Addendum
But then again, it's interesting how your words, blindly thrown into the void, will reach the most unexpected people. A word of warning: Be careful when you're writing things to ghosts, because they actually respond.
All my love, Ophelia-Gertrude.
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Why We Blog
I hoped it would be a stronger reference to the WWII "Why We Fight" campaign, but it just doesn't seem to do it. Maybe because i'm missing the patriotic regalia that would dress the title up a bit.
But that's beside the ever-elusive point.
I realized today that in the past sixteen months, I've made only two friends, neither of which i hear from anymore. I don't call anyone, I rarely respond to email (three people in the past two weeks). And I never hang out with anyone personally. That's something you just take for granted at college. When you're a few years in, and have hit your stride, you have a group of people you see regularly, and you fool yourself into thinking it will always be like that. Your post-graduate life would be some carbon-copied "Friends" spin-off, where no matter what happens there are still five people you can talk to about whatever worries you or makes you happy.
But it really is up to you to make that happen. To work toward having friends. Because if you don't, people aren't going to seek you out, to be your friend. You are just going to get lonely.
As I was pondering this, I started bloghopping, catching up on my friends Sarah Hatter and Josser Brown. Yes, I said friends. No, I don't know them, and if i did, I can't guarentee we'd click on a social level. But these are people whom I read regularly, whom I have gotten to know on some odd and distant level.
Blogging is dangerous. Blogging is dangerous because it feels so safe. Social contraception, so to speak. I can pretend i'm interacting with these interesting and clever people on some real level, without having to risk putting myself on the line, without taking the chance that Sarah may find me dull or Josser may find me immature. I'm safe here. I am a rock. An island.
But even if I am "safe", I'm not happy. Because I miss being with friends. A group of people with whom I have shared experience and some shared interests. I've lost that somehow. The only friend I've gotten to see in the last month came over on Saturday. We hung out for a few hours, but barely talked. Ah, the glory of electronic media. How we thank you, oh television and DVD, for sparing us from the risk of sharing our thoughts. Thank you for letting us bask in your glow, and not have to worry about the fact that we are becoming strangers with everyone around us.
(My old friend Cynicism creeps in the door, chuckling. I offer him a seat nearby.)
So now, we come to the subject. Why we blog. Or, at least, why I blog. I would be lying if I said that the main reason was to let all my friends know what's going on with me. That does happen, but only two people read this site once in a while, so that can hardly be the reason. No, I think the real reason I blog is because I'm pretending that someone is out there who cares about this, who really wants to get to know me. I'm pretending I'm having a conversation with a friend. And I tell this friend interesting things I've heard and found. Cool music and movies that I recommend to my friend, who follows my advice because our preferences are so alike in those areas. When I'm angry, I vent. When I'm lonely and sad, I bitch and moan about the cruelty of the world and life and being an adult (ha, like that's true).
I blog because it sometimes makes me feel better about not making the effort to make friends and interact with people. When I feel the need to share something that's important to me, I blog instead of finding a face. Blogging helps me forget for the moment that I am alone, that I have no group of people who will drop everything to go hang out, or stay up all night playing Risk and drinking too much. That I have an empty apartment in a complex full of strangers in a town where the only people who know my name are my parents, sisters, and three or four co-workers.
Blogging is a fix, that satisfies the craving for feeling important and special and interesting. That's why I blog. And the sad part is, in light of this new-found personal understanding, I still can't find any reason to stop.
Let's face it, what else would I do?
I hoped it would be a stronger reference to the WWII "Why We Fight" campaign, but it just doesn't seem to do it. Maybe because i'm missing the patriotic regalia that would dress the title up a bit.
But that's beside the ever-elusive point.
I realized today that in the past sixteen months, I've made only two friends, neither of which i hear from anymore. I don't call anyone, I rarely respond to email (three people in the past two weeks). And I never hang out with anyone personally. That's something you just take for granted at college. When you're a few years in, and have hit your stride, you have a group of people you see regularly, and you fool yourself into thinking it will always be like that. Your post-graduate life would be some carbon-copied "Friends" spin-off, where no matter what happens there are still five people you can talk to about whatever worries you or makes you happy.
But it really is up to you to make that happen. To work toward having friends. Because if you don't, people aren't going to seek you out, to be your friend. You are just going to get lonely.
As I was pondering this, I started bloghopping, catching up on my friends Sarah Hatter and Josser Brown. Yes, I said friends. No, I don't know them, and if i did, I can't guarentee we'd click on a social level. But these are people whom I read regularly, whom I have gotten to know on some odd and distant level.
Blogging is dangerous. Blogging is dangerous because it feels so safe. Social contraception, so to speak. I can pretend i'm interacting with these interesting and clever people on some real level, without having to risk putting myself on the line, without taking the chance that Sarah may find me dull or Josser may find me immature. I'm safe here. I am a rock. An island.
But even if I am "safe", I'm not happy. Because I miss being with friends. A group of people with whom I have shared experience and some shared interests. I've lost that somehow. The only friend I've gotten to see in the last month came over on Saturday. We hung out for a few hours, but barely talked. Ah, the glory of electronic media. How we thank you, oh television and DVD, for sparing us from the risk of sharing our thoughts. Thank you for letting us bask in your glow, and not have to worry about the fact that we are becoming strangers with everyone around us.
(My old friend Cynicism creeps in the door, chuckling. I offer him a seat nearby.)
So now, we come to the subject. Why we blog. Or, at least, why I blog. I would be lying if I said that the main reason was to let all my friends know what's going on with me. That does happen, but only two people read this site once in a while, so that can hardly be the reason. No, I think the real reason I blog is because I'm pretending that someone is out there who cares about this, who really wants to get to know me. I'm pretending I'm having a conversation with a friend. And I tell this friend interesting things I've heard and found. Cool music and movies that I recommend to my friend, who follows my advice because our preferences are so alike in those areas. When I'm angry, I vent. When I'm lonely and sad, I bitch and moan about the cruelty of the world and life and being an adult (ha, like that's true).
I blog because it sometimes makes me feel better about not making the effort to make friends and interact with people. When I feel the need to share something that's important to me, I blog instead of finding a face. Blogging helps me forget for the moment that I am alone, that I have no group of people who will drop everything to go hang out, or stay up all night playing Risk and drinking too much. That I have an empty apartment in a complex full of strangers in a town where the only people who know my name are my parents, sisters, and three or four co-workers.
Blogging is a fix, that satisfies the craving for feeling important and special and interesting. That's why I blog. And the sad part is, in light of this new-found personal understanding, I still can't find any reason to stop.
Let's face it, what else would I do?
Monday, September 29, 2003
"There's a kiss at the end of the rainbow..."
"...More precious than a pot of gold."
A Mighty Wind is such a great movie. And, what moving song lyrics! Just kidding.
Good stuff, go rent it.
Or buy it, and just trust that you will feel justified.
But not like the Timberlake album.
That one should be called, "Nastified."
He was on tour with Christina Aguilera. Her album should be called "I'm a Dirty Ho."
Unlike Mariah Carey, whose last album should have been called "I'm a Washed Up Dirty Ho."
What were we talking about?
Or were we talking?
I'm done rambling now. Thanks for stopping by.
I can almost guarantee that I'll actually have something to say next time.
But until then, keep your feet in your shoes and keep reaching for the exit.
...
My doctor changed my dose this week.
"...More precious than a pot of gold."
A Mighty Wind is such a great movie. And, what moving song lyrics! Just kidding.
Good stuff, go rent it.
Or buy it, and just trust that you will feel justified.
But not like the Timberlake album.
That one should be called, "Nastified."
He was on tour with Christina Aguilera. Her album should be called "I'm a Dirty Ho."
Unlike Mariah Carey, whose last album should have been called "I'm a Washed Up Dirty Ho."
What were we talking about?
Or were we talking?
I'm done rambling now. Thanks for stopping by.
I can almost guarantee that I'll actually have something to say next time.
But until then, keep your feet in your shoes and keep reaching for the exit.
...
My doctor changed my dose this week.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Is it okay for me to talk about it now?
I figure it is. It's been nine months. More than. And I figure it's only fair now. I've given time and space, held back my short-lived anger and the slowly-fading sense of betrayal. I'm over it really. but not.
It's just something you can't ever be over completely. It changes the course of your life, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly.
I've thought about her more recently, than I ever intended to. I remember all the things about her i miss. And it makes me sad, somehow. You get used to a combination of qualities that you really enjoy, and that particular quirky cocktail covers over the parts you don't like, the parts that sting and kick. I really really miss the girl she was, the one I knew, the person who was infinitely cooler than me, and who made me feel cooler by proximity and association.
It's been nine months. In that nine months, I've flirted with three strangers, and been flirted with once (i think). No dating, no prospects, just expectations. My tastes are tuned to a certain type of girl, not realizing that there's only one of this certain, particular kind. The one I can't have. The one I don't want, really, logically, in my mind, in my will, in my good sense.
But the girl I miss, the ghost of a memory, the cool girl who inspired my best poetry, both written and lived. She stays in the background of thought, no longer demanding attention, no longer bringing me down like she used to. But remaining, like the slightest knawing sense of not enough.
I loved her with every fiber of my being. I would have given anything, given up anything, given into any demand, to be with her. I worshipped her, too much, so much so that she eclipsed all other priorities in my life. She became my life. She was my goal, she was my motivation. She was why i took and kept a job i hated, why I changed my mind about everything, from clothes to couches to music. She convinced me that i had enemies when they were really friends. And I believed every word she said, because no matter what she said, she said it to me, and I was revelling in her favor.
Nine months. A lifetime, almost. That's how it feels. I barely remember what's gone on since then. The shadow of her looms, obscures memory.
She's done with me now. And I am done with her, as I have told her, as I have told many. But yet I'm still thinking about her, talking about her. Because I cannot escape the little things that bind us. The CD's, the movies, the stupid little preferences. Cheez-its, Froot Loops, Adrian Tomine. Say Anything, Weezer, painting. Sunsets, Oregon, Macs. Loving the old school, thrift stores, biking all over that stupid little college town. I remember how she looked when she cried, how awful and beautiful. I remember the first time we met, the first time we talked, the first time we kissed, our first date. She loved coffee, used sugar but never cream or half-and-half. And she hated being made to choose.
She hated being contradicted about what she wanted, second-guessed. I remember having to apologize when I upset her, and how easy it came to me, because I knew that nothing could stop me from reconciling with her. I remember the webpage she made just for me, but it's probably gone. I remember what kind of engagement ring she wanted, when she still wanted one from me.
I remember when I started to take her for granted, when I became self-absorbed, when I stopped asking how she was. And I remember when we were driving home, from Michael's wedding, and she told me the truth, clearly for the first time, and how my heart ached. And how I imagined driving the car off the road. And how I couldn't understand, and how I hoped things would work out. I remember finally listening to someone else's council, following that advice, and reaching a conclusion. I remember angry IM conversations, stilted phone calls, then silence.
I remember hoping for another chance, and learning that there were none. I remember finding out what I was afraid to learn. I remember feeling totally responsible. I remember learning the truth, or at least, as much truth as I will ever get. I remember feeling self-righteous, then foolish, then just sad.
Sunday is Marissa's birthday. Happy Birthday, Riss. Honestly, if you were sitting here next to me, I would lean over and kiss your mouth without asking, and it would taste like coffee and cigarettes. Then I'd say goodbye.
I guess saying goodbye will have to suffice.
I figure it is. It's been nine months. More than. And I figure it's only fair now. I've given time and space, held back my short-lived anger and the slowly-fading sense of betrayal. I'm over it really. but not.
It's just something you can't ever be over completely. It changes the course of your life, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly.
I've thought about her more recently, than I ever intended to. I remember all the things about her i miss. And it makes me sad, somehow. You get used to a combination of qualities that you really enjoy, and that particular quirky cocktail covers over the parts you don't like, the parts that sting and kick. I really really miss the girl she was, the one I knew, the person who was infinitely cooler than me, and who made me feel cooler by proximity and association.
It's been nine months. In that nine months, I've flirted with three strangers, and been flirted with once (i think). No dating, no prospects, just expectations. My tastes are tuned to a certain type of girl, not realizing that there's only one of this certain, particular kind. The one I can't have. The one I don't want, really, logically, in my mind, in my will, in my good sense.
But the girl I miss, the ghost of a memory, the cool girl who inspired my best poetry, both written and lived. She stays in the background of thought, no longer demanding attention, no longer bringing me down like she used to. But remaining, like the slightest knawing sense of not enough.
I loved her with every fiber of my being. I would have given anything, given up anything, given into any demand, to be with her. I worshipped her, too much, so much so that she eclipsed all other priorities in my life. She became my life. She was my goal, she was my motivation. She was why i took and kept a job i hated, why I changed my mind about everything, from clothes to couches to music. She convinced me that i had enemies when they were really friends. And I believed every word she said, because no matter what she said, she said it to me, and I was revelling in her favor.
Nine months. A lifetime, almost. That's how it feels. I barely remember what's gone on since then. The shadow of her looms, obscures memory.
She's done with me now. And I am done with her, as I have told her, as I have told many. But yet I'm still thinking about her, talking about her. Because I cannot escape the little things that bind us. The CD's, the movies, the stupid little preferences. Cheez-its, Froot Loops, Adrian Tomine. Say Anything, Weezer, painting. Sunsets, Oregon, Macs. Loving the old school, thrift stores, biking all over that stupid little college town. I remember how she looked when she cried, how awful and beautiful. I remember the first time we met, the first time we talked, the first time we kissed, our first date. She loved coffee, used sugar but never cream or half-and-half. And she hated being made to choose.
She hated being contradicted about what she wanted, second-guessed. I remember having to apologize when I upset her, and how easy it came to me, because I knew that nothing could stop me from reconciling with her. I remember the webpage she made just for me, but it's probably gone. I remember what kind of engagement ring she wanted, when she still wanted one from me.
I remember when I started to take her for granted, when I became self-absorbed, when I stopped asking how she was. And I remember when we were driving home, from Michael's wedding, and she told me the truth, clearly for the first time, and how my heart ached. And how I imagined driving the car off the road. And how I couldn't understand, and how I hoped things would work out. I remember finally listening to someone else's council, following that advice, and reaching a conclusion. I remember angry IM conversations, stilted phone calls, then silence.
I remember hoping for another chance, and learning that there were none. I remember finding out what I was afraid to learn. I remember feeling totally responsible. I remember learning the truth, or at least, as much truth as I will ever get. I remember feeling self-righteous, then foolish, then just sad.
Sunday is Marissa's birthday. Happy Birthday, Riss. Honestly, if you were sitting here next to me, I would lean over and kiss your mouth without asking, and it would taste like coffee and cigarettes. Then I'd say goodbye.
I guess saying goodbye will have to suffice.
Monday, September 22, 2003
"Here am I sitting on my tin can, far above the moon... Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do..."
It's a David Bowie day. By the way, his new disc came out last week. I haven't had a chance to check it out, but I'd like to.
Also, Dave Matthews' solo project debuts tomorrow. The first single, "Gravedigger", is my favorite song on the radio.
"A Mighty Wind" comes to video tomorrow. Go rent it, and laugh hysterically. Or not.
*****
So here I am. Five fifteen ("train overdue, angels have gone"), Monday afternoon. I've been here a week, at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center ("We're Making Cancer History.") I'm really glad to be here. I'm just starting to get into actual work. Ah, the joys of constant copyediting. Thank God I will have creative writing to look forward to each evening.
Personnel report: My new boss is rad. His name is Kristopher, and he and I have been trading movie and musical references all day.
*****
Pray for my grandfather. He's going to the hospital in a few weeks to get what is apparently a cancerous sore removed from his neck. Not his first time to have cancerous tissue. My dad is worrying. So am I.
*****
Oh, so hey, I'm going to try being totally moved into my new apartment by the end of the week. It will be tough, but I think it can be done. Dad and I moved the couch in last night. Thanks to the major scratches on the door, I can kiss my deposit goodbye, but that's okay.
I'm about to head home and take another load o'junk over.
*****
Will, I'm picking the Pens and Wild for the Cup this year. Why? I don't know. Gut instinct.
As for other hockey news. The Calder Cup champion Houston Aeros begin their AHL title defense on October 24th. I'm psyched.
*****
Wait a minute. October 24th... that's just ten days after...something. Hmmm.
*****
I'd just like to take this opportunity to tell two people how rad they are.
Manders, you are the coolest Asian in the history of the continent. I defy history to find your better.
Kara (my diva), you are priceless beyond words, and I miss seeing you all the time.
Okay, show's over, nothing to see here, move along people.
It's a David Bowie day. By the way, his new disc came out last week. I haven't had a chance to check it out, but I'd like to.
Also, Dave Matthews' solo project debuts tomorrow. The first single, "Gravedigger", is my favorite song on the radio.
"A Mighty Wind" comes to video tomorrow. Go rent it, and laugh hysterically. Or not.
*****
So here I am. Five fifteen ("train overdue, angels have gone"), Monday afternoon. I've been here a week, at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center ("We're Making Cancer History.") I'm really glad to be here. I'm just starting to get into actual work. Ah, the joys of constant copyediting. Thank God I will have creative writing to look forward to each evening.
Personnel report: My new boss is rad. His name is Kristopher, and he and I have been trading movie and musical references all day.
*****
Pray for my grandfather. He's going to the hospital in a few weeks to get what is apparently a cancerous sore removed from his neck. Not his first time to have cancerous tissue. My dad is worrying. So am I.
*****
Oh, so hey, I'm going to try being totally moved into my new apartment by the end of the week. It will be tough, but I think it can be done. Dad and I moved the couch in last night. Thanks to the major scratches on the door, I can kiss my deposit goodbye, but that's okay.
I'm about to head home and take another load o'junk over.
*****
Will, I'm picking the Pens and Wild for the Cup this year. Why? I don't know. Gut instinct.
As for other hockey news. The Calder Cup champion Houston Aeros begin their AHL title defense on October 24th. I'm psyched.
*****
Wait a minute. October 24th... that's just ten days after...something. Hmmm.
*****
I'd just like to take this opportunity to tell two people how rad they are.
Manders, you are the coolest Asian in the history of the continent. I defy history to find your better.
Kara (my diva), you are priceless beyond words, and I miss seeing you all the time.
Okay, show's over, nothing to see here, move along people.
Monday, September 15, 2003
"In case you failed to notice, in case you failed to see..."
...these are my links, listed to the right. This is me mashing the keys...
If these...foolish blogs...are boring you to death...
Then you'd... better go...to these sites on the left...
--I mean, on the right...
(It's a Jewel reference. "Foolish Games." GEEZ, people. I have to explain EVERYTHING.)
For those of you who may not always be brilliant in the morning, I added some new links, took away some old ones, no real reason, just wanted to change things up. I put up Sarah Hatter and Desolation Angels (no I'm not going to link from here, scroll over, you lazy bum.) Also, Counting Crows song lyrics, which includes the lyrics to all their covers, just in case you wanted to know, and couldn't figure out who actually wrote it.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go off and make meaningful music for a few years before totally selling out to sex up my image and gain a new audience.
...these are my links, listed to the right. This is me mashing the keys...
If these...foolish blogs...are boring you to death...
Then you'd... better go...to these sites on the left...
--I mean, on the right...
(It's a Jewel reference. "Foolish Games." GEEZ, people. I have to explain EVERYTHING.)
For those of you who may not always be brilliant in the morning, I added some new links, took away some old ones, no real reason, just wanted to change things up. I put up Sarah Hatter and Desolation Angels (no I'm not going to link from here, scroll over, you lazy bum.) Also, Counting Crows song lyrics, which includes the lyrics to all their covers, just in case you wanted to know, and couldn't figure out who actually wrote it.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go off and make meaningful music for a few years before totally selling out to sex up my image and gain a new audience.
Turn back, oh man...
Okay, kids, listen up. I have found one of the coolest things to come out of Christian music/theatre/musical theatre in a long time.
Most of you recognized the title, because you are familiar with the work of absolute beauty known as Godspell.
Some of you may ask, where is the Godspell of our generation? A work of theatre that is both cool and evangelical. The rock opera of our time.
It's called !Hero.
Over two years, Eddie Degarmo (of old-school Degarmo and Key), Pete Stewart, and Bob Farrell have worked on a modern retelling of the life of Christ, set in near-future New York. New York is now under the control of the global government ICON (read: Roman Empire).
In this retelling, Jesus (called "Hero" by most of the characters) was born in Bethlehem, PA, but was moved by his parents to Brooklyn when he was young. He grows up and then begins his earthly ministry, walking through the five boroughs and performing miracles, before he is railroaded and killed by the angry mob, under the authority of Govenor Pilate and chief priest Kai.
At this point, some of you are thinking, "This has been done so many times. Do we need another Godspell?" And if this were a rip-off of that goodness, I'd agree that it was overkill.
But !Hero is not Godspell. Here's why:
--Godspell's focus was on Jesus's relationship with his disciples; !Hero's is on his interaction with the people as a whole.
--Godspell was based mainly on Matthew, !Hero on John.
--Godspell went through Jesus' parables; !Hero focuses on his miracles and verbal exchanges with the powers that were.
There are similarities. Philosophically, they both connect Jesus to the present, as a relevant teacher and philosopher. !Hero presents a more evangelical version.
And the really cool part (or at least, I think so): All the roles are played by current Christian musicians.
Peter is voiced by Mark Stuart, the lead for Audio A. Mary Magdelene (called Maggie) is Rebecca St. James. And the casting I love best, Hero himself, is played by Michael Tait of DC Talk.
Something about casting Jesus as a black man sounds so right to me. I don't know why. Obviously, Jesus was Jewish, yes, but in this WORK OF PRESENTATIONAL ART, Jesus being black feels more authentic that Jesus as a white guy. Don't know why.
Guest spots to note: GRITS is part of the wedding at Cana section; and (in my favorite track) T-Bone, as Jairus, pleads with Hero to raise his daughter from the dead, in the track "Raised in Harlem." There are several other great cameos.
So, now that I've hopefully whetted your curiosity, here are the details. The two-disc album (released in a really well-designed cardstock flipcase) is available now. And in November, Tait, St. James, and Stuart are all going on the road together with a touring version of the show. I'm so psyched. They'll be in Houston on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Woo-woo!
As a final note, I am not part of any "street team" or publicity group for this album. I just loved it that much. I made a tape copy to play in my truck driving to and from the Med Center.
And I figured there would be at least a couple of you lovely readers who would be interested.
Okay, kids, listen up. I have found one of the coolest things to come out of Christian music/theatre/musical theatre in a long time.
Most of you recognized the title, because you are familiar with the work of absolute beauty known as Godspell.
Some of you may ask, where is the Godspell of our generation? A work of theatre that is both cool and evangelical. The rock opera of our time.
It's called !Hero.
Over two years, Eddie Degarmo (of old-school Degarmo and Key), Pete Stewart, and Bob Farrell have worked on a modern retelling of the life of Christ, set in near-future New York. New York is now under the control of the global government ICON (read: Roman Empire).
In this retelling, Jesus (called "Hero" by most of the characters) was born in Bethlehem, PA, but was moved by his parents to Brooklyn when he was young. He grows up and then begins his earthly ministry, walking through the five boroughs and performing miracles, before he is railroaded and killed by the angry mob, under the authority of Govenor Pilate and chief priest Kai.
At this point, some of you are thinking, "This has been done so many times. Do we need another Godspell?" And if this were a rip-off of that goodness, I'd agree that it was overkill.
But !Hero is not Godspell. Here's why:
--Godspell's focus was on Jesus's relationship with his disciples; !Hero's is on his interaction with the people as a whole.
--Godspell was based mainly on Matthew, !Hero on John.
--Godspell went through Jesus' parables; !Hero focuses on his miracles and verbal exchanges with the powers that were.
There are similarities. Philosophically, they both connect Jesus to the present, as a relevant teacher and philosopher. !Hero presents a more evangelical version.
And the really cool part (or at least, I think so): All the roles are played by current Christian musicians.
Peter is voiced by Mark Stuart, the lead for Audio A. Mary Magdelene (called Maggie) is Rebecca St. James. And the casting I love best, Hero himself, is played by Michael Tait of DC Talk.
Something about casting Jesus as a black man sounds so right to me. I don't know why. Obviously, Jesus was Jewish, yes, but in this WORK OF PRESENTATIONAL ART, Jesus being black feels more authentic that Jesus as a white guy. Don't know why.
Guest spots to note: GRITS is part of the wedding at Cana section; and (in my favorite track) T-Bone, as Jairus, pleads with Hero to raise his daughter from the dead, in the track "Raised in Harlem." There are several other great cameos.
So, now that I've hopefully whetted your curiosity, here are the details. The two-disc album (released in a really well-designed cardstock flipcase) is available now. And in November, Tait, St. James, and Stuart are all going on the road together with a touring version of the show. I'm so psyched. They'll be in Houston on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Woo-woo!
As a final note, I am not part of any "street team" or publicity group for this album. I just loved it that much. I made a tape copy to play in my truck driving to and from the Med Center.
And I figured there would be at least a couple of you lovely readers who would be interested.
TV Melodrama Update
For some reason, I feel the need to comment on some primetime TV. So the kid on Everwood died. I'm a bit surprised. No one usually dies. They nearly die, right around sweeps week, then miraculously survive. And the cycle goes on.
So, ehem, uh, bravo to, uh, them, for not doing the typical primetime soap opera bit.
Not that I watch the show or anything...
For some reason, I feel the need to comment on some primetime TV. So the kid on Everwood died. I'm a bit surprised. No one usually dies. They nearly die, right around sweeps week, then miraculously survive. And the cycle goes on.
So, ehem, uh, bravo to, uh, them, for not doing the typical primetime soap opera bit.
Not that I watch the show or anything...
Sectional Healing...
Went couch shopping on Sunday with my mom. Fun times, since we spent most of the time looking at what would work in HER living room. Silly parents.
But here's what we've established:
No flowers, fruits, berries, or other environmental/girly patterns.
No crazy textures or bold colors.
Nothing too fancy with wooden flourishes, carvings, or rivets.
What I'm thinking, actually, is something not too unlike Steve's "Thinking Chair". Basic lines, no frills. Not so much orange, but you get the idea. The contrasting color of the seams to the smooth fabric is cool.
Still searching for the right one. I'm sure I'll let you know.
(With such a great idea for a title, I had to create a post for it.)
Went couch shopping on Sunday with my mom. Fun times, since we spent most of the time looking at what would work in HER living room. Silly parents.
But here's what we've established:
No flowers, fruits, berries, or other environmental/girly patterns.
No crazy textures or bold colors.
Nothing too fancy with wooden flourishes, carvings, or rivets.
What I'm thinking, actually, is something not too unlike Steve's "Thinking Chair". Basic lines, no frills. Not so much orange, but you get the idea. The contrasting color of the seams to the smooth fabric is cool.
Still searching for the right one. I'm sure I'll let you know.
(With such a great idea for a title, I had to create a post for it.)
Friday, September 12, 2003
And now for some electronically-generated beat poetry...
Googlism is bizarre, but interesting. I'll post the result later, I think.
(I'm at work right now, on the last day of my job at Tide-Air. How I will miss the sound of air compressors and power tools... hmmm. Okay, maybe not.)
Googlism is bizarre, but interesting. I'll post the result later, I think.
(I'm at work right now, on the last day of my job at Tide-Air. How I will miss the sound of air compressors and power tools... hmmm. Okay, maybe not.)
Sunday, September 07, 2003
Sit back and let me tell you of the mighty works of the Lord...
What a difference two days makes. Forty-eight little hours.
Since Thursday night, I have interviewed, and BEEN HIRED, at M.D.Anderson Cancer Center's Research Department. I have also applied for a really awesome apartment, which I should be approved for by Friday or so.
So now, I am about to make more money that I've ever seen before, so that I can pay all my bills, not be a deadbeat, and move out of my parent's house into my own place.
God be praised. Wow.
What a difference two days makes. Forty-eight little hours.
Since Thursday night, I have interviewed, and BEEN HIRED, at M.D.Anderson Cancer Center's Research Department. I have also applied for a really awesome apartment, which I should be approved for by Friday or so.
So now, I am about to make more money that I've ever seen before, so that I can pay all my bills, not be a deadbeat, and move out of my parent's house into my own place.
God be praised. Wow.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
"Everybody open your mouth/Everybody just say 'ah'..."
"Why did they paint the walls? Why did they clean the floor?"
"This name is the hair-shirt I wear, and this hair-shirt is woven from your brown hair..."
"I just made you say underwear..."
"You can be my Yoko Ono..."
"Chicken dee China, de Chinese Chicken..."
"If you call, I will answer, and if you fall, I'll pick you up..."
"If I had a million dollars, we wouldn't have to eat Kraft dinner (sure we would, we'd just eat more!)..."
"Call it impulsive, call it compulsive, call it insane..."
"Everywhere I go, someone's trying to be my girlfriend's best friend..."
--pearls of wisdom gathered from those large, pale Canadian boys, Barenaked Ladies
"Why did they paint the walls? Why did they clean the floor?"
"This name is the hair-shirt I wear, and this hair-shirt is woven from your brown hair..."
"I just made you say underwear..."
"You can be my Yoko Ono..."
"Chicken dee China, de Chinese Chicken..."
"If you call, I will answer, and if you fall, I'll pick you up..."
"If I had a million dollars, we wouldn't have to eat Kraft dinner (sure we would, we'd just eat more!)..."
"Call it impulsive, call it compulsive, call it insane..."
"Everywhere I go, someone's trying to be my girlfriend's best friend..."
--pearls of wisdom gathered from those large, pale Canadian boys, Barenaked Ladies
"Keely, I'm not that man anymore. I've changed, Keely..."
You know, if I had to choose groomsmen for my wedding (yes, I've thought about this), one of them would be Michael Clack.
Okay, so that was an awkward introduction, but I got to spend some time with Clack on Friday, and it reminded me how much I love the guy, so I figured he certainly deserved a post.
And here we are. The Clack post. The title is a line from his most controversial role on-stage, where he played a "reformed" abusive husband/rapist. Pretty radical, considering how completely unlike that Clack is.
A friend once described Clack as "a younger version of Jack Lemmon from The Apartment. Which is a pretty close physical description. He has the same boyish face, and mischeivous grin. Always smiling, or pretending to frown, and furrowing his brow. Funny kid.
I just wanted to give you a visual. This is the coolest kat I know, married to a really amazing woman named Kelli. They live in the faraway kingdom of Chicagoland, and I miss them terribly when I can't see them. That's why it was so cool to spend all of twenty minutes with them.
Okay, the reason I'm writing this is not out of some random burst of affection and friendship. Mike will read this sometime soon, and I want him to come back to this page, so I figure this way, after such a loving and generous namedrop, he and Kelli will become a regular part of the "Anything to Disrupt the Tedium/Perfect Blue Buildings" family.
Please stay. I'll mention you more.
...
Did I forget to add that they are marvelous actors with a wealth of theatrical experience, including show-stopping performances in Tartuffe, which I saw four times just because of them?
All true. I promise.
You know, if I had to choose groomsmen for my wedding (yes, I've thought about this), one of them would be Michael Clack.
Okay, so that was an awkward introduction, but I got to spend some time with Clack on Friday, and it reminded me how much I love the guy, so I figured he certainly deserved a post.
And here we are. The Clack post. The title is a line from his most controversial role on-stage, where he played a "reformed" abusive husband/rapist. Pretty radical, considering how completely unlike that Clack is.
A friend once described Clack as "a younger version of Jack Lemmon from The Apartment. Which is a pretty close physical description. He has the same boyish face, and mischeivous grin. Always smiling, or pretending to frown, and furrowing his brow. Funny kid.
I just wanted to give you a visual. This is the coolest kat I know, married to a really amazing woman named Kelli. They live in the faraway kingdom of Chicagoland, and I miss them terribly when I can't see them. That's why it was so cool to spend all of twenty minutes with them.
Okay, the reason I'm writing this is not out of some random burst of affection and friendship. Mike will read this sometime soon, and I want him to come back to this page, so I figure this way, after such a loving and generous namedrop, he and Kelli will become a regular part of the "Anything to Disrupt the Tedium/Perfect Blue Buildings" family.
Please stay. I'll mention you more.
...
Did I forget to add that they are marvelous actors with a wealth of theatrical experience, including show-stopping performances in Tartuffe, which I saw four times just because of them?
All true. I promise.
A Quick Recap for anyone who darted out to the loo in the third act...
After leaving work at one p.m. on friday, and leaving Houston after two (thank God), I clawed and scratched my merry way through five hundred miles of holiday traffic, car accidents, and ridiculous amounts of construction, to walk up to Dorland Theatre as everyone was walking out, teary-eyed. I'm sure I would have loved the show. In fact, I think I remembered telling someone that I did love the show, that it was one of the best I've seen lately. Oh, yeah, that was Bree.
But I made it in time to be with friends all weekend. And that was what I really needed.
Thanks to all who cared enough to sit with me and drink coffee (and other things), and ask about my life. I love you all.
Thanks to the Zetas for letting me crash Packer's bachelor party dinner. Matt, wear the t-shirt in good health, my friend. Two days from right now, eh? You dog, you.
Thanks to the Cains, who were most gracious. "Da-ddy, Pep-per so-rry!!!"
Thanks to Whitney, who throws a great party, especially one full of strangers. I owe you a round of Blue Whitney's, next time I'm local.
Thanks and love to Kara, my diva, who blesses my heart with her presence.
Thanks and love to all friends from out of town who I got to see. One in particular, I'll mention in detail, shortly.
And for all of you not there, who are scratching your collective heads at this point (hey--wasn't that a band? nevermind...), believe me when I say that it was one of the best trips up there I've had in a while. Definitely in the last ten months or so.
All that said, I have returned to Houston (not sure how I feel about that, exactly), and am back at work.
I'm flying quasi-solo this week at the job. My immediate supervisor (and constant help) Patrick is on vacation, so I'm having to handle most of the workload on my own. Surprisingly, I've managed to keep up with most of it. Today was kind of rough, but hopefully tomorrow may be better.
Wait, tomorrow WILL be better, but for a different reason.
***
I have another interview with the hospital. After a few emails and the required writing-sample-in-lieu-of-grammar-test as proof of skill, I am now going in for yet another interview. My prospects look really good. I'm very excited, and sort of nervous.
I'm ready to reach Canaan, basically. I'm standing in the shallows of the Jordan, and I'm ready.
So that's very exciting.
After leaving work at one p.m. on friday, and leaving Houston after two (thank God), I clawed and scratched my merry way through five hundred miles of holiday traffic, car accidents, and ridiculous amounts of construction, to walk up to Dorland Theatre as everyone was walking out, teary-eyed. I'm sure I would have loved the show. In fact, I think I remembered telling someone that I did love the show, that it was one of the best I've seen lately. Oh, yeah, that was Bree.
But I made it in time to be with friends all weekend. And that was what I really needed.
Thanks to all who cared enough to sit with me and drink coffee (and other things), and ask about my life. I love you all.
Thanks to the Zetas for letting me crash Packer's bachelor party dinner. Matt, wear the t-shirt in good health, my friend. Two days from right now, eh? You dog, you.
Thanks to the Cains, who were most gracious. "Da-ddy, Pep-per so-rry!!!"
Thanks to Whitney, who throws a great party, especially one full of strangers. I owe you a round of Blue Whitney's, next time I'm local.
Thanks and love to Kara, my diva, who blesses my heart with her presence.
Thanks and love to all friends from out of town who I got to see. One in particular, I'll mention in detail, shortly.
And for all of you not there, who are scratching your collective heads at this point (hey--wasn't that a band? nevermind...), believe me when I say that it was one of the best trips up there I've had in a while. Definitely in the last ten months or so.
All that said, I have returned to Houston (not sure how I feel about that, exactly), and am back at work.
I'm flying quasi-solo this week at the job. My immediate supervisor (and constant help) Patrick is on vacation, so I'm having to handle most of the workload on my own. Surprisingly, I've managed to keep up with most of it. Today was kind of rough, but hopefully tomorrow may be better.
Wait, tomorrow WILL be better, but for a different reason.
***
I have another interview with the hospital. After a few emails and the required writing-sample-in-lieu-of-grammar-test as proof of skill, I am now going in for yet another interview. My prospects look really good. I'm very excited, and sort of nervous.
I'm ready to reach Canaan, basically. I'm standing in the shallows of the Jordan, and I'm ready.
So that's very exciting.
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