November has been the busiest month of the year.
It started off with lunch meetings and random sitdowns with different musicians. It then snowballed into planning. Then sample work. Then computer problems dealing with editing software in order to do sampling and recording. Setting up the practice area in the back to function at the most basic level for the band during auditions. The actual auditions (drummers), with my anxiety to do the right thing, be a good band leader, stay organized and on top of the game. Walk the line between professional and amateur band, where does the money go, who gets paid, when and where do we play? Find a drummer but then lose a guitarist, write new material, write tabs . . .
The day job has been hectic, too. There's always a reason to stay late, especially when working the closing shift. So, it bites into ample Patch time. I wish I could become an assistant again. More responsibility, but more time afterward. I'm content with Miniapple currently. It beats any other job, right now. There's hardly any preparation, it's pretty low key. It's fun to play with the kids. Unfortunately, if you're sick and needing personal time, or just some space, the job doesn't afford you that. So, stress accumulates, I get depressed, yaddah yaddah yaddah.
How to fix that? By finding new romance. Unfortunately, I haven't been very present. I feel bad. My mind is elsewhere, tired, stressed, and broken. Things are picking up careerwise, which is to say Patch is turning into an entity now. It's only going to get more insane.
December should prove to be more of the same. Constant work work work. On top of that, Christmas' hullaballoo will throw down a ton of stress on top of the Patch stress pile.
Am I ready for all of this?
Liars -- "Mr., You're On Fire, Mr."
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Within the Spokes
Dustin's out on his own accord. The other four are in.
Looking for a fifth . . .
The Hives -- "Tick Tick Boom"
Looking for a fifth . . .
The Hives -- "Tick Tick Boom"
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Food for Driving
I left Milwaukee a day earlier than expected. This meant that it was time to pay my dad a visit on my way home, driving through the outer suburbs of Milwaukee.
The last time I visited my dad and stepmom, they had grilled me on Patch, and said that they were uncomfortable with me saying and doing the things that I had been saying and doing with "Schematics". I left feeling really disgruntled. I had called my grandma and she sympathized with me. "I don't get your art either, but I accept it. I know you're not a dark person."
So, my dad is going to be receiving all of my Patch projects for free, but he'll never appreciate it the way that I'd want him to. My mom loves what I'm doing.
This visit, however, I was on my A-Game. Maybe it's because I've truly felt like I've changed since Halloween (drugs CAN be used for good), and because I've been managing, doing Patch nonstop since the beginning of November. I really haven't had a moment's rest, save for this trip. But not really. The trip was constantly full of activity.
We talked Patch Live instead of Patch music. They didn't grill me at all, just agreed with me and gave me advice on what to do with the current Live situation. There are a lot of questions circulating about the status of the current band members. One wants out if one stays in, basically.
I realized that my parents may not necessarily agree with the message of a demon fly within my brain screaming "I'll fucking bleed you" over and over, but at least they'll give me advice on hard decisions.
I left feeling good and able to conquer the hardships of starting this little band from the ground up. We're still in limbo . . .
Zaza -- "Sooner or Later"
The last time I visited my dad and stepmom, they had grilled me on Patch, and said that they were uncomfortable with me saying and doing the things that I had been saying and doing with "Schematics". I left feeling really disgruntled. I had called my grandma and she sympathized with me. "I don't get your art either, but I accept it. I know you're not a dark person."
So, my dad is going to be receiving all of my Patch projects for free, but he'll never appreciate it the way that I'd want him to. My mom loves what I'm doing.
This visit, however, I was on my A-Game. Maybe it's because I've truly felt like I've changed since Halloween (drugs CAN be used for good), and because I've been managing, doing Patch nonstop since the beginning of November. I really haven't had a moment's rest, save for this trip. But not really. The trip was constantly full of activity.
We talked Patch Live instead of Patch music. They didn't grill me at all, just agreed with me and gave me advice on what to do with the current Live situation. There are a lot of questions circulating about the status of the current band members. One wants out if one stays in, basically.
I realized that my parents may not necessarily agree with the message of a demon fly within my brain screaming "I'll fucking bleed you" over and over, but at least they'll give me advice on hard decisions.
I left feeling good and able to conquer the hardships of starting this little band from the ground up. We're still in limbo . . .
Zaza -- "Sooner or Later"
Friday, November 27, 2009
TSA: Tricks of Simulated Authenticity
Today we flew back to Milwaukee.
There are a couple of things that make me go on tirades. Rants galore. One: the song "Proud to Be an American". Nothing can be said, it speaks for itself. There's just a natural reaction within me that makes me dry heave whenever I hear it. It's cliche to comment on it. It's just a fucking stupid song.
Two: TSA Airport Security.
Why the single-serving liquid containers? I always forget this tidbit when I fly. I stupidly pack my regular big bottle servings of shaving cream, mouth wash, shampoo, etc. Are we going to make bombs? If someone wanted to, they would. What if someone had a bowl of gasoline at home and dissolved tons of styrofoam popcorn pieces in it until it thickened into napalm? You could dump that shit into various single-serving products and use them against the crew. Oh, with the four books of MATCHES that you're allowed to bring onboard, you could pretty much bring the plane down.
With 9/11, the terrorists wanted to strike terror into the hearts of Americans and the Western World. Why do we give them the benefit of us seeming like we're terrified of terrorism by having heightened faux security in our airports? They've won. Even if 9/11 was from the "inside", again, we're giving them the benefit of basking in a 1984 mentality. We feel comforted by this security, for some reason. Yet, going through it is terrifying. I am terrified by TSA, not going to lie. I knew my bag was going to be opened this time around because of a Roland drum sampler being nestled amongst my dirty underwear. I hate that they have the right to do that. At least they had to root through my dirty underwear to get to it. I take pleasure in that thought.
If there was true intent within a passenger to hijack a plane, nothing would stop them. The plastic cup you get mid-flight could be ripped to become an eye-stabbing weapon. The matches you're allowed to bring onboard could be used to light the magazines in the seat pouches, the sick bags as well.
I don't get TSA. Soldiers can go up to the front of the line as a Thank You for their service. I don't gripe and grovel at this, but it makes me think of that wretched song, "Proud to Be an American". TSA and this song go hand in hand. There's something odd about traveling nowadays, and I can't put my finger on it.
It feels like we're trying to cover up for a past mistake by acting tough and overbearing. It feels unneccesary. We've been terrorized, and the next instance of terrorism won't come from air traffic. We're half expecting that. It will be from something else entirely.
Malls, schools, Grand Central Station, convention centers. Places where, guess what, security is minimum.
I hate playing into dress-up games. TSA is a mandatory tea party without any real tea provided. If they had tea maybe I'd buy into it.
The Raveonettes -- "Attack of the Ghost Riders"
There are a couple of things that make me go on tirades. Rants galore. One: the song "Proud to Be an American". Nothing can be said, it speaks for itself. There's just a natural reaction within me that makes me dry heave whenever I hear it. It's cliche to comment on it. It's just a fucking stupid song.
Two: TSA Airport Security.
Why the single-serving liquid containers? I always forget this tidbit when I fly. I stupidly pack my regular big bottle servings of shaving cream, mouth wash, shampoo, etc. Are we going to make bombs? If someone wanted to, they would. What if someone had a bowl of gasoline at home and dissolved tons of styrofoam popcorn pieces in it until it thickened into napalm? You could dump that shit into various single-serving products and use them against the crew. Oh, with the four books of MATCHES that you're allowed to bring onboard, you could pretty much bring the plane down.
With 9/11, the terrorists wanted to strike terror into the hearts of Americans and the Western World. Why do we give them the benefit of us seeming like we're terrified of terrorism by having heightened faux security in our airports? They've won. Even if 9/11 was from the "inside", again, we're giving them the benefit of basking in a 1984 mentality. We feel comforted by this security, for some reason. Yet, going through it is terrifying. I am terrified by TSA, not going to lie. I knew my bag was going to be opened this time around because of a Roland drum sampler being nestled amongst my dirty underwear. I hate that they have the right to do that. At least they had to root through my dirty underwear to get to it. I take pleasure in that thought.
If there was true intent within a passenger to hijack a plane, nothing would stop them. The plastic cup you get mid-flight could be ripped to become an eye-stabbing weapon. The matches you're allowed to bring onboard could be used to light the magazines in the seat pouches, the sick bags as well.
I don't get TSA. Soldiers can go up to the front of the line as a Thank You for their service. I don't gripe and grovel at this, but it makes me think of that wretched song, "Proud to Be an American". TSA and this song go hand in hand. There's something odd about traveling nowadays, and I can't put my finger on it.
It feels like we're trying to cover up for a past mistake by acting tough and overbearing. It feels unneccesary. We've been terrorized, and the next instance of terrorism won't come from air traffic. We're half expecting that. It will be from something else entirely.
Malls, schools, Grand Central Station, convention centers. Places where, guess what, security is minimum.
I hate playing into dress-up games. TSA is a mandatory tea party without any real tea provided. If they had tea maybe I'd buy into it.
The Raveonettes -- "Attack of the Ghost Riders"
Thursday, November 26, 2009
My Thank You's Go Out to Russia
A centerpoint of conversation over a very splendid Thanksgiving dinner:
These are real bears. Trained for the Russian Circus. I almost threw up my turkey, I was laughing so hard.
Grizzly Bear -- "Deep Sea Diver"
These are real bears. Trained for the Russian Circus. I almost threw up my turkey, I was laughing so hard.
Grizzly Bear -- "Deep Sea Diver"
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Mecca
1990
I woke up early, wanting to play a little After Burner on Sega Genesis before having Cheerios. I was wearing Batman pajama's. I could get to the fourth level before dying, an accomplishment for a six year old who didn't have a gaming system at his home.
My mom and I were on vacation in Los Angeles, California. We were visiting my uncle in his apartment in Huntington Beach. He was still single. This was a big deal to me because the notorious big screen TV that projected my Mach 3 forays into enemy aviation combat was still in the living room. After the marriage three years later, the TV would be moved to the garage, a not-so-fun place for a kid to hang out in, especially when the uncle had no other children inspiring him to spruce the garage up into a play area.
I remember my mom dressing me up in a Hawaiian button up shirt and blue khaki shorts. I had a typical early 90's hat, complete with pastel orange, pink, and green colors. We were going to a very special place that day.
We were going to Disneyland. My mom and me.
I had never been on any rollercoaster before. Never been to an amusement park save for the Wisconsin State Fair midway where I did the minor circular kiddie rides and fun houses. I remember being completely intrigued with rollercoasters, watching them on TV. I was really itching to go on one, but nothing that extreme.
The first ride we went on was immediately off of Main Street in Tomorrowland. Star Tours. I had seen Star Wars on TV, and was completely taken by the animatronic C-3PO and R2D2 representations. I didn't believe they were there (one of the perks of going with small children to Disney parks is that they believe they are actually seeing Mickey, going into space, shrinking down to a centimeter in size to go into a body to find a splinter, etc.), but I was loving every minute of it. The simulator itself blew me away. I really enjoyed it.
It was a precursor, a pre-staging, for one of the most influential moments of my life. My mom said, "Let's do Space Mountain!" I said, "What's that?" She pointed to a funny looking building down the pathway. "You'll like it."
That's all she said. "Is it scary?" I asked.
"No."
We rode an escalator up into a queue area. It was early in the morning, so the line wasn't very long. I remember blindingly going along with my mom through spaceship hallways. I remember catching a glimpse of the loading area and realizing that it was a rollercoaster. I said to my mom, "You said this wouldn't be scary!"
"Just try it."
So I did.
I remember being strapped in between my mom's legs, and going into the lift hill area. Lights beamed everywhere. I was terrified. But in a good way.
That happy terror turned to complete and utter confusion as we went into the mountain, the main rollercoaster area. Inside the funny building is a rollercoaster completely in the dark, save for projections of stars and asteroids moving around and around the outer walls and track supports. The ride glided along, then dropped violently.
It was at this point that I lose track of memory. I remember being angry, I remember not being afraid but more thrilled. I was still scared, to some degree, but I knew I would live. It was an intense ride.
My first rollercoaster was Space Mountain. A ride completely in the dark, surprising you with drops you never knew were there. Thanks Mom.
We got off the ride, and I remember being really angry with her. "You said it wasn't scary!" I yelled. "I didn't know, Peter," she replied.
Anyone who knows me knows that this attribute of my mom, playfully bullshitting people to go along with an experience like Space Mountain, or any other fun but uncomfortable situation, has been instilled in me. I credit Space Mountain to be the main instigator of this attribute.
I made her promise to not take me on any other rollercoasters. She said fine.
We rode the now defunct People Mover, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Carribean (more drops in the dark), the train, It's a Small World, Jungle Cruise.
The ride that stands out as the one that started it all, the obsession with theme parks, my love of presentation through immersive experiences, acting, telling stories through theater and music, Patch . . . was Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.
My mom wanted to go on this one. I immediately said, "NO! No rollercoasters!" She said, "It's not in the dark, you can see where you're going. Try it." I looked at it.
It looked awesomely terrifying. I had to try it. Even then, I knew that I really really wanted to like this machine that intrigued me so much from television specials. I wanted to triumph over it.
It was the greatest ride of my life. Might still be, in that it was the most important ride of my life. I loved every second of it. The hills, the theme, the caves. It was intense, but not too intense. I grasped it.
I was done for. A good chunk of my personality was bred from this ride. Sounds corny, but it's true.
---------------------------------------
2009
Today I visited Disneyland for the third time in my life. I went there by myself, taking it all in at my leisure. I had some Patch business I wanted to talk about with the band and I waited until I was in line for Big Thunder Mountain to do it. A kind of homage to where a lot of the influence started. It was bittersweet.
And Space Mountain, riding it at 25 now instead of 6, might be the better ride overall. It takes your breath away. And the Imagineers have outfitted the trains with music speakers to have a soundtrack along with the ride. They've redone the track to make it less bumpy and have more hills. It's a fantastic ride.
A good day. A good day, indeed.
Tape Deck Mountain -- "In the Dirt"
I woke up early, wanting to play a little After Burner on Sega Genesis before having Cheerios. I was wearing Batman pajama's. I could get to the fourth level before dying, an accomplishment for a six year old who didn't have a gaming system at his home.
My mom and I were on vacation in Los Angeles, California. We were visiting my uncle in his apartment in Huntington Beach. He was still single. This was a big deal to me because the notorious big screen TV that projected my Mach 3 forays into enemy aviation combat was still in the living room. After the marriage three years later, the TV would be moved to the garage, a not-so-fun place for a kid to hang out in, especially when the uncle had no other children inspiring him to spruce the garage up into a play area.
I remember my mom dressing me up in a Hawaiian button up shirt and blue khaki shorts. I had a typical early 90's hat, complete with pastel orange, pink, and green colors. We were going to a very special place that day.
We were going to Disneyland. My mom and me.
I had never been on any rollercoaster before. Never been to an amusement park save for the Wisconsin State Fair midway where I did the minor circular kiddie rides and fun houses. I remember being completely intrigued with rollercoasters, watching them on TV. I was really itching to go on one, but nothing that extreme.
The first ride we went on was immediately off of Main Street in Tomorrowland. Star Tours. I had seen Star Wars on TV, and was completely taken by the animatronic C-3PO and R2D2 representations. I didn't believe they were there (one of the perks of going with small children to Disney parks is that they believe they are actually seeing Mickey, going into space, shrinking down to a centimeter in size to go into a body to find a splinter, etc.), but I was loving every minute of it. The simulator itself blew me away. I really enjoyed it.
It was a precursor, a pre-staging, for one of the most influential moments of my life. My mom said, "Let's do Space Mountain!" I said, "What's that?" She pointed to a funny looking building down the pathway. "You'll like it."
That's all she said. "Is it scary?" I asked.
"No."
We rode an escalator up into a queue area. It was early in the morning, so the line wasn't very long. I remember blindingly going along with my mom through spaceship hallways. I remember catching a glimpse of the loading area and realizing that it was a rollercoaster. I said to my mom, "You said this wouldn't be scary!"
"Just try it."
So I did.
I remember being strapped in between my mom's legs, and going into the lift hill area. Lights beamed everywhere. I was terrified. But in a good way.
That happy terror turned to complete and utter confusion as we went into the mountain, the main rollercoaster area. Inside the funny building is a rollercoaster completely in the dark, save for projections of stars and asteroids moving around and around the outer walls and track supports. The ride glided along, then dropped violently.
It was at this point that I lose track of memory. I remember being angry, I remember not being afraid but more thrilled. I was still scared, to some degree, but I knew I would live. It was an intense ride.
My first rollercoaster was Space Mountain. A ride completely in the dark, surprising you with drops you never knew were there. Thanks Mom.
We got off the ride, and I remember being really angry with her. "You said it wasn't scary!" I yelled. "I didn't know, Peter," she replied.
Anyone who knows me knows that this attribute of my mom, playfully bullshitting people to go along with an experience like Space Mountain, or any other fun but uncomfortable situation, has been instilled in me. I credit Space Mountain to be the main instigator of this attribute.
I made her promise to not take me on any other rollercoasters. She said fine.
We rode the now defunct People Mover, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Carribean (more drops in the dark), the train, It's a Small World, Jungle Cruise.
The ride that stands out as the one that started it all, the obsession with theme parks, my love of presentation through immersive experiences, acting, telling stories through theater and music, Patch . . . was Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.
My mom wanted to go on this one. I immediately said, "NO! No rollercoasters!" She said, "It's not in the dark, you can see where you're going. Try it." I looked at it.
It looked awesomely terrifying. I had to try it. Even then, I knew that I really really wanted to like this machine that intrigued me so much from television specials. I wanted to triumph over it.
It was the greatest ride of my life. Might still be, in that it was the most important ride of my life. I loved every second of it. The hills, the theme, the caves. It was intense, but not too intense. I grasped it.
I was done for. A good chunk of my personality was bred from this ride. Sounds corny, but it's true.
---------------------------------------
2009
Today I visited Disneyland for the third time in my life. I went there by myself, taking it all in at my leisure. I had some Patch business I wanted to talk about with the band and I waited until I was in line for Big Thunder Mountain to do it. A kind of homage to where a lot of the influence started. It was bittersweet.
And Space Mountain, riding it at 25 now instead of 6, might be the better ride overall. It takes your breath away. And the Imagineers have outfitted the trains with music speakers to have a soundtrack along with the ride. They've redone the track to make it less bumpy and have more hills. It's a fantastic ride.
A good day. A good day, indeed.
Tape Deck Mountain -- "In the Dirt"
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Exasperations
A culmination of family history came to a head today over Truth Syrum and Italian Pasta.
My brother, the most poignant antagonist in my life, is also my mom's antagonist. She told me this during dinner, the wine we just had acting as Truth Lube.
And she feels the pain more than I do, now. That's hard to hear, considering that I feel like the most inadequate buffoon known to man after visiting with him. What does she feel like?
Fuck, I thought India was going to change you, Mike.
Wye Oak -- "Take It In"
My brother, the most poignant antagonist in my life, is also my mom's antagonist. She told me this during dinner, the wine we just had acting as Truth Lube.
And she feels the pain more than I do, now. That's hard to hear, considering that I feel like the most inadequate buffoon known to man after visiting with him. What does she feel like?
Fuck, I thought India was going to change you, Mike.
Wye Oak -- "Take It In"
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Bare
When I was growing up, I used to make up games involving pathways. People would have to follow my pathways, passing by scenes, needing to use Big Wheel bikes to go down hillsides, finding clues to what they were going to see in each new section. I would take State Park maps and figure out courses for people to follow along nature trails in order to read stories that I would come up with. Each chapter would be found in boxes at different checkpoints.
This was birthed out of a place of creativity and control. Storylines and pathways, new ways of telling the stories, different tools and instruments being utilized to make the stories more interesting. What massive core of my life has all this led to?
One of the byproducts of this game for me was the incessant need to explore EVERY facet of something I was interested in. If I went to a theme park, we had to do EVERY ride. My group would have to follow a "course", visiting smaller rides and building up to the megaloopers. When I visited Disney World in 2003, my mom and I did EVERYTHING. Every bathroom, every shop, every restaurant and every ride was experienced. In every park. Including the Downtown shops, the water parks, the mini golf courses. Let's just say I'm good on Disney World right now. I don't need to visit anytime soon.
If I love a band, I have to get ALL of their work. EP's, singles, all of the LP's (I sometimes leave out Live CD's, though. Live CD's are . . . eh). Legos? I had to get complete sets. I had all of the Aquanauts products back in the day (I still have the main base set up at my mom's house on a shelf in my old room), all of the Castle line as well. All of the Pixar movies. The list goes on.
So, when it came to Vegas today, I wanted to explore everything. If no one else was going to come along, I would've done it by myself.
The problem with doing everything is that things start getting repetitive and boring. Last night, I was floored by Vegas. From "Love" to Caesar's to the casino in Paris. Today, I started to get Vegas. And the glory was coming apart at the seams.
Every hotel has a casino. Every hotel has a theme. You can separate the good hotels from the bad by how well they integrate the theming with their casino area/mall area. For instance: Paris = Great Hotel! because of their integration of French fountains, the Tower, and fake streets going around the slot machines. The Venetian = Great Hotel! The mall area has fucking canals with gondola rides in the middle of the hotel with actual singing gondoliers! Excalibur = Not as Cool because of a loose castle look. Some places have bare walls. They should have brick walls with turrets and towers everywhere. Luxor = Pretty Good for their Egyptian theme. It's a little dark and creepy in there, though. Mandalay Bay = Not as Cool because I can't figure out what the theme is. Cool things inside, but I don't get it. Circus Circus = Not as Cool because it's old and just creepy. The 70's are showing through in the circus theme. Plus, the Adventuredome indoor theme park is vastly lacking. I'm surprised the place is still open.
The best hotels:
The Bellagio = The theme is confusing, but it's decadently Italian oriented. This place is Ritzy. Everyone is dressed to the nines here (I was in a thermal shirt and red jeans, basically my work clothes. Underdressed.). It just looks amazing all around.
New York, New York = Theming is spot on. New York skylines and streets, bars made to look like they're built onto a street corner. A fucking rollercoaster going through the skyline!!!
Paris = Best theme job overall. I've already spluged on this one.
The Venetian = Another great theme job. Plus, seriously, CANALS?!?!?!
Winn = Ritzy. Cool casino, too.
Runner Ups:
Caesar's Palace = Good theming, but there could be more. The Colosseum is a nice touch, though.
The Palazzo = A cross between The Bellagio and The Venetian. Just decadent and vaguely Italian.
Treasure Island = Adventure themed with rocks.
The Mirage = Adventure themed with rocks. A twofer. Get more original.
Luxor = Cool Egyptian theme, but the place is depressing because of all the grey interior. The outside's awesome, though.
Circus Circus = Just for the creep factor alone it's kind of interesting.
Not worth seeing:
Bally's, Flamingo, Hurrah's, Stratosphere (unless you want to pay $40 to go to the top of the tower to ride some rides), Excalibur, Mandalay Bay (unless you want to go for the bars and restaurants).
I didn't hit MGM Grand or the Riviera, though. I heard they weren't that special. I would've liked to have gone through Sahara and Rio, though.
After exploring all of these places, I was done with Vegas. Next time I'd like to pick a few places and just drink, gamble, and party. With people my own age, too. Get dressed up. See Cirque du Soleil one night (they have six shows in Vegas!). Maybe even venture off into the old Vegas, where the Golden Nugget resides.
Have more of a Sin-filled experience . . .
Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons -- "Walk Like a Man"
P.S.: The Jersey Boys is a pretty awesome show, as well. A bit expensive, though.
This was birthed out of a place of creativity and control. Storylines and pathways, new ways of telling the stories, different tools and instruments being utilized to make the stories more interesting. What massive core of my life has all this led to?
One of the byproducts of this game for me was the incessant need to explore EVERY facet of something I was interested in. If I went to a theme park, we had to do EVERY ride. My group would have to follow a "course", visiting smaller rides and building up to the megaloopers. When I visited Disney World in 2003, my mom and I did EVERYTHING. Every bathroom, every shop, every restaurant and every ride was experienced. In every park. Including the Downtown shops, the water parks, the mini golf courses. Let's just say I'm good on Disney World right now. I don't need to visit anytime soon.
If I love a band, I have to get ALL of their work. EP's, singles, all of the LP's (I sometimes leave out Live CD's, though. Live CD's are . . . eh). Legos? I had to get complete sets. I had all of the Aquanauts products back in the day (I still have the main base set up at my mom's house on a shelf in my old room), all of the Castle line as well. All of the Pixar movies. The list goes on.
So, when it came to Vegas today, I wanted to explore everything. If no one else was going to come along, I would've done it by myself.
The problem with doing everything is that things start getting repetitive and boring. Last night, I was floored by Vegas. From "Love" to Caesar's to the casino in Paris. Today, I started to get Vegas. And the glory was coming apart at the seams.
Every hotel has a casino. Every hotel has a theme. You can separate the good hotels from the bad by how well they integrate the theming with their casino area/mall area. For instance: Paris = Great Hotel! because of their integration of French fountains, the Tower, and fake streets going around the slot machines. The Venetian = Great Hotel! The mall area has fucking canals with gondola rides in the middle of the hotel with actual singing gondoliers! Excalibur = Not as Cool because of a loose castle look. Some places have bare walls. They should have brick walls with turrets and towers everywhere. Luxor = Pretty Good for their Egyptian theme. It's a little dark and creepy in there, though. Mandalay Bay = Not as Cool because I can't figure out what the theme is. Cool things inside, but I don't get it. Circus Circus = Not as Cool because it's old and just creepy. The 70's are showing through in the circus theme. Plus, the Adventuredome indoor theme park is vastly lacking. I'm surprised the place is still open.
The best hotels:
The Bellagio = The theme is confusing, but it's decadently Italian oriented. This place is Ritzy. Everyone is dressed to the nines here (I was in a thermal shirt and red jeans, basically my work clothes. Underdressed.). It just looks amazing all around.
New York, New York = Theming is spot on. New York skylines and streets, bars made to look like they're built onto a street corner. A fucking rollercoaster going through the skyline!!!
Paris = Best theme job overall. I've already spluged on this one.
The Venetian = Another great theme job. Plus, seriously, CANALS?!?!?!
Winn = Ritzy. Cool casino, too.
Runner Ups:
Caesar's Palace = Good theming, but there could be more. The Colosseum is a nice touch, though.
The Palazzo = A cross between The Bellagio and The Venetian. Just decadent and vaguely Italian.
Treasure Island = Adventure themed with rocks.
The Mirage = Adventure themed with rocks. A twofer. Get more original.
Luxor = Cool Egyptian theme, but the place is depressing because of all the grey interior. The outside's awesome, though.
Circus Circus = Just for the creep factor alone it's kind of interesting.
Not worth seeing:
Bally's, Flamingo, Hurrah's, Stratosphere (unless you want to pay $40 to go to the top of the tower to ride some rides), Excalibur, Mandalay Bay (unless you want to go for the bars and restaurants).
I didn't hit MGM Grand or the Riviera, though. I heard they weren't that special. I would've liked to have gone through Sahara and Rio, though.
After exploring all of these places, I was done with Vegas. Next time I'd like to pick a few places and just drink, gamble, and party. With people my own age, too. Get dressed up. See Cirque du Soleil one night (they have six shows in Vegas!). Maybe even venture off into the old Vegas, where the Golden Nugget resides.
Have more of a Sin-filled experience . . .
Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons -- "Walk Like a Man"
P.S.: The Jersey Boys is a pretty awesome show, as well. A bit expensive, though.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The Strip
Having never been in a desert, and/or Nevada, and/or Las Vegas, I felt that I was about to embark on an experience left to the whims of unknowing absorption. That's just what I went through.
The Mojave Desert looks otherworldly. I can totally grasp why Hollywood would choose this region to film Mars landscape footage, or any other desert like planet in a sci-fi epic. Death Valley was the locale for Tatooine in Star Wars, I know. Death Valley is just a ways north of where we were driving. I kept getting lost in thought amongst the mountains and rocky cliffs. It was great. There was even a defunct waterpark along I-15, totally overrun by weedlike desert vegetation. I want to explore there one day.
Getting into Vegas, you're not thrust headfirst into a clusterfuck of stimulation. Small scale towers show up here and there, and then you see the Strip. A small oasis of towers along the freeway. It looked like we were pulling up to a theme park. The towers aren't massively huge. They're okay from the angle of the freeway, their true scale. But from their front angle, along Las Vegas Blvd., they appear as towering monoliths, Holy Towers for the American Playground, beckoning the fool to come closer, to partake in their hidden innards.
We immediately sought The Mirage in order to procure our tickets for "Love", the Cirque du Soleil show honoring The Beatles. It was a prologue to madness. To the overstimulation I hinted at above. The Mirage totes a small but satisfying biodome as their main rotunda, complete with lush tropical gardens and cascading waterfalls. I've seen that before. The casino within, Mystic Lake provided me with enough know-how about the casino racket to not be too overtaken with "WOW!"-ness. It wasn't until we walked up to the "Love" box office that I started getting wind to how crazy Vegas would be. It is a rainbow of psychedelia, the floor changes color, the ceiling made of silver reflective balls, making it so that massive amounts of Sgt. Pepper colors are falling all around you. We got our tickets and made our way to the Paris.
Here's where my heart kicked up a notch. The Paris sports a half-scale Eiffel Tower in the front of the building, with the back half's bottom nestled within the main center room. You go inside the building, and all around the Eiffel Tower are fountains, slot machines, fake skyscapes painted on the ceiling, bars and lounges that look like French cafes. A Cabaret theatre is placed in one corner, a nice restaurant (Mon Ami Gabi) in another, and a crystal chandeliered check-in hall juts off from one end as well. We dropped our bags in this check-in hall, and my aunt said, "You're a Vegas virgin, aren't you?" I nodded, eyes wide, looking into the Paris casino. She said, "Go buy your first drink at the lounge there and walk around, I'll watch the bags."
I bought a $9 Gin and Tonic (nine goddamn dollars?!) and casually strolled along fake French alleyways, art galleries celebrating French book cover art, took in a game of Craps (I always think of someone shouting "Silva Tuna tonight!!!!" as they shake their dice, ready to let 'em roll), marveled at the Tower crashing through the ceiling like a lone Godzilla leg that has carelessly strolled through in its rampage, peroused the night club (Risque), the chocolate shoppes, the winery . . . the place was overwhelming.
We got to our rooms and I couldn't wait to get out onto the Strip. I looked out of my window and could see Caesar's Palace across the street, Trump Tower down the way, Treasure Island and The Mirage. We quickly got dressed up, had a few Cosmo's made by my uncle, and walked over to Caesar's for dinner. Again, fake skies, massive fountains, waterfalls . . . this was the first time that I noticed that every hotel holds a small mall within its bowels. Complete with theming.
We ate an expensive crab dinner (talking family politics, I don't grow tired of this). I cut my finger peeling a crab claw pincher. A crab cut. I bled all over my dinner before I realized what was happening. I then had the best Filet Mignon I've ever tasted (sorry fellow veggie friends).
We headed on over to The Mirage for "Love".
We first stepped into the Revolution Lounge, a fully immersive bar blasting Beatles music, complete with interactive coffee tables, walls that would spontaneously show movies of the Beatles, it was a great place to lube the senses with alcohol before stepping into the "Love Theater" . . .
I was left teary-eyed five times over. At Miniapple, I had found the CD version of "Love" hidden within a case designated for classical music. We've been waking the kids up to it for the last month cranked high enough that I'm sure other rooms can hear it at distracting levels. The kids love "Hey Jude", "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", "Octopus's Garden" and "Sgt. Pepper (Reprise)" the most, it seems. I kept thinking of them and my coworkers, wishing they could see how beautiful the production was. Every song was different. My personal favorites were probably "Within You Without You" (a table of dreaming clowns spreads its dining cloth so that it covers the entire audience with a white tarp, making it appear as if the table is floating through a massive dream landscape of clouds and thought), "Octopus's Garden" (huge jellyfish prosthetic puppets worn by the performers rocket through the air from all around at dangerous speeds), "Come Together" (a great light show spotlight fiasco focusing on one performer at a time, going perfectly with the music, simple as can be idea-wise, but the moves the performers do are downright almost humanly impossible!). All the songs were great.
Here's a documentary I found from the BBC detailing "Love" and the conception of it with the surviving members of The Beatles to the current production. Click on the video to go to YouTube and you can watch the successive parts of the show.
Afterward, we were beat. I was drunk and tired. It was a great first impression of Sin City, which so far, didn't seem to have Sin in massive quantities like I had thought. It was very family friendly so far.
The Beatles -- "Helter Skelter"
The Mojave Desert looks otherworldly. I can totally grasp why Hollywood would choose this region to film Mars landscape footage, or any other desert like planet in a sci-fi epic. Death Valley was the locale for Tatooine in Star Wars, I know. Death Valley is just a ways north of where we were driving. I kept getting lost in thought amongst the mountains and rocky cliffs. It was great. There was even a defunct waterpark along I-15, totally overrun by weedlike desert vegetation. I want to explore there one day.
Getting into Vegas, you're not thrust headfirst into a clusterfuck of stimulation. Small scale towers show up here and there, and then you see the Strip. A small oasis of towers along the freeway. It looked like we were pulling up to a theme park. The towers aren't massively huge. They're okay from the angle of the freeway, their true scale. But from their front angle, along Las Vegas Blvd., they appear as towering monoliths, Holy Towers for the American Playground, beckoning the fool to come closer, to partake in their hidden innards.
We immediately sought The Mirage in order to procure our tickets for "Love", the Cirque du Soleil show honoring The Beatles. It was a prologue to madness. To the overstimulation I hinted at above. The Mirage totes a small but satisfying biodome as their main rotunda, complete with lush tropical gardens and cascading waterfalls. I've seen that before. The casino within, Mystic Lake provided me with enough know-how about the casino racket to not be too overtaken with "WOW!"-ness. It wasn't until we walked up to the "Love" box office that I started getting wind to how crazy Vegas would be. It is a rainbow of psychedelia, the floor changes color, the ceiling made of silver reflective balls, making it so that massive amounts of Sgt. Pepper colors are falling all around you. We got our tickets and made our way to the Paris.
Here's where my heart kicked up a notch. The Paris sports a half-scale Eiffel Tower in the front of the building, with the back half's bottom nestled within the main center room. You go inside the building, and all around the Eiffel Tower are fountains, slot machines, fake skyscapes painted on the ceiling, bars and lounges that look like French cafes. A Cabaret theatre is placed in one corner, a nice restaurant (Mon Ami Gabi) in another, and a crystal chandeliered check-in hall juts off from one end as well. We dropped our bags in this check-in hall, and my aunt said, "You're a Vegas virgin, aren't you?" I nodded, eyes wide, looking into the Paris casino. She said, "Go buy your first drink at the lounge there and walk around, I'll watch the bags."
I bought a $9 Gin and Tonic (nine goddamn dollars?!) and casually strolled along fake French alleyways, art galleries celebrating French book cover art, took in a game of Craps (I always think of someone shouting "Silva Tuna tonight!!!!" as they shake their dice, ready to let 'em roll), marveled at the Tower crashing through the ceiling like a lone Godzilla leg that has carelessly strolled through in its rampage, peroused the night club (Risque), the chocolate shoppes, the winery . . . the place was overwhelming.
We got to our rooms and I couldn't wait to get out onto the Strip. I looked out of my window and could see Caesar's Palace across the street, Trump Tower down the way, Treasure Island and The Mirage. We quickly got dressed up, had a few Cosmo's made by my uncle, and walked over to Caesar's for dinner. Again, fake skies, massive fountains, waterfalls . . . this was the first time that I noticed that every hotel holds a small mall within its bowels. Complete with theming.
We ate an expensive crab dinner (talking family politics, I don't grow tired of this). I cut my finger peeling a crab claw pincher. A crab cut. I bled all over my dinner before I realized what was happening. I then had the best Filet Mignon I've ever tasted (sorry fellow veggie friends).
We headed on over to The Mirage for "Love".
We first stepped into the Revolution Lounge, a fully immersive bar blasting Beatles music, complete with interactive coffee tables, walls that would spontaneously show movies of the Beatles, it was a great place to lube the senses with alcohol before stepping into the "Love Theater" . . .
I was left teary-eyed five times over. At Miniapple, I had found the CD version of "Love" hidden within a case designated for classical music. We've been waking the kids up to it for the last month cranked high enough that I'm sure other rooms can hear it at distracting levels. The kids love "Hey Jude", "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", "Octopus's Garden" and "Sgt. Pepper (Reprise)" the most, it seems. I kept thinking of them and my coworkers, wishing they could see how beautiful the production was. Every song was different. My personal favorites were probably "Within You Without You" (a table of dreaming clowns spreads its dining cloth so that it covers the entire audience with a white tarp, making it appear as if the table is floating through a massive dream landscape of clouds and thought), "Octopus's Garden" (huge jellyfish prosthetic puppets worn by the performers rocket through the air from all around at dangerous speeds), "Come Together" (a great light show spotlight fiasco focusing on one performer at a time, going perfectly with the music, simple as can be idea-wise, but the moves the performers do are downright almost humanly impossible!). All the songs were great.
Here's a documentary I found from the BBC detailing "Love" and the conception of it with the surviving members of The Beatles to the current production. Click on the video to go to YouTube and you can watch the successive parts of the show.
Afterward, we were beat. I was drunk and tired. It was a great first impression of Sin City, which so far, didn't seem to have Sin in massive quantities like I had thought. It was very family friendly so far.
The Beatles -- "Helter Skelter"
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Forgotten Taboos
A couple posts ago, I mentioned how it seems that former lovers tend to not dwell on the fact that yes, we were, in fact, lovers some time ago. It comes as a shock to them if I ever mention anything pertaining to that fact.
I flew into Los Angeles today, and pretty much from the get-go, I met up with one of my exes. She happens to hold the record for longest relationship yet in my life. She moved to California two years ago and doesn't regret one bit the decisions she has made. Or that we made in terms of our relationship some four or five years ago. Neither do I, really. It's good that we chose to do what we did.
But it still comes as a shock to me when people know nothing about me when it comes to her. I met some of her friends on our way to a loft party in downtown LA. We all hit it off splendidly. At the party, one of these people asked, "So, how did you two meet?" I said, "Oh, we dated for two and a half years." They stopped dancing, their eyes got wide, and they said, "REALLY?! I didn't know that. Two years?!" They left to go talk to her.
I laughed and started talking with a man who happens to be a conceptual artist for the Guitar Hero franchise. Lots of interesting things going on in that realm . . . top secret plans . . .
Left to my own devices while crashing on a couch, I thought about the difference between me and the former lovers I've had. Why do all of my friends know about my past? Why do their friends know nothing about their past? Does it hurt to think about what we were? I doubt it.
Is it a sign that I should keep my trap shut regarding my past and just traipse along in the present, looking forward to the future? I doubt that, too.
I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe I should just take pleasure in seeing the reactions people have when they ask "How did you two meet?"
I'll settle with that.
Thao Nguyen -- "Beat (Health, Life, Fire)"
I flew into Los Angeles today, and pretty much from the get-go, I met up with one of my exes. She happens to hold the record for longest relationship yet in my life. She moved to California two years ago and doesn't regret one bit the decisions she has made. Or that we made in terms of our relationship some four or five years ago. Neither do I, really. It's good that we chose to do what we did.
But it still comes as a shock to me when people know nothing about me when it comes to her. I met some of her friends on our way to a loft party in downtown LA. We all hit it off splendidly. At the party, one of these people asked, "So, how did you two meet?" I said, "Oh, we dated for two and a half years." They stopped dancing, their eyes got wide, and they said, "REALLY?! I didn't know that. Two years?!" They left to go talk to her.
I laughed and started talking with a man who happens to be a conceptual artist for the Guitar Hero franchise. Lots of interesting things going on in that realm . . . top secret plans . . .
Left to my own devices while crashing on a couch, I thought about the difference between me and the former lovers I've had. Why do all of my friends know about my past? Why do their friends know nothing about their past? Does it hurt to think about what we were? I doubt it.
Is it a sign that I should keep my trap shut regarding my past and just traipse along in the present, looking forward to the future? I doubt that, too.
I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe I should just take pleasure in seeing the reactions people have when they ask "How did you two meet?"
I'll settle with that.
Thao Nguyen -- "Beat (Health, Life, Fire)"
Friday, November 20, 2009
Hurry Up and Wait
My anxious cylinders have been on full blast these last couple of days. Negotiations, business, money, yaddah yaddah yaddah . . .
Scotty said "YES!"
What about the other guys? What do they say?
Too bad I have to be away from a computer for the next couple of days. I'll be in mid-breath for a week, waiting to know their answers . . .
Franz Ferdinand -- "I'm Your Villain"
Scotty said "YES!"
What about the other guys? What do they say?
Too bad I have to be away from a computer for the next couple of days. I'll be in mid-breath for a week, waiting to know their answers . . .
Franz Ferdinand -- "I'm Your Villain"
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Incest Not of Appalachia
Like the winds of time, their eyes doth turn
In spite of themselves, they turn to others
What they do not have, what makes them shiver
You have what they want. Not what they need.
----------------------------------------
I'm cursed with a "want" to please everybody around me. In recent years, this has waned a bit, having procured the experience to know the age old wisecrack "You can't please everybody" to be a true statement. You please some people, you disappoint others in the process. If you truly want to please everybody, don't do anything. Just sit in solitude playing cards in front of a fire in the woods.
Yet, this curse persists. I hate confrontation, yet I seem to find it regularly. If you take a lover, you're most likely breaking the heart of the recently separated past partner. If you happen to find yourself as a sloppy seconds to that same partner on more than one occasion . . . well, that's another story entirely.
Welcome to the Incestuous Circle.
I've found myself within these corridors of chaos more often than I care to count. If you have a co-ed group of friends, you're most likely going to sleep with one of them in your lifetime. If you're like me . . . I've found that most of the women I've had relations with have tended to bond together after the fact. Women from different circles, mind you. It's like a mass convention of post-Peter Moose Lodge VFW Veterans talking about life after the War, yet never talking of the War. You are non-existent in their conversation, most likely in their mind's eye, at that. If you bring it up to them they either seem startled and confused ("When did we . . . Oh! Right!") or downright insulted.
I'm not alluding to any notion that I've slept with countless amounts of women. I've dabbled, yes, but, it's a normal number. I just happen to have held minor courtship with most of my friends. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Picture the clown shrugging his shoulders . . .
When I reach a point where I'm out of the chaos and can relish in the friendship I hold with each of these lovers, it brings a smile to my face. It's funny and strange. "Yikes!" comes to mind. There's always a reasonable explanation.
In this case, there's one girl who was the cause . . .
She is a matchmaker. Having people meet others in full blown, unmasked dating hopefulness. This can be dangerous, I've found. A couple of my friends are matchmakers. It gets dangerous when these people are also introduced to a mass amount of friends, the matchmaker's group. You happen to be part of this group. You meet these matched up pairs knowing full well they are untouchable. But they carry the aura of one who is fully submerged in the dating world, so that if they happen to have their hold relinquished by the one they've been paired up with . . . well, it was never meant to be. Maybe it's better this way.
I've now done this twice to a friend. I know him to be the "former lover". I haven't hung out with him outside of large party events. So, I imagine it puts him in a tough spot. "I'm a thief," says my insecurity. But really? Everything's legal, right? I haven't traipsed on a clause detailing punishment for breaching a post-breakup agreement twice in a row, have I?
Alright, to make this incestuousness come full circle this man would have to date or become involved somehow with one of my past lovers. Within this group, though, they're all taken, currently. Taken with partners better than I, to tell the truth.
So, I can't help him in that regard. I guess a few beers out of my pocket will have to do . . .
Girls -- "Hellhole Ratrace"
In spite of themselves, they turn to others
What they do not have, what makes them shiver
You have what they want. Not what they need.
----------------------------------------
I'm cursed with a "want" to please everybody around me. In recent years, this has waned a bit, having procured the experience to know the age old wisecrack "You can't please everybody" to be a true statement. You please some people, you disappoint others in the process. If you truly want to please everybody, don't do anything. Just sit in solitude playing cards in front of a fire in the woods.
Yet, this curse persists. I hate confrontation, yet I seem to find it regularly. If you take a lover, you're most likely breaking the heart of the recently separated past partner. If you happen to find yourself as a sloppy seconds to that same partner on more than one occasion . . . well, that's another story entirely.
Welcome to the Incestuous Circle.
I've found myself within these corridors of chaos more often than I care to count. If you have a co-ed group of friends, you're most likely going to sleep with one of them in your lifetime. If you're like me . . . I've found that most of the women I've had relations with have tended to bond together after the fact. Women from different circles, mind you. It's like a mass convention of post-Peter Moose Lodge VFW Veterans talking about life after the War, yet never talking of the War. You are non-existent in their conversation, most likely in their mind's eye, at that. If you bring it up to them they either seem startled and confused ("When did we . . . Oh! Right!") or downright insulted.
I'm not alluding to any notion that I've slept with countless amounts of women. I've dabbled, yes, but, it's a normal number. I just happen to have held minor courtship with most of my friends. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Picture the clown shrugging his shoulders . . .
When I reach a point where I'm out of the chaos and can relish in the friendship I hold with each of these lovers, it brings a smile to my face. It's funny and strange. "Yikes!" comes to mind. There's always a reasonable explanation.
In this case, there's one girl who was the cause . . .
She is a matchmaker. Having people meet others in full blown, unmasked dating hopefulness. This can be dangerous, I've found. A couple of my friends are matchmakers. It gets dangerous when these people are also introduced to a mass amount of friends, the matchmaker's group. You happen to be part of this group. You meet these matched up pairs knowing full well they are untouchable. But they carry the aura of one who is fully submerged in the dating world, so that if they happen to have their hold relinquished by the one they've been paired up with . . . well, it was never meant to be. Maybe it's better this way.
I've now done this twice to a friend. I know him to be the "former lover". I haven't hung out with him outside of large party events. So, I imagine it puts him in a tough spot. "I'm a thief," says my insecurity. But really? Everything's legal, right? I haven't traipsed on a clause detailing punishment for breaching a post-breakup agreement twice in a row, have I?
Alright, to make this incestuousness come full circle this man would have to date or become involved somehow with one of my past lovers. Within this group, though, they're all taken, currently. Taken with partners better than I, to tell the truth.
So, I can't help him in that regard. I guess a few beers out of my pocket will have to do . . .
Girls -- "Hellhole Ratrace"
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Overlooked but Not Forgotten
In the hustle and bustle of getting Patch Live underway, I forget to mention news about "Schematics".
One mix session left . . . Tracks 1-3 are finished and sounding HUGE. Schuyler is saying that Tracks 4-5 are basically pretty good as is (these were the last two songs I worked on, and my own mixing skills were shaping up. That, or it's because the sound palette for both of these tracks is a little simpler.).
After my vacation, "Schematics" should be done in mixing.
Beck -- "Inferno"
One mix session left . . . Tracks 1-3 are finished and sounding HUGE. Schuyler is saying that Tracks 4-5 are basically pretty good as is (these were the last two songs I worked on, and my own mixing skills were shaping up. That, or it's because the sound palette for both of these tracks is a little simpler.).
After my vacation, "Schematics" should be done in mixing.
Beck -- "Inferno"
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Final Piece
Scotty had his first sitdown with the band. It was amazing.
My lacking knowledge in music theory was supplemented and helped by Scotty's vast, almost Wikipedia-like knowledge on rhythm. If someone was having a problem with "Typosgraphy"'s bass or guitar riffs, Scotty would step in and ask, "Can I help?" He would then walk them through my own song, naming things that I never even knew were in my own piece of art. "Yeah, that's in 9/8, you just have to break it down like this and follow Pete's vocals. That's what I do. I'll show you."
He also asked questions regarding all of the little things one of us did wrong in the song. Little intricate parts that I picked up on but didn't necessarily address since I'd rather school the players one on one later, and since it was mainly a focus on the drums at the practice tonight. Scotty made it okay to fix one person's goof with everybody else present.
So . . . both Tim and Scotty are hard contenders . . . but in a conversation with Tim tonight on Facebook, Tim expressed some honest feelings regarding Patch. Long story short, Tim's out by his own accord.
Let's hope Scotty bites . . .
Orba Squara -- "The Trouble with Flying"
My lacking knowledge in music theory was supplemented and helped by Scotty's vast, almost Wikipedia-like knowledge on rhythm. If someone was having a problem with "Typosgraphy"'s bass or guitar riffs, Scotty would step in and ask, "Can I help?" He would then walk them through my own song, naming things that I never even knew were in my own piece of art. "Yeah, that's in 9/8, you just have to break it down like this and follow Pete's vocals. That's what I do. I'll show you."
He also asked questions regarding all of the little things one of us did wrong in the song. Little intricate parts that I picked up on but didn't necessarily address since I'd rather school the players one on one later, and since it was mainly a focus on the drums at the practice tonight. Scotty made it okay to fix one person's goof with everybody else present.
So . . . both Tim and Scotty are hard contenders . . . but in a conversation with Tim tonight on Facebook, Tim expressed some honest feelings regarding Patch. Long story short, Tim's out by his own accord.
Let's hope Scotty bites . . .
Orba Squara -- "The Trouble with Flying"
Monday, November 16, 2009
One on One 2
Patch is currently in the midst of the second drummer audition. Tonight I held a one on one session with Scotty Horey, a Union scale percussionist I met while mixing with Schuyler a few weeks back. The only instrument I'm wary about with Patch is the drums, so I called in two different players to see who'd be the right fit. Both Tim and Scotty have been showing different positives. It's going to be a tough call.
Here's some footage of Scotty's one on one audition. Sadly, I don't have any of Tim's band audition last Saturday.
1) Scotty playing along to my Schematics version of "Trachomanic" on his laptop. He actually transcribed the two songs I asked him to prepare ("Typosgraphy" and "Trachomanic") in sheet music and then made up his own riffs for certain sections.
2) Scotty playing along with me on guitar for "Typosgraphy". This was the portion of the session where I gave him direction and scatted out new ideas for him to embark on within his interpretation of my music (EXTREMELY IMPORTANT aspect to gauge whether or not we'll have a good relationship within the band).
Tomorrow night we have the band audition with Scotty, working on the same material we worked on with Tim's band audition. After this, Patch will take a break for a week and half while I go on vacation to Los Angeles and Las Vegas, during which time we'll be talking as a band to decide who to keep as the permanent guy and who to keep for the experimental shows or future versions of the live band.
We hit the ground running December 1st . . .
Mastodon -- "Crack the Skye"
Here's some footage of Scotty's one on one audition. Sadly, I don't have any of Tim's band audition last Saturday.
1) Scotty playing along to my Schematics version of "Trachomanic" on his laptop. He actually transcribed the two songs I asked him to prepare ("Typosgraphy" and "Trachomanic") in sheet music and then made up his own riffs for certain sections.
2) Scotty playing along with me on guitar for "Typosgraphy". This was the portion of the session where I gave him direction and scatted out new ideas for him to embark on within his interpretation of my music (EXTREMELY IMPORTANT aspect to gauge whether or not we'll have a good relationship within the band).
Tomorrow night we have the band audition with Scotty, working on the same material we worked on with Tim's band audition. After this, Patch will take a break for a week and half while I go on vacation to Los Angeles and Las Vegas, during which time we'll be talking as a band to decide who to keep as the permanent guy and who to keep for the experimental shows or future versions of the live band.
We hit the ground running December 1st . . .
Mastodon -- "Crack the Skye"
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Another Check
Yesterday's post was entitled "A Day of Firsts" . . . here's the second "first":
I got into my first car accident last night.
It wasn't serious. And I wasn't shaken by it. But I was in one nontheless.
I find it ironic that whenever there seems to be a first day of live activity for Patch, I find myself in strange scenarios involving my car. Back in May, the day Greg and I started putting samples and electronics down in preparation for the whole band experience, I got pulled over in my own driveway for running a red light. The cop had witnessed someone getting their face blown off just prior and was in a complete tiff, disregarding any of my claims of dumbfoundness pertaining to the backslap of the red light. I got off, having persisted in my asking of "which light did I run through?" We made peace.
Yesterday, after a post-practice Spring Street Tavern celebration, I was giving Adri a ride home to Uptown. On 8th St. and University Ave. in Northeast, the light had just turned green for me. I started to slowly go through, a good five seconds after the light had turned. Some weirdo who was stopped perpendicular on the other street, who had a red light, started going slowly through the intersection. I had gone too far out into the middle of the street, so that even if I had stopped, he would have barreled into me. So I sped up to get out of this asshole's way, since he wasn't stopping. A good ten cars were idling on his street, and it seemed like such a buffoon move. I remember yelling and picturing a dunce cap covering the roof of the car.
He clipped my rear right door.
I pulled over immediately, and he turned and parked behind me. I got out, so did the person in the other car. The man who got out was an older man, perhaps in his late 30's/early 40's. He had a five o' clock shadow, and I couldn't help but think "failure". He said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was distracted, I'm sorry."
The damage done to my car was a couple of ripples in the siding of the door, nothing serious. I have scrapes on the rear bumper that are worse. I sighed and looked at his car. His front bumper was scraped up and his license plate was hanging askew. He got it worse than I did. I nodded to myself and said internally, "He got it worse. Everything's fine." I shook his hand, no harm done, really. Adri and I got back in the car and drove off.
We talked about it for another two minutes, then went back to talking Patch. Another thing to add to the list of adventures experienced.
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros -- "Home"
I got into my first car accident last night.
It wasn't serious. And I wasn't shaken by it. But I was in one nontheless.
I find it ironic that whenever there seems to be a first day of live activity for Patch, I find myself in strange scenarios involving my car. Back in May, the day Greg and I started putting samples and electronics down in preparation for the whole band experience, I got pulled over in my own driveway for running a red light. The cop had witnessed someone getting their face blown off just prior and was in a complete tiff, disregarding any of my claims of dumbfoundness pertaining to the backslap of the red light. I got off, having persisted in my asking of "which light did I run through?" We made peace.
Yesterday, after a post-practice Spring Street Tavern celebration, I was giving Adri a ride home to Uptown. On 8th St. and University Ave. in Northeast, the light had just turned green for me. I started to slowly go through, a good five seconds after the light had turned. Some weirdo who was stopped perpendicular on the other street, who had a red light, started going slowly through the intersection. I had gone too far out into the middle of the street, so that even if I had stopped, he would have barreled into me. So I sped up to get out of this asshole's way, since he wasn't stopping. A good ten cars were idling on his street, and it seemed like such a buffoon move. I remember yelling and picturing a dunce cap covering the roof of the car.
He clipped my rear right door.
I pulled over immediately, and he turned and parked behind me. I got out, so did the person in the other car. The man who got out was an older man, perhaps in his late 30's/early 40's. He had a five o' clock shadow, and I couldn't help but think "failure". He said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was distracted, I'm sorry."
The damage done to my car was a couple of ripples in the siding of the door, nothing serious. I have scrapes on the rear bumper that are worse. I sighed and looked at his car. His front bumper was scraped up and his license plate was hanging askew. He got it worse than I did. I nodded to myself and said internally, "He got it worse. Everything's fine." I shook his hand, no harm done, really. Adri and I got back in the car and drove off.
We talked about it for another two minutes, then went back to talking Patch. Another thing to add to the list of adventures experienced.
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros -- "Home"
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A Day of Firsts
Today marked the first day that Patch had a live rehearsal. Greg was away for a wedding, so I played the parts of both me and him.
The item for the day: get a feel for how each person interacts with eachother and my direction. See what they each come up with on their own. See how the different musical styles and schemas mesh with one another. How to do this? Practice a song entirely of the Patch sound: Typosgraphy. Strip away any sort of basic 4/4 beat and see how different time changes go over with each individual.
It went over very well. I'm shaking with excitement. Seriously, we're making a huge sound. A professional sound. A scary sound.
Welcome to the family: Dustin, Adri, and Tim.
King Crimson -- "Moonchild"
The item for the day: get a feel for how each person interacts with eachother and my direction. See what they each come up with on their own. See how the different musical styles and schemas mesh with one another. How to do this? Practice a song entirely of the Patch sound: Typosgraphy. Strip away any sort of basic 4/4 beat and see how different time changes go over with each individual.
It went over very well. I'm shaking with excitement. Seriously, we're making a huge sound. A professional sound. A scary sound.
Welcome to the family: Dustin, Adri, and Tim.
King Crimson -- "Moonchild"Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Cost of Noise
Patch's rehearsal space is situated in the back of the Monroe house. It is nestled in a garage turned storage area, not connected to the main house. Electricity flows in and out, but that's it. There is no heat. It is a space.
The first intent of Louie buying a house some two and a half years ago was to have a creative space where a band lived, breathed, and created together. Even before we moved in, item #1 was to have the back space all set up and ready to go as a practice area. It was big enough to house five guys and all their equipment. That summer (2007) and the proceeding fall we were in that room constantly, practicing for a handful of shows. November 2007 we started losing gusto and oomph. Dave left the band, the rest of us were kind of sick of how things were going. We had some drum auditions, but they proved to be lacking. WE proved to be lacking.
The last official Citizens Banned show was December 12, 2007. I was both lead singer and drummer. It was a fizzling moment, an epilogue to the end of CB. It was also when the practice space suffered in activity and upkeep.
It became a place of random storage. If someone didn't want to have something in the house it was placed in the back room. Creativity does not flow amongst clutter. No one went back into the room, save for Adri, who sometimes held impromptu practice sessions with Nikki Schultz's band. It became a pit of limbo, sometimes inviting us in for music jamming (and there were some projects happening back there, including a Smiths cover band, a birthday party show with everyone from Citizens Banned). Even recently, with The Lizard People pet project, it was still a mess. At this point, people were starting to move out of the house, using it as a prep point to keep piles and piles of shit until the big move. Lizard People held its practice sessions in the living room of the Monroe House, which for both the house and the neighbors was not ideal. The entire time we lamented about not being able to use the back room.
I got really fed up about it. I vowed that once everyone moved out and the new roommates moved in, I would turn that space into an even better practice area than what it was in the Citizens Banned days. It would be fully decorated, have a great PA system (CB's PA system was crap, nobody could hear vocals except for me since I put my voice into headphones in addition to the muffled speakers), refrigerator, television, a writing space, a nice storage area for cables and spare instruments, etc. This week we finally got the space cleaned out of all "storage" related material, and I set about making a fully workable music space.
Everything has been great so far . . . except the neighbors . . .
The price of having a free space to perform music, a preferred place untouched by anyone else where you can come and go as you please, is to have to compromise with neighbors on noise issues. Patch is loud. Louder than Citizens Banned. Everytime I've plugged an amp in or tuned the drums, the front door was pounded on by my neighbor yelling to "shut the music off".
One piece of back space construction: make peace with the neighbors.
So, after I got off work tonight, I ventured next door to my neighbor's front yard. The gate is hard to open, I had a little trouble getting the latch undone. On the other side, I shut the rusty gate, closed 'er down tight. I went up to the front door and knocked. Immediately a large dog named Bear started howling and barking furiously. Wasn't out of the ordinary, since he basically barks all of the goddamn time outside. He's part of the normal ambience.
Nobody came to the door. I knocked again. Strangely, the dog didn't bark on the other side. I was about to leave the yard, hoping the neighbor wouldn't call the cops on me the next night when drums would be wailed on at 8:00pm, when Bear came running along the side of the house into the front yard barking angrily. I froze. I saw it and immediately panicked. Do I bolt over the fence, risking my testicles in certain smashing, run for the hard to open gate, or stay where I am? I stayed put.
Bear started to bark in the other direction, looking for passing walkers. He turned, unsatisfied, and saw me standing on the front doorstep. I gulped. He ran at me, barking furiously. My voice started up in a rising scream. I turned into the doorway, and he grabbed my right leg in his jaws on the back of my upper thigh. He then proceeded to pull back. He took with him a chunk of my pants (ruined) and some skin. I didn't know I was bleeding quite yet. It just hurt like a motherfucker.
I turned to the neighbors shouting "BEAR!! STOP!!!" Bear ran away quickly, I turned, hiding my exposed underwear and most likely my nearly eaten man fruits.
Being the forgiving type, I left them without any ounce of the word "lawsuit". We also settled on noise being done at 9:00pm every night. I almost opted to say "Well, 10:00pm now that your dog destroyed my pants and gave me possible infection of God knows what!" But beggars can't be choosers.
I got the karma I deserved for making noise unannounced to the world around me, the way I see it. We're all square. But that dog, if it ever comes near me again, will have the police on him. Two little kids reside in the house neighboring on the other side of my own. I'm not fucking around next time, for their sake.
Mr. Bungle -- "Sweet Charity"
The first intent of Louie buying a house some two and a half years ago was to have a creative space where a band lived, breathed, and created together. Even before we moved in, item #1 was to have the back space all set up and ready to go as a practice area. It was big enough to house five guys and all their equipment. That summer (2007) and the proceeding fall we were in that room constantly, practicing for a handful of shows. November 2007 we started losing gusto and oomph. Dave left the band, the rest of us were kind of sick of how things were going. We had some drum auditions, but they proved to be lacking. WE proved to be lacking.
The last official Citizens Banned show was December 12, 2007. I was both lead singer and drummer. It was a fizzling moment, an epilogue to the end of CB. It was also when the practice space suffered in activity and upkeep.
It became a place of random storage. If someone didn't want to have something in the house it was placed in the back room. Creativity does not flow amongst clutter. No one went back into the room, save for Adri, who sometimes held impromptu practice sessions with Nikki Schultz's band. It became a pit of limbo, sometimes inviting us in for music jamming (and there were some projects happening back there, including a Smiths cover band, a birthday party show with everyone from Citizens Banned). Even recently, with The Lizard People pet project, it was still a mess. At this point, people were starting to move out of the house, using it as a prep point to keep piles and piles of shit until the big move. Lizard People held its practice sessions in the living room of the Monroe House, which for both the house and the neighbors was not ideal. The entire time we lamented about not being able to use the back room.
I got really fed up about it. I vowed that once everyone moved out and the new roommates moved in, I would turn that space into an even better practice area than what it was in the Citizens Banned days. It would be fully decorated, have a great PA system (CB's PA system was crap, nobody could hear vocals except for me since I put my voice into headphones in addition to the muffled speakers), refrigerator, television, a writing space, a nice storage area for cables and spare instruments, etc. This week we finally got the space cleaned out of all "storage" related material, and I set about making a fully workable music space.
Everything has been great so far . . . except the neighbors . . .
The price of having a free space to perform music, a preferred place untouched by anyone else where you can come and go as you please, is to have to compromise with neighbors on noise issues. Patch is loud. Louder than Citizens Banned. Everytime I've plugged an amp in or tuned the drums, the front door was pounded on by my neighbor yelling to "shut the music off".
One piece of back space construction: make peace with the neighbors.
So, after I got off work tonight, I ventured next door to my neighbor's front yard. The gate is hard to open, I had a little trouble getting the latch undone. On the other side, I shut the rusty gate, closed 'er down tight. I went up to the front door and knocked. Immediately a large dog named Bear started howling and barking furiously. Wasn't out of the ordinary, since he basically barks all of the goddamn time outside. He's part of the normal ambience.
Nobody came to the door. I knocked again. Strangely, the dog didn't bark on the other side. I was about to leave the yard, hoping the neighbor wouldn't call the cops on me the next night when drums would be wailed on at 8:00pm, when Bear came running along the side of the house into the front yard barking angrily. I froze. I saw it and immediately panicked. Do I bolt over the fence, risking my testicles in certain smashing, run for the hard to open gate, or stay where I am? I stayed put.
Bear started to bark in the other direction, looking for passing walkers. He turned, unsatisfied, and saw me standing on the front doorstep. I gulped. He ran at me, barking furiously. My voice started up in a rising scream. I turned into the doorway, and he grabbed my right leg in his jaws on the back of my upper thigh. He then proceeded to pull back. He took with him a chunk of my pants (ruined) and some skin. I didn't know I was bleeding quite yet. It just hurt like a motherfucker.
I turned to the neighbors shouting "BEAR!! STOP!!!" Bear ran away quickly, I turned, hiding my exposed underwear and most likely my nearly eaten man fruits.
Being the forgiving type, I left them without any ounce of the word "lawsuit". We also settled on noise being done at 9:00pm every night. I almost opted to say "Well, 10:00pm now that your dog destroyed my pants and gave me possible infection of God knows what!" But beggars can't be choosers.
I got the karma I deserved for making noise unannounced to the world around me, the way I see it. We're all square. But that dog, if it ever comes near me again, will have the police on him. Two little kids reside in the house neighboring on the other side of my own. I'm not fucking around next time, for their sake.
Mr. Bungle -- "Sweet Charity"
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
One on One 1
Had my first one on one with Dustin: lead guitarist.
We figured out his main distorted tone, and it was the beginning of a series of practice sessions geared to feel out how much direction I would be giving each member. How much they'll bring to the table. Up until next week, Patch Live 1.0 will be in this limbo stage of auditions and pre-pool showering.
It felt good to be in that space again. It's not completely set up yet, but at least it's already getting some action within its four dusty walls.
Pantera -- "13 Steps to Nowhere"
We figured out his main distorted tone, and it was the beginning of a series of practice sessions geared to feel out how much direction I would be giving each member. How much they'll bring to the table. Up until next week, Patch Live 1.0 will be in this limbo stage of auditions and pre-pool showering.
It felt good to be in that space again. It's not completely set up yet, but at least it's already getting some action within its four dusty walls.
Pantera -- "13 Steps to Nowhere"
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Art and Awful
There's a fine line between art and awful. I saw a band tonight named Blacki (part of an every-other-weekly gig at The Art of This gallery showcasing three bands/soloists. Schuyler's Shield Your Eyes was the second band on the bill tonight. The first soloist was Pelzwik. They were both amazing.). While the other bands sported interesting ways to make ambient/noise/electronic/avant garde music, Blacki just made me think of those viral videos circulating the internet called "Shredding", which have terribly performed overdubs of famous band performances. Eric Clapton doesn't sound like Eric Clapton should, yet the overdubs logically follow what is happening on screen. A ton of bands have been "shredded".
My personal favorite is a Creed "shred":
Now, check out Blacki.
Alas, I was put in a funk, much like the post-Walker Art Center funk. I was really trying to see the artistic merits of Blacki, but I couldn't stop thinking that if I closed my eyes after someone said "Listen to these guys and tell me who you think is playing it" I'd say a bunch of four year olds picked up some instruments in a basement and just played random notes.
I'm sorry Blacki, I tried.
Pelzwik -- "Track 2 (Of Untitled Demo Disc I Received at Show)"
My personal favorite is a Creed "shred":
Now, check out Blacki.
Alas, I was put in a funk, much like the post-Walker Art Center funk. I was really trying to see the artistic merits of Blacki, but I couldn't stop thinking that if I closed my eyes after someone said "Listen to these guys and tell me who you think is playing it" I'd say a bunch of four year olds picked up some instruments in a basement and just played random notes.
I'm sorry Blacki, I tried.
Pelzwik -- "Track 2 (Of Untitled Demo Disc I Received at Show)"
Monday, November 9, 2009
Man at Work
Construction has begun on Patch's rehearsal space . . . results pending.
Remy Shand -- "The Second One"
Remy Shand -- "The Second One"Sunday, November 8, 2009
Leaves of Absence
Stupid leaves. It was leaf cleaning day. It pushed back making the rehearsal space. Fuckin' leaves . . .
The Vines -- "Autumn Shade II"
The Vines -- "Autumn Shade II"
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The Eye of Hurricane Asshole
The Mall of America carries a strange stigma for me. Growing up, obsessed with all things amusement parks, rides, and themes, Camp Snoopy was always on my travel wishlist. The first time I visited the Mall was in seventh grade, if I'm not mistaken. I loved it. The log ride was my favorite, being that it was heavily themed, it was creative, it utilized the space it resided in beautifully. I went back the next year after that, again I loved it.
Flash forward to college, particularly the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. Freshman year, right when you started school, if you were an out of towner, the MOA was one of the only things to do outside of campus, other than going to the Metrodome to check out Gophers football and downtown to Block E to catch a movie or play video games at Gameworks before 9:00pm (when they turn into a full out bar). So, the MOA was visted often, a companion to the trepidation I held for being out of the nest and away from my parents for the first time. I go back to that place in my head still whenever I visit the MOA. Especially when I frequent the amusement park in the middle.
As time wore on, the Mall was naturally seen as a sore in the Twin Cities. The natives were done with it, we grew older and wiser . . . we worked there. I never did, but a lot of my friends have or do. Whenever I venture to suggest a MOA trip to the clan, I tend to get a lot of groans as an answer. The Mall does magnify the generation below my own in an unfavorable light. I was hissed at on two separate occasions recently by passersby teenagers. The women there are of the fake Stepford Wife hopefuls, the men the American Eagle/Abercrombie/Hollister consumers. Within Nickelodeon Universe (what the former Camp Snoopy is called now) these dour personalities dissipate, leaving happy families, couples, and goofy braces laden teenagers in their stead. I like the amusement park. It tends to separate the pretentious from the happy souls. And I find it to still be a good date spot.
You can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have or currently work at the Mall, when they are within the confines of the nucleus of the largest shopping center in America. It's like a psychological screening. People who shun the park will most likely never be called upon for many out of the house romps by my person. The pro-park peeps: I've become best friends with people at this place. It makes me realize the intricacies within the personalities of the company I keep. I'm asking them to journey into a courtyard of a compound surrounded by asshole, shallow minded consumers. The very nature of our impending demise as a society is unmasked without remorse at the MOA, and I'm asking artists/intellectuals/level headed people to go there with me to have fun in an unironic way. It makes me realize there are people willing to goof off with me, wearing immaturity on their sleeve. My kind of people.
To my companion in tonight's Universe jaunt: it was beautiful. All pure, all good. Another found soul mate revealed as we were laughing at the bottom of the Log Chute's last drop.
The Kills -- "Black Balloon"
Flash forward to college, particularly the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. Freshman year, right when you started school, if you were an out of towner, the MOA was one of the only things to do outside of campus, other than going to the Metrodome to check out Gophers football and downtown to Block E to catch a movie or play video games at Gameworks before 9:00pm (when they turn into a full out bar). So, the MOA was visted often, a companion to the trepidation I held for being out of the nest and away from my parents for the first time. I go back to that place in my head still whenever I visit the MOA. Especially when I frequent the amusement park in the middle.
As time wore on, the Mall was naturally seen as a sore in the Twin Cities. The natives were done with it, we grew older and wiser . . . we worked there. I never did, but a lot of my friends have or do. Whenever I venture to suggest a MOA trip to the clan, I tend to get a lot of groans as an answer. The Mall does magnify the generation below my own in an unfavorable light. I was hissed at on two separate occasions recently by passersby teenagers. The women there are of the fake Stepford Wife hopefuls, the men the American Eagle/Abercrombie/Hollister consumers. Within Nickelodeon Universe (what the former Camp Snoopy is called now) these dour personalities dissipate, leaving happy families, couples, and goofy braces laden teenagers in their stead. I like the amusement park. It tends to separate the pretentious from the happy souls. And I find it to still be a good date spot.
You can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have or currently work at the Mall, when they are within the confines of the nucleus of the largest shopping center in America. It's like a psychological screening. People who shun the park will most likely never be called upon for many out of the house romps by my person. The pro-park peeps: I've become best friends with people at this place. It makes me realize the intricacies within the personalities of the company I keep. I'm asking them to journey into a courtyard of a compound surrounded by asshole, shallow minded consumers. The very nature of our impending demise as a society is unmasked without remorse at the MOA, and I'm asking artists/intellectuals/level headed people to go there with me to have fun in an unironic way. It makes me realize there are people willing to goof off with me, wearing immaturity on their sleeve. My kind of people.
To my companion in tonight's Universe jaunt: it was beautiful. All pure, all good. Another found soul mate revealed as we were laughing at the bottom of the Log Chute's last drop.
The Kills -- "Black Balloon"
Friday, November 6, 2009
Captain Trips
We are in the midst of a plague. Them damn pig lickin' toddlers done got us in a fix, and now we're payin' for the sins we hath committed. The gluttonous wine and dine are now inflicted with the flu of the Swine.
Here's something interesting: I get the notion that, while we are taking pains to prevent H1N1 from spreading within our walls, it doesn't matter much to anybody. A couple of kids have been "treated" for H1N1, there hasn't been any word on whether or not they actually had it. There's also the notion that H1N1 is the only flu strain going around right now, so it's always a good idea to be treated for Swine Flu no matter what.
We sent more kids home this week than any other time I can remember. I think we were half-capacity today. Still, there's no panic, there's no "Go get yer flu shot!" It's "Feel better, give me a hug, I care that you're sick." Guess what? I've probably got Swine Flu all over my clothes right now. Am I worried? Am I ignorant? Am I careless? Why do I feel so . . . calm about this.
It may have to do with hand sanitizers.
I'm not the biggest clean freak in the world. My room is testament to that. I always wash my hands after I use the bathroom but I don't wash my hands enough in general, pertaining to when I've worked outside, or touched lots of dust, or finished cleaning with poisonous cleaning products, taken out the garbage, etc. Germs are OKAY. Here's a little hint: if you clean them all off how is your body going to know how to fight them off? Just like flu shots, giving your body a little bit of germs to munch on will teach it to eradicate the threat of them. We freak out about getting shots yet we clean ourselves silly with HAND SANITIZERS. Alcoholic germicides that wipe out everything, from the serious badass intestine munchers to the not-so-cool bad breath hounds.
While at college, we were taught in the Child Psych department to keep hand sanitizing products AWAY from kids. 1) Alcohol is in it. Kind of poisonous to little people. But not that big of a deal, really. 2) Allergies will develop because the body won't know how to fight off minor germ threats. It will just go into a default panic, creating hives, shortness of breath, etc. 3) YOU'LL GET SICK MORE BECAUSE YOUR BODY WON'T KNOW THE GERMS IT NEEDS TO FIGHT OFF THROUGHOUT YOUR LIFETIME!!!!
Parents have requested that we keep hand sanitizing solution in our school. They actually demanded "Why don't you have hand sanitizer in your classrooms?!" You fucking imbeciles, HAND SANITIZER IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO WHAT YOUR CHILD NEEDS!!! There are notices posted in the school saying "We don't use hand sanitizer because it has alcohol in it. It is your choice (the parent) to use this product." No mention of my second and third reasons for not using hand sanitizers. There is one bottle of hand sanitizer in the school. I see a lot of people using it, as it is in the entryway.
This is why we're all going to die in a massive plague apocalypse. Because we don't listen, we think it makes sense to use the germicide all purpose killer.
Again: don't use hand sanitizers, people. This isn't a conspiracy. Your body needs germs to fight constantly, creating a large database of things it doesn't like.
Use regular hand soap. NOT anti-bacterial soap. It's the same concept as hand sanitizers.
The more your body is introduced to small amounts of germs, the more it will be immune to all sorts of foreign contaminants. Seriously, you won't get sick. The more you kill those germs before they are introduced to customs, the more your customs bodyguards will fail in noticing an imminent threat to their vessel.
Morphine -- "Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer"
Here's something interesting: I get the notion that, while we are taking pains to prevent H1N1 from spreading within our walls, it doesn't matter much to anybody. A couple of kids have been "treated" for H1N1, there hasn't been any word on whether or not they actually had it. There's also the notion that H1N1 is the only flu strain going around right now, so it's always a good idea to be treated for Swine Flu no matter what.
We sent more kids home this week than any other time I can remember. I think we were half-capacity today. Still, there's no panic, there's no "Go get yer flu shot!" It's "Feel better, give me a hug, I care that you're sick." Guess what? I've probably got Swine Flu all over my clothes right now. Am I worried? Am I ignorant? Am I careless? Why do I feel so . . . calm about this.
It may have to do with hand sanitizers.
I'm not the biggest clean freak in the world. My room is testament to that. I always wash my hands after I use the bathroom but I don't wash my hands enough in general, pertaining to when I've worked outside, or touched lots of dust, or finished cleaning with poisonous cleaning products, taken out the garbage, etc. Germs are OKAY. Here's a little hint: if you clean them all off how is your body going to know how to fight them off? Just like flu shots, giving your body a little bit of germs to munch on will teach it to eradicate the threat of them. We freak out about getting shots yet we clean ourselves silly with HAND SANITIZERS. Alcoholic germicides that wipe out everything, from the serious badass intestine munchers to the not-so-cool bad breath hounds.
While at college, we were taught in the Child Psych department to keep hand sanitizing products AWAY from kids. 1) Alcohol is in it. Kind of poisonous to little people. But not that big of a deal, really. 2) Allergies will develop because the body won't know how to fight off minor germ threats. It will just go into a default panic, creating hives, shortness of breath, etc. 3) YOU'LL GET SICK MORE BECAUSE YOUR BODY WON'T KNOW THE GERMS IT NEEDS TO FIGHT OFF THROUGHOUT YOUR LIFETIME!!!!
Parents have requested that we keep hand sanitizing solution in our school. They actually demanded "Why don't you have hand sanitizer in your classrooms?!" You fucking imbeciles, HAND SANITIZER IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO WHAT YOUR CHILD NEEDS!!! There are notices posted in the school saying "We don't use hand sanitizer because it has alcohol in it. It is your choice (the parent) to use this product." No mention of my second and third reasons for not using hand sanitizers. There is one bottle of hand sanitizer in the school. I see a lot of people using it, as it is in the entryway.
This is why we're all going to die in a massive plague apocalypse. Because we don't listen, we think it makes sense to use the germicide all purpose killer.
Again: don't use hand sanitizers, people. This isn't a conspiracy. Your body needs germs to fight constantly, creating a large database of things it doesn't like.
Use regular hand soap. NOT anti-bacterial soap. It's the same concept as hand sanitizers.
The more your body is introduced to small amounts of germs, the more it will be immune to all sorts of foreign contaminants. Seriously, you won't get sick. The more you kill those germs before they are introduced to customs, the more your customs bodyguards will fail in noticing an imminent threat to their vessel.
Morphine -- "Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer"
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Dan Grahammit!!!
I visited the Walker Art Center for the first time since I've lived in Minneapolis. I was looking forward to it. I love Art, the ideals of it. I tend to get frustrated with it, though, but this stems from me "loving" it. I'm not a patron who hums and awes at a blank canvas with a dot in one corner symbolizing both the style of 60's minimalism and the notion of hope within the culture. I see an artist who felt like that might have been the best message regarding the place and time, but it fails to produce an empathetic taint in my breath. It more leads to a sarcastic comment by me to my cohorts.
My favorite art is art with layers. It can be minimalistic in nature, but it has to be bold. It cannot be four bungee cords tied together in a corner of a room made to look like a blank canvas. Those bungee cords have to be smeared with paint in places, tied to nails, have tiny feathers sticking out, something more than just bungee cords (I mention bungee cords simply because there is this piece of art in the Walker and it struck a . . . discord? . . . with me and my person.). It needs to stick out, have at least three elements.
One of the galleries, Haegue Yang: Integrity of the Insider, brought you inside of the work. You walk into a large room bathed in red light. Venetian blinds hang every which way, reflecting the light in weird mishmash patterns. Looking around the room, my cohort and I found a drumset in a back corner. It was begging to be played, and my companion went to go ask one of the grey suits if it was kosher for the public to play the drumset. Apparently, that was the intent all along. The set is rigged to the lighting system of the room, so that when you bang on the drums, the lights turn, making the shadows around the room dance and intermingle. I played for a good five minutes. A small crowd had gathered to watch after a bit (you can hear those drums on four different floors in the Gallery Tower, it's what brought us into the gallery initially). But I didn't quite grasp the concept of the piece. I had fun with it, but the message was lost. We left with smiles on our faces, mainly concocted from the drum set and the crowd, but also with a sense of sarcastic irony floating beneath our shared gritting teeth.
We failed the artist. I feel most do. Or did the artist fail us? Or is there no failure to be had? That's what pisses me off about art. Most musicians, poets, painters, writers, and the rest of the gamut will say "It's whatever you want it to be" when asked what the piece is about, what it meant, how it should be received, experienced, if it can fail, etc. There is too much liminal space and grey area. It seems lazy to me.
I make up my own meaning to art. But I also like knowing what the artist's intent was initially.
Dan Graham was the main highlight of the Center when we went. He takes up three floors currently in the Gallery Tower. While there were some interesting one way mirror displays (which I found entertaining -- there is a heart shaped mirror system in the middle of a large center room. If you go inside the heart, people on the other side will come up and look at themselves as if it's a funhouse mirror, all the while looking directly at you. Strangers make funny faces at you and they don't realize it.) the whole exhibit seemed stale, old, and irrelevant to me. I got a lot of the art, but I didn't care. And that pissed me off. My partner and I both coined an inside joke for the evening stemming from the shared frustration we both had for the exhibit and the rest of the Center: "DAN GRAHAMMIT!! What does it mean?! Why should I care?!"
Dan Grahammit, indeed. Art: I love you and hate you. If you were personified in a Disney film you would be portrayed as a pretentious, fashionably unfashionable asshole who simply glares at people when asked questions. Yawning, you'd say "I've grown tired of myself," and then not move or do anything. You'd just stand there with half-closed eyes.
My purpose in life is to punch Art in the teeth. "If you're so tired of yourself, then fucking DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!"
Arlo Guthrie -- "The Motorcycle Song"
My favorite art is art with layers. It can be minimalistic in nature, but it has to be bold. It cannot be four bungee cords tied together in a corner of a room made to look like a blank canvas. Those bungee cords have to be smeared with paint in places, tied to nails, have tiny feathers sticking out, something more than just bungee cords (I mention bungee cords simply because there is this piece of art in the Walker and it struck a . . . discord? . . . with me and my person.). It needs to stick out, have at least three elements.
One of the galleries, Haegue Yang: Integrity of the Insider, brought you inside of the work. You walk into a large room bathed in red light. Venetian blinds hang every which way, reflecting the light in weird mishmash patterns. Looking around the room, my cohort and I found a drumset in a back corner. It was begging to be played, and my companion went to go ask one of the grey suits if it was kosher for the public to play the drumset. Apparently, that was the intent all along. The set is rigged to the lighting system of the room, so that when you bang on the drums, the lights turn, making the shadows around the room dance and intermingle. I played for a good five minutes. A small crowd had gathered to watch after a bit (you can hear those drums on four different floors in the Gallery Tower, it's what brought us into the gallery initially). But I didn't quite grasp the concept of the piece. I had fun with it, but the message was lost. We left with smiles on our faces, mainly concocted from the drum set and the crowd, but also with a sense of sarcastic irony floating beneath our shared gritting teeth.
We failed the artist. I feel most do. Or did the artist fail us? Or is there no failure to be had? That's what pisses me off about art. Most musicians, poets, painters, writers, and the rest of the gamut will say "It's whatever you want it to be" when asked what the piece is about, what it meant, how it should be received, experienced, if it can fail, etc. There is too much liminal space and grey area. It seems lazy to me.
I make up my own meaning to art. But I also like knowing what the artist's intent was initially.
Dan Graham was the main highlight of the Center when we went. He takes up three floors currently in the Gallery Tower. While there were some interesting one way mirror displays (which I found entertaining -- there is a heart shaped mirror system in the middle of a large center room. If you go inside the heart, people on the other side will come up and look at themselves as if it's a funhouse mirror, all the while looking directly at you. Strangers make funny faces at you and they don't realize it.) the whole exhibit seemed stale, old, and irrelevant to me. I got a lot of the art, but I didn't care. And that pissed me off. My partner and I both coined an inside joke for the evening stemming from the shared frustration we both had for the exhibit and the rest of the Center: "DAN GRAHAMMIT!! What does it mean?! Why should I care?!"
Dan Grahammit, indeed. Art: I love you and hate you. If you were personified in a Disney film you would be portrayed as a pretentious, fashionably unfashionable asshole who simply glares at people when asked questions. Yawning, you'd say "I've grown tired of myself," and then not move or do anything. You'd just stand there with half-closed eyes.
My purpose in life is to punch Art in the teeth. "If you're so tired of yourself, then fucking DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!"
Arlo Guthrie -- "The Motorcycle Song"
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Asexually Autonomous
After a certain amount of time of not being involved with any sort of person, I tend to forget that there's a part of me looking for love, lust, a romantic companion. There are definite people sparking my eye, making me stop and say "Ooh! Maybe . . ." but I tend to not embark on asking to make something of those sparks.
The reason for this is due to music. When I become so busy, I forget I have a life. Currently, I'm trying to work out a persuasion speech to a drummer who's asking for money upfront (hourly rates, rehearsal fees, Jesus Christ!), making calls back and forth for art design and website development, writing new material for the live band, finishing up mixing and arguing over mixing styles (two producers coming together to create from their own respective styles will lend itself to some battles), getting the rehearsal space readied, etc. It's getting to be insane!
That being said, I feel this past weekend has changed me. Most people mention that an experience like the one I went through will tend to do that. Cutting to the chase, I tried LSD for the first time. I don't plan on doing it too, too much in my lifetime (one reason being that I'm still a little slow and loopy even after four days). Since I got back from Madison, I felt as if I transcended into a new realm, a new place. I've been doing Patch work nonstop, with no desire to quit. I love critical thinking, creative projects, calling up friends/business partners and negotiating guidelines and the future, etc. I felt like the time has come, finally.
There's a person at my work who, in my mind, is the definition of "put together". This isn't in any way a derogatory term based off of the way she looks ("Would ya look at dat broad, dat ass is PUT TOGETHA!"). She doesn't seem to have any faults. They're there, underneath the surface. And when she shows emotion, it's small and not too disclosing. So, you assume she's human, but when she does her daily routine at work, she's a universal soldier. She can do anything. She has her emotions in check, her looks, her style, her clothes, her job, her life, everything is okay.
These people are the Asexually Autonomous.
I've only met a few. I find this interesting. People who I assume are with somebody tend to be looking for help in my eyes. There's something inside saying "I'm not put together, help me!" I also think this pertains to my "White Knight" complex. My brain becomes more enamored with people who seem to need guidance than with people who don't. It gets me in trouble, though.
All my life I've been with people looking for help. These people aren't in dire need, they're not depressed, they're not weak in any way. They were simply "looking for more".
I'd like to try my hand with someone who's Asexually Autonomous. Will the relationship be dry and boring? Because they're not looking, will a spark even fly? Or do they have it in with trust, because they've figured themselves out so well, you never have to worry about slip ups.
I've figured myself out, I think. I've got my problems here and there, but I feel like I'm more in the Asexually Autonomous camp more than I realize, due to all the work I do, the double life I lead. That's probably why I don't find more relationships. Maybe not. Who knows? Maybe I'm just an asshole.
But it's something to think about.
Fever Ray -- "I'm Not Done"
The reason for this is due to music. When I become so busy, I forget I have a life. Currently, I'm trying to work out a persuasion speech to a drummer who's asking for money upfront (hourly rates, rehearsal fees, Jesus Christ!), making calls back and forth for art design and website development, writing new material for the live band, finishing up mixing and arguing over mixing styles (two producers coming together to create from their own respective styles will lend itself to some battles), getting the rehearsal space readied, etc. It's getting to be insane!
That being said, I feel this past weekend has changed me. Most people mention that an experience like the one I went through will tend to do that. Cutting to the chase, I tried LSD for the first time. I don't plan on doing it too, too much in my lifetime (one reason being that I'm still a little slow and loopy even after four days). Since I got back from Madison, I felt as if I transcended into a new realm, a new place. I've been doing Patch work nonstop, with no desire to quit. I love critical thinking, creative projects, calling up friends/business partners and negotiating guidelines and the future, etc. I felt like the time has come, finally.
There's a person at my work who, in my mind, is the definition of "put together". This isn't in any way a derogatory term based off of the way she looks ("Would ya look at dat broad, dat ass is PUT TOGETHA!"). She doesn't seem to have any faults. They're there, underneath the surface. And when she shows emotion, it's small and not too disclosing. So, you assume she's human, but when she does her daily routine at work, she's a universal soldier. She can do anything. She has her emotions in check, her looks, her style, her clothes, her job, her life, everything is okay.
These people are the Asexually Autonomous.
I've only met a few. I find this interesting. People who I assume are with somebody tend to be looking for help in my eyes. There's something inside saying "I'm not put together, help me!" I also think this pertains to my "White Knight" complex. My brain becomes more enamored with people who seem to need guidance than with people who don't. It gets me in trouble, though.
All my life I've been with people looking for help. These people aren't in dire need, they're not depressed, they're not weak in any way. They were simply "looking for more".
I'd like to try my hand with someone who's Asexually Autonomous. Will the relationship be dry and boring? Because they're not looking, will a spark even fly? Or do they have it in with trust, because they've figured themselves out so well, you never have to worry about slip ups.
I've figured myself out, I think. I've got my problems here and there, but I feel like I'm more in the Asexually Autonomous camp more than I realize, due to all the work I do, the double life I lead. That's probably why I don't find more relationships. Maybe not. Who knows? Maybe I'm just an asshole.
But it's something to think about.
Fever Ray -- "I'm Not Done"
Monday, November 2, 2009
Another Step Forward
There are now five in the band. One in question. Four definites.
Assemblage of the rehearsal space starts this weekend.
Practicing: hopefully next week.
Mad Season -- "Wake Up"
Assemblage of the rehearsal space starts this weekend.
Practicing: hopefully next week.
Mad Season -- "Wake Up"
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Egoless Clarity
To further elaborate on last night's events . . .
Standing on a lake in Madison, WI, the water became a moving mirror. Triangle shaped glass patterns fought to climb to the surface, creating a silent, chaotic war for miles around. The sun's color was just leaving the sky in the distance. On the other side of the lake, the lights twinkled and warped, the stars above blinking on and off. I found a light straight ahead of me . . . and meditated . . .
Immediately, all around the horizon, fireworks exploded, and the landscape lit up as if a vast napalm blast shook the Earth. The explosion flew across the lake. Just as it was about to hit me, the light sucked the youth of me. It took my fears, memories, happy times, sad times, and threw it into the one light across from me. A rumbling sound emitted all around, and finally, everything was inside the light pinpoint in front of me. One dot encapsulating my youth, ready to tap into now and then. I was now moving on. I was now in the next realm. 25 and ready to embark on the new me.
I turned around and saw my three other compatriots, who, no doubt, were experiencing their own ego removal. We then sighed, walked toward the Capitol and State Street, laughing all the while until we came back to the party we had ventured some 250 miles for.
It was a terrifying night, but a satisfying one. A happy one. What Halloween should be about.
Perfect.
Muddy Waters -- "Mannish Boy"
Standing on a lake in Madison, WI, the water became a moving mirror. Triangle shaped glass patterns fought to climb to the surface, creating a silent, chaotic war for miles around. The sun's color was just leaving the sky in the distance. On the other side of the lake, the lights twinkled and warped, the stars above blinking on and off. I found a light straight ahead of me . . . and meditated . . .
Immediately, all around the horizon, fireworks exploded, and the landscape lit up as if a vast napalm blast shook the Earth. The explosion flew across the lake. Just as it was about to hit me, the light sucked the youth of me. It took my fears, memories, happy times, sad times, and threw it into the one light across from me. A rumbling sound emitted all around, and finally, everything was inside the light pinpoint in front of me. One dot encapsulating my youth, ready to tap into now and then. I was now moving on. I was now in the next realm. 25 and ready to embark on the new me.
I turned around and saw my three other compatriots, who, no doubt, were experiencing their own ego removal. We then sighed, walked toward the Capitol and State Street, laughing all the while until we came back to the party we had ventured some 250 miles for.
It was a terrifying night, but a satisfying one. A happy one. What Halloween should be about.
Perfect.
Muddy Waters -- "Mannish Boy"
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