Thursday, April 28, 2011
Song lyric idea, randomly spilling out of somewhere
Will you try? Will you try to find me? If I'm lost in a cloud, will you try?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Baseball parks
Hey TD: it's Arizona! The D-Backs stadium has a retractable roof. Margie helped me with that one, actually.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
We hate it when our friends become successful
That's a line from a Morrissey song. My hair somewhat resembles his when I don't shower, which is far too often to admit. I blame unemployment. Prospective employers, I'll shower for you every day. I'll even use soap.
So I've decided that I don't believe in this lyric. It's true that I hate it when contemporaries become successful. "Contemporaries" meaning people who are my age, or those that were classmates, that had very little contact with me. When those bastards do well, they can go to hell.
But I have a friend - more like a friend of my wife's, though we contact each other directly - who is successful and will soon be more so.
Lisa used to work with Margie at the Associated Press bureau in Washington. She's my age, very petite, with unusual features. I don't mean that to sound as if she is unattractive. I guess she's not considered a beauty, but there's something about her that makes her very attractive. It's likely her great personality. She's not only very smart, but she relates well to others and is endlessly fascinating. Plus, she has the ability to focus on you, making you feel like the most important thing to her at that moment. She's wonderful, and is one of the few people from the DC area that I miss. I hope her husband, Jason, realizes how lucky he is.
Lisa works for CNN and covers Congress. She does a weekly (or thereabouts) podcast (or something like that) called "American Sauce," where she tries to give listeners the unadulterated story of what's going on there, away from the spin and pomp. It's very good, reminiscent of NPR journalism, but not at all snooty.
I listened to her most recent episode and wanted to send her an e-mail, but I don't know it. She's had a few over the years, and when I try those, I never get a response. So I looked for more info and found two great things about her.
1. In late 2009, Lisa was covering a Tea Party event for the television side of CNN, and she was basically drowned out by the unruly crowd. It came on the heels of Joe Wilson yelling "You lie!" to President Obama during an address. (For the record, I don't care how much you disagree with the president's policies. You DO NOT pull such a schoolyard move during a national broadcast. Especially when your party's last president lied, and lied, and lied some more.)
The broadcast of that remote is on YouTube and has been watched about 900,000 times. Wow. And she doesn't look bad during it. If anything, she looks good by getting the crowd to settle down and allowing them to respond in a positive manner about something: namely, Joe Wilson. Ugh. Blind allegiance is so sad. But she did a great job with it.
2. She's co-written a book that's coming out in less than two weeks, titled "Zombie Economics." It'll likely be huge, or at least big enough to find on one of those front tables in the big-name bookstores.
I decided to call her, seeing we haven't communicated in a couple of years. Friends should talk more often, yes? Her cell phone number was called, and she answered right away. We spoke for at least 20 minutes, much longer than I thought someone of her standing would or could devote to me. And of course, she made me feel important to her and even special.
She's done that before. I actually performed at her wedding reception... and her proposal! Jason told Margie and I that he was going to propose to her at a local park, and he wanted a bunch of her friends to be there. It was nice, though Jason contracted Lyme's disease while in the bushes, and I actually played "Here Comes By Baby" on guitar for them once she said yes.
Why that song, a song about a girl you can't have? Not sure. I guess it meant a lot to them, but it made no sense in context. At least it's a classic, and it's one more song for my open mike rotation.
Then they asked if I'd be willing to learn an Irish song or two for their reception. Apart from the Irish blessing, I performed "Whiskey In The Jar" and a shortened version of "Wild Rover" to the audience, which included other better-known correspondents from CNN. The first song was the better, with a few extra verses added, including one that made the place erupt for ten seconds. It was my finest moment of entertainment. (I thank Margie for projecting the words onto a wall, allowing the listeners to follow along with my attempted brogue.)
In the reception programs, Lisa and Jason wrote something about everyone that attended. A paragraph for everyone! How cool is that? We were described as something akin to "the coolest couple we know."
I remind myself of this when Margie and I have another night feeling lonely, which happens a lot with us. We have very few people that ever show interest in our lives. We never get guests. We hesitate to throw a party for fear of no one attending. If the phone rings, it's either a telemarketer or Digger, but Margie never gets a call. For the most part, we feel forgotten and ignored by the world.
But one of the world's coolest people considers us to be equally cool.
Thanks, Lisa. Glad you're doing well, and I mean it.
So I've decided that I don't believe in this lyric. It's true that I hate it when contemporaries become successful. "Contemporaries" meaning people who are my age, or those that were classmates, that had very little contact with me. When those bastards do well, they can go to hell.
But I have a friend - more like a friend of my wife's, though we contact each other directly - who is successful and will soon be more so.
Lisa used to work with Margie at the Associated Press bureau in Washington. She's my age, very petite, with unusual features. I don't mean that to sound as if she is unattractive. I guess she's not considered a beauty, but there's something about her that makes her very attractive. It's likely her great personality. She's not only very smart, but she relates well to others and is endlessly fascinating. Plus, she has the ability to focus on you, making you feel like the most important thing to her at that moment. She's wonderful, and is one of the few people from the DC area that I miss. I hope her husband, Jason, realizes how lucky he is.
Lisa works for CNN and covers Congress. She does a weekly (or thereabouts) podcast (or something like that) called "American Sauce," where she tries to give listeners the unadulterated story of what's going on there, away from the spin and pomp. It's very good, reminiscent of NPR journalism, but not at all snooty.
I listened to her most recent episode and wanted to send her an e-mail, but I don't know it. She's had a few over the years, and when I try those, I never get a response. So I looked for more info and found two great things about her.
1. In late 2009, Lisa was covering a Tea Party event for the television side of CNN, and she was basically drowned out by the unruly crowd. It came on the heels of Joe Wilson yelling "You lie!" to President Obama during an address. (For the record, I don't care how much you disagree with the president's policies. You DO NOT pull such a schoolyard move during a national broadcast. Especially when your party's last president lied, and lied, and lied some more.)
The broadcast of that remote is on YouTube and has been watched about 900,000 times. Wow. And she doesn't look bad during it. If anything, she looks good by getting the crowd to settle down and allowing them to respond in a positive manner about something: namely, Joe Wilson. Ugh. Blind allegiance is so sad. But she did a great job with it.
2. She's co-written a book that's coming out in less than two weeks, titled "Zombie Economics." It'll likely be huge, or at least big enough to find on one of those front tables in the big-name bookstores.
I decided to call her, seeing we haven't communicated in a couple of years. Friends should talk more often, yes? Her cell phone number was called, and she answered right away. We spoke for at least 20 minutes, much longer than I thought someone of her standing would or could devote to me. And of course, she made me feel important to her and even special.
She's done that before. I actually performed at her wedding reception... and her proposal! Jason told Margie and I that he was going to propose to her at a local park, and he wanted a bunch of her friends to be there. It was nice, though Jason contracted Lyme's disease while in the bushes, and I actually played "Here Comes By Baby" on guitar for them once she said yes.
Why that song, a song about a girl you can't have? Not sure. I guess it meant a lot to them, but it made no sense in context. At least it's a classic, and it's one more song for my open mike rotation.
Then they asked if I'd be willing to learn an Irish song or two for their reception. Apart from the Irish blessing, I performed "Whiskey In The Jar" and a shortened version of "Wild Rover" to the audience, which included other better-known correspondents from CNN. The first song was the better, with a few extra verses added, including one that made the place erupt for ten seconds. It was my finest moment of entertainment. (I thank Margie for projecting the words onto a wall, allowing the listeners to follow along with my attempted brogue.)
In the reception programs, Lisa and Jason wrote something about everyone that attended. A paragraph for everyone! How cool is that? We were described as something akin to "the coolest couple we know."
I remind myself of this when Margie and I have another night feeling lonely, which happens a lot with us. We have very few people that ever show interest in our lives. We never get guests. We hesitate to throw a party for fear of no one attending. If the phone rings, it's either a telemarketer or Digger, but Margie never gets a call. For the most part, we feel forgotten and ignored by the world.
But one of the world's coolest people considers us to be equally cool.
Thanks, Lisa. Glad you're doing well, and I mean it.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The trouble with a varied career
This morning, I finished making contacts with my contacts. I sent out 117 e-mails to actuaries and others in the profession since yesterday, asking for advice to give a career-switcher with two exams under his belt but no on-the-job experience and no chance at a college internship. (To think that I could've had such an internship twenty years ago.)
I got three nibbles for jobs, which is three more than I expected. Two are from Allstate, a solid company that hires lots of actuaries. The other is from Coventry Health Care, for which I was suddenly in the middle of an over-the-phone job interview. A screening, I guess it's called. But I don't know if I got through the screen.
What stumbled me was the question of why I've changed my career so many times, and how sure could they be that I wouldn't quit on them. This question was also brought up by those without jobs to offer. As part of their advice, they told me to be prepared to answer this question.
So what's the correct answer?
I graduated with a degree in math in 1993, but I didn't want to have anything to do with math at that time. What jobs could I get out of it? All I heard was math teacher and actuary. I also heard the classic "those who can, do; those who can't, teach" line, and thought that a career in the actuarial sciences sounded boring. And if I had pursued that career at that age, I wouldn't have stuck with it.
So I lucked into a job at the local newspaper, about a month before my parents were to kick me out of the house for being a bum. (I took the summer after graduation off, you know.) Actually, I delivered pizza for two weeks. Why? Ugh, not my best career choice.
I was at that newspaper for five years, doing everything they had to offer. I had a chance to work the Saturday night board at the local radio station, so I took that as well, and in two years there, I performed many different tasks, broadening my horizons. And I filmed and did play-by-play for a lot of high sports at that time. By no means was that wasted time. It shaped me as a person, and it taught me how to relate well to others in a professional setting, and to entertain.
But the radio station went belly-up, and the newspaper got bought out, the editor died, and the paper itself went dark as well. I applied to another local newspaper, and their offer was insulting. They offered me $20 a week more than someone straight out of college, and the college kid would get a $20 raise after three months. All of my experience at the paper was worth about $240 to them. I walked out during the interview.
I was out of a job for a few months, but my friend from college helped me get a job at IBM in their Wide Area Network support division. That part got sold to AT&T, so I was able to put both of those names on my resume in less than a year. And in less than a year, I left because they wouldn't give me benefits, it was a second-shift job, and there was so little interaction with people. For all I knew, one computer was programmed to create all of the issues that I had to address.
So why was my next job the same thing, but at a company that went from Fortune 500 to "stocks for pennies on the dollar" during my one-year stay? I would've stayed at this place, but Comdisco went the way of so many other high-tech companies. At least I got a dozen nice polo shirts out of it.
Teaching came into play because I couldn't find a job in the DC area with my background. The Washington Post wasn't too impressed with my Windmill Herald portfolio. And I had to go through a lot to make it happen, but a lot was on the line: how it all came together deserves a posting of its own, before I forget how it went down. My chance at marital bliss was at stake, in short. Again, worthy of another post. It's great stuff.
My job at Fairfax High School was the most challenging job I ever had, but it was a good job for me. Hot entertain while informing. How to lead. How to use responsibility. How to play politics. How to plan ahead for the long-term. And I didn't know how great my job was at FHS... until I moved back to Illinois, because my last two years of teaching were abysmal.
So I can't find a teaching job, but I don't want that job anyway. It's pretty obvious that teaching doesn't want me. I put a lot into that career and have felt zero appreciation for it. I think a lot of teachers feel this way in our country at this time.
So basically I've had a lot of excitement in my many careers, but I don't want that type of excitement anymore. I'm happiest when I have goals that I can accomplish and help someone or something that will appreciate it. ("Appreciation" can be as simple as a secure paycheck, but a "good work" from a co-worker would be nice too.) Problem-solving, using my strength in applied mathematics, working with other adults, going out to lunch or a beer with co-workers on occasion, and maybe even having a desk near a window - all of that, please.
So how do I answer the question posed to me? Well, I can remind them that it's rare to find a recent college graduate that plans on sticking in the same career for a long time. The average person has 4-6 different careers in their lifetime, you know. I've had my variety, I've grown a lot from what I've done, and I'm not ashamed or regretful of any of it. But I wanted a longer tenure at some of those places than I was allowed to have. I'm ready for a longer commitment.
I've got different priorities now. I'm married and settled, I know my strengths, and I want to find a place where I can stay for a long time. A place where I can contribute for more than five years.
How about 20 to start?
I got three nibbles for jobs, which is three more than I expected. Two are from Allstate, a solid company that hires lots of actuaries. The other is from Coventry Health Care, for which I was suddenly in the middle of an over-the-phone job interview. A screening, I guess it's called. But I don't know if I got through the screen.
What stumbled me was the question of why I've changed my career so many times, and how sure could they be that I wouldn't quit on them. This question was also brought up by those without jobs to offer. As part of their advice, they told me to be prepared to answer this question.
So what's the correct answer?
I graduated with a degree in math in 1993, but I didn't want to have anything to do with math at that time. What jobs could I get out of it? All I heard was math teacher and actuary. I also heard the classic "those who can, do; those who can't, teach" line, and thought that a career in the actuarial sciences sounded boring. And if I had pursued that career at that age, I wouldn't have stuck with it.
So I lucked into a job at the local newspaper, about a month before my parents were to kick me out of the house for being a bum. (I took the summer after graduation off, you know.) Actually, I delivered pizza for two weeks. Why? Ugh, not my best career choice.
I was at that newspaper for five years, doing everything they had to offer. I had a chance to work the Saturday night board at the local radio station, so I took that as well, and in two years there, I performed many different tasks, broadening my horizons. And I filmed and did play-by-play for a lot of high sports at that time. By no means was that wasted time. It shaped me as a person, and it taught me how to relate well to others in a professional setting, and to entertain.
But the radio station went belly-up, and the newspaper got bought out, the editor died, and the paper itself went dark as well. I applied to another local newspaper, and their offer was insulting. They offered me $20 a week more than someone straight out of college, and the college kid would get a $20 raise after three months. All of my experience at the paper was worth about $240 to them. I walked out during the interview.
I was out of a job for a few months, but my friend from college helped me get a job at IBM in their Wide Area Network support division. That part got sold to AT&T, so I was able to put both of those names on my resume in less than a year. And in less than a year, I left because they wouldn't give me benefits, it was a second-shift job, and there was so little interaction with people. For all I knew, one computer was programmed to create all of the issues that I had to address.
So why was my next job the same thing, but at a company that went from Fortune 500 to "stocks for pennies on the dollar" during my one-year stay? I would've stayed at this place, but Comdisco went the way of so many other high-tech companies. At least I got a dozen nice polo shirts out of it.
Teaching came into play because I couldn't find a job in the DC area with my background. The Washington Post wasn't too impressed with my Windmill Herald portfolio. And I had to go through a lot to make it happen, but a lot was on the line: how it all came together deserves a posting of its own, before I forget how it went down. My chance at marital bliss was at stake, in short. Again, worthy of another post. It's great stuff.
My job at Fairfax High School was the most challenging job I ever had, but it was a good job for me. Hot entertain while informing. How to lead. How to use responsibility. How to play politics. How to plan ahead for the long-term. And I didn't know how great my job was at FHS... until I moved back to Illinois, because my last two years of teaching were abysmal.
So I can't find a teaching job, but I don't want that job anyway. It's pretty obvious that teaching doesn't want me. I put a lot into that career and have felt zero appreciation for it. I think a lot of teachers feel this way in our country at this time.
So basically I've had a lot of excitement in my many careers, but I don't want that type of excitement anymore. I'm happiest when I have goals that I can accomplish and help someone or something that will appreciate it. ("Appreciation" can be as simple as a secure paycheck, but a "good work" from a co-worker would be nice too.) Problem-solving, using my strength in applied mathematics, working with other adults, going out to lunch or a beer with co-workers on occasion, and maybe even having a desk near a window - all of that, please.
So how do I answer the question posed to me? Well, I can remind them that it's rare to find a recent college graduate that plans on sticking in the same career for a long time. The average person has 4-6 different careers in their lifetime, you know. I've had my variety, I've grown a lot from what I've done, and I'm not ashamed or regretful of any of it. But I wanted a longer tenure at some of those places than I was allowed to have. I'm ready for a longer commitment.
I've got different priorities now. I'm married and settled, I know my strengths, and I want to find a place where I can stay for a long time. A place where I can contribute for more than five years.
How about 20 to start?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Advancing the cause
In my quest to land an actuarial job - a quest that I often seem to forget about - I finally sent out a "got advice?" email to a BUNCH of people in the know.
A few weeks ago, I went through the actuarial society's web site directory, and I came up with actuarial contacts to companies in the Chicagoland area. 117 contacts in all. So I've spent the last few hours personalizing emails to these contacts. I've gotten through 80 of them; the rest can wait until tomorrow.
I wasn't expecting much, but I've gotten some very nice advice. And I even got a nibble for a paying internship. However, I called the woman to set up a time for an interview, and she wanted to do the interview over the phone, right at that moment. I couldn't tell her no, but it wasn't my best. I may have used conflicting statements in describing my desires for a long-term career in one field.
But I want to become an actuary because, not only does it sound interesting, it appears to offer job security and financial security. If it's not exciting enough, I'll join another band. Enough of these jobs that offer nothing but unpredictability.
When boys are young, they go after the sexy girls, the wild ones, the girls that you'd want to spend the night with, but not much longer than that. Then, as boys wise up, they stop living for the night, and they look to find partners for a lifetime.
If I had met Margie when I was younger, I'm not sure if I would've been smart her to realize how great she is. Don't get me wrong; she's gorgeous, and I drool at pictures of her as a young woman. But she's never been the wild type. A recovering shy person, she calls herself. Would she have attracted me when I chased the wind?
In a similar regard, maybe I've finally wised up in my career path. Teaching was a good choice, but the world's not friendly to teachers. The life of an actuary sounds wonderful and worthy of a life-long pursuit, even if my life's already 39 years long.
A few weeks ago, I went through the actuarial society's web site directory, and I came up with actuarial contacts to companies in the Chicagoland area. 117 contacts in all. So I've spent the last few hours personalizing emails to these contacts. I've gotten through 80 of them; the rest can wait until tomorrow.
I wasn't expecting much, but I've gotten some very nice advice. And I even got a nibble for a paying internship. However, I called the woman to set up a time for an interview, and she wanted to do the interview over the phone, right at that moment. I couldn't tell her no, but it wasn't my best. I may have used conflicting statements in describing my desires for a long-term career in one field.
But I want to become an actuary because, not only does it sound interesting, it appears to offer job security and financial security. If it's not exciting enough, I'll join another band. Enough of these jobs that offer nothing but unpredictability.
When boys are young, they go after the sexy girls, the wild ones, the girls that you'd want to spend the night with, but not much longer than that. Then, as boys wise up, they stop living for the night, and they look to find partners for a lifetime.
If I had met Margie when I was younger, I'm not sure if I would've been smart her to realize how great she is. Don't get me wrong; she's gorgeous, and I drool at pictures of her as a young woman. But she's never been the wild type. A recovering shy person, she calls herself. Would she have attracted me when I chased the wind?
In a similar regard, maybe I've finally wised up in my career path. Teaching was a good choice, but the world's not friendly to teachers. The life of an actuary sounds wonderful and worthy of a life-long pursuit, even if my life's already 39 years long.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
130
The number 130 is truly an evil number. I can't describe why, but it is, and you'd be amazed how often it appears in the world around us, just as the world is going to hell.
Anyway, despite the horrors of the number, I would've been happy to bowl a 130 today. But I bowled SIX games and couldn't get there.
Again, how did I ever bowl a 203? I'm a mess.
I have so little control of the world. No one asks for my advice, and no one listens when I have something to say. I'm so pissed off right now.
My parents bought my brother a hearing aid that cost $1800 today. I found hearing aids on amazon.com a few days ago that cost $320 for a set of two, and nearly everyone raves about how great they are in comparison to the high-priced ones.
Did that persuade my folks? Of course not, because you always get what you pay for, and since $320 is less than 20% of $1800, those hearing aids are less than 20% as good, no matter what the dozens and dozens of reviewers say.
If I complain about it, all I get is "What do you care about it?" and then I have to defend myself, explaining that I don't expect any inheritance money from them and that I hope they live long enough to burn through all of their savings. But I care because it appears to be a lot of wasted money!
A few months ago, they blew over $100 on installing a screen door to the garage that would've taken less than a half-hour for me to do. Is that their way of enjoying their hard-earned money? I would've been happy to install it for a cup of coffee.
Wow, this is one negative post. Better end it positively. I'm learning David Crosby's "Guinnevere" on guitar and it's actually sounding pretty good.
Anyway, despite the horrors of the number, I would've been happy to bowl a 130 today. But I bowled SIX games and couldn't get there.
Again, how did I ever bowl a 203? I'm a mess.
I have so little control of the world. No one asks for my advice, and no one listens when I have something to say. I'm so pissed off right now.
My parents bought my brother a hearing aid that cost $1800 today. I found hearing aids on amazon.com a few days ago that cost $320 for a set of two, and nearly everyone raves about how great they are in comparison to the high-priced ones.
Did that persuade my folks? Of course not, because you always get what you pay for, and since $320 is less than 20% of $1800, those hearing aids are less than 20% as good, no matter what the dozens and dozens of reviewers say.
If I complain about it, all I get is "What do you care about it?" and then I have to defend myself, explaining that I don't expect any inheritance money from them and that I hope they live long enough to burn through all of their savings. But I care because it appears to be a lot of wasted money!
A few months ago, they blew over $100 on installing a screen door to the garage that would've taken less than a half-hour for me to do. Is that their way of enjoying their hard-earned money? I would've been happy to install it for a cup of coffee.
Wow, this is one negative post. Better end it positively. I'm learning David Crosby's "Guinnevere" on guitar and it's actually sounding pretty good.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Ted imploding?
My band, Ted From Accounting, had its worst performance this past weekend. It was "embarrassing," "breathtaking" and a "train wreck." And I'm quoting other people, not myself. The first quote was from another member of the band.
It should be noted that I started the night on a very wrong note. I opened for the band, and there were less than a dozen people listening to me at the time. The low turnout is not atypical, especially when the majority of the audience is still bowling.
I had the cojones to perform "Everybody Here Wants You," a fantastic song from the late Jeff Buckley. No one has pipes like him but I tried my best, and I thought my performance of it was pretty good, including all of the falsetto parts. Unfortunately, I didn't get the crowd reaction that I had hoped. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. It wasn't anything. Just basic applause which didn't tell me how it was actually received.
But I decided to follow it up with "Valerie" by the Zutons. To say that I'm in love with this song is a vast understatement. It only has four chords and lyrics that don't solve any mysteries of life, but it's endlessly catchy. I LOVE this song. It's the song that I desperately want to do with the band. (The previous song was "Reptile" by The Church, but it never got done. I think I've discussed it here before.)
So I start the song, and suddenly no one's listening. Not that anyone left, but every member of the band started talking to others instead of listening, even turning their back on me. Halfway through, Eileen puts her fingers to her ears.
I was already upset by Paul cranking the reverb on my vocals after a few songs. To me, "extra reverb" is synonymous with "can't sing." At the old open mike in Virginia, the reverb was called tongue-in-cheek by the host as the "talent button." He claimed that it wasn't too much reverb, but yes it was. Margie agreed, but what is she to do? Tell Paul that he's wrong?
When Eileen put her fingers to her ears, all I felt was rejection. So I played very quietly for a few seconds, then went back in and threw a curse word in there, staring at Eileen with anger in my eyes. She saw it and looked miserable for the rest of the song. As I went on with the song, the beautiful song that would sound so much better with a full band and with me singing it, I felt more and more upset over my actions. But I was still angry and ignored, so I put down the guitar upon completion of "Valerie" and said I'd be back in five minutes. Someone asked why. I said that I was pissed off about something.
I stood by the front doors of the bowling alley with a beer and a grimace. Margie came about two minutes later, asking me what was wrong. No one knew why I was upset, including her. Of course no one knew why, I thought. No one was paying attention to me in the first place! Anyway, I wanted to go back and finish the set, but I needed Margie to get me and save face.
Then Paul had the balls to get on me for leaving the stage when I returned. He was about to put music on as background noise. Of course, he could've put the music on three minutes prior, but I'm guessing he was unaware that I had left, seeing that he was already drunk off his ass.
The rest of the set went without incident. Eileen figured out why I was upset and explained it to me: Dan (aka Gumby, a hanger-on and unusual but interesting guy who occasionally plays drums for us when I need a break) was talking blue and Eileen put her fingers to her ears as a sign to Dan that she didn't want to hear him. So I overreacted. I know. I do that a lot.
John also came up and said that I "really sang that song," as a compliment. He also said that he didn't like the song, so the overall impact was negative. I'm trying not to overreact. But if the band won't play "Valerie," is there a reason for me to even be in this band? If they won't give me some decision-making power, maybe they'd be better off getting a drum machine.
Anyway, I didn't set the best example to start things off, and I feel terrible about it. Margie ripped into me the next morning in a way she never has before. I don't know how to stop being so sensitive. I can't help that I feel the need for positive feedback, and I feel like I get none of it. Not enough of it, anyway. It would be nice if Paul complimented me in any way, but he doesn't. Then again, he doesn't compliment anybody. Guess I shouldn't care what he says as much as I do.
So the band then came up. We sucked. I mean, we were abysmal. Paul's lack of sobriety really had a negative effect on the sound. He started songs that we weren't going to play. He screwed up his lyrics. He cut an entire line of "Comfortably Numb." Somehow, his guitar playing was still solid, and his solos were still great.
I don't know why Digger played so poorly. For the second straight attempt, he had no clue what the first note of "White Rabbit" was, and since it starts with him, that mistake is inexcusable. He's continuing to regress, though he claims he's practicing. Too often, it sounds as if he has no clue what the key is for the song, and he's trying notes until they seem to fit. But on "You Really Got Me," he played the entire song a half-step too high, and he may have been the only person in the place that didn't hear how discordant it was.
It was reminiscent of a situation in my teacher band from Virginia, where the singer started a playing a self-composed tune with the capo in the wrong place, and the bass player started playing his part, unaware that the key had changed. Neither of them heard how bad it sounded, so I smacked the snare drum a bunch and yelled "stop" to get us to start over. I came off like a jerk, but it would've been three minutes of hell otherwise.
For "You Really Got Me," it was nearly impossible for me to stop the pain. Paulito played another killer version of "Eruption," the preamble for "You Really Got Me," and after he started to play the opening riff of it, there was no way I could interrupt without it looking REALLY bad. And I'm shoved in the back, so I can't get anyone's attention. If they don't look at me, they won't hear me yelling at them. Drummers can't wander. Digger sang lead on "You Really Got Me," so he never wandered back to me. Why no one else in the front of the stage, which is everyone else, didn't tell him that he was off is beyond me. John did look back at me with a "wow, this smells" look during the song. Eileen might not have been on stage at the time. And Paulito was in his own world.
The night was a real embarrassment. Eileen stormed off the stage during the second set, yelling "I'm through" to me, but she came back two songs later. This was before the "You Really Got Me" debacle! Believe it or not, I spent some time later that night consoling her. Since my dramatic moment early on, I was able to laugh most of the band's issues off, trying to be less serious about everything. But I got the strong feeling that, if we suck that hard again, Eileen's gonna quit. And I can't say I'd blame her. Right now, we suck.
John and I discussed how bad the night was. But it wasn't discussed with Paul and Digger. Are they even aware of how bad we were?
The day after a gig, someone usually sends a band email discussing the night. By Monday night, nearly everyone's chipped in their thoughts. But as of this Monday night, nobody's written a word. Unless the discussion doesn't include me, no one wants to start the difficult discourse about our new-found level of suckitude.
As I was packing up the drums, I wondered if this would be our last show. I sincerely don't want that, but I'm not sure how to approach our current regression. I've already sent enough thought-out emails that have been completely ignored. Someone else needs to step up.
I'm pretty ashamed of my tantrum during the opening act. I did it because my emotions were going to boil over if I continued playing. I needed that moment away. Maybe this lack of email correspondence is everyone's moment away.
It should be noted that I started the night on a very wrong note. I opened for the band, and there were less than a dozen people listening to me at the time. The low turnout is not atypical, especially when the majority of the audience is still bowling.
I had the cojones to perform "Everybody Here Wants You," a fantastic song from the late Jeff Buckley. No one has pipes like him but I tried my best, and I thought my performance of it was pretty good, including all of the falsetto parts. Unfortunately, I didn't get the crowd reaction that I had hoped. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. It wasn't anything. Just basic applause which didn't tell me how it was actually received.
But I decided to follow it up with "Valerie" by the Zutons. To say that I'm in love with this song is a vast understatement. It only has four chords and lyrics that don't solve any mysteries of life, but it's endlessly catchy. I LOVE this song. It's the song that I desperately want to do with the band. (The previous song was "Reptile" by The Church, but it never got done. I think I've discussed it here before.)
So I start the song, and suddenly no one's listening. Not that anyone left, but every member of the band started talking to others instead of listening, even turning their back on me. Halfway through, Eileen puts her fingers to her ears.
I was already upset by Paul cranking the reverb on my vocals after a few songs. To me, "extra reverb" is synonymous with "can't sing." At the old open mike in Virginia, the reverb was called tongue-in-cheek by the host as the "talent button." He claimed that it wasn't too much reverb, but yes it was. Margie agreed, but what is she to do? Tell Paul that he's wrong?
When Eileen put her fingers to her ears, all I felt was rejection. So I played very quietly for a few seconds, then went back in and threw a curse word in there, staring at Eileen with anger in my eyes. She saw it and looked miserable for the rest of the song. As I went on with the song, the beautiful song that would sound so much better with a full band and with me singing it, I felt more and more upset over my actions. But I was still angry and ignored, so I put down the guitar upon completion of "Valerie" and said I'd be back in five minutes. Someone asked why. I said that I was pissed off about something.
I stood by the front doors of the bowling alley with a beer and a grimace. Margie came about two minutes later, asking me what was wrong. No one knew why I was upset, including her. Of course no one knew why, I thought. No one was paying attention to me in the first place! Anyway, I wanted to go back and finish the set, but I needed Margie to get me and save face.
Then Paul had the balls to get on me for leaving the stage when I returned. He was about to put music on as background noise. Of course, he could've put the music on three minutes prior, but I'm guessing he was unaware that I had left, seeing that he was already drunk off his ass.
The rest of the set went without incident. Eileen figured out why I was upset and explained it to me: Dan (aka Gumby, a hanger-on and unusual but interesting guy who occasionally plays drums for us when I need a break) was talking blue and Eileen put her fingers to her ears as a sign to Dan that she didn't want to hear him. So I overreacted. I know. I do that a lot.
John also came up and said that I "really sang that song," as a compliment. He also said that he didn't like the song, so the overall impact was negative. I'm trying not to overreact. But if the band won't play "Valerie," is there a reason for me to even be in this band? If they won't give me some decision-making power, maybe they'd be better off getting a drum machine.
Anyway, I didn't set the best example to start things off, and I feel terrible about it. Margie ripped into me the next morning in a way she never has before. I don't know how to stop being so sensitive. I can't help that I feel the need for positive feedback, and I feel like I get none of it. Not enough of it, anyway. It would be nice if Paul complimented me in any way, but he doesn't. Then again, he doesn't compliment anybody. Guess I shouldn't care what he says as much as I do.
So the band then came up. We sucked. I mean, we were abysmal. Paul's lack of sobriety really had a negative effect on the sound. He started songs that we weren't going to play. He screwed up his lyrics. He cut an entire line of "Comfortably Numb." Somehow, his guitar playing was still solid, and his solos were still great.
I don't know why Digger played so poorly. For the second straight attempt, he had no clue what the first note of "White Rabbit" was, and since it starts with him, that mistake is inexcusable. He's continuing to regress, though he claims he's practicing. Too often, it sounds as if he has no clue what the key is for the song, and he's trying notes until they seem to fit. But on "You Really Got Me," he played the entire song a half-step too high, and he may have been the only person in the place that didn't hear how discordant it was.
It was reminiscent of a situation in my teacher band from Virginia, where the singer started a playing a self-composed tune with the capo in the wrong place, and the bass player started playing his part, unaware that the key had changed. Neither of them heard how bad it sounded, so I smacked the snare drum a bunch and yelled "stop" to get us to start over. I came off like a jerk, but it would've been three minutes of hell otherwise.
For "You Really Got Me," it was nearly impossible for me to stop the pain. Paulito played another killer version of "Eruption," the preamble for "You Really Got Me," and after he started to play the opening riff of it, there was no way I could interrupt without it looking REALLY bad. And I'm shoved in the back, so I can't get anyone's attention. If they don't look at me, they won't hear me yelling at them. Drummers can't wander. Digger sang lead on "You Really Got Me," so he never wandered back to me. Why no one else in the front of the stage, which is everyone else, didn't tell him that he was off is beyond me. John did look back at me with a "wow, this smells" look during the song. Eileen might not have been on stage at the time. And Paulito was in his own world.
The night was a real embarrassment. Eileen stormed off the stage during the second set, yelling "I'm through" to me, but she came back two songs later. This was before the "You Really Got Me" debacle! Believe it or not, I spent some time later that night consoling her. Since my dramatic moment early on, I was able to laugh most of the band's issues off, trying to be less serious about everything. But I got the strong feeling that, if we suck that hard again, Eileen's gonna quit. And I can't say I'd blame her. Right now, we suck.
John and I discussed how bad the night was. But it wasn't discussed with Paul and Digger. Are they even aware of how bad we were?
The day after a gig, someone usually sends a band email discussing the night. By Monday night, nearly everyone's chipped in their thoughts. But as of this Monday night, nobody's written a word. Unless the discussion doesn't include me, no one wants to start the difficult discourse about our new-found level of suckitude.
As I was packing up the drums, I wondered if this would be our last show. I sincerely don't want that, but I'm not sure how to approach our current regression. I've already sent enough thought-out emails that have been completely ignored. Someone else needs to step up.
I'm pretty ashamed of my tantrum during the opening act. I did it because my emotions were going to boil over if I continued playing. I needed that moment away. Maybe this lack of email correspondence is everyone's moment away.
Friday, April 15, 2011
What Am I Doing Here?
No postings from me lately, but that doesn't mean I'm not writing. In fact, I have worked at writing a couple of songs this past week. One's called "Who Do You Think You Love?" while another is simply "Ted From Accounting." There's also "What Am I Doing Here?" As you can see, I'm in love with inquisitive song titles.
None of them are really complete. I'm trying to fit way too many lyrics in each song, but since I can't fully imagine what the backing music will sound like, I have a hard time leaving those empty spaces.
Anyway, I guess I should post something here, so here's my current work in progress, "What Am I Doing Here?" Sorry about the bad line-break formatting. Maybe I'll fix it later. Maybe.
None of them are really complete. I'm trying to fit way too many lyrics in each song, but since I can't fully imagine what the backing music will sound like, I have a hard time leaving those empty spaces.
Anyway, I guess I should post something here, so here's my current work in progress, "What Am I Doing Here?" Sorry about the bad line-break formatting. Maybe I'll fix it later. Maybe.
Verses: G D C D (x2) (maybe Am C G or D?)
Em D Am G G/F#
Em Bm Am C (expand before chorus)
Choruses: G D Am C (x2)
Bm
Break: C Am Dm G
V1: I’m 28 and my girl’s just great
For years we’ve been happy together
But last night she asked me in passing
If it was gonna be this way forever
Staying in, playing Madden ’10,
getting take-out Chinese delivered again,
She was “bored and lonely,” she said, but it’s only
cuz I don’t like gettin’ too cologne-y
And then her friend called up and said
she found a spot on-line that would be so refined,
They even had some kind of dress code,
where my team shirt and sweat pants might be out of line
But I said “sure thing, girl,
I’m up for anything.” And I thought it’d be just fine.
Well, you can guess it was a big mess.
I should’ve known this rathole wouldn’t be my kind.
Ch1: What am I doing here?
You thought I’d like it here? I’m sorry, but that’s BS!
Oh what am I doing here?
(you know) Zagat might love it, but I just couldn’t care less.
It might be for you, but it’s not for me, you see,
they wouldn’t even let us in for free.
What am I doing here?
(I could’ve stayed home alone.)
V2: They wouldn’t let me park my car,
some young punk wanted the keys…
We had to pay twenty bucks to get in;
do I get some raffle tickets with that, please?
And then Miss Uppity grabbed me and told me
that they had some back-up shoes that were my size.
So explain to me, if it’s okay
for women to show their toes, well, why can’t I?
I finally found the bar, at least
I’d get a chance to chug a beer.
But forget any bottles or cans,
“pardon, my boy, but we just don’t serve that here.”
“Anything without fruit?” I said, “without
umbrellas and Bailey’s, and twists and rinds and such?”
“We have water... many kinds,”
but even out-of-the-tap was way too much!
PreCh: And you call this a find? My girl,
next time you wanna go out, you better leave me behind!
Ch2: For what am I doing here?
There ain’t even one big-screen TV with the Blackhawks on.
Oh what am I doing here?
Come on, the Gracies are fighting tonight in the Octagon!
It might be for you, but it’s not for me, you see,
it ain’t my cup of Earl Grey tea.
What am I doing here?
(At least I’ve got my iPhone.)
Br: I couldn’t even find a single jukebox, baby,
to put some Skynyrd on and liven up this crowd.
But if these ferns could talk, I’d tell ‘em, maybe
that never, ever, in mixed company
should Kenny G be played aloud! Guitar!
Inst: (guitar solo over verse chords)
V3: I asked for a burger with fries,
or something good to give me relief,
But everything that they served looked like rabbit food,
And I yelled, “Man, where’s the beef?”
At least it had some knock-out girls,
the kind with eight-inch heels
that kinda shake their hips,
But guys, it would’ve taken a fistful
of ten-dollar shots to get the two hot blondes to kiss.
I guess it was worthwhile, seeing my girl
having the time of her life
And as she laughed with others, I wondered
if the time would ever come for her to be my wife.
But then I thought of sliders and beer,
and videogames and porn, and then it became clear,
“My girl, you may be my future,
but presently, I’m gonna ask that you wait right here!
Ch3: ‘cause what am I doing here?
I guess it was a waste to bring my custom-tip darts.
But what am I doing here?
I don’t think that I could get away with letting go of this
(make fart sound).
This kind of scene’s just way too clean,
when your mid-day snack’s a can of pork and beans
And everyone’s looking over at me
as I struggle to maintain my masculinity
Girl, you may not ever understand
That I can never be the guy
that you probably want for your man
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Down the lane
If I were on Facebook, I'd post the following with glee and maybe get a lot of response: I finally broke 200 in a bowling game.
I've never been that great of a bowler. I have very little curve to my ball and I often fail to keep my arm's arc perpendicular to the floor, causing the ball to go towards the four pin.
But my friend Digger gave me his old bowling ball, and after I got it re-drilled, I decided to see what I could do with my very own ball. (My folks, looking for gift ideas, got me shoes and a bag for Christmas.)
I've probably only bowled a dozen games or so with the new ball. I bowled a 171 early on, with the very first roll a beautiful curve that broke right into the 1-3 pocket. But it's been a bit of a struggle since. In fact, of the three games I bowled yesterday, the score my first game was 110. Bad bad bad.
But the second game was a different story. After having only one strike in the first four frames and an open frame in the third, I bowled a turkey (three strikes in a row) and nearly nailed a four-bagger but still spared in the eighth. Another nine-spare in the ninth left me realizing that, if I opened the tenth with a strike, I'd only need seven pins in the final two balls to break 200.
I tried to be calm, as my previous high was 195, set one night with a friend from a community playhouse. This was 15 years ago, when acting seemed like a fun thing to do.
My first ball didn't hit the pocket exactly as I wanted it. In fact, I think it might have gone Brooklyn, meaning that it went across the head pin and hit the 1-2 pocket instead. But there was good action with the 16-pound ball and all the pins fell. A 200 was finally within grasp.
Knowing I only needed a good roll near the pocket to seal the deal, I tried to stay calm, but I pulled it, hitting the four pin and only knocking down exactly SIX pins. uh-oh. That's a 199. I needed to hit something with my last ball to get the elusive score.
So I went through all the good things I had been doing that day: feet lined up a foot behind the spaces behind the second and fourth dots to the right of the closer dots. Five step delivery, holding the ball high and not back swinging until I was well into my second step. Holding the ball straight, instead of to the side, on the backswing. Then coming through, spinning it with a push at the very end, kicking my right leg out to the left and low at the same time, while keeping my left foot pointed straight ahead.
A perfect ball, right in the pocket, knocking down all four remaining pins. Final score: 203.
My brother, who is autistic, bowls a 14-pound ball (though he's strong and could bowl a heavier ball) with a seven-step approach and a delivery so soft that you can't hear the ball actually hitting the boards. His high game is a 199. All in all, his 199 is much more impressive than anything I'll ever bowl.
I was about to tell him about my game on the phone, but because his hearing aid wasn't working well, he couldn't understand me and got agitated in a hurry, which felt like a slap in the face to me. I wanted to celebrate this accomplishment with someone. So I told Digger (who was very impressed), Margie (who, as a non-bowler, was supportive but not as impressed) and my mother (who was as impressed as Digger).
And now I'm telling Tom, as he's the only person that reads this blog. Gimme some dap, TD!
The guy next to me was a fantastic bowler, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's bowled 300 game before. He bowled in the 250's and 230's as I was getting very excited over a 203. Maybe I'll get to his level someday. But for now, a 203 is a great feeling.
I've never been that great of a bowler. I have very little curve to my ball and I often fail to keep my arm's arc perpendicular to the floor, causing the ball to go towards the four pin.
But my friend Digger gave me his old bowling ball, and after I got it re-drilled, I decided to see what I could do with my very own ball. (My folks, looking for gift ideas, got me shoes and a bag for Christmas.)
I've probably only bowled a dozen games or so with the new ball. I bowled a 171 early on, with the very first roll a beautiful curve that broke right into the 1-3 pocket. But it's been a bit of a struggle since. In fact, of the three games I bowled yesterday, the score my first game was 110. Bad bad bad.
But the second game was a different story. After having only one strike in the first four frames and an open frame in the third, I bowled a turkey (three strikes in a row) and nearly nailed a four-bagger but still spared in the eighth. Another nine-spare in the ninth left me realizing that, if I opened the tenth with a strike, I'd only need seven pins in the final two balls to break 200.
I tried to be calm, as my previous high was 195, set one night with a friend from a community playhouse. This was 15 years ago, when acting seemed like a fun thing to do.
My first ball didn't hit the pocket exactly as I wanted it. In fact, I think it might have gone Brooklyn, meaning that it went across the head pin and hit the 1-2 pocket instead. But there was good action with the 16-pound ball and all the pins fell. A 200 was finally within grasp.
Knowing I only needed a good roll near the pocket to seal the deal, I tried to stay calm, but I pulled it, hitting the four pin and only knocking down exactly SIX pins. uh-oh. That's a 199. I needed to hit something with my last ball to get the elusive score.
So I went through all the good things I had been doing that day: feet lined up a foot behind the spaces behind the second and fourth dots to the right of the closer dots. Five step delivery, holding the ball high and not back swinging until I was well into my second step. Holding the ball straight, instead of to the side, on the backswing. Then coming through, spinning it with a push at the very end, kicking my right leg out to the left and low at the same time, while keeping my left foot pointed straight ahead.
A perfect ball, right in the pocket, knocking down all four remaining pins. Final score: 203.
My brother, who is autistic, bowls a 14-pound ball (though he's strong and could bowl a heavier ball) with a seven-step approach and a delivery so soft that you can't hear the ball actually hitting the boards. His high game is a 199. All in all, his 199 is much more impressive than anything I'll ever bowl.
I was about to tell him about my game on the phone, but because his hearing aid wasn't working well, he couldn't understand me and got agitated in a hurry, which felt like a slap in the face to me. I wanted to celebrate this accomplishment with someone. So I told Digger (who was very impressed), Margie (who, as a non-bowler, was supportive but not as impressed) and my mother (who was as impressed as Digger).
And now I'm telling Tom, as he's the only person that reads this blog. Gimme some dap, TD!
The guy next to me was a fantastic bowler, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's bowled 300 game before. He bowled in the 250's and 230's as I was getting very excited over a 203. Maybe I'll get to his level someday. But for now, a 203 is a great feeling.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Song idea: self-love
Songs that promote self-love are beautiful.
One of the most moving images of my teenage years was at my brother's graduation. As he turned 21, he could no longer go to the special needs school, so he was one of two graduates that year. A girl with Down's was the other, though I don't remember her name.
The rest of the student body was there, as they were for every graduation. They sang Whitney Houston's "Greatest Love of All" as part of the ceremony. They sang along to the studio version and didn't sing the second verse, but they knew every other line, and they poured their hearts out, and I'm crying just thinking of it once more. Those kids were beautiful people, and as terrible as it is that too many people are born with deficiencies, it's sheer joy that they can create a beautiful moment like that.
Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne" popped into my head today. It's hard to imagine an artist creating a more wonderful first song on a first album than "Suzanne." Cohen was an established poet before he went into music, so there was no doubt that he would be a fantastic lyricist. As poets often do, Cohen put enough vagueness in it that interpretation can vary.
So I found myself remembering Cohen's last line of his last verse, "while Suzanne holds the mirror," and I've taken that to mean that, after she's helped us see the beauty in the world around us, as we are truly inspired and moved by it, we see that she's holding a mirror and putting us into the world, tricking us into seeing that we are beautiful as well.
Now I'm not so sure. Here's the entire third verse:
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbor
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror.
I never could remember the few lines preceding the "mirror" line, possibly assuming that it filled out my take of it. But now I don't quite see in this song what I want to see, at least not in the verse.
Perhaps it's still true, thanks to the chorus, where her "perfect body" in touched by us early, only to be reciprocated at the end.
So maybe I can write a song like this. The narrator falls in love with a beautiful person, and through him/her, the world, and through the world, ourselves. An androgynous name, perhaps?
Either way, though I'm not a poet, I'd love to give a message that isn't so blatant, as is "Greatest Love of All." Besides, Whitney sang that "they can't take away my dignity," but she certainly gave it away through that reality show of hers. I heard that, on the first show, Bobby Brown was discussing how constipated Whitney was one night and how he used a spoon. Yep, dignity removed.
One of the most moving images of my teenage years was at my brother's graduation. As he turned 21, he could no longer go to the special needs school, so he was one of two graduates that year. A girl with Down's was the other, though I don't remember her name.
The rest of the student body was there, as they were for every graduation. They sang Whitney Houston's "Greatest Love of All" as part of the ceremony. They sang along to the studio version and didn't sing the second verse, but they knew every other line, and they poured their hearts out, and I'm crying just thinking of it once more. Those kids were beautiful people, and as terrible as it is that too many people are born with deficiencies, it's sheer joy that they can create a beautiful moment like that.
Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne" popped into my head today. It's hard to imagine an artist creating a more wonderful first song on a first album than "Suzanne." Cohen was an established poet before he went into music, so there was no doubt that he would be a fantastic lyricist. As poets often do, Cohen put enough vagueness in it that interpretation can vary.
So I found myself remembering Cohen's last line of his last verse, "while Suzanne holds the mirror," and I've taken that to mean that, after she's helped us see the beauty in the world around us, as we are truly inspired and moved by it, we see that she's holding a mirror and putting us into the world, tricking us into seeing that we are beautiful as well.
Now I'm not so sure. Here's the entire third verse:
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbor
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror.
I never could remember the few lines preceding the "mirror" line, possibly assuming that it filled out my take of it. But now I don't quite see in this song what I want to see, at least not in the verse.
Perhaps it's still true, thanks to the chorus, where her "perfect body" in touched by us early, only to be reciprocated at the end.
So maybe I can write a song like this. The narrator falls in love with a beautiful person, and through him/her, the world, and through the world, ourselves. An androgynous name, perhaps?
Either way, though I'm not a poet, I'd love to give a message that isn't so blatant, as is "Greatest Love of All." Besides, Whitney sang that "they can't take away my dignity," but she certainly gave it away through that reality show of hers. I heard that, on the first show, Bobby Brown was discussing how constipated Whitney was one night and how he used a spoon. Yep, dignity removed.
Monday, April 4, 2011
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