Nothing that special. And what I thought about, as we trudged down the stairs was that, yes, it was a nice place, but I know what happens--if you have that kind of money to begin with.
At some point something happens. Something changes. Someone loses their job. Or a change happens at work. Or you change. And you not only have this monster mortgage, but you have condo fees and other bills including credit cards to furnish the condo in the manner in which it is used to being decorated because you can't just put some cheap fouton in the living room. And so you have to give up something really important in your life to pay those bills.
You compromise your dreams, your hopes, your values. And it gets to the point where you don't even know you're doing it. Or if you do you just get mad, or depressed, but you just do whatever it takes to keep that condo. You don't see your kids. Don't see your spouse. Work so hard under so much pressure that the love you once had in your marriage or your relationship just whithers.
Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Some people can deal with this, no problem. I can't. I couldn't. Didn't want any part of it then, don't now.
Tennessee Blues
fare thee well i'm bound to roam
this ain't never been my home
blue dog on the floorboard redhead by my side
cross the mighty hudson river to the new york city side
redhead by my side, boys sweetest thing i've found
goodbye guitar town
this ain't never been my home
blue dog on the floorboard redhead by my side
cross the mighty hudson river to the new york city side
redhead by my side, boys sweetest thing i've found
goodbye guitar town
Friday, October 12, 2007
Radiohead distributes In Rainbows on Web, pay what you want
Is it the final nail in the music industry’s coffin? The end of CD sales? A giant leap forward in the way music is distributed?
The answer to all the above is no.
First of all, it was interesting that this news came through the arts side of the news business, and not from business writers. This is a business story, not arts news.
Radiohead’s decision to distribute their latest album and let people pay whatever they want is just a little experiment to see what will happen. Because the simple truth is no one yet knows what to do with this thang called the Internet, especially when it comes to the music industry. But the one thing we do know is this: It’s one heckuva delivery vehicle. (More on this later.)
Radiohead’s decision to let people pay what they want is an interesting choice. It’s like busking over the Internet. Instead of playing in subway stations and city squares with an open guitar case, they’re letting people decide how much spare change to part with using their Visa cards. Interesting. Radiohead can do this because they’re established. They can experiment a little with their cash flow, or so I’m assuming. They’re cool, ‘cause they’re not signed to any record contract, so it looks as if they’re independently probing different business models with the Internet as the foundation. Smart.
And asking people for something, anything, is a nice little gesture, again, a nice little experiment because the age of getting free music is here, and sorry, RIAA, it’s here for good. There’s no getting around it. If anything, Radiohead’s pay-what-you-want policy might set the baseline for downloads. Let the people decide what’s fair. (Democracy is still very much alive on the Internet.)
Big fat record execs had it made for a long time because there was no mechanism for efficiently copying and distributing music. But that sort of idea has been around forever. I’m a writer. I write a book. You buy my book and like it, what do you do? You pass it along to a friend. You don’t say, hey, that’s stealing. Or you don’t even buy it; you go to the library and borrow it. You like something in it, you go to a copier and print out one, ten, a hundred copies of the passages. There have been copyright laws in place forever but no one ever paid any attention to them. That’s been the writer’s life.
Then came the Internet and kaboom…(see the notation above about the ‘Net being a delivery vehicle on steroids.) The music industry just was in the wrong place at the wrong time…sorta. I say sorta because business and technology are always changing and it changes fast and big.
But the record execs were too busy counting their money to see the paradigm shift. The Internet was coming down the tracks like a locomotive and they either didn’t see it or understand it to begin with. Probably the latter. And now they’re crying piracy and trying to make us all feel bad with their moralistic stance (it’s stealing! Stealing? What do you call pricing CDs way over the cost of manufacture and distribution just because you’re greedy?) The simple fact is they weren’t quick enough to change. There’s still money to be made. Tons of it. In concerts and promo items like forty dollar t-shirts and eight dollar cups of bad, water-down beer. Music is now a commodity, sad to say.
Nashville has the idea, sort of. Not that I like any of the music that comes out of Guitar Town, but the town loads up with great studio musicians and songwriters and matches them up with country singers. They turn them into a product no different than dish detergent or toothpaste, a product that can fill stadiums with forty dollar-t-shirt and eight-dollar-a-beer-buying fans.
Other musicians take other routes. Alt/indie folks gets their music in the fans' hands any way they can, realizing that a good way to build a fan base is in the philosophy that if they hear it will come. Forget FM drive-time play. Get your song played on Gray’s Anatomy or some show about blondes in southern California and you got a hit. You’re not a musician if your not giving your fans access to your music for free on MySpace.
It’s all just part of the wild crazy way musicians are living today, and thank God it’s starting to put some control back with the artists.
The answer to all the above is no.
First of all, it was interesting that this news came through the arts side of the news business, and not from business writers. This is a business story, not arts news.
Radiohead’s decision to distribute their latest album and let people pay whatever they want is just a little experiment to see what will happen. Because the simple truth is no one yet knows what to do with this thang called the Internet, especially when it comes to the music industry. But the one thing we do know is this: It’s one heckuva delivery vehicle. (More on this later.)
Radiohead’s decision to let people pay what they want is an interesting choice. It’s like busking over the Internet. Instead of playing in subway stations and city squares with an open guitar case, they’re letting people decide how much spare change to part with using their Visa cards. Interesting. Radiohead can do this because they’re established. They can experiment a little with their cash flow, or so I’m assuming. They’re cool, ‘cause they’re not signed to any record contract, so it looks as if they’re independently probing different business models with the Internet as the foundation. Smart.
And asking people for something, anything, is a nice little gesture, again, a nice little experiment because the age of getting free music is here, and sorry, RIAA, it’s here for good. There’s no getting around it. If anything, Radiohead’s pay-what-you-want policy might set the baseline for downloads. Let the people decide what’s fair. (Democracy is still very much alive on the Internet.)
Big fat record execs had it made for a long time because there was no mechanism for efficiently copying and distributing music. But that sort of idea has been around forever. I’m a writer. I write a book. You buy my book and like it, what do you do? You pass it along to a friend. You don’t say, hey, that’s stealing. Or you don’t even buy it; you go to the library and borrow it. You like something in it, you go to a copier and print out one, ten, a hundred copies of the passages. There have been copyright laws in place forever but no one ever paid any attention to them. That’s been the writer’s life.
Then came the Internet and kaboom…(see the notation above about the ‘Net being a delivery vehicle on steroids.) The music industry just was in the wrong place at the wrong time…sorta. I say sorta because business and technology are always changing and it changes fast and big.
But the record execs were too busy counting their money to see the paradigm shift. The Internet was coming down the tracks like a locomotive and they either didn’t see it or understand it to begin with. Probably the latter. And now they’re crying piracy and trying to make us all feel bad with their moralistic stance (it’s stealing! Stealing? What do you call pricing CDs way over the cost of manufacture and distribution just because you’re greedy?) The simple fact is they weren’t quick enough to change. There’s still money to be made. Tons of it. In concerts and promo items like forty dollar t-shirts and eight dollar cups of bad, water-down beer. Music is now a commodity, sad to say.
Nashville has the idea, sort of. Not that I like any of the music that comes out of Guitar Town, but the town loads up with great studio musicians and songwriters and matches them up with country singers. They turn them into a product no different than dish detergent or toothpaste, a product that can fill stadiums with forty dollar-t-shirt and eight-dollar-a-beer-buying fans.
Other musicians take other routes. Alt/indie folks gets their music in the fans' hands any way they can, realizing that a good way to build a fan base is in the philosophy that if they hear it will come. Forget FM drive-time play. Get your song played on Gray’s Anatomy or some show about blondes in southern California and you got a hit. You’re not a musician if your not giving your fans access to your music for free on MySpace.
It’s all just part of the wild crazy way musicians are living today, and thank God it’s starting to put some control back with the artists.
Walking through the Fire
Let's stick with Mary Chapin Carpenter for our morning song today...
I can hear Sue singing this...
When you set a match to your heart, fueling it with bitterness and doubt
That's the place that once it starts, no amount of tears can put out
I know you're scared, but no one's spared when you play with matches
You got me walking through fire
You got me walking through fire
Maybe you've been burned by lovers, maybe you've been scarred by the pain
But baby, I'm not like the others, drawing moths to a flame
Spite is like a spark, crackling in the dark, consuming all it catches
I can hear Sue singing this...
When you set a match to your heart, fueling it with bitterness and doubt
That's the place that once it starts, no amount of tears can put out
I know you're scared, but no one's spared when you play with matches
You got me walking through fire
You got me walking through fire
Maybe you've been burned by lovers, maybe you've been scarred by the pain
But baby, I'm not like the others, drawing moths to a flame
Spite is like a spark, crackling in the dark, consuming all it catches
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Music to my nose
I finally put away the tent we used in Utah. It's only been what?--three weeks ago we got back? Big deal. I don't think I took down my Christmas tree until March this past year. I'm constantly tripping over backpacks in my apartment, left over from some hike. It's not unusual for a sleeping bag to be found draped over the couch, airing out. Or a bladder drying on a towel rack in the bathroom. My beat-up hiking boots were cluttering up the landing for a good week, and my trekking poles were rattling around the front seat of the truck until a week ago.
I wiped the thick layer of red dust off the groundcloth yesterday morning in the bathtub, transferring the dust from the cloth to my hands, reminding me that that's the way my skin felt for a solid week. Dry but not dirty. It's a clean dirt, powdery and fine, like talcum.
And the tent I yanked out of compression bag this morning; it was already partially out anyway because I didn't want to stuff it tight in the bag. It's an REI Quarterdome UL, supposedly a two-person tent, but it's really a one-person-and-his-dog tent. Sue and I do just fine in it, though. One night, the night we had it pitched on slick rock on the edge of a canyon and thunderstorms ripped all around us, we even had all our gear in there with us. I slept that night propped up on my pack, and I never slept better.
When I yanked the tent full out, the pungent smell of ripstop/tent filled the room. I imagine Bob experiences the world and all its rich smells that way...so strong, that a smell conjures up an entire journey for him. That explains why he gets so excited when I pull gear out of the closet in preparation for a trip that's still day's away. The symphony of smells the gear gives off--mountain air, mud, cool stream water, rock, and wood smoke--is music to his nose. (That's possible, right?)
I wiped the thick layer of red dust off the groundcloth yesterday morning in the bathtub, transferring the dust from the cloth to my hands, reminding me that that's the way my skin felt for a solid week. Dry but not dirty. It's a clean dirt, powdery and fine, like talcum.
And the tent I yanked out of compression bag this morning; it was already partially out anyway because I didn't want to stuff it tight in the bag. It's an REI Quarterdome UL, supposedly a two-person tent, but it's really a one-person-and-his-dog tent. Sue and I do just fine in it, though. One night, the night we had it pitched on slick rock on the edge of a canyon and thunderstorms ripped all around us, we even had all our gear in there with us. I slept that night propped up on my pack, and I never slept better.
When I yanked the tent full out, the pungent smell of ripstop/tent filled the room. I imagine Bob experiences the world and all its rich smells that way...so strong, that a smell conjures up an entire journey for him. That explains why he gets so excited when I pull gear out of the closet in preparation for a trip that's still day's away. The symphony of smells the gear gives off--mountain air, mud, cool stream water, rock, and wood smoke--is music to his nose. (That's possible, right?)
Passionate Kisses
Let's start our day with a song. Mary Chapin Carpenter nailed Passionate Kisses cleanly, but Lucinda does a nice job wailing this one out, too.
Is it too much to demand
I want a full house and a rock and roll band
Pens that won't run out of ink
And cool quiet and time to think
Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have all of this, and
Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you
Hell, I don't want much, do I? Can I throw in world peace, too?
Just for the record, I'm lucky enough in my life to have most of that stuff, except for the rock and roll band and the pens. I'm short on pens right now. Come to think of it, I'm also a little short on the cool quiet. Don't have any time to think either.
Hmmm....well, when all you're left with are passionate kisses, who's gonna complain?
Is it too much to demand
I want a full house and a rock and roll band
Pens that won't run out of ink
And cool quiet and time to think
Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have all of this, and
Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you
Hell, I don't want much, do I? Can I throw in world peace, too?
Just for the record, I'm lucky enough in my life to have most of that stuff, except for the rock and roll band and the pens. I'm short on pens right now. Come to think of it, I'm also a little short on the cool quiet. Don't have any time to think either.
Hmmm....well, when all you're left with are passionate kisses, who's gonna complain?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Never eat at a place called Mom's
...or climb into bed with a woman with more problems than you. (Or almost as many as you.)
--Seldom Seen Smith
--Seldom Seen Smith
Lindsay Lohan out of rehab
I try to keep as far away from even thinking, much less blogging, about Hollywood types and especially spoiled little, entitled Hollywood types. But I can't get Lindsay Lohan out of my mind because she actually seems to be telling the truth and wanting to straighten out. (And right now there's a voice screaming in my head, saying when oh when are you going to learn? Forget Hollywood glamour pusses, you can't even do this in your own life, getting burned time after time after time. When are you ever going to learn not to trust people?)
She actually spent the full time in rehab, not checking out after a day or even a week or two. Rehab is just the start, and it takes time...lots of time.
She's going to stay out of Los Angeles and away from the people who encouraged her substance abuse (those people are called enablers, just so you know.) Always good to take temptation away, especially if you're someone who believes the best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it.
Is she afraid of a relapse? "Of course I am!" she reportedly said (exclamation mark not mine.) Knowing the devil is just over your shoulder is also a good sign. Fear is a great motivator.
Anyway, good luck to her. Not that I know shit about her except that she's in the news a lot, looking a lot like a train wreck, like so many other of the glitterai.
She actually spent the full time in rehab, not checking out after a day or even a week or two. Rehab is just the start, and it takes time...lots of time.
She's going to stay out of Los Angeles and away from the people who encouraged her substance abuse (those people are called enablers, just so you know.) Always good to take temptation away, especially if you're someone who believes the best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it.
Is she afraid of a relapse? "Of course I am!" she reportedly said (exclamation mark not mine.) Knowing the devil is just over your shoulder is also a good sign. Fear is a great motivator.
Anyway, good luck to her. Not that I know shit about her except that she's in the news a lot, looking a lot like a train wreck, like so many other of the glitterai.
A lottery ticket in my pocket
I've been carrying around a couple of Mega Millions lottery tickets in my wallet for a while. I play the Lottery occasionally, usually when I'm buying a six-pack and I'm feeling a little more desperate than usual. You know I'm really reaching for straws when I plunk down a dollar for a quick pick. Gee, maybe there is one chance in a gazillion that I'll win millions and millions of dollars. I mean, somebody's gotta win, why not me?
Well, the quick answer is no, no one has to win, that's the way the Lottery is set up. I don't even really expect to win. I guess that's a good thing; then I'm never disappointed. Or I play Cash Winfall, which usually doesn't have a pot of much more than a million. I don't want God to think I'm greedy. Really, Lord, I can get by on $750,000.
I think what you're really buying for your dollar is a little bit of hope. That ticket in your hand is a license to dream a bit. Who hasn't ticked off the things they'd do if they scored big? Pay off debts, buy a boat, throw a party for all your friends, help some of your friends out (the real fun is picking which friends you'd invite and which friends you'd help.) You can really get a sense of someone's values when they start dreaming about winning the Lottery.
Me? I swear I won't change, but who knows if that's true. I can't imagine having that much money not changing a person. On the surface I say I'd still drive a beat-to-shit pickup ('cause now I could really afford the gas) and maybe drinking better beer, but that's me just trying to cast himself as a common man.
But I do know one thing, after setting up my kids, Sue and I would get the hell out of Dodge, for a long, long time.
Oh, and I checked this morning and I wasn't carrying a winning ticket, which is why I'm typing this in an office in Boston, and not from some warm beach somewhere with Sue sitting next to me in her bikini.
Well, the quick answer is no, no one has to win, that's the way the Lottery is set up. I don't even really expect to win. I guess that's a good thing; then I'm never disappointed. Or I play Cash Winfall, which usually doesn't have a pot of much more than a million. I don't want God to think I'm greedy. Really, Lord, I can get by on $750,000.
I think what you're really buying for your dollar is a little bit of hope. That ticket in your hand is a license to dream a bit. Who hasn't ticked off the things they'd do if they scored big? Pay off debts, buy a boat, throw a party for all your friends, help some of your friends out (the real fun is picking which friends you'd invite and which friends you'd help.) You can really get a sense of someone's values when they start dreaming about winning the Lottery.
Me? I swear I won't change, but who knows if that's true. I can't imagine having that much money not changing a person. On the surface I say I'd still drive a beat-to-shit pickup ('cause now I could really afford the gas) and maybe drinking better beer, but that's me just trying to cast himself as a common man.
But I do know one thing, after setting up my kids, Sue and I would get the hell out of Dodge, for a long, long time.
Oh, and I checked this morning and I wasn't carrying a winning ticket, which is why I'm typing this in an office in Boston, and not from some warm beach somewhere with Sue sitting next to me in her bikini.
On the Orange Line
A young African-American girl, earbuds firmly plugged in somewhere under her cap and hair, stared hard at her miniaturized MP3 player in her hand like it held the secrets of the universe. She was totally immersed in her music, feeling it, moving to it, singing it quietly. I love seeing that. I don't know where she was, where her music was taking her, but I wanted to go there with her.
Music, particularly now when I'm playing it, does to me what running used to do, only more gently. Running unhinged my mind, and the thoughts just ran free like wild horses. Music transforms me, and just like a warm blanket doesn't get rid of the cold it just protects me from the cold, music doesn't get rid of the bad memories and feelings, they just don't hurt for some reason. Baxter knew what he was doing when he handed me LuLu a year ago.
So, I don't know where that young girl's mind was this morning, but I have a pretty good idea what she was feeling, and it was a joy to see.
Music, particularly now when I'm playing it, does to me what running used to do, only more gently. Running unhinged my mind, and the thoughts just ran free like wild horses. Music transforms me, and just like a warm blanket doesn't get rid of the cold it just protects me from the cold, music doesn't get rid of the bad memories and feelings, they just don't hurt for some reason. Baxter knew what he was doing when he handed me LuLu a year ago.
So, I don't know where that young girl's mind was this morning, but I have a pretty good idea what she was feeling, and it was a joy to see.
On the commuter rail
On the crowded commuter train this morning, an older woman staggers down the aisle of the moving, lurching car. Not a single person, not a sinlge young, healthy person in the predominantly white, suburban crowd gets up and offers a seat, except for the old guy with the bad back.
"No, that's all right," she says.
"No, really, take a seat. I kinda like standing," he lied.
"Well, if you insist," she said, gratefully.
Before he absorbed himself back in his book, he looked at the faces of all his fellow commuters, and wondered just what the hell happened to manners, and respect, and taking care of your fellow man.
"No, that's all right," she says.
"No, really, take a seat. I kinda like standing," he lied.
"Well, if you insist," she said, gratefully.
Before he absorbed himself back in his book, he looked at the faces of all his fellow commuters, and wondered just what the hell happened to manners, and respect, and taking care of your fellow man.
Mr. Tambourine Man
Let's, as always, start the morning with a song.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
I love this song, and to this day I have no idea what it means. And I'm not the only one. Hunter Thompson, in a memo to Rolling Stone publisher, Jann Wenner, about his manuscript, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, said trying to figure out Fear and Loathing was like trying to figure out the meaning of Tambourine Man.
But I imagine a Tambourine Man, like the Pied Piper or a Catcher in the Rye, protecting me and leading me away to some place better.
Maybe this should be my travelin' song. It can't be Leaving Normal, by the Junkies, so says Sue, because I still can't play Normal on the guitar. Goddamn Michael Timmins, anyway, and his fancy strumming in the opening. "How can it be your travelin' song if you can't play it?" she asked. Good point.
Your travelin' song is the one that exemplifies your spirit on the road, and the one that is finally sung at your funeral, where either Sue or I will sit in The Chair and hold the other's hand for the last time. Like my spirit sign tattooed on my shoulder.
I play it, as Lori McKenna might say, in the key of capo on the third fret. I heard her make that joke once in concert, and that's like I play. I play chords sometimes that I don't even know the name of. I just found them and they sound good where they are and that's good enough for me. Someday I'll learn their names, maybe, or maybe not. I don't get too uptight about that. I keep remembering that Stevie Ray Vaughan couldn't read music, and shit, look how he played.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
I love this song, and to this day I have no idea what it means. And I'm not the only one. Hunter Thompson, in a memo to Rolling Stone publisher, Jann Wenner, about his manuscript, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, said trying to figure out Fear and Loathing was like trying to figure out the meaning of Tambourine Man.
But I imagine a Tambourine Man, like the Pied Piper or a Catcher in the Rye, protecting me and leading me away to some place better.
Maybe this should be my travelin' song. It can't be Leaving Normal, by the Junkies, so says Sue, because I still can't play Normal on the guitar. Goddamn Michael Timmins, anyway, and his fancy strumming in the opening. "How can it be your travelin' song if you can't play it?" she asked. Good point.
Your travelin' song is the one that exemplifies your spirit on the road, and the one that is finally sung at your funeral, where either Sue or I will sit in The Chair and hold the other's hand for the last time. Like my spirit sign tattooed on my shoulder.
I play it, as Lori McKenna might say, in the key of capo on the third fret. I heard her make that joke once in concert, and that's like I play. I play chords sometimes that I don't even know the name of. I just found them and they sound good where they are and that's good enough for me. Someday I'll learn their names, maybe, or maybe not. I don't get too uptight about that. I keep remembering that Stevie Ray Vaughan couldn't read music, and shit, look how he played.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
We're all in this together
The Internet indeed is amazing the way it ties us all together. I've known for what seems like forever that we're all connected, we're all in this together...by this I mean this weird reality we call life...and the Internet, in turn, proves it in a digitally geographical way.
Just in the past couple of weeks or so, I've had people from Bogota to Brooklyn to Beverly Hills visit and read this blog. I've had people in Shinjuku, New Delhi, La Plata, and Mont-Royal stop by. I even seem to have a fan in Clinton, Washington, on Whidbey Island, who has stopped in on occasion. Now who in the heck on Whidbey Island would care about me or what I have to say? This is what makes the Internet so darn fun.
Anyway, I know I've got this one-way thing going here. That's not communications; that's monologue. There is a way to comment, but I know people can be shy. But just so you know, if you decide to leave a comment, I see it before it's published. So if you want to drop me a line and start a dialogue, that's a cool way to do it.
Just in the past couple of weeks or so, I've had people from Bogota to Brooklyn to Beverly Hills visit and read this blog. I've had people in Shinjuku, New Delhi, La Plata, and Mont-Royal stop by. I even seem to have a fan in Clinton, Washington, on Whidbey Island, who has stopped in on occasion. Now who in the heck on Whidbey Island would care about me or what I have to say? This is what makes the Internet so darn fun.
Anyway, I know I've got this one-way thing going here. That's not communications; that's monologue. There is a way to comment, but I know people can be shy. But just so you know, if you decide to leave a comment, I see it before it's published. So if you want to drop me a line and start a dialogue, that's a cool way to do it.
More on Blog Action Day
Well, first off, I love the title, as you might tell from the name of this blog.
And if I can do anything to leverage the "power" of this blog to advance environmental issues, I will. Not that I'm sure what gazillions of bloggers around the world will be able to do for a day. Nor am I sure what I'll post on that day. I'm just mulling over ideas, now, but we'll see.
I tend to vote green, and read writers who have a strong interest in the environment and nature. Right now, as regular visitors to this site know, I'm reading The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey. Another favorite book of his is Desert Solitude. His take on the industrialized world and what it has done to the natural world, particularly that most beautiful part of the world I just visited, southern Utah, should be hot-wired into every young person today and rammed up the collective asses of every politician, developer, and banker.
Redmond O'Hanlon is another all-time favorite. He's the only person I know who can make the story of one of his best friends going slowly mad in the South American rain forest funny.
And if I can do anything to leverage the "power" of this blog to advance environmental issues, I will. Not that I'm sure what gazillions of bloggers around the world will be able to do for a day. Nor am I sure what I'll post on that day. I'm just mulling over ideas, now, but we'll see.
I tend to vote green, and read writers who have a strong interest in the environment and nature. Right now, as regular visitors to this site know, I'm reading The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey. Another favorite book of his is Desert Solitude. His take on the industrialized world and what it has done to the natural world, particularly that most beautiful part of the world I just visited, southern Utah, should be hot-wired into every young person today and rammed up the collective asses of every politician, developer, and banker.
Redmond O'Hanlon is another all-time favorite. He's the only person I know who can make the story of one of his best friends going slowly mad in the South American rain forest funny.
Christians: Not like us
Seldom smiled. "We'll all go in with you, Doc, the four of us together, and you can say, 'I need a houseboat for my friends here, one for the gal, too, that'll be sixty-footers, please.' The man at the desk he'll be kind of surprised but he'll oblige. Them people'll do anything for money. You'd be surprised. They ain't like us, Doc. They're Christians."
--The Monkey Wrench Gang
--The Monkey Wrench Gang
The ties that separate
In this day and age in the business world, your team members are usually scattered all over the world. Conference calls, IM, email are how you all talk to one another. But sometimes we depend too much on the digital world, and it doesn't bring us together, but instead pulls us apart a bit, and sometimes in very funny ways.
I sat in a meeting today with people in Boston, Chicago, and Detroit. At least those are the cities where I knew there were people. There could have been others in other cities, too; I had no way of knowing.
Three-quarters of the way through an hour-long meeting, one guy in Detroit asked someone else who normally is in Detroit where he was, and lo and behold, he also was in Detroit. The first person then said, oh yeah, I can see you. Up until that point, neither person knew that the other one was within view of the other.
And some people might think this little story is funny, but I think it's pretty darn sad. They could have been sitting together, collaborating during the meeting, getting more information via personal contact. And it also exemplifies a general behavior in society in general. I think that while the digital age is bringing the farthest reaches of the planet together, for instance people in as far away places as Patagonia can communicate with people in the United States, the closer we are geographically, the more it separates us, as shown by my two co-workers sitting in nearby cubes.
I sat in a meeting today with people in Boston, Chicago, and Detroit. At least those are the cities where I knew there were people. There could have been others in other cities, too; I had no way of knowing.
Three-quarters of the way through an hour-long meeting, one guy in Detroit asked someone else who normally is in Detroit where he was, and lo and behold, he also was in Detroit. The first person then said, oh yeah, I can see you. Up until that point, neither person knew that the other one was within view of the other.
And some people might think this little story is funny, but I think it's pretty darn sad. They could have been sitting together, collaborating during the meeting, getting more information via personal contact. And it also exemplifies a general behavior in society in general. I think that while the digital age is bringing the farthest reaches of the planet together, for instance people in as far away places as Patagonia can communicate with people in the United States, the closer we are geographically, the more it separates us, as shown by my two co-workers sitting in nearby cubes.
Depression: a logical reaction to society
There's blue, down, down in the dumps, unhappy, sad, melancholy, low spirits, doldrums, dejected, gloomy, glum, wan, mopey, down in the mouth, morose, mournful, weighed down...the list goes on.
We have as many names for depression, in all its myriad forms, as the Eskimos have for snow (fluffy, granular, icy...) I think for anyone who has lived to a certain age in our society, the only logical response is some form of depression. Anyone who can cheerfully go through a full day after the age of say, 35, is either a blooming idiot or heavily medicated.
We have as many names for depression, in all its myriad forms, as the Eskimos have for snow (fluffy, granular, icy...) I think for anyone who has lived to a certain age in our society, the only logical response is some form of depression. Anyone who can cheerfully go through a full day after the age of say, 35, is either a blooming idiot or heavily medicated.
Blog Action Day
On October 15th, bloggers around the web will unite to put a single important issue on everyone’s mind - the environment. Every blogger will post about the environment in their own way and relating to their own topic. The aim is to get everyone talking towards a better future.
Learn about it.
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