White Male Desires Profoundly Intense Ambivalence

[Insert the tired comment...

2010-07-10T00:20:00.002-04:00

about never blogging any more here.]

Next Monday morning, Meghan and I will be ending our usually awesome two-year stint in Marietta. We'll be moving to Winder for a number of reasons, including Meghan's new job in Gwinne++. That Monday will mark the first time since the mid-1990's that I will live in a home that is not attached to another person's home.

After realizing that this move was going to happen, the human consequences of that reality set in quickly. There was a bit of sadness over the fact that it will now take us 50 minutes to do that which we have been able to do in 15 minutes or so for the last 24 months. As time has moved on, I believe I have begun to feel that mourning our new locale is pretty cynical. Our lives are woven quite permanently into the lives of many around our Cobb County home. Dont think that a few exits on a Georgia interstate are going to keep us from the people we care about. Plus, he upside of this move is very big for both of us.

As the fog of moving has set in, I have begun to think that the real discomfort of moving is less about the packing, and the boxes, and money. The real issues are in the disruption, the unfamiliarity of your new world corner, and the shock that shifting your quarters can bring about. This evening I walked from my office to the front of my dresser in my bedroom in near complete darkness. The comfort that allows that to happen only follows the lessons learned from the bruises of a new place.

I look forward to a point in the not-too-distant future where we can stay somewhere long enough for it to become and remain home.

A Christmas Entry

2009-12-25T00:23:00.005-05:00

I suppose Christmas is a special enough occasion to warrant a rare blog entry. I don't know exactly why I'm writing, I just am.

The entire Christmas season is obviously exceptional in a number of ways. The way it tends to strike me most is how it always manages to bring about in me an inventory of my own life. I don't know that I really begin drawing judgments about where I stand until New Year's Eve is next on the agenda. But I do tend to take notes about where I am and who and what are around me as Christmas approaches. I think this is the case for a couple of simple reasons.

In my family at least, the celebration of Christmas tends to be a consistent exercise from one year to the next. The tree goes up on Thanksgiving or shortly thereafter. The shopping follows, the wrapping is next. General nostalgia and warm fuzzies follow. Real life shuts down a couple of days before the holiday begins unofficially with the arrival of friends and family, and officially (in my family) with a trip to church on Christmas Eve, whether I've been in the last year or not. Somewhere on or around Christmas Day, big meals are shared with people whom I don't see often enough and gifts are exchanged. When no huge events are taking place, football games between unlikely teams take place in unlikely locales on the nearest television screen. A minor letdown bridges the gap before the New Year's holidays. A major letdown accompanies the boxing up of Christmas and the realization that the only thing left is twelve more cold, miserable weeks before spring arrives. The order or exact locations may vary from year to year, but each Christmas is basically the same.

I have mentioned this in a different context before, but that sameness over time makes the changes our lives undergo far more obvious at this time of year. When a family member is added to the mix, it is particularly notable at Christmas. When someone is gone, their absence is certainly most strongly felt at Christmas. Be those changes a new home, a new scar, a new wife or daughter, or a new void left by a former spouse, parent, friend, or familiar landmark - the changes our lives endure become most obvious to us at the times when all else in our lives is familiar. For my family and many like mine, that time of familiarity is Christmas.

And so I have thought much over the last few weeks about those changes. I smile when I think about the positive changes, crowned obviously by the addition of my wife to my life and my family. We are also lucky enough to have a sweet dog whom we love very much, nephews who grow at an unreasonable pace, and a home which provides much more (though not enough) space than either of us has enjoyed before. I am also particularly mindful at this time of year of those things that have changed for the worse. Be it recently or long ago, the people who have left us have left a void that is most memorable right now. I always think of my maternal grandfather (Big Daddy) at this time of year, because he was a part of my first 23 Christmases. He continues to be missed.

I also tend to reflect on the fact that many of the things that have not yet changed will do so in coming years. The things that I know that are likely to change are the things that make me most emotional at this time. It is clearly a waste to allow my holiday to be darkened by things that haven't yet happened, when the nearest thing to an antidote to those changes is the simple appreciation of the present. So I don't.

But for me, it is worth a modicum of emotional cost at this time of year to consider the ways in which life has changed and will surely change. The end result is always a deep appreciation for my life and world exactly the way it is. That is something worth celebrating.

Merry Christmas.

Cleaning out the picture drawer

2009-07-10T12:59:00.015-04:00

After working on arrangements for the last week that have nearly written themselves, I am suddenly struck with the task of writing an arrangement of a tune that refuses to make itself idiomatically compatible with the marching band medium. (Extra credit: Count the unnecessary or extraneous words in the previous sentence. How about the one after that?) I have just plugged iPhone into the computer, and I noticed that there were several pictures that I haven't shared.

Here's me after surgery last November. The excess fat around my chin is from the anesthesia and not - I repeat, not - from eating Wendy's at every available opportunity over the previous eight months.

I'm not sure if this was my surgeon's attempt to provide me with affirmation by osmosis or his way of branding me with the name of his favorite prog rock band.

Izzie the Dog on the day we brought her home, before she was infected with the seed of Satan.

Fred Norton on January 3 in his car waiting in the eastbound lane of Roswell Rd. at the intersection with Johnson Ferry Road. He did not see Meghan and me waiting in the westbound lane, and luckily was not picking his nose.

My writer's room at NSAI on my first trip back to Nashville last winter.

Sunset behind River Street in late January, shot from Hutchinson Island in Savannah.

Izzie the Dog last February, napping with (and consequently not biting) her mom.

A calzone and a beer in front of me at the 'Shroom.

A photo of myself (times what, eight?) beneath the Cloud Gate sculpture, AKA "The Bean", in Chicago last spring.

An accidental encounter with Governor Mike Huckabee outside Fox News studios while walking from Radio City Music Hall back to Times Square.

From May, my nephew Landon's photograph of me some three minutes after my getting out of bed.

From about two weeks ago, this was the result of my nephew Carter's preference for meringue over banana pudding.

My dog's spelling isn't very good, but she is smart enough to be able to navigate the maze of paperwork necessary to start a small business in North Carolina. From our honeymoon.

The Big Day

2009-06-26T12:52:00.001-04:00

As is frequently the case when I bother to acknowledge my poor neglected blog, I am sitting in Athens at Walker's waiting on something to happen. My surroundings look rather normal. My large Dancing Goats coffee with a shot of vanilla is on my left along with my keys, sunglasses, iPhone, and cashless wallet. My bulky computer bag, spilling over with peripherals necessary for the expedient arrangement of music, is on my right. The coffee shop or bar is half filled with other people who were too early or too late to be wherever they should be. And they are more or less oblivious to what is happening at my table.

What is happening is some combination of trembling and nervous motion. I have always wondered why people got nervous before their weddings. I always attributed it to some sort of concern about the result of doing something permanent. I have thought that it must be a similar feeling to that of signing one's name on the loan document for their first new home. The magnitude of the event, the feeling of potential doom, or a hybrid of the two seemed to make sense.

What I think I'm realizing is that the feeling is less about the event and more about the details - the worry that the caterer will arrive on time, that the musicians will be prepared, that the church will be unlocked and the air conditioning will work, that you don't accidentally bring up someones divorce or someone else's alcoholism in your toast. The nerves are all about the insignificant minutiae of a day that is all about a large thing.

I have always worried that, when and if this weekend ever arrived, I would be wracking my brain trying to find reasons to go through or not go through with the ceremony. I have worried that the inner struggle would not be about the ceremony but would rather be about if the ceremony is a good idea.

I am very happy to report that this hasn't even entered my mind. In a strange way, the most urgent yet completely insignificant issues are about everything but the woman who will be my wife in a little over twenty-six hours. Please don't interpret that to mean that she is either unimportant or has not been considered in this process. In fact, she has been so thoroughly vetted, theoretically torn apart and reassembled, and tested that I simply am not worried about the big questions.

I have known for quite some time that this is where we were headed. And as you would expect of me, I have tried to find any and every reason why we shouldn't get married and have come up empty. I don't really like to claim that any deity does anything for any reason that I can understand. It seems awfully presumptuous of me to insist that God, the Universe, or The Matrix has anything specifically in mind for me - at least it seems presumptuous to do so out loud. So I will simply insist that this is as close to perfect as it gets.

We fight - not frequently, but we do fight and we do so with sharp words, deft flanks, and lethal aim. We get irritated with each other, she with my tendency to leave my life lying about on all available flat surfaces and me with her seeming belief that life is tidier than I have learned that it is. We have conquerable issues that we do not pretend to control but that we know will have to be managed forever.

For every deficit that her flaws create, there are ten advantages to which those flaws are essential. What I identify as naivete is the trait that permits her to walk up to a stranger and ask a question. It's the trait that sees the beauty in my work when I have paralyzed myself in thought. It opened my ears to music I had not heard before, and brought me the additional love of a dog without whom I now can not imagine living. It says "why not." It gets me out of bed. It sees green when I see black and plenty when I see famine.

I don't always do a tremendous job of telling Meghan how completely changed I am because of her. While I know I need to do a better job of this, I believe I am currently proving the point that words suck at doing so. Fortunately for me, it would be awfully difficult for her to back out at this point. So I don't mind telling anyone who bothers reading this that I am more terminally in love than I ever imagined I could be. I will do my best to play it cool around you, but the truth is that it's that really gross, sappy, "awww"-inducing, quit-your-job-and-leave-town, run-out-in-front-of-a-bus, permanent, Saturday-under-the-covers kind of love. And what's even better, it's not love in spite of something. Under different circumstances, Meghan would have been the girl I would have cheated with.

And I wouldn't have felt guilty about it either, because it would have been the right thing to do. Thankfully, that won't be necessary. As of about 2:25pm tomorrow, I will have gotten it right the first time... after thirty-five years of false starts.

My TV Dad

2009-04-09T21:32:00.002-04:00

Meghan and I were at dinner in Athens with Mom and Dad this evening, surveying the potential menu for our rehearsal dinner and catching up. In a random moment in mid-conversation, Mom seemed suddenly to come to her senses and said, "And, Oh Brett! Dan Miller died!"

As a child, I was a bit more enamored with television than would even today be considered acceptable. My first early computing experiments were with a database of prime-time television schedules for the broadcast networks. I daydreamed, before thinking of writing songs, of writing scripts for sitcoms. And at four-years old, I could identify the weekday, weekend, and daytime news personnel for the NBC affiliate in Nashville. For most of my life that list was literally and figuratively anchored by Dan Miller.

He left the station for a few years in the 80's to pursue bigger and better things in L.A. Among them was the role of sidekick in the short lived "Pat Sajak Show" which aired opposite Carson (Sajak was one of the weathermen at the same station when I was very young). Miller later returned to Nashville, and quickly resumed his role as the broadcasting patriarch of the Music City.

For me and many my age who had the privilege of growing up in Greater Nashville, Dan Miller was a trusted face in the midst of used car salesmen on local news. He had a soothing yet authoritative voice, a calming demeanor, and an honest face. The fact that he was similar in appearance to my father reserved a special place in my mind for him. Throughout my own childhood, I thought of Dan Miller as my TV Dad.

When I returned to Nashville in 2005, I did so alone. Even when I wasn't particularly interested in the news, I would frequently turn on Channel 4 at six or ten just to see a familiar face and hear a comforting voice - one that I had known as long as those of my own parents. I later began to enjoy his wisdom and insight through his blog on the WSMV website. On many lonely nights in Nashville, I thought of writing Dan Miller to tell him how he continued to affect me, but I never did.

Dan Miller, along with two of his friends from the station, returned earlier this week to Dan's hometown of Augusta to enjoy the early part of Masters week. He took a late night walk with Rudy Kalis (the sportscaster who had been around as long as Dan had), and began to point out sites of his childhood memories. According to Kalis, he continued to point with pride to the landmarks of his youth through gradually more difficult breaths. Eventually, Dan grabbed Rudy's arm and collapsed.

We make way too much of celebrity these days. We weep far too hard at the loss of people of fame and too lightly at the loss of people of substance. So I hope I don't inappropriately deify this gentleman whom I never met when I admit that his death has shaken me a bit. It may seem shallow or contrived, but I feel a little less secure knowing that he's gone. It may be the loss of a father figure, or the loss of a trusted voice in field more devoid of them than ever.

It's more likely, however, that I'm bothered because his passing is one more piece of my youth that is never coming back.

Rest in peace, sir.

Damned Old Gubmint

2009-03-27T12:52:00.003-04:00

There have been three stories over the last two days that, to me, are good examples of why more government is probably not better government.

The first is a story Russ sent me. The short version of the story is this. In follow up to a story about (and pretty shocking video of) an Oklahoma sheriff's deputy shooting and killing a dog when stopping to ask for directions, further probing into department activities revealed a different deputy who falsified time sheets at a golf club where he was moonlighting. Whether or not the deputy should be punished at his government gig for something that happened on private time is someone else's debate. My issue is with the sheriff, who apparently doesn't seem to understand why people like me have a hard time trusting their government:

“Law, I don’t know of any law that says you can’t falsify time sheets at a golf course, so no. And if you (Reporter Mike Friend) want to keep asking me questions on this issue you’ll just damage any good relationship I have with the paper. You can’t tell me you don’t ever speed while you’re driving down the road, or that you don’t break the law and sin… so why is this such a big deal if the deputy was not working on department time? If I start calling you and asking you questions about your crimes and sins we’ll see how much you like it.”

It seems to me that the sheriff is suggesting, at best, that people should mind their own business when it comes to wondering if their law enforcement officers' activities are on the up and up. How do you suppose the sheriff would respond if you told him to mind his own business when he pulls you over?

The second story is one you may have heard. A Dallas police officer stopped Houston Texans running back Ryan Moats for running a traffic light near a Dallas hospital. To make yet another long story short, the officer refused to make any accommodation for the fact that Moats's mother-in-law was dying at that very moment. He allegedly drew his weapon shortly after making the stop, threatened to tow Moats's vehicle, threatened to take him to jail, and finally threatened to "screw [Moats] over." While Moats has some culpability for breaking the traffic law, and later for not being able to locate proof of insurance, the story as it is told is of a cold, compassion-less, and power-addicted officer of the law.

The third story involves the AIG bailout and the rage that was reported to be rampant when the $165 million in employee bonuses came to light. The story is remarkably unclear, as one U.S. Senator has either lied or been very confused about it, and the president is talking out of both sides of his mouth on the matter. It appears that employees who remain at AIG, largely to aid in its being dismantled and sold for scrap, were promised that they would be paid to halt their careers and stay in place until the job was finished. Naturally, many in the government and the media expressed absolute horror that a company would pay "bonuses" on the government dime.

According to this now-former AIG V.P., we didn't really get the whole story. A New York Times op-ed this week contained nothing but a resignation letter from the gentleman, whose explanation sheds new light on the nature of the so-called bonuses. Campbell Brown says, "It is hard to feel sorry for someone who is getting $742,000 and may end up with the final say on where it goes, charity or otherwise, as taxpayers spend $170 billion to save your company." She may be right. But if our government promises to pay individuals money to hang around and help pick up the pieces, it's not okay for it to renege as soon as the lights come on the wind changes direction.

All three stories, and thousands more throughout human history, point to one truth. You can't trust anyone, including agents of government. That's cynical, but it is true. You can't trust them to do the right thing. You can't trust them to hold themselves to the same standard as those whom they govern. You can't trust them to keep their word, especially when public opinion turns against the promises they made.

A mistake I believe we started making with the Patriot Act and continue to make today is that of believing that the people who work in our government are somehow more trustworthy than those who don't. They aren't. The only difference is that agents of government make decisions that are more-or-less final, often can't be challenged by competition, and can be implemented with deadly force.

I understand the compulsion to "do something" when things aren't going well. We elect leaders and expect them to solve problems. But much like managing your relationship with your in-laws, making a pot of chili, tending to your front lawn, or fishing, trying harder doesn't necessarily produce better results. When you insist that your government officials do something to fix a problem, not only might the government solution create more problems. The "solution" might be - and frequently is - motivated less by what is right than by what is popular at the moment, less by compassion than by the enjoyment and extension of power, and less by the hope for the well-being of constituents than by that of the politician.

20 Things I Generally Don't Like, But Wish I Did Like

2009-03-12T23:49:00.004-04:00

In no particular order:

1. Dark beer
2. Americana music
3. Relish
4. Green beans
5. Sour cream
6. Hockey
7. Hip-hop
8. Dressing up
9. British humor
10. Rare beef
11. Scallops
12. Opera
13. Fiction books
14. Chamber ensemble music
15. Wearing green
16. Tabasco
17. Fishing
18. Cooked vegetables
19. Haydn
20. Waking up early

A bit of rambling

2009-03-11T23:13:00.003-04:00

Yet another month or so has passed, and I still haven't become confident enough in what I wrote about my politics... story of my life.

Meghan has been terribly busy at school. I have been pretty busy myself between taking care of the dog, going to physical therapy, and working. Not surprisingly, we find ourselves exhausted every evening. It's nothing new to most of you. But it is a bit of a bitch that once we find the person with whom we want to spend our time, the rest of our life insists on encroaching on our personal time more than ever. I'm looking forward to summer.

The Nashville Thing is encouraging. Next week, I am heading up for the third consecutive month. I will have a guitar lesson (my first one ever), a couple of co-writes, and have a chance to be heard by a couple of folks that may be able to help. I have done a pretty solid job of keeping the writing half of my New Year's Resolution. Much like exercising, I am always amazed at how much writing consistently improves my subsequent output. Yet, for some reason, I seem to be knocked off track after a while. And starting back after a layoff can be tough.

Physical therapy has been fine. I think it is a bit of a rip-off - especially when a therapist starts you on exercises you have been doing in the comfort of your own home, tends to another patient while you do them, and then charges you for the privilege of using their table for the exercises. I know it's important. But I hate the way all three therapists at two different establishments have done things.

That is all.

I saw internet future, and its name is...

2009-02-04T18:41:00.008-05:00

Perhaps you share my notice that blogging has largely been replaced by more convenient methods of communicating brief thoughts. In spite of my past excuse-making and promises to improve, this is why I don't blog as much as I once did. I have had little to say lately that warranted a note here, and in fact I had little to say today that warranted a tweet. But it made a lot of sense for me to send what little thought I had to you that way, since Twitter or Facebook were where you were looking for it. It made no sense for you to click on my bookmark to find out that I am almost out of coffee creamer when one of the other two methods will let you know when anything in my life is normal or abnormal. Even if you're using a reader I'll bet you expect, or at least hope, for something other than minutiae when you check it.

I have given a bit of thought lately to retiring the blog, as it has become obvious that I don't write in it as frequently as I once did. I have in fact decided not to retire it. Rather, I acknowledge the purpose it seems gradually to have adopted after several years of being my primary means of expression on the internet. When I need to tell a long story or pass along something that requires significant explanation, I put it here. When I want to tell you how cute the eighth-note-shaped poop that my new dog just took was, I tell you about it on Twitter and post the picture on Facebook. For many of you, this is nothing new. Facebook is now ubiquitous and/or casual enough that it makes sense to reserve the bigger or more involved ideas for one's blog - where people have to want to read it, rather than having it forced into their attention via News Feed.

I only bring this up, I suppose, in a nod to the fact tthat I think about my blog differently than I once did. I am not going to go all Network on you, but I anticipate that the only things I will continue to post here will be more involved items. This may include a bit of opinion writing, which I have tended not to do in order to avoid the virtual shouting matches I have seen many endure over the last four years. In doing so, I will have to abandon a part of my general strategy for life. That strategy is not expressing opinions that won't change anything. I don't expect to change anyone's mind. In fact, I expect that some people will think I am stupid, ignorant, self-centered, just plain mean, or all four.

I once thought of my blog as my front porch on the internet. It certainly served its purpose well as such. Now it seems that the blog is rather a back porch - a place where ideas are shared slowly and thoughtfully with less concern for their beauty than for their honesty.

If you wish to read, then that's great. Take off your shoes and stay awhile. Don't smoke inside, and don't drive home drunk. If you don't, that's great too. You can keep up with me, my world, and my mucus output for the day on Facebook or Twitter.

(Edit: This was written last night and posted this morning. If you think I am pointing a finger at you for posting minutiae on your blog, I'm not. It's yours. I'm just handling mine differently.)

The Worst Idea of All Time

2009-01-26T14:31:00.003-05:00

I really thought I had heard it on at least ten occasions around Dwight and Christine. Turns out I was wrong. Here it is. "Disturbia" and "I'm Yours" are particularly kidtastic.

After your eyes have rolled back into their natural place, I'm sure you will ask yourself how I found that. And you should. When I am looking after Izzie during the day, there are several times when I need to leave Meghan's apartment. At some point I reasoned that she might be best entertained by kid's television shows. So Nickelodeon keeps her entertained while I am away. These young musicians greeted me on my way in this afternoon.

No really.

Seasonal Affective Disordnance

2009-01-25T22:30:00.003-05:00

• I returned from Nashville ten days ago following a very good trip. My professional friends there were exactly as I had left them, for better or worse, and welcomed me back. I got good co-writing done with one old and one new co-writer, happened into an impromptu meeting at a place that can help, and heard some very good music. I also had a couple of beers with Amos at a show, which was naturally very nice as well.

• This time of year makes me feel like shit, and pretty much always has. I know a lot of it is the post-holiday, post-football lull. Some of it is certainly the sunlight. And some of it is likely the wait for things to become busy again. The wait won't be long.

• Though I am looking forward to GMEA this weekend, I have to admit that my mind is a week ahead of that. The following Friday, my first original concert band work will receive it's world premiere at the South Car0lina Music Educat0r's Ass0ciation conference. I'm excited and absolutely terrified. I hope this piece doesn't suck.

• I'm under three weeks from having my surgery-related movement restrictions lifted, and it's about time. Since Izzie joined us, it has been very difficult to honor those restrictions and take care of her as needed. Thus, other things have begun to hurt.

• Speaking of Izzie... I don't know if I have mentioned her on the blog before, but our puppy is amazing. We have had her for a month, and I am thrilled that she's with us. Everyone thinks their dog is the best dog ever. Ours is too, even though she just bit me in the mouth when she was kissing me goodnight.

Return to the Music City

2009-01-11T22:08:00.004-05:00

It has been some seventeen months since Meghan blasted Dexter Freebish's "Leaving Town" from her car in Brentwood's Players Club parking lot and I closed the lock on the back of the Penske rental truck that would bring me home. And I mean some seventeen months.

A month ago, I mentioned that it was time once again for me to get back on the songwriting horse. Monday afternoon will bring the timid opening galops, as I hit the road for Nashville for my first legitimate business trip back since I left. The run-up to this return has brought about alternating fear and swagger.

I fear the rejection just like I always did, but I have heard so much of it over the years that I'm beginning to feel immune to it. I worry about the stigma that some may assign me for getting to town and then consciously choosing to leave after two years, though I know that those with whom I would would ever care to work would certainly understand my reasoning. I worry that some may be judgmental of my sporadic writing habits, but I know that many of the best binge and quit much as I do. I worry that I'm wasting time or money, but I think being satisfied that I've given it my very best shot is worth both.

The swagger results from writing again and the review of old material that comes with preparing for a trip to town. In looking back at what I have written in the last two to three years, the successful products bring to mind specific points in time in which songs have come together. Those moments are the precious minority - when the right word, note, change, or phrase finds its way into one's consciousness. I don't pretend that these are world-changing nuggets like "The movement you need is on your shoulder." They may never be heard outside my circle of friends and a few publishers with shaking heads. But, like the one good golf drive in a 100-shot day, those moments will keep a writer coming back for more. The more of those a writer can string together, the better his chances of shooting the writing equivalent of a sub-70 score become.

Fortunately for me, those moments are also enough to make me disregard the fear, get in the car, and drive north and west. Details upon my return.

Optimistic

2009-01-05T00:22:00.002-05:00

I'm once again writing with a bit of insomnia, but it feels as though it will abate shortly.

The dis-assembly of Meghan's Christmas Tree (which functions, as many things do, as ours) was the big project for the day. I mentioned last year how much I hate the real and metaphorical boxing up of Christmas. That has always been the case, and definitely gets worse with age.

As we boxed the ornaments and removed the fake branches from the fake trunk, I began to say reassuring things in an effort to back Meghan and me off of the emotional cliff to which the re-emergence of the Real World can and does drive both of us at this time every year. The only words that seemed to work for me were old standards. I spun the end of the holidays as a beginning and not an end, as many wise or desperate widows, breakers-up, and newly married grooms do.

After giving the psychobabble some time to wear off, I concluded that I am actually quite optimistic about the year just begun. The most obvious cause for optimism is our June 27 wedding, and I am very excited about this. I am quite sure that subject will take up a good bit of the space on my blog for the next several months. But let me simply leave the subject by saying that I feel more genuine excitement, happiness, and peace over my impending wedding to Meghan that I have felt for anything before.

There are many reasons in addition to the wedding that give me reason to be upbeat. I feel like I am in a good professional spot, with many opportunities approaching. I am mentally as clear-headed as I remember being. I am about twenty-five pounds overweight - only some of which can be rightly blamed on the Great Back Trauma of 2008 - but I should be able to begin correcting that in six weeks. My finances are rapidly improving from the beating they took in college, grad school, five years of very poor pay, and two years in Nashville. Socially, I am within a one-hour drive of eighty-percent of my friends and a half-day drive of all of my family.

At a time when almost all news is wary of the future and Blue Monday is just two weeks away, it seems important to remind myself that the time between Christmases has a pretty good bit of promise as well - regardless of what the paper or that blank spot in the den would have me believe.

The Airing of Grievances

2009-01-02T16:51:00.002-05:00

I actually have few grievances, and virtually none which originate outside of my own shortcomings and failures to focus. I do think, however, that the holiday season would be more complete and much more interesting if the "Airing of Grievances" were an actual part of the celebration.

I have been thinking lately about my career (the part of it that I choose to pursue rather than need to continue). It occurs to me over (and over and over and over) that, for a writer, I don't write very much. That doesn't tend to bode well for one's future, so I have tried to figure out why that is. As I analyzed my use of time, I realized that I get bogged down too easily. I take my proverbial eye off the proverbial ball, become frustrated with the often meaningless periphery, and stop writing.

In my particular case, the stingy details are demo recordings. I have been warned about this a dozen times - that it is easy to become enamored by the process of creating music at the expense of creating songs - and now find myself far less productive now than I should be. This is made worse by the fact that I haven't learned the science and art of music engineering. I can kill a day trying to get the right sound on a guitar track. A good engineer can get it right in five minutes. Stephen Sondheim wrote "Send In the Clowns" in two days. Time is money, and I have spent mine whittling the firewood.

As you may have noticed on your right (my left), I made a New Year's resolution for the first time in many years. There are two parts to the resolution:

1. Read everyday. This doesn't mean the internet or the newspaper. It means something worthy of being published in permanent form in a book.

2. Write everyday. Blogging doesn't count. It has to be a song.

In order to do both, I will have to stop worrying about the things that don't matter and fixing the things that do. I really feel like this has to be successful. It feels like fulfilling my professional potential requires that I do both of these things, without the semi-comedic failure of many resolutions.

One of my biggest fears is looking back on my life and feeling as though I wasted something valuable.

Remember when I used to write songs?

2008-12-10T14:19:00.002-05:00

As our wedding is now 199 days away, Meghan and I have been having a lot of discussion about where our future will be. There are a lot of factors that will drive the decision, many of which I won't be writing here. But among them is the reason I left Georgia in the first place in the mid-summer of 2005.

As we were talking about this yesterday, I was remembering my time in Nashville. As usual, I remember the good and forget most of the bad. The thing I miss the most is the feeling that I was making progress toward my goal of getting a cut.

When I really sit and look at how I was spending my time, however, I know that I wasn't always making progress. There were some lazy days, some brutal hangovers, some wasted days spent in the fetal position on the couch watching "West Wing" and trying to feel comfortable enough to go outside the apartment, and some wasted nights spent as a spectator at a club rather than as a participant. I am rather convinced that I gave myself so much credit for moving to Nashville that I really didn't take advantage of the time I had there.

As my back continues to recover, I am getting the itch once again to get back into whatever is left of the songwriting community. I would think that the possibility of our moving to Nashville is probably pretty slim at this point, and I'm not sure that there isn't something positive in that. It's quite possible that I can get more done in three to five urgent days per month than what I could do in thirty complacent ones.

It is one thing to write about this, and another to do something about it. So, for the eighty-something-th time, I jumped back on the horse again today and did. Here's to sappy love songs, bitching about bridges and lifts, lost capos, and dusty guitars.

On Wrapping Gifts

2008-12-06T14:30:00.002-05:00

When I was a child, wrapping Christmas gifts was a joy that was easily lost on me. My mother was an exceptional craftswoman, and took great pride in the presentation of every gift she gave. While she tried to pass her care and technique along, my brother and I were typical boys. We wanted to do right by the recipient of every gift we wrapped, but our products were most often notable for the faithfulness of our attempts rather than for the beauty of our results.

As I aged and life became busier, I had no one to watch over my gift-giving habits. The way I presented a Christmas present said much about me and about the recipient, though perhaps not in the way you might think.

After returning from the bowl trip to Hawaii in 2000, I returned to Athens on Christmas Day to a pile of unwrapped goods. I called my mom and told her that my return home would be delayed by my last-minute preparations. She told me not to worry about wrapping everything and to come on home. Giving naked presents was an apt metaphor for that time. I was consumed with my job. My relationships were secondary. I was busier than I had been at any point in my life.

By the way, once arriving at home and exchanging presents, I fell asleep and stayed that way all afternoon.

A few years later, I found myself with friends whose gifts received different treatments based on what I knew about them. My oldest and dearest friends likely received something that wasn't wrapped. They knew my life was out of control, and that simply buying something was more difficult than I would let on. My newest friends (some of whom may or may not have been women I was trying to woo) received gifts that got the royal treatment. I was trying to prove something - trying to win an affection that I would learn years later couldn't be bought.

Since I went to work for myself and life has calmed a bit, I notice that the care I lend to a gift is much more like that which my mother tried to pass along. Some of this is simple maturity and respect. Some of this is the product of a much simpler life.

More importantly, my new caution comes from learning that the presentation says as much about a giver's sentiment as does the item itself. The symmetrical placement of the box, the deliberate measurements needed for the ends of the item, the steady cutting, the wise and efficient use of tape, and the pressing of the corners into a Marine-like crispness have become less inconvenient chores of adulthood and more valuable opportunities to send a message.

I could try to speak or write my thoughts for you, but no overt expression will ever be enough to let you know how I feel. All I can do is carefully consider and slowly execute each cut, each measurement, and each fold... and hope you realize that I am trying to give you something perfect.

Rut

2008-12-03T21:27:00.002-05:00

I was just reminiscing last night about the times surrounding the beginning of my blog. They are far more complicated than I wish to rehash. But it was a particularly fun time since everyone seemed to have something to say much of the time. In fact, I recall a bit of shame in not writing something on a given day.

Naturally, things change. Today there are far more internet outlets available to all of us, and our blogs certainly seem to be an afterthought compared to what they once were. Though I'm not particularly proud of my two-plus-week hiatus, it does not in fact make me much less prolific than most of my blogging friends. Perhaps that will change, or perhaps blogging will gradually fade more fully from our collective consciousness.

Remembering the earlier days of my blog reminds me of when I wrote in an overtly emotional fashion. So, for old times sake...

I am nearly three weeks removed from my surgery and things are basically fine. I have a limited amount of pain on occasion, but it is expected and pretty rare. I still won't be allowed to bend or twist or to lift anything heavier than about eight pounds for several months. Otherwise, I feel as physically well as I have since the early spring.

However, physical aspects of my injury, treatment, and rehabilitation have affected other elements of my life in negative ways. It has been necessary to be waited on for much of the last half-year, as I have been unable to retrieve many things near the floor, sit or stand for long periods of time, or move quickly enough to justify someone else's watching my labored attempts to fend for myself. Because I have been unable to drive, someone (usually Meghan) has had to alter their schedule to fit mine and cart me from one place to the next.

Perhaps most unfortunate, though, is the emotional state in which I have found myself from time to time. I'm not sure if it is the constant yo-yo of chemicals in my body from changing medications, the changes in metabolism that result from my body's stillness followed by its self-healing, the bursts of attention contrasted with lengths of isolation, or just the now-fading helplessness. But it has been - and at times, it continues to be - a little rougher on my psyche that I would readily admit.

Fortunately the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel is in view, and things should begin to return to normalcy in the near future. It will be nice to worry about the normal uncontrollable things - the getting older, the drinking too much, the dearth of money, the balding, and the Dawgs - rather than this.

Brett's Back

2008-11-15T22:39:00.003-05:00

You can take that however you want...

This is just a note to let anyone who wouldn't otherwise know that the surgery went exceptionally well. I was walking (sllllooooooowwwwwwwllllllyyyy) within six hours of the completion of the procedure. I left the hospital Friday morning for my parents' house. I left my parents' house this morning for Marietta, a day of football (ahem, viewing.... not playing) with my friends, and time with Meghan. And after being a bit ambitious today with my activity, I anticipate quite a bit of rest over the next couple of days.

I find myself being particularly grateful for my health in general, having people around me who help me deal with my temporary difficulties, and having access to medical care that would not have been possible a mere generation ago. More soon from the recovery area.

2008-11-10T19:03:00.003-05:00

In case I manage not to post again before Thursday, I figured I should go ahead and throw something up here. My preparations for surgery are slowly ramping up. I now have a grabber, since I won't able to bend at the waist for quite some time. I have an appointment with my neurosurgeon Tuesday morning for the blood work and other pre-operative exams. Meghan and I took two trips on Sunday to buy sleep pants and other items that might come in handy as I convalesce. I believe I have all of my second-guessing and sudden unexplainable moments of total recovery out of the way. I'm ready to go.

During many of the recent sleepless nights I have had, I have silently debated whether or not to share my politics in more detail than I have lately. I am generally hesitant to do so for several reasons:

1) Many people take their politics personally, and understandably so. Statements of political opinion often include the implication that the beliefs of one who thinks differently are rooted in selfishness, naivete, ignorance, or downright stupidity. I'm not interested in calling anyone stupid, and I don't really want friends who didn't know they disagreed with me to suddenly think any of those things about me. This is why I'm not in politics.

2) I don't know that my expression will be productive. In fact, I'm not so sure why I feel like writing more about my politics. Perhaps it is that I think I have my opinions for different reasons than others who share my political point of view. At any rate, I don't know that it will do anyone any good for me to share mine.

3) An ensuing argument won't be productive either. There are "facts" to support nearly any position one chooses to take. Plus, many of my opinions are based on personal experience. My anecdotal evidence won't mean anything to you or anyone else. Worse, anecdotal evidence has long been the beginning of many shallow, dangerous lines of thought. All I can do is tell you what I think and why I think it.

So, I don't know. My poor blog has been so neglected (and chances are, so has yours!). I will probably be doing my fair share of sitting and lying over the next few weeks. So maybe I will do it. If I don't, you'll certainly know why.

2008-11-08T11:46:00.001-05:00

If you want to listen to me babble on the internet about the need for a Redcoat Band Practice Facility, you can click this.

My First Attempt At Mobile Blogging

2008-10-29T23:46:00.001-04:00

With all of the travel I will supposedly be doing in the next year or so, one of the seemingly appealing things about the iPhone is the ability to blog from virtually anywhere regardless of the availability of WiFi. This is my first attempt at blogging on the move, using an application called LifeCast. And truth be told, calling tonight's offering "mobile blogging" is a little like referring to reading in the john at work as a "sabbatical."

On this particular ocassion, I am blogging from my bed with the lights off and an electric heater on the floor. I have found myself awake many nights recently, sometimes because of particularly troublesome pain in my leg, sometimes because of difficulty in muting the pessimistic voices in my head shouting about the impending surgery, and sometimes because I have recently begun to fail in my efforts not to drink caffeine after 5pm.

At any rate, I will use the ocassion of my first mobile blogging test to share the outstanding news that my surgery has been scheduled and the less outstanding news that it has been scheduled for November 13. I had certainly hoped to have this done sooner, as had the nerve roots in my back. They have taken the opportunity to let me know of their displeasure since receiving the news by sending some of the most interesting signals to date. Nevertheless, I am on the books and looking forward to moving on in relatively short order. And I am quite okay with that.

If you see this on the internet, perhaps you will see fit to congratulate me on being a mobile blogger with what I am sure will be witty commentary. If not, I will hope this isn't an incidental email to a random person in my eclectic address book.

Posted with LifeCast

2008-10-27T22:45:00.004-04:00

• Lunch with Gina is forever, but Lunch with Russell on his comp days is almost as good.

• We seem to have successfully survived our first family wedding meltdown so far. I am sure that it will come back to bite us in the butt a bit, but Meghan handled a difficult and potentially painful situation very well.

"We will plan this wedding, and we will have a good time doing it, damnit! You will enjoy yourself or I will make you enjoy yourself, so help me."

• Meghan now refers to my iPhone without using an article as though it is a family member, which it kinda is. Example: "Well, if you're not sure were you are, you could ask iPhone."

• While Meghan was in rehearsal in Athens yesterday for this piece, I went and hung out on North Campus. I took the following photo on iPhone and now use it as my wallpaper. I am no Ansel Adams. Hell, I'm no Anson Williams. But for me, it's pretty good.

Down

2008-10-26T00:57:00.002-04:00

After waiting to see the results of the injections I have been receiving over the last month, I finally decided to call my neurosurgeon and make an appointment. As I expected, I learned when calling that this appointment will basically be a consultation before surgery.

If you know me well at all, you know that I have a pretty great knack for focusing on the negative in a situation under certain circumstances. That seems to have taken hold lately as it has become clear that surgery is going to be necessary to fix my little back issue. Because I haven't really been able to move physically in the last several months, my body is not really aiding in my attempts to stay positive. Thus, rather than being excited about the wedding, the Dawgs, and the holidays, my mind wanders to darker places: to the risk of infection or nerve damage, to the concern that this won't work, or to the tired discussion of the brevity of life.

I know my melancholy can't have been easy on Meghan at all, but she has handled it very well. My friends aren't as exposed to it, but I think they caught a glimpse of it today. While watching the game I realized that I was alone in yelling angrily at the TV after a celebration when I probably should have been slapping hands and enjoying the long reception that immediately preceded it. I'm not "myself" and I know it.

It is now silly to say that I'm ready for this to be over. Besides its having been said dozens of times, the dominance of my temporary disability in my life is so overwhelming that anyone who knows me knows I'm ready for this to be over. I know Meghan is too, as she has suffered just as much as I have in innumerable ways. And my friends who have given up the front seat, or loaded a wheelchair for gameday, or walked very slowly anywhere we went, or made a bed on the floor when I was headed their way - they have been remarkably generous, but they're surely ready to get this over with as well.

Now it looks like I'm near the point where that is going to be the case. I am trying very hard to realize that and be positive about the future. But my body isn't necessarily helping me do that. So thanks for being patient with me.

And don't get me too drunk when we celebrate this little chapter's end.

2008-10-21T10:55:00.002-04:00

Last February, I wrote and many of you contributed to an entry about "Improved Covers," which was a list of songs whose cover versions were more famous or beloved (not necessarily "better," whatever that is) than their original version. I am adding to this list yet another tune that I didn't realize, until this morning, was a cover:

"Every Time You Go Away" originally recorded by Daryl Hall and John Oates, covered by Paul Young.

The damage

2008-10-20T15:11:00.002-04:00

The longer the issues with my back persist, the more it becomes evident that the real damage that this injury is inflicting is in two areas, neither of which is physical.

Because we have to wait and give conservative treatments an opportunity to take effect, I have no idea what my physical limitations are going to be on any given day in the next four months. I am currently scheduled to work for the travel company in mid-December. But I can't yet purchase my airline ticket, because I don't know if I'll be cleared to fly by that point, or even if it will be necessary for someone to clear me to fly. I want to plan a get-together for our wedding party, but I don't know what weekend might accommodate us because I don't know if or when I'll be going under the knife.

Secondly, my symptoms change frequently. Within a given day, I may have spasms so severe that I can't walk, tingling all the way down the leg, minor pain or numbness, or no pain at all. While I certainly would prefer for this entire problem to go away permanently with a simple injection, I have learned from repetition that a moment or half-day of painlessness is probably a bluff. Though it may sound sick, I'm getting to the point where I would prefer consistent pain so I won't be fooled into thinking that this problem is being solved. Throughout the last two days I have been relatively pain-free, but I also occasionally feel the old pain creeping back in exactly as it did two weeks ago. It is getting old.

I'm ready to get this over with. I don't want a temporary solution. I don't want any more drugs. I want to fix this permanently so I can get on with my life, have a drink my fiancee and friends again, make plans for the future, and lose a few pounds before I get married. It doesn't seem like it should be too much to ask.

What'd you expect... a formal outline?

2008-10-14T21:46:00.003-04:00

Bullets yet again.

• I had injection number two today. This time they did both shots on the right, above and below the spot where the did the right one last time. The doctor wasn't terribly optimistic, and pretty much said that if it didn't work then I needed to go back to the surgeon.

Up to this point, I have been hoping against hope that I wouldn't have to have surgery. And now, quite frankly, I want it. We've been fooling around for too long, and the stuff that does work quits working after two or three days. I ain't skeered.

• It's homecoming week. That didn't excite much when I worked there full-time, but since then I have loved it. Seeing all those old faces that can push time aside and hang like it was still nineteen-ninety-whatever has become one of my favorite events of the year. This year will be particularly cool because I get to rehearse the alumni band. I am really looking forward to the whole thing.

• Someone recently suggested naming recessions, just as we name hurricanes. I'm all for it.

• Speaking of the band: If you have a couple of hundred bucks and want to help out with the practice field, here's your chance. They're selling bricks for the complex, and they're pretty reasonable. The band only gets one full rehearsal each week, and that's on Friday - assuming of course there isn't a Homecoming Parade, a volleyball game, or a Derbies trip that interrupts it.

I know some folks have some hard feelings about components of the organization. I can understand how that would be justified, so I won't try to sway you. But if any of the others of you still remember fondly your days in the band and feel good about the band's direction, please consider this. And if you don't mind, please share this with someone you think could and would help.

• Very bad news from Meghan's parents house: Her dog Tibby died last night. She was fifteen-and-a-half, and brought Meghan and her family a great deal of happiness. Meghan was handling it very well, but in that context is devastated. I will probably write a few more thoughts about this later. But in brief, I have two feelings. On one hand I am hurting for her and her loss because she is hurting. On the other, I am jealous that she had the joy that a pet can bring a child, and later an adult. Tibby was a great, great dog whom I only knew for about a year. Her passing brought me to tears more than once yesterday. More about that later.

The Richt non-critique, my back, and marriage

2008-10-06T23:34:00.004-04:00

I have tried so many times to write the explanation of what I thought was Coach Richt's greatest weakness and strength. Each attempt has reminded me of how completely unqualified I am to speak openly about football. Fortunately, I have a fiancee who answers my misguided football musings with a reassuring "That's right, baby," enabling me to maintain my illusion of myself as Hunter-Gatherer/Auto Mechanic.

My point was going to be that our Coach is consistent if he is alive. Sometimes that consistency causes him to rave about the fur coat on a naked emperor (ie, directional kickoffs, defensive philosophy at times, the occasional assistant coach or tight end). But more frequently, it causes him to be the last man standing. I wouldn't trade him for anyone.

On the "back" front, Tuesday morning marks one week since my first nerve block injection. To see me on Sunday evening would have convinced you that nothing was ever wrong. Unfortunately, it has been downhill since then, and tonight I looked as though I hadn't been treated at all.

On the wedding front, we have a date and a venue. The date is June 27, 2009 at First Pres. in Athens. We are working somewhat feverishly to complete the basic arrangements and get our guest list finalized. The latter of these two has been a very, very difficult process because of the hundreds of people with whom I became close all those years in Athens. I hope not to offend anyone by not inviting them, but I know that is not going to be possible.

I am already very excited about getting married. Shortly after our engagement, an old acquaintance whom I see in Athens every now and then said, "You're going to love being married. It is so much fun." I am pretty sure that, when I was younger, I thought of getting married as some type of certification... maybe kinda like getting your PGA Tour Card or having a world record officially recognized by Guinness. I guess that I realized at some point, and maybe continue to recognize more strongly, is that it really isn't about that.

While I am sure it means something special to each person who is or isn't married, it seems to me that it's about loving someone very much and in a very specific way, so that some combination of the following is true:

- You want being alone with that person to be your default condition.
- You want to mix up all of your stuff (some gender-specific items of clothing excepted, in most cases) so that you forget what belongs to whom, because you no longer care.
- You frequently get more joy by sacrificing for that person's happiness or well-being than you do by strictly serving yourself.
- You know that the "us" created by the new combination makes you individually and collectively better than any other combination of which you could be part.
- The thought of not being with that person forever feels completely wrong, and perhaps makes you nauseated.

There are many more, but that is my tired 12:08AM first list. I would love to hear your thoughts on the subject... preferably real ones, and maybe not parodies of the institution.

2008-09-30T23:46:00.001-04:00

The injection happened. It hurt, and the back stuff has actually been quite a bit worse than it had been. This is apparently to be expected. I should know how it's working by the weekend.

2008-09-29T13:13:00.002-04:00

• I have a few thoughts on something that led to the Late September Debacle that I will submit soon. My take has to do with what I think may be Coach Richt's greatest weakness. It happens to also be his greatest strength.

• Please go here and vote for the Redcoats. Besides the fact that (In my humble opinion) the band plays better than any of its competitors, that prize money would come in handy now more than ever.

• Injection is now scheduled for tomorrow. Cross your fingers.

What happened?

2008-09-25T22:18:00.002-04:00

In an attempt not to bore anyone, I'll do my best to make this as short/sweet as possible.

My neurosurgeon referred me to a doctor in Marietta for epidural steroid injections in the hope that we could fix my bulging disc. Quite a bit of difficulty in getting my first appointment scheduled should have been my first clue that something was amiss. When I finally did get through, I learned that I would have to wait much longer for the procedure with the actual doctor to whom I was referred, but that I could take one with another doctor at the same practice much earlier. I made the appointment for this afternoon, and was reminded to arrive 30 minutes early, to plan to be there two hours, and to have someone bring me since I would not be able to drive myself home.

My parents drove an hour from Cumming to drive me, and off we went. We arrived thirty minutes early, and went inside. I was immediately a bit turned off by the office staff who really didn't seem terribly personable. People can have bad weeks, so I didn't think much of it.

I was called to an exam room, again by someone who didn't seem pleased to be there. I waited about twenty minutes until a nurse came in, again somewhat unpleasant, and asked me a few questions. She pulled out a gown for me to wear and said that someone would be by shortly to take my urine sample, and that I should put on the gown immediately afterward. I waited another fifteen minutes or so, after which point the nurse returned and said that they would be skipping the urine sample and that I needed to go ahead and put the gown on.

Shortly thereafter, the doctor came in and examined me in much the same way I have been examined a number of times lately. He looked at my film and said, "Who sent you here again?" I told him that my neurosurgeon had done so to see if the injections would work in order to avoid surgery if at all possible. He said, "Well, you're gonna have surgery. There's no doubt about that. But we'll play the game."

I asked him to clarify his comment, and he said that there was virtually no chance that the injections would fix a bulge this bad. After more examination, he instructed me to schedule the injection for one of his associates, or with him if I couldn't get one of them. I was of course taken aback, as I thought I had already scheduled this. Instead, it turns out that appointment had been for an office visit, in spite of the instructions that I had received.

After thinking about it for a few hours, I think I am going to call my neurosurgeon's office in the morning and enlist their help in finding someone who can do this quickly. And more importantly, I want them to find someone who will do it with at least pretense of a belief that it may work, along with the added perks of general office organization and pleasant demeanor.

I am over this.

2008-09-24T09:50:00.000-04:00

I love it when they let Evil Richt out.

More whining from me about Munson

2008-09-23T07:32:00.004-04:00

Sorry... I am not handling this at all like Russ or anyone else who is able first to appreciate the appropriateness of how Larry is departing. I get that, and yeah it's probably best that it happens how and when it does. But still... any time was too early, and I am not inclined to easily let go of a truly unique and singularly interesting tradition in which I illogically feel that I (and you) own a stake.

They get us a new dog when the old one leaves us, though each is a little different. They get us new quarterbacks, each with their own style but who still do the same basic thing. They re-sod the turf, tweak the uniform, and replace or add seating, but they still drain, fit, and sit the same as the old ones did.

But now we get something that is more like play-by-play and less like commiseration. We won't have Larry to gnash our teeth with. We won't have his voice to treble our joy in victory, or - as importantly - to share our disappointment in loss. There has never been a voice that better accompanies a therapeutic glass of Jack Daniel's and your favorite Coke product than Larry's.

Truth be told, I really like Scott Howard. I hope we keep him for a long time, because when I listen I do so because I want someone on my side, and he does a beautiful job of play-by-play with a really nice dose of homerism. I hope I'm around to piss and moan when he retires in forty years. And I really don't wish to have Larry do this any longer than he wishes to do so.

But I resist this change with every fiber of my being because Larry was more than accoutrement. He was essential. From my perspective, there can be no better tribute than to say this: Starting this Saturday, Georgia Football is a completely different thing than it was ten days ago.

In addressing the occasional novice complaint about Larry's non-technical technique, Mark Bradley once again says it beautifully, and sums my love for Larry Munson:

Suggesting Munson wasn’t the greatest technical play-by-play man is akin to saying Dali wasn’t very skilled at drawing a straight line. Technique wasn’t the point. Performance was, performance and passion. Munson didn’t so much recount the action as interpret it.

As I write this I am realizing that, for me, this is about a lot more than football. It's about the too rare character who sets the book aside, does things his own way, and rolls the dice with the personality he walked in with rather than walking gingerly with the one the world tried to assign to him. For being yourself and for leaving us better than you found us, I thank you Larry. God bless you, sir. Eat what you catch, and don't be a stranger.

2008-09-22T22:25:00.000-04:00

It will never ever, ever be the same. Ever. Ever.

Sunday Morning Sitting Down

2008-09-21T12:17:00.003-04:00

Meghan's parents are enjoying a weekend in Asheville, so I find myself sitting in her den watching football, looking at the occasional wedding book, and now blogging. It has obviously been a very eventful few weeks. Let's work our way backward.

Last night, Meghan went to Athens for her SAI little sister's 21st. With my other normal gameday dates in Maine, I decided to go to Mom and Dad's in Cumming for the game. I hate the word "treasure" because, as I do many words, I think it is frequently used out of laziness. But I have learned to treasure the time I have with Mom and Dad. I have watched way too many people regret not simply spending time with people whose company is now inconvenient or totally unavailable. When the people I love are gone, I want to be sad that they're gone and not that I didn't enjoy them when they were here.

Wednesday through Friday, I worked, got wedding stuff started, and dealt with my back. At work, I just finished an arrangement that one of my client schools will perform at the NYC Veteran's Day Parade. I am also beginning my first concert commission for a middle school near Charleston, about which I can tell you more once everything is on paper. I'm still writing songs, and think I will put a couple of new songs online here in the next couple of weeks for you to hear. Wedding-wise, we have a date and venue in pencil, which we hope to announce early next week. Back-wise, I am now scheduled for an epidural steroid injection next week. I'm really hoping that takes care of this. I have a wedding for which I have to get in shape. This gut ain't losing itself.

Tuesday was also a big day. I will tell you one version of the story, and I will let you ask Meghan about the director's cut. I had been working toward this day since about February when I started saving for the ring, but it only began to really clear up when I asked for Russ's help in June. He agreed to do his best, and once I had the ring in hand he did so. Under the ruse of advancing a new program called "Dinner and a Show" (which would actually be a good idea, were it not completely made up), Russell invited Meghan and I to join Ellen and him for dinner at a nice midtown restaurant.

I picked Meghan up from school and headed to the Fox, where we were supposedly picking up Russell for the trial. When we arrived Russ met us at a side door, where he informed us that he still had a meeting to complete. He asked us to wait for him in the theater, which just happened to have a clear stage with all of the beautiful ceiling and house lights set to Proposal Level. Meghan and I walked on stage and looked around for a minute, before I asked her what color socks she would be giving me. Then, I tried to pull the ring out of my jacket pocket, though I know I first had to get my sunglasses and God-knows-what-else out of there first. I remember getting the ring out, making it down to one knee, and the words "Will you." Then everything gets foggy until Russell walked back in and asked, "Did anything happen while I was gone?" Afterward, we each called our folks and the internet exploded. What a night.

This week, will be more work, more planning, an epidural injection, and what I think could be our toughest game of the year until Tech.

2008-09-19T08:24:00.001-04:00

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.........

2008-09-16T22:44:00.002-04:00

So, for those of you just returning from the cave, Meghan and I got engaged tonight. Details to follow...

2008-09-12T22:55:00.005-04:00

Rest in peace, Sid.

I'm not sure I would have been drum major if it weren't for you. And that means that a lot of really cool things that have happened to me may not have happened were it not for you.

I hope everything is right in the pocket up there.

Cockweek Update

2008-09-07T22:25:00.002-04:00

My enthusiasm for blogging has evolved in such a way that I now usually post the two types of entries that I used to view as lazy: bullets and simple updates. I mention that, naturally, because this particular submission will be both of those things.

• As I woke up this morning, my back and leg were relatively comfortable in the bed. As I rose and began to move, a bit of pain returned, but nothing major. Gradually, of course, as the blood really began to flow the pain returned slightly worse than it was yesterday. And that, unfortunately, is pretty bad.

It seems like every morning I wake up expecting that day to be the day that the situation improves. And every morning I am disappointed. It finally hit me today that this is not getting better. In spite of my dreading the needles, the knives, or both, I am going to take it upon myself to speed up the treatment process, starting tomorrow morning.

• Now that football season is in full swing, it occurs doubly to me how dull life is when the sport is not in season. Saturdays in Athens, in and of themselves, have rarely been more fun*. In fact, in spite of the significant discomfort involved it seems to be rather therapeutic.

• My part-time football season gig in Athens has been pretty cool. The saddle is a bit different than it was before, but it's nice to sit in it every now and again.

• I hope to have some good news regarding my writing for young bands in the very near future.

• As soon as I don't have to take pain medication all day every day, I am really looking forward to trying Merlot and Cheez-Its. I know that sounds stupid, but I think it will be outstanding.

* - This season and the company are amazing. But it will be hard to ever top the Corley-Knight years in terms of total enjoyment.

In case you ever wanted to know...

2008-09-03T12:10:00.002-04:00

Ever cared to know what Steve D0rff looks like? He is third from the right in this photo taken just last month in Nashville.

Gameday Math

2008-08-29T22:26:00.002-04:00

I was reading a Georgia Southern message board the other day on which the participants were complaining (rightly) about fall weddings. One gentleman in particular is said to have reminded a pair of acquaintances contemplating marriage that there are usually fifty-two Saturdays in a given year and - since he only gets to spend six of those on Beautiful Eagle Creek - that they have around forty-six from which to choose when picking a wedding date. I find the expectation that your friends would extend you this courtesy to be perfectly reasonable.

As in past years, I am hyper-sentimental on the eve of the first game of Georgia's football season. But my return to affiliation with the band coupled with my relocation necessitates a 5:00am wake-up call tomorrow morning. So there will be no lengthy monologue (as Letterman used to say, "if that's still possible").

But I have been mindful lately of the scarcity of home football Saturdays in the context of one's entire life. If you're lucky, you live to be eighty years old. If you're really lucky you get to spend every home game Saturday in Athens. If you are truly blessed, you have grown up a college football fan and were - as the old phrase goes - Bulldog born. Thus, the best you really have any right to expect is have only 480 home Saturdays in Athens over the course of your entire life.

That ain't much. So we better make 'em count. We get another chance to do just that in a matter of hours.

I hope you're ready.

PS - Mizzou-rah.

2008-08-29T14:10:00.001-04:00

Well, he looks like a Damn Good Dawg to me...

Bulldog born, Bulldog bred

2008-08-27T10:49:00.002-04:00

I don't "do" sports here. But I loved this portion of the summary of Coach's Q and A with the Athens Touchdown Club (HT: Native Dawg, via DawgRun.com):

Q. Is AJ Green fun to coach?
A. Yes. For a couple reason. [sic] First, he committed to UGA as like a soph in HS, and he NEVER wavered. He and his HS guidance counselor said to UGA "Tell us what we have to do in the classroom to be eligible." Green had a lotta work to do. Our academic advisors set out a path for him, and AJ busted his tail getting the job done. He flat out wanted to be a Georgia Bulldog. During his final HS spring practice, Steve Spurrier came to his school... AJ skipped school that day! Later, Tommy Bowden came to the school to visit... and AJ skipped school again! That got a lotta laughter and applause. Second, it's always fun to coach a guy who is 6'5", with speed who catches everything thrown at him... (more laughter)

I love that, and I can't wait...

What I am going to blog about tonight

2008-08-25T22:58:00.003-04:00

In an effort to calm the uproar of the part of my conscience responsible for my blogging regularity, I decided to sit and think this evening until I came up with something about which to write. I mentally combed the body of news events of the last few weeks, but found nothing about which I could shed any new light. I thought of things that have been going on in my life, but none have changed significantly enough since I last wrote about them to warrant a mention. I thought of elements of my world which I could romanticize, yet again to no avail.

Somehow, this evening I have no real complaints. My back hurts, but I have pills that dull that pain to the level of annoyance. I don't have a great deal of money, but I have enough to get me through the next several months and a great deal more than some. I have a nice job (several of them, in fact). I have an amazing girlfriend. I have a very nice apartment by third world standards, a car that runs quite well and gets forty miles to the gallon, wonderful friends, an understanding family, a great educational background, relatively good health, tv and internet, a place to belong, and something to do all the time.

Hopefully my blogging habits will one day return to the prolific level of a couple of years ago, sans the loneliness, the unhappiness, or the excessive alcohol intake. But tonight I am very happy.

That is all.

Why you shouldn't get older

2008-08-21T22:49:00.004-04:00

Before I begin to complain about my back, let me acknowledge the fact that there are people with problems way worse than my own (including Ellen's now-resolved back thing, which makes mine look like a paper cut). My major organs are still working. I haven't been burned severely (other than multiple occasions in my romantic life that have long since passed). I can get from one place to another with little difficulty, I don't curse uncontrollably, I drool less than many people, and I generally have no problem controlling my body's waste disposal functions.

That said, this back thing has started to suck. Wednesday night, Meghan and I stood at Firehouse Subs and waited for our food. When our orders were filled, I reached to the counter to grab the sandwiches and head for the door. The bag slipped slightly from my hand as I grabbed it, and I flinched to catch it.

That's when I felt it - a seizing pain that reached down from my shoulder to my ass. I recognized it from last spring as something like a muscle strain. As before, it gradually became difficult to sit or walk throughout the course of the evening. I tried to sleep but had trouble doing so, as I knew I was in for a hell of time this when I woke.

When I finally developed the moxie to rise Thursday morning, it took about three minutes and ten utterances of the phrase "C'mon, Brett" to bring my body to the standing position. I walked to the kitchen leading with the genitals, as though I was being drawn in whatever direction I was moving by a piece of fishing twine sutured to my lower abdomen. As you can imagine, the process of making breakfast, showering, and collecting my belongings were labored at best and miserable at worst.

If you're still reading through the inevitable pity you must feel for me, then you may enjoy imagining the process of my putting on socks and shoes when I was alone and basically unable to bend at the waist. I had managed to kick my shorts far enough up my leg from a seated position that I could reach them with a bended knee well enough to lift them above what butt I have. After this, I laid carefully on the bed and managed to grab my shoes and socks and lay them on my chest. I began with one sock and thoughtfully placed it around the fingers of my right hand, oriented so that I could drag and pull the sock onto my foot with one hand. After putting the sock on - a process which took about ninety seconds - I moved to the shoe. I put the opposite foot flat on the bed with bended knee. I rotated the hip and bent the knee of the foot onto which the shoe was to go, placing the foot on top of the other knee. I gradually stretched the hamstring of the leg as the foot came down my angled thigh at a rate of about one inch per minute, until I could get the tip of my toes far enough into the shoe to keep the shoe on. Five minutes later I managed to stretch the hamstring far enough to painfully reach the shoe with my hands well enough to get it completely on my foot and tie it in the worst common bow knot I have tied since second grade.

I repeated the process for the other foot.

At this point, I was concerned that I would get to Winder (where my therapy sessions are) and be forced to call Big Oob for a ride home. He, of course, would get mad and assume that I was drunk, which I wouldn't be... though I couldn't fault him for thinking so. This did not happen, but needless to say the ride to Winder, Athens, and then home was not so great. Walking around downtown Athens like I had inflamed hemorrhoids was worse.

But the worst part was the frustration at being unable to care for myself. Though my issues were relatively minor, I really began to feel for those whose bodies have failed them. I dread any future day when I feel as helpless as I did on Thursday. And I can't wait to be able to bend at the waist, sit without grunting, or stand for five minutes without looking like I'm about to take a dump.

Some bullets, some news, and a brief farewell

2008-08-17T21:00:00.003-04:00

• You may recall that I had some back pain last spring. Since early April it has gotten worse, and lately it has started to concern me. Last week I finally saw a doctor. I begin physical therapy tomorrow. I'm a little nervous, but the drugs are great.

• I have been skeptical since the release of the Gillette Mach 3 Power. It has seemed less like a more efficient razor, and more like a vibrator with blades. When Meghan and I went on vacation with my family, I left my non-shaky razor at home. Dad bought me a Mach 3 Power, and I tried it. I now prefer it.

• Somehow I have been missing the music of Pete Yorn all these years. Meghan and I heard some of his tunes in Walker's a few weeks ago, and she identified it immediately. I am now the satisfied owner of one album, and intend to purchase more.

• I get more than a little excited the first time each late summer when I hear the following on the radio for the first time:

"The station Atlanta turns to first for live team coverage of breaking news.... News Talk 750 WSB. Atlanta's News, Weather, Traffic, and Georgia Bulldogs Station. Depend on it." (I wish I could handle money like Clark Howard does).

• I have hesitated to mention the following on the blog, because there are lots of thoughts and feelings floating around out there as a result of the personnel carousel of the last few years. Now that I know I am involved, I feel more comfortable talking about it.

For the first time since leaving the university in 2005, I am working with the Redcoats once again. I have spent the last week at band camp, and will be traveling to Athens at least once a week along with attending most games. I am teaching in various capacities along with offering operational advice and institutional memory.

I experienced some combination of nervousness and guilt as this opportunity emerged. Having been back for a week, I am comfortable saying that I think the group is in for something good. And, no matter how cool I try to be about it, I am truthfully very excited to get to stand in front of the band once again.

• "When did we get so old that people stopped getting married and started dying?" This was a perfectly valid question asked by Russell upon hearing of Troy's passing last Friday. And I have to admit that I feel a little of the same thing.

I won't insult his memory by what would be an insufficient description of his selflessness and optimism. I will only say that I have and will continue to look back on my times with Troy with the most genuine fondness I know.

Well, and this... I believe that one of the strongest and purest sources of human motivation is the desire to matter. It was evident today, as the lobby and chapel were filled to capacity with people who had been touched by Troy, that he had done just that. We're obviously all sad to lose a dear friend. But I also hope that everyone who knew Troy is happy for him and the fact that he exits having changed his corner in the most positive of ways. I don't think I will ever forget the amount of admiration in that room today. In this way, among many others, Troy will be here for a long time to come.

Good bye, old friend. Very, very well done.

23 days and 6 bullets

2008-08-07T15:50:00.005-04:00

• I began a post earlier today which railed on the people who have reacted negatively to the news of Meghan's hiring at a school with many challenges. The more I read it, the more I realized that I was just yelling from the shore, exactly like the people about whom I was complaining. So I'm simply going to say that I am very proud of her decision to get her hands dirty, endure the difficulties, and teach in a place where she has the opportunity to change something for the better.

• On that note, I think I have begun to realize that the terms "positive" and "negative" don't respectively mean "good" and "bad." I'm pretty sure I'm the last one to figure this out, but the realization has been quite meaningful.

• New releases on DVD suck right now (Hmmmm... is that positive or negative?). Except Charlie Bartlett. Charlie Bartlett was pretty good. All other new releases on DVD suck right now. Well, but then I haven't seen all of them. Hell, I have only seen one of them. But they don't look good. So, all new releases on DVD except Charlie Bartlett look like they suck, even though I don't really know that to be true. Wow. How many new DVD releases worldwide could there possibly have been in the last few weeks? Is it really possible that I have really given descriptions or reviews of even a significant fraction of them a fair shake? Probably not. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that whatever piddly number of New Release DVD descriptions and reviews I have encountered lately seem to indicate that they suck. Except Charlie Bartlett. And it was only okay.

• I have been re-bitten by the marching band bug. I have been more or less uninvolved since leaving my job three years ago. I am looking forward to helping out in a few places this fall.

• Every time I write a song after a lengthy time away, I wonder why I took time away. Then I realize that I have to eat.

• Meghan has discovered a great formula for making a great Frozen Jack and Dr. Pepper at home. Get her to tell you about it. Better yet, get her to tell you about it, and then put a spoonful on a brownie. But make sure you have a will first.

2008-08-06T10:59:00.002-04:00

I'm home from Br00kwood's Band Camp, and I am more or less in one piece. Things went as well as I remember them going. I just hope things continue to be as good as they were at camp. As we all know, that's a toss up with high school students.

I finally have my apartment set up. Considering the proximity of my apartment to Meghan's, mine will function less like a home and more like an office. With the exception of the DSL (tomorrow), I'm ready to roll. I have some very interesting projects lined up for the fall, including some last minute arrangements, a waiting line of songs to write, the creation of a composition portfolio for Midwest, and some band work in various capacities.

Oh... and if you can't hear it, the drumbeat of football season is present in the distance. And it's getting louder.

Also, I think this is awesome. (HT: Blutarsky)

Cullowheeeeee

2008-07-28T15:16:00.002-04:00

The latest installment of My Life as a Thirty-Four Year-Old Band Geek finds us in beautiful Cullowhee, NC on the campus of Western Carolina University. We are surrounded by mountains on a small but modern campus with facilities that are adequate to allow us to do what we need to do.

This is all fine and good. What is great is the temperature. We broke 100 degrees several times over the last few years in Clinton, SC, - a situation that was dangerous and downright inconvenient (I don't know what it is about the border of South Carolina that makes anything in the state hotter than anything outside of it... except the women). So far today here in the mountains, we have been about ten degrees cooler than Atlanta. When I walked out of my dorm at 8am this morning, it was about 62 degrees.

Plus there is a Walmart three miles away which has a great stock of Red Bull, Gold Bond, Yuengling (no, I didn't) flushable wipes, ibuprofen, and sunscreen. So everything seems fine, except I swear I keep hearing distant banjos.

Die Walküre's

2008-07-25T15:09:00.004-04:00

Ok, so I didn't exactly use that title correctly. But life has felt like an opera of late, and the drill-writing portion of it has felt like one big-ass, long, drawn out Wagner music drama - the kind that makes your ass so sore from sitting that you swear you'll never attend one again. Nevertheless, I finally find myself in Athens, at Walker's, on a Friday afternoon, at the convergence of eras.

Wow, I really wrote that.

Since last we talked, I have been to Florida and back on vacation with Meghan and my family, finished all but two of this summer's horn books (the rest should be done by Tuesday), packed all my belongings, moved to Marietta, and finished my lone drill book of the summer as my apartment sat packed in boxes. I sit in one of my favorite spots in the world, waiting for Meghan to arrive in Athens for a rehearsal and a wedding. After this, I will once again be at band camp. And finally, I'll be back in Marietta to start my fall, while Meghan begins school in earnest.

My one-year move to Athens has come to an end with no shortage of reminiscing about its events, doting on small pieces of real estate that hold significant personal meaning to my significant other and me, and general mourning of the necessity of moving on from my twice-adopted hometown to the location of Whatever Is Next. I have done a pretty good job of managing my little sadnesses, disguising the occasional unexpected lump in the throat as a cough, and subtly sweeping conversations of Athens off into the ether with timely changes of subject. I also twice managed to convince myself that this is not real: first by insisting that "the second we can move back, we are going back," and later by declaring myself a resident of the "Athens-Atlanta Area." Unfortunately, after being concerned earlier this week that Meghan was having a hard time with the move, I suddenly became a sobbing mess at the dinner table while simultaneously realizing that I was the one who wasn't handling it well.

She thought I was choking. And in a way she was right.

There are many times in which I have wished I could present myself as a true citizen of the world - wished that I could make myself out to be comfortable under any circumstances, willing to dive into new pools with no concern for what lies beneath, shaking the hands of total strangers, and lighting busy rooms with stories of foreign adventure and danger. I find myself mildly jealous of the adaptability of my friends who are from military families in that regard. They always seem to be able to walk into new situations and engage without hesitation. But if there is one truth about me, it is that I need familiarity in order to be happy.

I can hear all of my friends, having read the previous sentence, saying aloud, "Really? Shocker."

The bad news for people like me is that things are changing, regardless of whether or not I approve. The good news is that we adapt. Almost every time I move, things get like this. I run into every exposed sharp object in my new apartment. I encounter water leaking through my ceiling. I get confused about my actual location in the new Target which looks almost exactly like the one to which I am accustomed. But gradually, everything gets better because it too becomes familiar.

It's important for me to point out that I would move five hundred times and I would move five hundred more to be near the woman I love. And I know she would do the same for me. I choose to move because I choose permanent happiness over a discomfort that will remedy itself by simple repetition in a few weeks. Moreover, I am closer to the people I care about and enjoy the most than I have been at any point since college ended.

I really do recognize the necessity and benefits of change. Things end so other things can begin. Things change so we learn to appreciate moments when we are in them. Good things go away to make room for potentially better things. Cerebrally I get that. It is simply the way life works. There is no alternative.

But somewhere in the middle of my soul, there is a child that does not understand why people get sick, why relationships sour, why pets go away, and why we have to leave the places we love. And that, I suspect, isn't ever going to change.

Still Slammed

2008-07-23T10:22:00.002-04:00

Just letting you know that I'm alive and that my stuff is in an apartment. As soon as we got everything in on Friday, I immediately picked up the laptop and resumed writing drill. I'm working as hard as I know how to work. It will be Friday before I am finished, at which point I hope to be writing a more detailed update from Ye Olde Walker's Coffee and Pub.

2008-07-15T23:06:00.001-04:00

Yankees fans... truly the class of baseball.

2008-07-15T08:58:00.002-04:00

I'm embarrassed by my virtual absence, but there isn't much I can do about it right now. On the home stretch of work for the season, and moving to Marietta on Thursday and Friday. But if you're looking for something to read, Groo reports a shocking potential move up to the east side for Georgia Football clientele.

If this turns out to be true, I will be tickled that I didn't donate my intended piddly $1000.00 per seat for tickets this year (I am not a season ticket holder). I will also be scared that Georgia Football is getting too expensive for me.

Groo Explains Uga Selection

2008-06-30T12:50:00.002-04:00

In case you're not reading Groo at DawgsOnline, he has done a wonderful job explaining the process that will take place in the coming days as the next mascot is selected. It's too bad that the current drought has ended the practice of using red or black smoke to indicate whether or not a mascot has been chosen successfully.

Uga VI

2008-06-28T11:21:00.002-04:00

Rest in peace, Uga VI. Damn Good Dawg.

2008-06-26T21:07:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Adam E., Kit's link no longer directs here. Three people staring intently at this blog last Saturday couldn't figure out why that link wasn't working. Already puttin' that fancy Master's Degree to work, eh?

(Thanks, Adam)

2008-06-25T22:21:00.003-04:00

Thank you Diamond Dawgs!!!! Great season!

One of the things to which Meghan and I were really looking forward about my return to Athens was going to Georgia Baseball games together. We were at the first one, the third one, and many others this year. It was even better than advertised.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!!!

Why do people think Georgia fans are classless?

2008-06-25T21:04:00.002-04:00

It's the bottom of the 6th right now. Clearly things aren't going all that well for Georgia. And while they look downright hopeless, they aren't.

Nevertheless, some Georgia "fans" have posted some pretty classless things on message boards. Examples:

Next at bat.. Detwiler needs one in the earhole.
Will someone let me know when UGA shows up...
Looks like this game is history...
That does it.... i'm out

- from dawgrun.com

When you post things like that on a public message board, people with no opinion one way or the other see nothing but spoiled elitist classless fair-weather fans. As far as I'm concerned, they're right. If you quit in the middle, it seems to me you have no right to enjoy comebacks. Furthermore, you give ESPN another reason to celebrate our defeats.

I will enjoy this game if we win it. But I would still far rather be a Georgia Bulldog than anything else, win or lose. And I don't appreciate the part-timers.

Screw sexual harrassment... give me my whiskey

2008-06-23T18:39:00.005-04:00

I know, I know. Say it with me: "There's nothing funny about sexual harassment." But still (pun intended), Jack-lovers should be aware that our once beloved former Master Distiller was forced out due to accusations of sexual harassment. I don't know if there is any truth to the accusation. I do know that commenter NGNG34 hits the nail on the head in the Nashville Tennessean when s/he writes:

"Bedford should also be sued for allowing Jack Daniel's to be watered down from the 86 proof it was watered down to [sic] in the 1980s to the 80 proof that is [sic] remains today."

A thought about moving

2008-06-22T14:20:00.003-04:00

The last month of my stint in Bizarro Athens began on Thursday. In wisely taking a bit of my girlfriend's advice, I have begun packing slowly while taking breaks from writing. I am hopeful that I won't encounter the packing frenzy that my departure from Nashville presented.

As the packing has begun, small moments of nostalgia have been balanced by an overriding sense of excitement about the future. As with any move or massive life change, there are little instances of fear and separation pangs. But I am repeatedly amazed by how relatively benign those negative emotions are in the context of... well, you know.

Also positively notable about the upcoming months are the new opportunities that are waiting. The social benefits of this move are obvious. I have previously mentioned the improved proximity to Nashville as a plus as well. I have also recently found that I am genuinely enjoying writing the original band music that has become a part of my "day job." I intend to pursue that a bit more seriously, and being located in Marietta can only help that.

Last night, Meghan, Russell, and I sat on the sidewalk three feet from the main stage watching the Skirts perform to an audience and press that was as attentive as I remember for any group to come out of Athens in a long time. I have become so accustomed to moments like that in Athens that it didn't even have to occur to me that we were witnessing something very special. That happens a lot here, and it continues to be a blessing to be able to have a front row seat over, over, over, over, over, and over again. Even though we will soon stake our tents a few miles to the west, I really hope history continues to repeat itself.

2008-06-14T12:05:00.003-04:00

The camps concluded yesterday in rather successful fashion. In response to the long hours over the last two to three weeks, I had one of the all-time great nights of sleep last night. I am now sitting in Walker's after a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich. I am excited about tonight as I am few occasions. That excitement, however, is tempered by the tragedy of Russert's passing being replayed over and over again on television.

I don't comment on the deceased too much, because I think people often make up bullshit compliments about them after they're dead just to fit into the crowd and seem compassionate. I'm sure you can name several sons-of-bitches over the years whose passing was met with posthumous praise, even though their absence probably makes the world a better place.

All indications are that this phenomenon does not apply to the praise of Tim Russert. I know that I personally loved listening to him because of his apparent fairness, his calm delivery of pointed questions, and his obvious awe of and passion for his family and his life. There are a lot of things about him that I would like to be things about me.

One comment in particular struck me last night. Keith Olbermann (of whom I am generally not a fan) said in reference to working with Russert, "Every time I have ever used the word 'privilege', I feel like I should have saved it just for this occasion rather than wasted it on the other ones." On one hand that doesn't say it perfectly. And on the other, it most certainly does.

Change Advisory

2008-06-09T22:46:00.004-04:00

You may not recognize the subject of this photo.

In the one of the latest expressions of "the greatest tradition of all," Barnett's Newsstand in Downtown Athens recently closed for business. As I have passed by the old location over the last several weeks, I have taken grim photographs out of a somewhat sick obsession with the empty site of a once busy location.

I have very few intimate memories of Barnett's. I can't imagine, in my sixteen years in and around Athens, that I went in the store more than ten times. Most times when entered, I was purchasing the once-necessary accessories to a night of consumption. As time has passed, any other reasons I might have had to go into a newsstand have gradually dissipated. They clearly did for others as well, as it will soon be replaced by a dress shop.

In spite of the fact that I rarely patronized the establishment, the loss of Barnett's is still a bit sad - probably less because I need it, and more because I expect it.

There is another, smaller, change about which I hope to write before you arrive. Can't wait to see you...

Me and my simple updates are starting to good and piss me off...

2008-05-31T23:42:00.003-04:00

but it's all I've got.

After two good weeks or so of writing pretty consistently, I have had to be back at the school this week in preparation for summer camps. I won't go into any detail here about the nature of the work involved. I will simply say that this gig is a lot of work compressed into a very small period of time. I have been absolutely wiped out every night I have returned home. This is not an entirely bad thing.

In spite of the notable busy-ness of the week, we did have time to run to Marietta and settle on the apartments in which we will live next fall. We will be where I told you we will be, though the decision was complicated by what appeared to be a bait and switch. After walking out of the leasing office in frustration, we signed paperwork thirty minutes later as the "misunderstanding" was "resolved" by the leasing manager "calling corporate." Screw it. We like the apartments, the location, and the rent.

I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. More soon.

Stream of Conch's-ness...

2008-05-24T14:24:00.006-04:00

... in the form of bullets, the singular version of which is somewhat close in spelling to "bullshit." Coincidence? I think not...

• Meghan and I have "found" an apartment complex in the E.C. which we think will become home to each of us in late July. Assuming all goes as planned over the next five days or so, you can look for us right here...

... but really, you should call first.

• Summer camps begin one week from tomorrow, which means that the real work begins on Tuesday (even though we've been in the office fairly consistently for the last week-and-a-half).

I recall a particularly interesting spring some eight-or-so years ago, when the Diamond Dawgs were in the post-season. Gunner had just moved in next door, and we were still doing three weeks of Sunday-to-Saturday camp. Several of us got together to watch Georgia vs. Tech on television and enjoy our last hoorah before a month of enslavement to The Man. In the process we got absolutely liver-hardeningly drunk at 3 in the afternoon. Just thinking about it makes me slur my speech.

These days we do that afterwards.

• Last week, I reached the point in the year when I am finishing shows rather than starting them. This is a relief. The time of year during which the arranging gig falls does not make for a very streamlined process. Though I had once hoped to spend a great deal of time writing while doing my travel job, the truth is that that doesn't happen very much. I am able to write a fair amount in the middle of the weeks of summer camp. It would be nice, however, if I could simply sit for two weeks at a time and write each show without having to leave town for a month.

• Barring any clearly obvious signs (severe misspellings or complete inattention to punctuation), do you think you can tell when someone has emailed you drunk? I think I can, and I suspect that is less because of some sort of intuition I have and more because I have done it more than my fair share of times.

• While in Gatlinburg a couple of weeks ago, my Civic endured the hailstorm from hell. I will be putting it in the shop early next week to have the 40+ dings removed at a total cost of about $1400, $1000 of which will come from my pocket. Who's excited?

• I am as politically frustrated right now as I remember. It feels like there is no one with any control who is on my side, and that sucks. Some of that is the $4.00 gas (which you would have to be asleep not to have seen coming). Some of it isn't.

• On the other hand, I myself stuck it to The Man this afternoon when I received three (3) free subscriptions to magazines in return for my pittance of American Airlines miles. Now who's excited!!?

2008-05-19T15:07:00.001-04:00

Clarence Darrow posthumously defends Senator Obama, in a quote on my Google home page today: "Even if you do learn to speak correct English, whom are you going to speak it to?"

To Cobb

2008-05-17T02:04:00.002-04:00

It was noted some time back that the location of my residence for the next year was undecided. Since then, you may have been among those who have been told that Meghan got a job in Cobb County. And thus, that will be my home for the next year.

When I was growing up in Nashville, I used to hear these vague references from my father about locations where he used to live. Once distinctly vague reference was somewhere on the west side of Nashville.

View Larger Map
I recall that my sister-in-law lived in the neighborhood near the end of her time at Vanderbilt. One day my dad pointed west across I-440, and told me that he used to live in blah blah blah just beyond that bum bum-ba blah blah. He sounded like he had been running from the law.

I don't know that I ever envisioned myself moving quite this much. Between the ages of two and sixteen-years old I had lived in two permanent dwellings that were within one mile of each other. Since sixteen, I have lived in nine (9) other places. That doesn't particularly bother me in the current context, since some sort of ease in the habit of moving appears to be in the not-too-distant future.

While I am not terribly excited about leaving Athens again, I am tickled to be moving to a place that will be near dear friends, still in Georgia, and within three-and-a-half hours of Nashville. The five-hour drive has made getting to Nashville difficult. It is time to jump back on that horse.

Most importantly, Meghan has found a very interesting job in a place that appears to provide a steady but challenging job. She is excited about it and I am too.

So, put your friends in the 30062 and surrounding ZIP codes on notice. We're ~~coming~~ arriving sooner than you think, and one of us doesn't like onions.

The Preposition Candidate

2008-05-14T18:45:00.002-04:00

Even if my politics were aligned with those of Senator Obama's, I don't think I could vote for a candidate whose campaign slogan ends with a preposition.

At.

The Event IV

2008-05-12T16:09:00.002-04:00

If you haven't already been invited by email or Facebook, or seen Russell's blog, here is the information you and your loved ones will need regarding The Event. Be there or be sober.

My Coat of Arms

2008-05-04T00:20:00.006-04:00

Meghan received a wedding invitation the other day. On the top of the invitation, the bride-to-be's family elected to include its family coat-of-arms. Something about that, in light of my knowledge of her life, seemed, um, unusual. I dunno. I usually associate coats-of-arms with duchies and people with Roman numerals after their name. The woman in question is great, but simply doesn't strike me as the type.

So I wondered to myself, "Self, why don't you have a coat-of-arms?"* The answer was that there was no good reason. So Meghan, Molly, Matt, and I got out the crayons and Jack Daniel's, and got to makin' ourselves a by-God fam'ly crest.

Here is my result (click to enlarge... again, if it were only that easy).

Here is Meghan's...

* - Phrasing in tribute to Meghan's now past-professor, Dr. L, who was also mine, and for whom I maintain great affection.

2008-05-03T20:21:00.002-04:00

It was pointed out to me today that my blog has too much orange in it. So I did something about it. But in the process I lost my links and my sitemeter. A leaner meaner Links section will be up in the near future, so don't think I have forgotten about you... unless you don't post once a month, then I have forgotten about you. Dead to me.

2008-04-29T08:48:00.001-04:00

Thanks, Blogger. Your spam-resistance measures really seem to be working.

Stock Update

2008-04-27T21:47:00.002-04:00

Not so much an update on stocks as an update on life as though pulled directly from the stockroom of blog topics...

• I have two more small trips to make (a weekend in Charlotte and another in Gatlinburg) before finishing my spring travel season. I am honestly quite grateful for the opportunities that side job affords me. It is pretty cool to travel as frequently as I do to the places to which I do. The travel gig also makes the year work financially. However, I no longer enjoy being gone so much, especially at the time of year when most of my arranging work should be being done. Furthermore, the attacks of Murphy seem to be less like exceptions and more like the norm. I am fairly certain that I will continue in this line of work next year. But I don't see myself staying in it long term.

• This weekend was Twilight. I would like to think that we can find a way to return to Athens for Twilight in the future, and that we can turn that weekend into one of our standing non-football return engagements. We had a great time with friends as we always do. Plus, I netted five (5) U.S. Dollars in poker for the weekend, which was enough to pay for the two movies Meghan and I rented this afternoon. And, I didn't wake up hungover on either morning. Also, Meghan made kickass cheddar biscuits Friday night.

• Today, Meghan and I rented "V for Vendetta" for repeat viewing, and "Flags of Our Fathers." The latter left me bawling.

• Russ will probably tell you that we encountered a Frozen Jack and Coke machine last night at the Sandbar in Athens. It is one of the greatest scientific discoveries of our time.

• Just spoken in my home: "Applesaucearrific... you didn't even know that was a word." I didn't.

• My Dad recently was evaluated for candidacy in Em0ry's Deep Brain Stimulation Surgery program. In the process, he spent a fair amount of time in a waiting area with other people who have Parkinson's with far worse expressions of the disease than he has. It was decided that no surgery will help with Dad's symptoms as much as his meds do, which was fine. More importantly, he found out that the hand he has been dealt could be far more miserable than it actually is. That in itself was probably worth the visit.

• The songs being repeatedly being sung in my house right now:

"Officer Krupke"
"Five.... Five Dollar... Five Dollar Footlong"
Bridge from "Theme from The Muppet Show" sung with the lyrics from the bridge to "Santa Claus is Coming To Town"
"Never Gonna Give You Up"

But first, this is Today on NBC

2008-04-23T11:44:00.003-04:00

You may remember this picture of me in front of a house in Washington, DC. I only bring you this to remind you of what color my jacket is when I'm working for the travel company.

Now... Imagine me wearing the same jacket, with a little more hair, and about thirty more pounds. You know you like it.

Now, imagine that person creeping around the set of the Today Show (bastard stepchild fourth hour only) yesterday trying to get on TV. ~~If you can sit through the ad, then~~ fast forward to the 2:26 mark and keep watching the right-hand side of your high definition screen. You should see what you imagine.

Bullets of Shame

2008-04-18T23:24:00.002-04:00

I have been shamed into offering a bulleted post. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

• Since my recent back pain began, I have been spending lots of time lying flat on my back [insert joke here] on the floor. I am currently in just such a position, with a heating pad under my back and a Jack and Dr. Pepper on my coffee table.

• I am also drinking alone tonight. While I pack for my trip to New York tomorrow, Meghan enjoys night number two of her passing her oral comprehensive exams. She and a couple of her girlfriends are, thus, painting the town red and black tonight.

• I have recently completed a Finale project for an elderly gentleman in the northern suburbs. When I sent him the file, I told him that I would be happy to correct anything with which he wasn't happy. His response to me: "If there's anything with which I'm unhappy, it was my failure to find a 20 year old blonde when I went shopping today."

• It would appear at this point that there are three possibilities for my location next fall. They are Athens (not very likely), Cobb County (somewhat likely), and Greater Nashville (somewhat likely). Each has its pros and cons. I am anxious to know.

• The wait from G-Day to the first kickoff is the worst part of the football obsession. Here are the durations between major events as I figure them, based on the beginning of the 07 campaign to that of the 08 campaign.

- Maximum number of days between regular season games: 14
- Number of days between SECCG and our own bowl game: 31
- Number of days between our bowl game and signing day: 36
- Number of days between signing day and G-Day: 59
- Number of days between G-Day and Kickoff 08: 153

Ugh... It's going to be a long summer.

• If you like jazz (and who doesn't), it might be a good idea to get to Athens for Twilight. Hell, it might be a good idea even if you don't.

• Just an FYI. Late last week, my Mom rolled her Toyota 4-Runner on a remote road in rural west Tennessee (she's okay). A gust of wind caught her, she over-corrected, and flipped the vehicle three to four times. The only significant injury took place when her hand was dragged against the ground through the busted sunroof. Otherwise, she's sore but fine.

They were considering getting rid of a car. This wasn't what they had in mind.

Home for now

2008-04-16T11:01:00.002-04:00

On Sunday, I returned to the great green south after the aforementioned ten days on the road. While this particular trip was tough for logistical and personal reasons, it was also probably very well-timed for Meghan.

Her comps are tomorrow morning. The run-up in studying intensity really began for her when I left on April 3. The distractions I can present were probably better burdened upon the fine people of the Midwest, rather than on her.

Sure enough, when I returned I found that she had been free to study as much as she needed. That's when I said, "Hey, instead of working tonight, we should drink." So we did. The next night I offered, "Hey, instead of working tonight, we should make dessert." Strawberry, whipped cream, cake surprise thing? Check. Tonight, I will propose drinking and dessert. That will be postponed until tomorrow.

Side note: When I was a kid, I thought the word was "post-phoned" because someone called everyone and told them that the event would take place later.

Meghan does her thing tomorrow morning at 11am. I head to New York Saturday afternoon, and return Tuesday night llllllllllate.

Midway thoughts

2008-04-08T15:09:00.004-04:00

I am sitting, as is frequently the case, at a gate in the A Concourse at Midway. I am also roughly halfway through day 6 of my 11 days of travel.

Meghan's parents came to Chicago last week, for a function that was unrelated to my travel here. Upon returning home, Meghan's mother wondered at the ease and convenience of Midway Airport, asking "why no one told me about Midway." Well, here's your notice ladies and gentlemen. It might be in the middle of the hood. It might use runways that are short enough that they are better suited for a Harrier than for the standard commercial aircraft of today. But it is by far the more convenient of your Chicago travel options. I find Midway to be the anti-Newark.

In spite of the relative efficiency and convenience of my current location, the trip so far has not been what one might call "smooth." I can't go into any details here, but it has been a very rough trip in which Murphy has struck numerous times.

Aside, the televisions here in the gate area are showing ABC Daytime programming, rather than the typical CNN. A promo just aired for tomorrow's episode of The View promising, "And Trisha Yearwood tells us the secret of a happy marriage." I really don't intend any offense here, but why would I take advice from her on that particular matter? Perhaps they can find something else to discuss.

In addition to the complications of the trip itself, my annoying back pain from last week became a full-on muscle strain. Needless to say, it has made travel difficult and painful. Plus, I walk as though I have pooped my pants.

In moments I will be experiencing Southwest's new boarding procedure for the first time. I will then be Nashville-bound for only the second time since I moved. I am so looking forward to the bus-ride back here on Thursday.

PS - Auditions are finished, and the Redc0at Band will have three female (and one male) drum majors for what I believe would be the first time in its history.

2008-04-03T21:45:00.002-04:00

Ellen will probably appreciate this as much as anyone, but...

Tonight's flight to Chicago was like a Slim Jim: long and jerky.

An Old Day

2008-04-02T22:23:00.004-04:00

If you could see me now, you would so assume that I am forty years my senior. Emotionally, that's probably actually true.

After spending most of my day on my taxes (Owed over $1000... ouch...), bitching about my taxes, and scouting my trip tomorrow, things finally settled down enough for dinner. Meghan made these Ranch Chicken Nuggets, which were tremendous, and tremendously difficult to make - so difficult in fact that she swore that she would never make them again, because Rachel Ray made them seem easier than they really were. I think I calmed Meghan's relative anger when I reminded her that Rachel Ray was a bitch.

We ate dinner while, at my insistence, watching Wheel of Fortune. I griped several times with language that sounded something like, "You know, Wheel of Fortune has really gone downhill." Wow. After that we watched Jeopardy!, which would already make me seem old. Add to this the fact that I DVR it nightly, and I include the exclamation point when writing the title, and you are once again reminded of how effing old I am. Also, I bitched about "damn Japanese" technology when the DVR did not work as expected. (For the record, the DVR is a Motorola, based in the Far East city of Schaumburg, Illinois.)

Meghan, who had appeared to be wandering harmlessly on the internet, audibly uttered the word "Dude" when she ran across this. I noted its extremely low price, and we discovered that we shared a longstanding desire to own one.

Upon entering the Target we walked immediately to the foot care aisle, where we did not find The Item. What we did find were these:

I was on 'em like Metamucil on Wilford Brimley's Quaker Oats. I did correctly assert that they might relieve my feet which had been killing me on my recent trips, and that the ten-day itinerary would be no kinder to me than the previous jaunts had been. But still. Age can be so repellin'.

I will update you on the gellin' experience as it develops.

After buying two sets of these, along with a new pair of black shoes and an inflatable foot bath (they were out of the bubbly kind), we headed back home. On the way, we discussed a future that would not include either of the two Charles Nelson Reilly couches in my den - not only because they're tacky, but also because they are broken. Also, my labored walk through Target suggests that they're making my back stiff as well.

When we arrived home, I anxiously installed my gel soles, and put a heating pad on my back. After Meghan broke it in, she brought me the foot bath, half-filled with warm soapy water. Shortly following that, she brought me a Dr. Pepper float.

A cane and a Geritol would wrap the day up nicely.

Some fools never learn

2008-04-01T22:11:00.002-04:00

Totally forgetting what today was, my first email of the day had this in the contents. I said to Meghan, "Now that is the end of the business." She let me go for a couple of minutes.

Also, this seems to be worth everyone else's time. It's probably worth yours too.

Out like a lamb?

2008-03-30T22:37:00.002-04:00

It seems like last week that I was uncontrollably giddy about being back in Athens (not to mention the reason for the return). Yesterday, I received my renewal notice from my landlord, indicating that the date for my 90-day notice not to renew is approaching. I can run the math a number of ways, depending on whether I want to feel like I have a lot of time left here or not. The bottom line is that this year is racing by, just like the rest of life.

The mania that accompanies Athens: The Beginning of the End (Sorta) Part II is only part of the frenzy around here. Meghan has taken two big tests over the last three weeks. Her comps are in three weeks.

I have work piled this high, and I'm loving it (mostly).

I leave for Chicago once again this Thursday. Ooh... and check this one out. I fly from Atlanta to Chicago on Thursday and work for four days. Then I fly from Midway to Nashville. The next day I pick up a group there, and the next I ride the bus nine hours with them back to Chicago. Four days later, I fly from O'hare to Atlanta. I'm pleased to have the work. But I hate being gone for that long. You know why.

2008-03-24T11:41:00.002-04:00

They're not saying "Newww Gmail!!!" They're saying, "Boooooo Gmail!"

UPDATE: Based on what I'm hearing, not everyone experienced an email outage of over one hour today like I did. Others had it, and some for longer than I did. I would have felt better in the middle of it if this would have been easier to find.

Dagmar?

2008-03-22T00:48:00.003-04:00

Dear Russ,

If your local weatherperson can have the name below, then you should be able to name your baby Jack Daniel, Zenu, or Matt Effin' Lauer if you want.

Peace,

Brett

(Photo: cbs46.com)

PS - I think her name sounds like an alien airline check-in agent. I will consider alternatives.

Just For You

2008-03-19T22:13:00.002-04:00

Here's an unoriginal, but likely entertaining, exercise that can be blamed indirectly on Meghan. Below I am posting the list of ten recommendations under the heading "Just For You" on my iTunes account. My list is definitely less indicative of my own musical taste than those of others will be, since I purchase music that I need for one of my day jobs through iTunes. I'm doing it anyway.

I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours...

1. Suite of Old American Dances, Mvt. V (R.R. Bennett) - Col. Lowell Graham and the U.S. Air Force Band
2. You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi
3. Who Can It Be Now - Men at Work
4. Sailing - Christopher Cross
5. Build Me Up Buttercup - The Foundations
6. Rock 'n' Roll All Night - KISS
7. Video Killed the Radio Star - The Buggles
8. These Dreams - Heart
9. 867-5309 / Jenny - Tommy Tutone
10. Happy Together - The Turtles

[sic]

2008-03-18T16:33:00.003-04:00

I'm back from NYC safe, but sick as a dawg (and not the kind of dawg that just won the SEC Tournament Championship. I don't feel like writing much, except that there is one particular part of hoops success I don't miss, particularly when it is completely unexpected.

Put 'em in your mouth

2008-03-09T23:47:00.004-04:00

Friday evening marked the return of Russell and Ellen to Athens. It had been too long.

That night, we made homemade corndogs, the recipe for which came from fellow alum Alton Brown. After eating the homemade variety, I will never put the rotten prefab shit in my mouth ever again. If you would like the recipe, you can look in his book. Just be warned. Your calorie counter may behave erratically if you attempt to calculate the impact of this particular nutritional choice.

Yesterday, we obviously went to something intended to simulate a basketball game. Afterwards, we made our inaugural trip to Trappeze. It was a touch crowded, but not too bad by Athens standards. Everyone seemed to enjoy their drink choice. And, of course, we got to drink at Athens prices. As I began typing this, my very significant other said, "We should go back there." We will.

Today, we headed out to a Georgia baseball game, which we somehow managed to lose by blowing a late lead aaaaaagain. We finished the weekend off 0-2 at Georgia athletic events. Not good.

Tonight, Meghan and I rented "The Number 23." The title is significant, because it is what was on the DVD clock when we decided that it was too stupid to continue. "Martian Child," on the other hand, had some nice moments and a cute story.

This weeks is the university spring break, so I will have a break from some of my obligations there. Meghan and I will try to spend some time together (possibly including the new World of Coke), while I try to make up for some lost time due to the indecision in a client. I also head to NYC on Friday evening for a few days of travel company work.

It is time

2008-03-08T21:58:00.004-05:00

I was at Stegeman this afternoon, and it wasn't pretty.

Ellen, Russell, Warren S., his two-year old nephew Holden, Meghan, and I have been planning our trip to the Stegosaurus for over a month. When we walked in today, thirty minutes before the tip, you could sense it: an apathy that you could cut with a pilates ball. Though the limited crowd offered a very appreciative reception for Bliss, Gaines, and the memory of Br0phy, the rest of the day was phoned in by almost all involved. I was truly embarrassed for myself and my school. But I couldn't blame anyone.

Make no mistake. I am very appreciative of the coach for showing up at a time when we really didn't have much to offer. And I hope the significant buyout we will pay him will help remind him of that.

But it's hard to imagine things getting any better any time soon. That lack of hope is reflected in a team and a more-than-half empty house that both probably should have stayed in bed this morning. When we play the video montages to half-interested fans and play the songs that set the tempo for the golf claps of the faithful, we don't do our school or our brand any favors.

Wednesdays and Saturdays in Stegeman have become self-parody, and no one seems to care. To me, that is as sure a sign as any that it is time for a change.

How I Stopped Snoring

2008-03-07T21:32:00.002-05:00

I have endured many years of complaints and chiding about my snoring. Perhaps more importantly, anyone near me when I sleep has suffered even more seriously. The BreatheRight strips don't seem to work, since I snore in my throat. The spray just doesn't get it done.

My doctor expressed some concern last month at my elevated blood pressure. Because I have few risk factors for hypertension, I began checking into possible causes of the problem. Eventually, I found that sleep apnea had been known to raise blood pressure. I was also experiencing headaches in the morning, and found myself needing to nap in the middle of the day. These too can be symptoms of apnea.

At about the same time, a third party - who was as concerned about anyone who might sleep around me as she was for my well being - brought this to my attention. I was intrigued by the the physical effect it is supposed to have. But I am not in a position to drop 129.00 USD plus tax on a non-returnable item that is "supposed" to work.

The more I read the comments of those who had success with the pillow, the more I wondered if it would be possible to engineer a homemade solution that would provide the same benefit. I gauged the success or failure of the solution based on presence or absence of a headache within a short amount of time after waking, whether or not I became sleepy before dinner, and whether or not I had any other evidence of snoring (interpret that as you wish).

After about a week of trying, I found something that works. If I can support the back of my head with my pillow, with my arm laying much as it is in the picture of the product, I can let my mouth hang. The headaches and the drowsiness (along with the snoring) have disappeared since adopting this way of sleeping. The one night I forgot to sleep this way, I sure enough suffered both once again.

Tomorrow, I will start on cancer. Hopefully I can be working on world hunger by mid-April.

Letting Go of Dwight

2008-03-07T00:44:00.003-05:00

This one is serious, and may be a bit too Stuart Smalley-esque for the squeamish. Proceed with caution.

The other day, I mentioned that I was forced to change my plans to observe the recording session on campus because Dwight was present. That is only part of the story.

Last Sunday, as I drove from my home to the Performing Arts Center, I was really beginning to look forward to the occasion of seeing Bruce and hearing the group record again as they used to. I had been anticipating this since mid-December, so I had plenty of time to get excited.

As I walked in the stage door, I could hear several voices bouncing down the backstage hallway. Seemingly random numbers and not-so-random comments about the performance on stage were interrupted by the occasional laugh. I had missed that sound.

I turned right from the hallway into the dressing room area. When I began my immediate left into the green room, I realized that I was in mixed company. Christine, exactly how you remember her, was nearest the green room door watching the goings on in the center of the room. Dwight was further inside wearing his typical green and blue rugby shirt, which has gone from snug to loose to somewhat snug over the last decade or so.

Over the years, I have gotten pretty good at making a turn at the slightest sign of their presence. Though I have lately been a bit out of practice, my reflexes did not fail me. I pulled out of the turn without thinking about it, and continued my purposeful walk down the dressing room hallway. I made my first available turn right, in an attempt to get into the restroom through the shower room door. I encountered several pieces of furniture that had been removed from the green room to make way for the recording equipment. The obstacles were no match for my desire to get the hell out of that situation, as I climbed over a chair, a coffee table, and a custodian’s cart without any hesitation or thought of going around.

I forced the shower room door open, locked the door from the restroom into the shower area, and slumped on a bench. My heart was beating well into my throat, my breath way too fast and way too deep. I sat and attempted to calm myself while trying to construct a way out that would most likely avoid any encounter with Dwight.

After thinking for quite some time, I decided to go back into the hallway and hide behind a corner to wait to hear them leaving before entering the green room. A couple of disappointed peeks into the room and several minutes of silence from the enemies convinced me that this wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I considered calling Meghan, Bruce, or one of the people I believed to be in the green room. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to make that call without being detected. Furthermore, I didn’t know what I would have asked them to do should I have gotten anyone on the phone.

The longer I stayed hidden back there, the greater became the possibility of my being seen hiding. That would be the only outcome worse than running into them on my way out the door. Some twenty-five minutes or so after arriving, I made my way back into the shower room, through the restroom, and quickly into the main backstage hallway. I was out the door in ten seconds.

I waited outside in my car to see if I could catch them leaving the building, but the futility of the entire afternoon quickly sank in. I called Meghan and headed home. Defeated.

I was depressed for the rest of the day. I dusted off all of the old explanations of how Dwight had wronged many, myself included. I preached a sermon or too on the tragedies that resulted from his indiscretions. I sulked about not being able to hear the band and visit with Bruce, as I had been planning for nearly two-and-a-half months. My day was shot.

Since then, I have begun to realize how pathetic the events of that entire Sunday afternoon were. I have become sickened at the thought of my going to such great lengths to avoid anyone who is supposedly unarmed. I have become disgusted that my heart and lungs involuntarily reacted as though there was some sort of danger.

Because of the weakness I exhibit as it relates to him, there are some things that I have to remind myself about my experience with Dwight. This person was my professional mentor in whom I had placed the exceptional trust of an eager student – a trust that is surrendered with the promise of learning without reservation, but at the risk of being manipulated sharply and used carelessly. I had a friendship with Dwight and his wife that was a close to a familial relationship as any I had ever had, with the exception of my actual family. Both of those very sensitive relationships, and the nearly blind loyalty that came with them, were viciously betrayed. When someone gets that close to you and then hurts you badly, it is natural to respond to encounters with them as though you are being attacked. You are.

But it has been over five years since Dwight was removed from the band area. Five years! Since that time, I have been in no hierarchy that included him. I have not been asked to speak to him, to sit in a room with him (unless the entire faculty was there), to cooperate with him or to act under his authority. Yet still he is a topic of conversation, a source of anxiety, and a destroyer of an otherwise perfect Sunday afternoon.

So I have been asking myself, “Why is that?” Why are his words, his presence, or his influence any concern of mine?

I guess I have realized that Dwight continues to influence me because I haven’t let go of 2002. I haven’t gotten over what he did to the band, what he did to others, or what did to me. I haven’t stripped him of his duties as they relate to me, or truly realized that what appeared to be a vibrant teacher-student relationship was actually a waste of my time. I have been continuing to harbor this resentment toward him for ruining something that seemed so great, when I needed to have realized that there was nothing there to ruin. I have failed to realize that any memories I have of a good friend, a committed professor, or an invested mentor are completely fraudulent.

I understand that I am probably the last one of those involved to do this, but I have decided that it is past time to put it to bed. There simply isn’t any reason to avoid him anymore. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to change my plans because of him. There is no need to get anxious when I happen upon him.

I’m not sure if this is forgiveness or not. I think forgiveness is what you do out of love or kindness – what you do when you need to start over, or what you do when someone has damaged something of yours and you need to find a way to move on with life. I don’t think that’s what this is.

I think this is the realization that he simply isn’t anything anymore. He doesn’t wield influence, doesn’t control the money. He isn’t a father figure, a friend, an important professor, or a worthy mentor.

In fact, he probably never was.

The Garth Brooks Juice Diet

2008-03-05T20:34:00.003-05:00

Up until a few hours ago, the "legitimate" news sources on the internet would have had you believe that Patrick Swayze would be dead before Tax Day. Major news outlets (most of whom have apparently realized and attempted to remove the egg on their collective face by removing the original story) reported today with a line very similar to the following:

Actor Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer and is not expected to survive through the spring, according to a report today from The National Enquirer. - suntimes.com (Chicago Sun-Times), March 5, 2008

Wait. Did you just cite the National Enquirer in a legitimate news story? On terminal cancer? Of a public figure?

Reminds me of a scene from So I Married an Axe Murderer:

Charlie: Hey Mom, I find it interesting that you refer to the Weekly World News as The Paper. The paper contains facts.
Mom:This paper contains facts. And this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Right? Plenty of facts. "Pregnant man gives birth." That's a fact. (Source: IMDB)

This makes David Hasinski's much-debated suggestion that input from "citizen journalists" should be regulated seem a little premature (among other things). Standards, Professor? How about standards for legitimate news gatherers first. Perhaps we can save just one desperate soul from attempting to lose weight on the Garth Brooks Juice Diet.

Yazz Band

2008-03-05T00:16:00.002-05:00

Some fifteen-and-one-half years after beginning to play in the group, I have recently found myself in front of the University Jazz Band.

This all began last November, just before I took my trip to Nashville with Steve. It was a particularly slow time in terms of work (as the fall usually is). Steve asked if I would have some time to write a couple of "head charts" for the band. Head charts are basically arrangements that contain a main melody (the "head"), an open section for solos, and a return of the head. My formal education in jazz arranging has been virtually non-existent, so I tend to jump at a chance to write in a style that I really enjoy but in which I have little experience. I accepted, and quickly finished my first chart a couple of days later.

That couple of head charts expanded on one January afternoon, when Steve called seemingly just to chat. As the conversation continued, he eventually revealed that he anticipated needing one or two more charts. He also revealed that the reason for this need was that there was a possibility that the Jazz Band may have been going to China for a week in conjunction with the governor's opening an economic development office in Beijing. In order to fill the required amount of time, they would need a lot of easy vocalist-compatible music quickly.

The band has accepted the invitation. They have four rehearsals left before they depart. The arrangements have long since been written. I now find myself at the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, rehearsing the band in preparation for their trip in a month. I also find myself giving "voice" lessons to the wonderful vocalist who will be performing with the group. And, of course, I am still on call to write for the band again should the need arise. I have, once again, become the utility infielder for a portion of the School of Music.

The more things change...

Ears

2008-03-03T21:44:00.002-05:00

For many years beginning in 1997, I was privileged to work annually with a recording engineer at the university named Bruce. This is Bruce, with his default non-farting expression. After Dwight was shipped off to the Siberia that is the second floor in late 2002, Bruce's services at UGA were discontinued in the interest of a clean break with the past, fiscal caution, and perhaps compliance with the Clean Air Act Amendment of 1990.

In case you aren't aware, Bruce farts a lot.

In every occasion I had to work with Bruce, I learned more than I ever learned in a classroom. It wasn't always necessarily Bruce that taught me those things, but the circumstances of our association were always quite informative. Bruce's personality was one I always enjoyed - generally very positive, but brutal when negative. He appreciated the people as much as the music and the experience as much as the money.

After Bruce stopped coming to Athens, I began making it a point to see him in Chicago every December. The conversations were always too brief, but very valuable to me.

This past December, Bruce told me that he would be returning to Athens this winter for the first time in six years. He invited me to come to the sessions, for the purposes of visiting and observing a different way of recording than that to which I was accustomed. The first session was yesterday, but my visit was aborted by an encounter with Dwight and Christine. More about that later.

Today's visits were much more pleasant. I was reminded of some of my favorite memories of being a part of the production process. More importantly, I was reminded of great memories of working around people of whom I still think fondly, more frequently than they probably know. You know who you are.

A blog about blogging

2008-03-02T17:25:00.002-05:00

It is an internet cliché to apologize for not blogging, so I won't. But I hereby acknowledge my virtual truancy of late. It really is a shame, because there is a lot going on.

To remedy this, I am imposing a quota on myself. I will write something of meaning in my blog every day for the next week. Topics may include, but are not limited to:

- Today's brush with Dwight, and my somehow still growing disgust for him.
- Today's brush with an old friend and boss, who I have missed since "Bloody Friday."
- My recent visits to the doctor, or "It isn't that funny when you put on a rubber glove, and then say, 'Just Kidding.'"
- Pants: Yay or Nay?
- God.
- Golf with my Dad.

So, if I have been disappointing you with my lack of output lately, you can rest assured that I will provide you with some substantive material with which to be disappointed every day for the next seven.

New Jack City

2008-02-27T08:38:00.003-05:00

If you like your Jack how it is right now, cross your fingers.

Improved Covers

2008-02-18T20:36:00.006-05:00

I don't mean to piggy-back off of Kit's occasional "The List" feature. But if you've known me for a while, you may be aware that I have a bit of a list problem myself.

The following is one that I have been mulling for awhile.

The list is of popular songs of which a cover version is seemingly more famous or beloved (EDIT 2/19 8:39PM: Not necessarily "better"...) than its original recording. I am going for performances with reasonable separation of time or style, so a "What Hurts the Most" wouldn't be on my list. I will begin the list by naming (to the best of my ability) the song, the original artist, and the cover artist.

- "Hound Dog" - Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton; Elvis Presley
- "Hard to Handle" - Otis Redding; The Black Crowes
- "I Swear" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "I Can Love You Like That" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "Bless the Broken Road" - The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; Rascal Flatts
- "Callin' Baton Rouge" - New Grass Revival; Garth Brooks
- "Shameless" - Billy Joel; Garth Brooks
- "To Make You Feel My Love" - Bob Dylan, Garth Brooks (see a trend?)
- "Hurt" - Nine Inch Nails; Johnny Cash
- "I Will Always Love You" - Dolly Parton; Whitney Houston
- "On Broadway" - The Drifters; George Benson
- "Blueberry Hill" - Gene Autry or Glenn Miller; Fats Domino
- "Wind Beneath My Wings" - Roger Whittaker (!!!); Bette Midler

You can add to the list if you like by commenting, but for the love of God don't blow it.

The Past

2008-02-17T00:22:00.002-05:00

I'm not really sure what this is about...

It goes without saying, since she loves me and all, that Meghan is not your typical woman. One way in which this is true may seem insignificant to anyone who isn't intimately acquainted with my particularly potent brand of nerdiness and my need for a sustained immersion in the familiar. But it is most certainly not insignificant that Meghan likes to watch old band videos. At the end of dinner tonight, she said she would like to see the 2004 video (that of my last year with the band). I immediately sought out a waiter for a box.

From the second the video started, I was amazed at those people and how they oozed with personality and uniqueness. That little hint started this chain reaction of thoughts and recollections of all of these people from even further back. This separation I had finally achieved between myself and one million things about that group of people instantly disappeared. I had forgotten about several old friends, some of the traditions, and selected mental pictures and recordings I had made in wise moments of realizing that it wasn't going to last forever. At thirty frames per second, the past seems perfect.

I really did love the moments that were worthy of the highlight reel. That's why I stayed around for so long.

But the more I reflected, the deeper I crept into the memories of those days. I began to remember feeling behind, all the time. I started remembering the frustrations... pulling teeth to get support, managing varying levels of proficiency in those around you, choosing what to do poorly in order to be able to do everything, trying to wash the day away with a Jack and Dr. Pepper, being owned.

There were moments in those days that I hope I never forget - moments that, when recalled, continue to make me smile my honest smile and to summon a tear of fondness

But there were many more hours of film on the cutting room floor. Much of that footage wasn't very pretty.

Boobs! (and other far less significant bullets)

2008-02-10T23:06:00.000-05:00

• I was sick for most of last week with what I would once have called "Strip Throat." If I have to be sick, that's about the best I can hope for... no puking, no grody pooping, little fever, and a sore throat.

• When I went to the doctor to check on my condition, I received a bit of a shock. The only things a doctor has ever told me to do were to stop a habit that I quit long ago, manage a habit which I recently began to manage, and to exercise. That changed last week. He told me two things, one of which was to lose weight. I am still a little blown away by this, since it was the first time I had heard it.

The other thing will be something I'll keep an eye on. I'll let you know if you need to know.

• Meghan is slated to be a bride's maid at a wedding this July. She went to Atlanta today with the other members of the wedding party for the second attempt to find dresses. As a part of the day, they all went to Intimacy for bra fittings.

Meghan reports a very unfriendly experience at the Atlanta branch of Intimacy, which is located at Phipps Plaza in Buckhead. After working with her "customer service" representative and sharing her opinions regarding this first couple of items she was given to try, the employee more or less left her in a room with twelve bras without offering further assistance. The employee could also be overheard telling another customer that she would prefer to work with her than Meghan, which the employee made apparent by not returning to the fitting room. That's about the time Meghan walked out.

• And in other news, I'm getting worried about Munson.

2008-02-06T15:26:00.000-05:00

If you would like to witness the collapse of one part of the music industry as it happens, follow this story. The way I see it, the outcome of this will be the end of the major labels as we know them or the end of the songwriting profession as we know it. I'm sure you know what side I'm on.

(HT - Hagood)

What?

2008-01-31T23:36:00.001-05:00

You mean to tell me that UGA hasn't taken sexual harassment seriously in the past? I have never heard of such a thing.

And in other news...

2008-01-30T16:53:00.000-05:00

... a Starbuck's is closing. The cause of death was said to be a combination of the consumption of shitty coffee and an exploding head. (Ht: Lefsetz)

Sick Day

2008-01-28T16:56:00.000-05:00

I've been in the bed all day with a bug or imagined disorder related to one of the following causes: fatigue, strep throat, football withdrawal, Epstein-Barr Virus, Amazing Race withdrawal, the common cold, LOST anticipation, or avian flu. I'm not really sure, but I think it's probably a combination of all of the above.

Regardless of the cause of my incapacitation, it has left me with a lot of time to think. And that's not always a great idea...

• I have been enjoying a late bit of productivity in the songwriting department. Over the last year or so, I got into the bad habit of waiting to have a new idea before I wrote. Having finished the book to which I referred recently, I sat after the beginning of the year and began to focus more intently on my work. After several small victories, I realized once again that, by not writing every day, I rob myself of the benefit of my accidents. The results of my newfound productivity have made me smile.

• When I moved back to Athens in August, I decided that I was going to enjoy myself as much as possible while I was here. Because of this, I was paying very little attention to what I was eating, confident that I would be able to get back on track at a not-too-distant yet unspecified point in the future. After college football season ended, Meghan and I made a flexible pact to exercise and watch what we eat during the week, in exchange for looser guidelines on weekends.

Naturally, I have gained weight as a result. I have begun to notice that my old pants don't fit like they used to, and had considered buying new ones. Just to make sure I wasn't imagining things, I decided to weigh myself (which I don't do very often). I volunteered to Meghan that, if I weighed as much as a weight rhyming with schmoo-hundred-and-fifteen pounds, then I would immediately join a gym.

I stepped on the scale, and holy crap there was no way it said what it did. But it sure looked like it did. I was shocked.

I checked it again later, and realized that I had read it as being ten pounds more that it actually was. Nevertheless, it is still about fifteen pounds more than I feel is acceptable for me. Looks like I have some work to do.

• I did attend Geee-em-ee-YAY once again this year. It was, however, the shortest visit I have ever made to the conference. I left Athens at abut 6:30 on Friday morning, and was back by 4:30 on Saturday afternoon. I got lots done, and got just a little bit of time with friends. I did, however, get a very good book recommendation from a friend.

• I finally have pics of synchronized swimming. Enjoy.

Synchro de "Oh, My!"

2008-01-27T22:39:00.000-05:00

Meghan, her father, and I went to a synchronized swimming meet today. Not in a million years did I ever think I would do this but I did.

Meghan's cousin is a member of the team that was coming to town to compete with Georgia's team (which is a club team). If the recap would have made the paper, the headline would have been something stupid like "Synchron-Ass-Kicking." Here's their version of the story.

It's totally boring to watch on television. And I don't suspect that you will find me becoming a season ticket holder. But it's definitely a much more demanding activity than it is often credited for being. And watching someone who knew what they were doing was more impressive than I thought it would be.

Still, during the weaker performances (all of which were by our club team) I couldn't help being reminded of this video.