Nashvillian for "Baller"

Kip made his way to Nashville this weekend for a bit of frivolity. We had a blast. I'm sure he'll tell you more about it, but if he doesn't, I will later. On a whim, I checked to see if the Lady Dawgs were going to be around the Nashville area, and sure enough they were today. So Kip and I ventured off to one of the more unique sports venues you'll ever see to enjoy the Georgia vs. Vanderbilt women's basketball game.



Memorial Gymnasium was the site for today's event. It was a little freaky being there, as this is where I started watching basketball as a kid. If you're not familiar with it, it is constructed in a very different way from most basketball arenas. The playing floor is elevated several feet from the sideline seats. Because of this, the teams sit behind opposite baselines, rather than on the sideline. The seating areas are only on the side and the ends, and there is a block wall (festively decorated, I might add) in the corners. Thusly, the seating areas are very deep and high to accomodate plenty of Dores fans (the team, not the legendary group fronted by Jim Morrison).


A shot of the sideline to our left. Note the mid-level balcony, way the hell away from the playing floor. When I went to the counter to purchase our tickets before the game, I watched the attendant double-take and notice that I was wearing Georgia colors. At this point, she moved her hands from a small stack of tickets to a laaaaaaaarge stack of tickets. Kip and I refused to be banished to the Siberia of women's basketball seating, and stealthily moved to the section with the rest of the Georgia fans. I know: We're out of control.


The significant Georgia contingent, and the gigantic corner wall of death by Dore to our right. The two nice ladies in the foreground started a brutal game of "Who Can Point Longer?" (from the early days of "The Price Is Right") early in the first half. This would end in tragedy.

One of the scoreboard sponsors brought about a revolution in my thinking about marketing.


Wow. Why didn't I think of this. A freaking sign company advertising on a sign. Brilliant. Also note the message board, as one of Vanderbilt's more popular football season ticket incentives is hawked. This could be related to their attendance difficulties.

The announcer was ridiculous. Besides randomly yelling "Yeah!" in the middle of promotions, and generally sounding as though he was caving to the 4th grade My Little Pony market, he overdid the artificial announcer enthusiasm to a nauseating degree.


Transcription of one portion of the starting lineup announcement. Nice.

Some things haven't changed at all.


Coach threatens to eat the limbs of one of the officials if they don't start callin' 'em both ways.


Whoops, my flash just happened to go off right in her face as she was releasing the ball. My bad (She missed the shot).

This one's kinda tough to see.


Bandy doing it's thing. [Note: This is their entire marching band*]


Wow... a cute sideline reporter that Brett decided to stare at rather than watch the game. There's a new one.

Unfortunately, Kip needed to get back to Atlanta by a decent hour. For some reason the seats did not clear out nearly as much as I thought they would with Georgia leading big late. Because of the impending threat of more snow (which is being realized right now), we had to violate my number one Rule of Sporting Events and leave before the game was over. Luckily, we were not missed, as Georgia went on to win handily, 83-61. The game was Vanderbilt's worst loss at home in eight years. I feel somewhat responsible.

---------------------------------

Notes: * - This is not true. Actually, it's only part of their Basketball Bandy, doing that thing like NATS and Auburn where they become mobile, spreading brassy joy to the cheap seats.

K. I’m not quite as mad now.

I played golf today with the attorney. Not a bad start. It actually went straight some times.

I have determined the source of my back pain, most notably present on the mountain trip. As a result, there will be an upcoming search for a new mattress. If anyone owns one they really like, please let me know what brand you have.

Post removed because I'm not nearly as mad about the women losing to Tennessee as I was. This is due, in large part, to the fact that I saw them in person today, and realized that they only had seven people really ready to play - mostly because of injury. - 2.19.06

Idol

If you don't watch American Idol, you can kinda ignore this. If you do watch it, get your picks ready based on the 24 finalists that were revealed tonight... if you want.

I would like to know who you think will win, and why. Any additional analysis or soft picks are welcome as well. I will offer mine soon by way of comment. If no one comments, it will be lame and we won't play.

I am going to echo and add to something I recently read from Charles:

"LLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LAAAAAAAA LAAAAAAAAAA LAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LA LA LA L L L L LAAAAAAAAAAA..... I CAN'T HEAR YOU....... LAAAAAAA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAAAAA.... WHAT? YOU NEED TURPENTINE TODAY? WHA?................ LA LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAA LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.... HUH?... YOU NEED TO HAVE YOUR VALIUM IN TIME FOR WHAT?....... LAAAAAAAAAAAAA LA LA LLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... I CAN'T HEAR YOU, I HAVE A FINGER IN MY EAR......... LAAAAAAAAAAAAA... do-ta-do-ta-doo........ LLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Bulleted List Post # 18 (even more approximate)

• Sorry, Leslie. I have chili wrapping up in the crock pot right now, and it smells better than any company I ever had.

• To pass the time (when I fry on music) I have resurrected “Twisted Metal” on my PS2. Suddenly, when I venture into the real world, I drive like shit.

• Kit, what’s your plan?

• I watched Lord of War tonight. You may not have heard of it. It’s not half bad. If you’re at the video store and don’t see anything you like, it’s probably worth a look. Horrible script, some good acting, some really interesting production, and a neat story that will bug you if you don’t have at least a hint of liberalism in you somewhere… well, it will bug you regardless. But it will piss off pure Republicans.

• In one type of sorting, I put human voices into three categories: those whose timbre I can recall immediately, those to which I can get close, and those I can’t. Here’s where you fall into these categories. I have listed everyone I think reads this and some people who don’t. Let me know if you read this and are not listed. I will promptly correct the oversight.

I can easily internally reproduce the timbre of the voices of the following people:

Knight
Corley
Ln (I have one hell of an audio recording that assists me)
Serena
Wolfe
Oob
Big Oob
Joy Lynn
My sister-in-law
Daly
Warren T
Bryant
Candy
Will
Alan
Chief
Adam H.
Leslie
Trina

I can internally produce a moderately accurate facsimile of the timbre of the voices of the following people:

Russ
Cale
Gunner
Erik M
Probst
P. Walters
My mother
My father
Lambert
My brother
Lindsay
Kit
My grandmother (maternal, alive and kicking in her late 70’s)
Tony

I can’t really even get close to internally reproducing the timbre of the timbre of the voices of the following people:

Sarah S.
Molly
Charles
Ginnie
Hagood
Natalie
Galarza
My grandfather (maternal, deceased 8.5 years)
Traci
Adam E.

I hope I didn’t leave anyone out. I really miss the last group a lot, because I can’t pretend to talk to you.

• Some new pictures for you.


The robe at the hotel room last month in Savannah, in which I was sooooooo tempted to wander to the Office with nothing underneath, but, alas, never did. There's always next year.


Bet God's pissed about this (note the right side of the picture). Click to enlarge (if it were only that easy).


What this weekend's snow (which amounted to 0" [is that a lot?]) looks like when taken by a camera with the flash on.


You don't see this often. I don't know whose butts those are. For the record, that is snow, and it is not dandruff.

In the spirit of answering questions that were brought up on Mountain Weekend 2005 2006, I offer the following new knowledge. The song (the one that sounds like it's saying "Doobie Oobie Doobie Oobie Doobie Ooo Aye Aye Aye," etc... but actually says "Turn me on and turn me up and turn me loose / I am alive and amplified") in the Suzuki commercial with the parachute is:

"Alive and Amplified" performed (oddly enough) by The Mooney Suzuki. I like it.

Big Fish... ending... awesome.

My father's graceful telling of a rather unoriginal joke began classically:

Father: "Knock, knock."
Son: "Who's there?"
Father: "It's snowing."
Son: "It's snowing who?"
Father: The opening line to this great Glen Campbell song that I have recently rediscovered.

I only mention this because it is. Balls.

Words, part one

For my listing pleasure, here are some of my favorite words and phrases right now. Enjoy.

waif
conjecture
germane
purview
malice of forethought
convivial
joy
acrobatic
to wit
critical
balls
jointly
procure
dais
speculative
engage
vascular
subsidize
cut
prorate
hubris
knee-length
help
discreetly
unoriginal
more sweetly
doppelganger
complicit
tanked
porridge
grapple
dismantle
vitamin
release
imperial
benign
peace
home
version
withdrawn
held
nimrod
gesamtkunstwerk
graceful
underwritten
job
vulgar
copy
raison d’etre
tactile
pungent
euphemism
haphazardly
fused
bundle

Wow. Ya know, it would be a total gas to win one of those awards one day (the ones that start with "Gr" and end with "ammy"), but damn... I thought the c0untry awards shows were bad. This is awful.

They are supposed to present awards... right?

The academy does have education as one of its missions, right? Then why didn't anyone know who Robert J0hnson was?

Wonder why the record business is in such bad shape?

¡Kelly Clarkson!

I was afraid there for a while that no one would tell the story of the Great Mountain Escape of 2005 2006. Blog this offers an account. I will give a blow by blow from my perspective… stop snickering, there was no RV, and that’s not even what they were doing.

This will be long, so bear with me… again, stop snickering.

Georgia Girl began planning the experience several months back. SuperB0wl (which turned into Exciting-But-Profoundly-Poorly-Played-Bowl) weekend was to be the time. Blue Ridge, Ge0rgia was to be the place. Both of these things came true.

I know for a fact that GG wanted to invite about 35 people, most of whom read and blog on a regular basis. This simply wasn’t possible, as many of us wound up sleeping on or near the floor. So, I suspect she narrowed the guest list down to the people who:

1. Like to get sloppy drunk every now and then, or every now.
B. Were likely to be able to come attend.
III. Were likely to come attend.
4. Have no known allergies or objection to whiskey, eggs, curse phrases invoking the names of any and all revered deities or legislative whips (or current female pop stars), poker chips, jacuzzi chlorine, bananas or grapes, natural gas, human-made gas, deli meat, beer, snow, or heights. Whew.
v. Did not have to be at work first thing Monday morning.

That knocks about 80% of the people we know off of the list. So, here we geaux.

I went to Blog This and GeorgiaGirl’s place on Thursday night. There was moderate television viewing and drinking, and a rather early bed time (this means before 5 am).

Friday morning, I put my car in the shop and watched BlogThis’s golf lesson. I learned a lot of things that I will conveniently forget before the next time I’m on a golf course. Friday night, Kip joined us for a few birthday drinks (Kip’s Birthday… it was Friday).

Saturday afternoon, BlogThis, GeorgiaGirl, Kip and I headed (ploddingly for all of the stops we had to make, most of which were my fault) north to Blue Ridge. We were first to the cabin and were stunned. The place was amazing, and the snow began to fall moments after we arrived. Stacy had gone directly to the horseback riding facility, and was probably the most on time of any of us. While Ln and Stacy rode horses, BlogThis and I drooled at the cabin and awaited the next guests to arrive, while Kip went to say hello to a nearby cousin.

Stop snickering.

Like clockwork (a clock set on Mountain Time… *wink*), Daly, the Bean, and BitchyBecky arrived. Kip returned. GeorgiaGirl and Stacy made their way up the hill…

and it was on…

The Ge0rgia-Vanderbilt game, that is. The D@wgs pulled one out (do I need to say it again?) and there was much rejoicing. The whiskey then began to flow like wine; the vegetables were catapulted into the air and then into BlogThis’s mouth. Burgers were cooked, then consumed. Moor booze wuz poored. Some watched TV as others played pool. Air hockey was a bust, because the puck had vegetable-projectile-like tendencies, and it was only a matter of time.

Someone started Ph@se 10, while some genius decided it was time to play “Name the 80’s tune.” Somewhere in the middle of all this, Gunner, Chief, and the Diva arrived. I too was amazed at how much she’s grown. For those of you who haven’t seen her lately, she is now 5’8, 105 lbs. She has just completed her masters degree in chemistry and begins medical school at Johns H0pkins next fall. It seems like just last year she was spinning in a cardboard box on my floor at the ‘kstone or singing us the ABC’s.

After an attempt at drunk guitar playing, it was time for bed. Ten minutes later, the Diva was up (not really) and the cabin slowly began to rise. We held two seatings for breakfast, and then various recreational activities began. The jacuzzi was apparently warm enough for some folks to drink beer, get all but nekkid, and wander into the cold in order to participate. Stacy, Russ, Kip, and I played pool. I bet Kip $20 that he wouldn’t put his bare ars against the window for the jacuzzi crowd to experience. I was out some $20.

Next, N0-Limit Texas H0ld ‘em (without real money, thus enabling us to value the white chips at $1 million each) began. Those playing around me became giggly at my lack of understanding of the rules of dealing. This would not last long.

The ballgame soon began, and we gradually huddled around the TV to see the Futility Bowl, while eating an assortment of carb-filled and carb-free snacks prepared by GeorgiaGirl, as well as chicken boobies (not really boobies) prepared by Dave.

After the game ended, I received a friendly lesson in poker from BlogThis, Stacy, and Kip. After Grey’s ended, everyone but Becky and the Bean joined in. Somehow, I managed to win the first game of poker that I had ever played. I am fully aware that I won because I was too inexperienced to play with any level of concern, and for that I am sorry. Nevertheless, I won $35. I entered the next game at a $5 buy-in, and was promptly removed to the loser’s lounge. This brought my net gambling (including Kip’s arse) balance for the weekend to +$10, thus insuring I could afford enough gas to get me to about 10 miles south of Chattan00ga the next day.

I am not sure what happened the rest of the night, as I heard that voice in the back of my head saying “Go to bed now, before you hit on someone or call someone a name.” I complied for the most part, though I did sit and ask Stacy questions as she sat trooper-like and answered them until her consciousness gave way.

Twenty minutes later (not really) GeorgiaGirl was talking me off of the air mattress on which I was sleeping (better than dragging me off) and making me a peanut butter and banana sandwich. The house was frantic with people divvying food and drink, cleaning, and throwing away the remnants of a great weekend-plus. Only 11 minutes after the published check-out time, each of us was on our way back to our non-fairy tale existence in the real world.

I was back here by 5pm and working by 6, which I’ve been doing pretty much non-stop since I got here… which is good.

That’s all I’ve got. I had a blast. The real world beckons.

The Misery of War

Crappy drive down from Nashville… terrible rain, slow vehicles, and the wrong kind of sunset. But I’m here… in Marietta that is.

On the way down I listened to talk radio and heard several discussions of one the political cartoons that has brought about some degree of controversy today. As usual, I will try not to be too political on this, but I was made angry on several occasions.

The cartoon depicts a soldier in a military hospital who has been rendered limbless in battle. Our Secretary of Defense is standing next to the service member, and in attempting to classify his status says, “I’m listing your condition as ‘Battle Hardened.’” The arguments against the publication of this cartoon have basically argued that the cartoon is parodying the soldier or making light of his injury. I think their objections are being misstated.

I suppose it could be argued that placing anything in a cartoon should automatically be considered parody. This is the only argument of which I can conceive that justifies that outrage being expressed. I strongly disagree with this, however. Though I may not like the statements that some cartoonists make, cartoons are their medium. I see this as no more or less dignified than photoshopping the same scene.

I think the real issue is that lots of people are horrified by the brutal results of war.

They should be.

Regardless of how you feel about our conflict in Iraq or Afghanistan, you must realize that war is horrible. It ends lives, destroys families. It sometimes renders the future existence of those who survive it unspeakably miserable.

I wish that men and women didn’t return from battle with no limbs, but it happens – and when it does, it sucks… bad… way worse than any cartoon could ever portray.

Just as the doctor says, “You’re going to feel a little discomfort,” right before he jams a needle in your arm, those responsible for communicating what is happening use language to describe the casualties of war in a manner that makes our emotional response to them more neutral. In so doing, those who communicate those tragedies can seem cold, callous, and without emotion. I would agree with the cartoonist in that out secretary does sometime seem that way, whether he really is or not. I don’t find making that statement to be throwing out the baby with the bathwater. I don’t find it to be disrespectful. I don’t find any attempt at humor by the cartoonist.

So it’s a cartoon. I understand that. Everyone who wishes to express disgust at this cartoon has the right to do so. They can scream that its publication is irresponsible, boycott the newspaper, write letters, protest, have a bake sale… whatever.

But before they do so, I hope they will ask themselves if what’s really bothering them is the cartoon, or the fact that this situation is very, very real. I, for one, hope that those who make the decisions in this war are profoundly aware of the misery that results from it when they make those decisions. In fact, I hope everyone realizes that, and never forgets it.

Seems the Redc0ats are viewed as peacemakers by some. This is a first... ask any hotel in which we ever stayed.

More bullets, and I'm not talking about a murder song... exactly

I know, I know… yet another bulleted post. It’s how I run (I have no idea what that really means, but it probably means something to an ENT doctor).

• I really think this murder song could turn out to be something special. If I had to guess (and I do), I would say that I have listened to this tune more in its sort of infancy stage than anything I have written since W@ltzing With S@rah, and that’s saying a lot.

I hate to blue bell you, but I will gladly distribute courtesy copies (when it’s ready to share) to those of you who are interested if you let me know you want to hear it. Blog This, Ludakit, and Gunner will receive it outright, just because I send them stuff all the time, especially when they aren’t really in the mood to hear it. If you want a copy, and you will promise me that you won’t post it or send it somewhere, let me know by way of comment or email. We’re probably a week or two away from the point where we can do that.

There I go, referring to myself in the plural again.

• Kudos to the dawgs for the recruiting class they brought in today. I’m no recruiting junkie. But I do like winning, and from having been in a field in which we had to (kinda) recruit at a level of intensity of single-digit percentage points as intense as they do, I appreciate the meaning of the process to one's cause.

• This whole Nuva Ring thing is totally screwing with my head. I guess that’s a really poor way of saying that, huh?

• My mother (my dear mother) gave me a shirt for Christmas that is pure blue and gold. I needed a nice shirt to wear out today, and I wore it. Not once – not once – did I receive a bit of grief about wearing tech colors. Now I know that I have moved.

• I had lunch today (the anticipation of which was previously posted) with a co-writer in town who actually does stuff in the industry (ie – he does things that cause writers to be signed, songs to be cut, and product to be moved). If those of you to whom I normally wax nauseatic (not a word) about the industry are disappointed in the near future by my seeming lack of discussion of the industry, this is why. We can now talk about more fun things… like farts, boobs, and liquor.

In spite of my bitching about the relative remoteness of my current home to my friends, it is nice to sit at lunch and hear the narratives of true events that he experiences with artists, writers, execs, etc. who are actually showing up on your radio and video music channels. I might be a bit lonely, but at least I don’t feel so damned helpless.

• I bought a day planner today. What fun?

• If there will be a massage specialist in the mountains this weekend, I need (I almost wrote “knead” then realized how hokey it would be… but then I guess referencing the bad joke is as bad as actually having told it) to know… Lots of driving, lot’s of being leaned over an inherently stupid guitar… I could use the therapy though… we don’t even have to drink.

• The prez was in Nashville today, and I experienced no traffic complications as a result. If I had lived in my old hometown up here, I definitely would have.

• I would like to understand why the Gunner asked GeorgiaGirl to take pics of me on a horse. This concerns me, what with memories of last summer’s roast fresh on my mind, and the advent of Phot0Shop technology.

Whew.

Euphoria-less

In spite of the time indicated at the foot of this blog, I did wake at a reasonable hour today. I worked for Alan and Erik for a while, then sat and watched a few minutes of the Hist0ry Channel’s discussion of the American space program and somehow fell asleep. I awoke just in time to be late to my appointment with Matlock. We made a lot of progress on the murder song, and I think I’m prepared to share a bit in the mountains this weekend. Matlock also gave me some firewood for our use in the mountains.

I then worked for Alan and Erik a bit more as I listened to the State of the Union Address. Then I made a very rough recording of this version of the murder song for Blog This and Ludakit. Both have recordings, which they won’t distribute.

I have a nice lunch appointment tomorrow (today) with the gentleman who convinced me to move here. We’re discussing a character in a song we’re working on. Sometimes I think you can get involved enough in a character that you temporarily forget who you are. That could be dangerous, and thus I find myself returning home, as I am (to a degree) this weekend.

I am on Cloud 4.5 right now. Not down, not up. Just observing. Glad I am not bummed. But wondering what euphoria would feel like, and quite certain that this is months or years away. Euphoria is the only thing I miss about my old job… it was so rare, but so definite.

No Space or Time

I believe a brief recap of the previous week is in order, and is in fact deserved for some of you who have been kind enough not to call me a slacker. So here.

For those of you who may not be familiar with why so many went to Savannah this weekend, the event was the annual conference of the Ge0rgia Music Educat0rs Ass0ciation. Many attend to participate in professional enrichment activities, hear concerts, or look for jobs. I go to catch up with some friends whom I don’t see often, and to try to drum up a little bit of business for my day job.

Last Tuesday 1/21, I finished preparations for several days on the road. That afternoon, I headed 30 miles south for a co-write. At the conclusion of the appointment, I drove straight to Marietta and crashed at Casa de la Blog This. Wednesday morning, I headed down to Savannah in time to check into my hotel, enjoyed a meeting with the owners of the company I will do a little bit of part-time work this spring, then headed to The Office for several hours of fun, revelry, bad jokes, good jokes, poor recollection of memories, and remarkably low tab totals by the end of the night.

Thursday and Friday were more of the same, but the main event of the day/night was the pilgrimage to and the stumbelage from The Office. Saturday I drove to Athens the long way in order to drop a friend off in Atlanta. I hung for the evening with Trina and several somewhat surprise guests. Sunday morning, I woke to a sick Trina (like seriously ill sick… more like a flu and less like a hangover). Jen made us breakfast, then I headed to Dacula where I got to see my nephews for all of 17 minutes. I proceeded to Special K’s home, where we successfully edited, cussed, and discussed his material for this fall. From there, I continued to the Eisenh0wer System and Nashville, arriving shortly after 11 PM local time Sunday night.

The trip was great. Most notable was the time enjoyed with old friends, reliving memories in the context of the many years of living experience that have passed since. At some point, Sean S. cited a line that Willie Nels0n had sung for Ray Ch@rles at a time when Willie knew Ray was sick and fading. He cited the line “I love you in a place where there’s no space or time.” Several of us discussed this, acknowledged the obvious meaning of intense friendship between the two men, looked around at each other and realized a parallel, then very quickly changed the subject to something less like love between friends and something more like farts, boobs, or liquor. That's about right.

Today I have fought with my computer, and we seem to be coming to an understanding. More computer, writing and writing, and laundry over the next couple of days, then a cool trip to the mounts of Colorado North Georgia this weekend. Possible snow this weekend in Blue Ridge.

Hi

Sorry for the absence, but you were warned.

I have returned to see that I was an original taggee, and I look anti-social. I will complete the duties required of me by this distinction, then crash. I have to return to the real world tomorrow, in which I have tons of work to do and some of my oldest and dearest friends aren't right across the river at a bar.

Four jobs I've had:
1. Lifeguard
2. Video Rental Customer Service Representative
3. Bill Collector
4. University Instructor/Band Director

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Austin Powers
2. Anchorman
3. Love Actually
4. Closer

Four places I've lived:
1. Mt. Juliet, TN
2. Snellville, GA
3. Athens, GA (this is what I currently reference as my hometown)
4. Nashville, TN

Four TV shows I love:
1. Saturday Night Live (when it doesn't suck)
2. West Wing
3. Sports Night
4. Family Guy

Ten highly regarded and recommended TV shows that I've never watched a single minute of:
1. The OC
2. Six Feet Under
3. The Sopranos
4. Commander In Chief
5. The Amazing Race
6. The Biggest Loser
7. Lost
8. Gilmore Girls
9. Dancing With the Stars
10. The Tony Danza Show (not as true as I wish it were)

Four places I've vacationed:
1. Hawaii (three islands)
2. Bill and Pat's (N. Georgia Mountains)
3. California (from Napa all the way down to San Diego over two weeks)
4. Myrtle Beach (usually during Bike Week, much to my chagrin... too loud for "vacation")

Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Dressing (like Turkey and Dressing, without the turkey)
2. Pizza (Dave, I heard someone on TV call it "za" the other day)
3. 3 Eggs scrambled well, with Sausage, 1/2 Orange, Milk, and Coffee with Vanilla Cream (these days, two of the three eggs are Egg Beaters)
4. Jack and Coke (preferably not with the afforementioned breakfast meal)

Four sites I visit daily:
1. Everyone's blog
2. AJC
3. Ge0rgiad0gs
4. ABH

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Athens
2. Bed
3. Maui
4. 16th Avenue

Four bloggers I am tagging :
No one... thanks for your patience.

Bulleted List Post #17 (approximate)

• Today was probably the most productive day I've had in, uh, about three months... I'm going with three months.

• K0be Bryant scored 81 freaking points in a game tonight. For those of you not familiar with the game, that's the second-most by any player in NBA history. I'm no pro basketball fan, but damn. (Ed. - The He@dline News sports guy just quoted Eminem's "L0se Y0urself" when trying to be cute telling the story. The end of days is surely upon us.)

• Million Dollar Baby... yep, total buzzkill.

• Congratulations to the folks at my former place of employment, who seem to have managed to get through another January Festival with few or no broken friendships or pregnant students.

• The bad news is, there was a bit of a tragedy over the weekend at the alma mater, in case you missed it. There's nothing else I can say.

• Heading to Georgia in a little over 36 hours, and I'm excited. I'm sure I'll post briefly tomorrow and will try to do so while I'm gone. In the meantime, if you have a few moments, I sure do miss reading what a lot of you have to say.

I am tired of it raining and my not being able to hear it. I hate apartments.

Mmmk. If it was ever going to be official, I guess this is as official as it's going to get (China).

• Happy birthday to Molly!

• C@le is blogging now. He's employed and in school at the institution of my former employment. Good guy. Check him out if you want.

• I've always had this really weird, almost trance-like, reaction to a specific kind of music on car commercials and music that sounds like it. Watching the last part of Cl0ser with Sarah some time back, one of those songs played that totally has that same effect (maybe I'll go into more detail in the future, but it is really amazing how much one of these tunes can affect my emotional state... and I think she probably witnessed more than anyone when we would hang out). I watched the whole movie today, and it turns out the tune is "H0w S00n is N0w" by The Smi+hs. Now that I've found it on the internet, I can completely freak myself out any time I want.

• After all that to-do from last night about starting a tune, I proceeded to complete the most wrist-slittingly depressing song I think I have ever written. Not depressing like it makes people cry. Depressing like "Jesus, dude. Lighten up." We'll try not to do that again for a while.

• I've been enjoying this little tome of late. If that sort of thing interests you, I highly recommend it.

The "Knowing What the Hell You're Doing" Quotient

This one’s for me.

I almost started this by citing my own uniqueness as a person who works in a field in which he is expected to create something new on a daily basis. Whether or not a writer actually creates or serves as more of a conduit through which something greater speaks is an issue for a future post that I will probably never compose. I have re-thought my original open to accommodate the fact that most working people have the job of creation every day. A real estate agent creates relationships between buyers and sellers. A cell phone salesman creates a link between one who searches for something that will fit his or her needs and something that hopefully fits his or her needs. A recruiter creates interest, comfort, and enthusiasm in the minds of those she recruits. A band director (who does a good job) creates circumstances that cultivate musical understanding, growth, and confidence, and hopefully the ability to apply all of these things. A janitor creates cleanliness. A CEO at the least creates circumstances that lead to shareholder pleasure, and at the best creates circumstances that lead to employees who feel valuable and view themselves – rightly - as creators. And a writer creates value through combinations or words, or notes, or both.

My third biggest fear (I think, after speaking to women I don’t know and the possible collapse of the music business… I also don’t like manatees) is that of the empty page. The prospect of staring at a sheet of paper with nothing but a lot of white space and a few blue lines is daunting. I think a lot of this stems from a belief in a finite set of material resources… that there are only so many words, so many valid ideas, and only (in Western music) 12 notes. Some time back (here I go referring to a previous entry again) I wrote about my Theory of Abundance. That is that the possibilities for songs, sales, love, value, wealth, and anything else desirable are not only abundant, but indeed may be limitless. This is so much easier to preach than to practice.

Today, I wrote for myself – with no regard for what is or will be marketable, and with no concern for writing with too much darkness or introspection. The result was not Dylan-esque or Grammy-worthy, but it’s valid, listenable, and something I will value regardless of whether anyone hears it and is bored or driven to tears.

As my fear for the blank page gave way to clutter, I realized (at least for tonight) how unreasonable that fear is.

Here’s why (I’m afraid this is silly, but still).

I think a lot of people look at that process at the beginning (not just the process of writing… any occupation that requires some type of creation) and maybe forget that they’re qualified to do what they do. I know I look at a page and think back to sitting at six years old in the back seat of my Dad’s 1978 Buick Century, listening to Alabama on eight-track, and singing along with "Dixiel@nd De\ight." I recall the feeling of being a consumer of the value I am trying to produce, rather than a creator of same. When I do that, I make the mistake of painting myself a novice.

That’s pretty much all I have to say. Assuming you have some semblance of a professional conscience (a worry I have about no one I know who is likely to read this), you wouldn’t be a aesthetician if you didn’t know how to pluck hair. You wouldn’t be a ditch digger if you didn’t know how the ditch witch works. You wouldn’t be a cop if you didn’t know how to write a ticket. And hell, I guess you wouldn’t be a songwriter if you didn’t know how to write a song… even if the most difficult part is starting it.

Murder

There are few things that are as generally bumming to me as the day the snow melts. It’s like a Monday-times-three. But it is.

I sent Kip a first-run sketch of a tune I’m working on right now. I won’t post the name of the tune right now, but it is a murder story with a twist. Murder stories without a twist aren’t very much fun, but murder stories with a great twist – to me anyway – are great, because the stakes are at their highest.

I decided to entrust this tune to Matlock. I don’t usually take him my best “love song” hooks, because I think he is jaded on the idea (though I think I am finished with the idea) and into a specific simplicity in which I don’t really enjoy indulging with those not very close to me. He did, however, defend several high profile criminal cases in his practicing days, and has the practical experience with which he can support the song.

I brought the idea to him late last year, and for three weeks we suffered the process of all-but-literally questioning and cross-examining in an effort to establish the facts of the tune with a very methodical precision. I wrote basic melody and chord structure on Monday, and we began the lyric on Tuesday night. We continue a slow and careful process of removing logical holes and those issues that might defy “suspension of disbelief” as we proceed.

Tuesday night, in a moment of inattentiveness to his normally reserved writing posture, Matlock became comfortable enough to accidentally spout off the “m0ney line”… the line that sets up the “big picture” idea of the tune. He has failed to do this in the now four months we have been writing together, and I’m tickled at him for having crossed that threshold. So far, so good. But more than anything, I am proud of a man twenty-five years my senior for opening up enough to say something out loud that might not just sustain a song, but right now appears to make it.

For the record, I was never much of a story songwriter. That was until an old friend, who used to read this blog but I am pretty sure no longer does, one night told me that one of my best qualities was the way I told stories. I initially sort of "aww shucksed" the comment, but it soon thereafter changed a lot of things for me. It continues to do so. Here’s to the tune, and hoping that it’s as good as we think it is.

Sneaux for real

Zzzzzzzzzz

So I've always had issues with sleep... nothing completely debilitating or life-threatening or anything like that. But I've always had trouble getting to sleep and more trouble waking up. I probably always will - no big deal.

I had been having some issues with that of late, and really got fed up with it yesterday. So I started looking into several solutions. What I am now puzzled by is this: How can a 32-year old boy manage not to know that you're supposed to flip your mattress every now and then? Seriously?

I sometimes judge the quality of a song I write by the number of things that are knocked off of the speakers by the demo of the song.

Mizzou-rah.

Mike, I remember this phrase: "Just play the fight song." I do not envy you right now, but my stomach is still in my throat.

Last year around this time, I posted about Jamnfest. Now the Athens B@nner-Her@ld reports about Janfest (password required... it's free, ya know). There are some familiar names in the story, but no real surprises.

Look out, Peyton!

Today reminded me of one of my more enjoyable, yet downright depressing, nights in Athens. Two years ago, when Tennessee beat Georgia in Athens (which by the way is Tennessee's only victory in the series since 1999 - 1999! when I was still in freaking grad school!) we all took it pretty hard. I was already having a very rough month and the defeat didn't help things.

Luckily, Warren and the Funkles were there to help. Los Funklos were playing Tasty World after the game. As they played, Warren and Brad and I sat down outside (visited on and off by J.J., Keith and others). After having several sips, our tolerance for Tennessee fans in Peyton Manning jerseys had worn thin. So the whiskey began talking to these fans very loudly, in a manner that would be most accurately described as drunken impassioned screaming. To each Warren and I would yell, "Look out, Peyton!" as he or she crossed the street at Jackson and Broad, while Brad smoked a whole pack in one sitting and looked at us like we were the most immature people who ever existed, accompanied by the occasional "Pfft," when something struck him as mildly funny. We knew it wasn't funny. No one actually looked at us. It didn't change the outcome of the game. But it was still fun, or at least made us feel better. Or maybe that was the Jack.

The night was finally ruined when a gracious Tennessee fan came up to us and told us what a great game we'd played, how lucky they felt to leave Sanford with a win, and how muck they loved Athens. We shut up then. What a dick.

At any rate, I stand corrected about Peyton getting his ring. He obviously won't this year, and I would have felt as though he were receiving it unjustly if the kicker had hit the field goal, due to the horrible review of the interception in the fourth quarter.

In other news, I got a crotch crock pot for Christmas. I am tonight attempting my first roast that does not involved booze, a downtown hotel room, or stories about me and Ln's bride's maids.

Four things:

1. After the events of tonight, I think Peyton Manning finally gets his ring.

2. I'm no expert, but I thought tonight's performance by Scarlett Johannsen was one of the best on SNL in some time... she may not have all of the personality of some hosts, but she was one of the the best pure actors for my money. It also doesn't hurt that she's drop-dead georgeous and looks, um, healthy.

3. This is scary. I understand the need for it, but it still scares the shit out of me.

Sneaux, sorta

We here in Tennessee are experiencing what might best be described as a wintery mix (which I used to think was putting an extra shot in your drink in order to keep you warmer). I tried to take a picture so I could prove it, but all you can see in the picture is the reflection of the flash in the lights of the cars directly outside my back door (which incidentally is in the front of my apartment... and there's a question... why are they called apartments when they're all together?). So you'll have to deal with this, borrowed from weather.com.

Happy Birthday, Gunner (at least it's still his birthday here in the central time zone, though blogger would have you believe it is already January 14h, which would be the day after his birthday)!

Athens

Before I moved, I blogged one night about the process of letting go of the periphery of one place as you are leaving. As was the case on many nights, I was having a really tough time with the process. As is usually the case, the fear and time leading up to the event were actually far worse than the event itself. In particular, I noted how the voices of the newscasters in the place where I lived at the time would gradually begin to “sound less like old friends and more like long lost acquaintances.”

I guess I am a creature who is more susceptible to the influence of sound than any other sensory stimulus. There are other sounds that I recall from having lived in Athens for so long. In particular was the music that used to play on the government access channel - a channel which was my default background noise when the Weather Channel became, um, boring? The somewhat not newsworthy “news” and reminders of often disregarded city ordinances would display in Print Shop-esque panels, while second-tier pop performers from the 50’s would croon second-tier songs (with the occasional Bing and Frank mixed in for good measure). The local commercials (that were not for athletics) also tended to contain music that was or was closely derived from jazz, in spite of the town’s hipper musical contributions of the last twenty-five years.

My outings in Athens for the first several years I was there were usually to jazz shows. I experienced Squ@t and Gr0gus in their formative years, as well as great performances by Steve D. and several others (a few of you will remember “Lush Life,” “M0rgan LeFay,” and several of you will remember “Six Shades Blue”… great memories). My first significant jazz education was also in Athens. Those things only assisted this sort of subconscious association of jazz with Athens. (Aside: This is kinda strange, but a pretty successful songwriter frequently shows up at the events I attend here. When conversation arises about my view of Athens as my hometown, he without pause screams “Pylon!!!” to indicate his fandom for one of the classic Athens bands that never quite got the publicity that some of the more universally famous local groups got, though it is still a permanent part of the town’s musical fabric… not to mention that they have been playing together again of late).

There is a commercial that plays on Nashville cable for a local show that is little more than an infomercial for middle-of-the-road dining establishments. The infomercial itself is advertised frequently, and the theme song for both is uptempo swing (half note = 132) performed by a four-piece combo (drums, bass, a very well-played jazz guitar, and muted trumpet) that totally reminds me of that music.

Whether it is a stroke of marketing genius or simple opportunism because of the town’s name, I still totally associate Athens with the term “classic.”

I am over the fact that I don’t live in Athens. I feel fine here. But when that commercial plays, I think about Athens. I think about Athens, and I think about how lucky I was to have lived there for so long. And when I do, I pine for the next time I am standing at College and Broad on a 65-degree slightly breezy spring night with a person or people with whom I enjoy being. I fondly remember the Christmas lights on the trees, or walking past DT’s or the Georgia Bar as a door briefly opened and music and angst spilled momentarily onto the street only to be contained again as the door sprang shut. I recall sitting outside Bissett’s when I could afford it and Broad Street Bar and Grill when I couldn’t, flirting with my Jack and Coke, (linky, are we?) a friend, and a pleasant evening that wasn’t a Thursday or a football gameday.

I don’t know when I’m going to make it back. Current circumstances seem to indicate that it might be quite a while. But every time that commercial plays, I’m back there for a few seconds. I remember a few specific moments – moments that I made a concerted effort to remember for this very reason.

I’m doing a very poor job of saying this, but I love simply thinking about that place. I love remembering that feeling. I like to think that I can still do what I want while keeping a home there some day. But more than anything, I’m very happy that I have a place with which I can associate so many pleasant memories (and that I can conveniently forget the unpleasant ones). Though it is actually only my adopted hometown, it’s really cool to be “from” somewhere like that. And I can’t wait to get back, and I’m smiling just thinking about it.

Guess I'd better get to work if that's going to happen, huh?

New post on the biz rant, if you're interested.

Oh... I can tell you now that when I lived in Athens, I was on the grand jury that indicted the defendant in this case, which has just been resolved.

(Music cue: Eye of the Tiger)
Alright, put your dukes up and enjoy Warren T, as he attempts to spar with air, Hairy Dog, and the occasional goal post.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, this is not the Warren with whom I went to high school who struggles with sporadic bouts of gainful employment. This is Warren T, who is consistently gainfully employed. Russ tells you more. Welcome Warren.

I watched Wedding Crashers tonight. I get the whole MacAdams thing now more than ever. Raining in Nashville tonight, and that is welcome.

Another good day... gonna try something new tomorrow.

Felt unusually good today... I don't know if that means I should keep my head down or enjoy it. Things are good.

I also thought you would enjoy this picture of my nephew Ben rolling over for the first time. Looks a bit stunned at the world right side up.

Not much to say today, and that ain’t all bad.

I’m kinda getting back into the routine, and trying to make that routine happen earlier in the day. I get together with a couple of new co-writers next week, and that will be nice. I’m on a bit of a reading binge right now, and that has been a lot of fun. I’m somewhat devoid of ideas for tunes right now, but every now and then I remember a new experience or a familiar feeling from the break that could result in something new. I think I’ll just wait for it.

I also have two projects for Special K and the Big E, which are wrapping themselves up right now. They are a lot of fun, and I’m excited about both of them.

I observed recently to a couple of friends that my life is slightly backward, in that my job is writin’ music, and my hobbies are running a corporation and taking care of myself.

Someone told me once that John Lennon said that, “Normal is what everyone is until you get to know them.” I think that’s right, and if I am, I’m glad that’s the case.

Gunner does Nashville

The Gunner came by yesterday evening. We watched the R0se Bowl, which I thought was one of several classic bowl games this year. Sorry things didn't turn out the way you had hoped, Galarza.

Today, we headed out to look at some martial arts schools (hopefully you know that Gunner is quite the expert in this particular field, and he was really doing me a favor by walking me through the process of choosing the right place). Then I introduced him to Whitt's Barbecue, which many of my recent guests will tell you is the best thing that ever happened... like ever.

We headed back here and watched Crash which I thought was amazing. Highly recommend it, but be in a thinky mood before you watch it. He's off to see his Pop now.

My CokePhone, My TV Appearance, and Mahna Mahna

• After a great time at two New Year's Eve Parties (pics from the second here and here) I returned to the hotel rather promptly thanks to the generosity of cameraman J. Black. On the way, I received a phone call from a student (remember Fobert-Rhymer?) who needed some medical supplies and food - and not because he had been behaving in a way that caused him to need them.

I waited for several minutes at the deli in the hotel, got him what we needed and myself a grilled cheese samich and a coke, took his stuff to him, then returned to my room. After eating and noting that the time of day was now 4:10 AM, I decided that I would not be joining the band in their activities of later that morning. I sent text messages to the two people who needed to know this, then prepared to sleep. As I turned the light off, lay back, and moved to put my phone on the bedside table, I heard and felt a splash. I had deposited the phone (on which Blog This had cut me one hell of a deal) directly into the half full cup of Co-Cola (as my granddad used to say). It stopped working immediately after this, which I am told is frequently the case.

• The first several hours of my Shooga Bowl game day were spent taking a cab to the phone store, purchasing a new phone, then finding my way back to the band in the GWCC. Upon arrival, we were treated to one of the longest games of hurry-up-and-wait that I remember. By the time the game rolled around, I was already ready already to be back at the hotel. By the time the first quarter ended, ABC had attained visual evidence of this on its national broadcast, displayed here by way of my (as usual) shaky digital camera and the DVR on the TV on Mainsail.

(Note: This photo has since been updated with real screen shot from a stupid West Virginia gloat site playing the most poorly transcribed version of "We Are the Champions" in the background. It's basically the musical equivalent of having no teeth.)

• In doing some "research" (as Mike calls it) this afternoon, I was looking into the origin of the little "doo-ta-doo" song that plays on the Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper commercial. This may be old news to some of you, but it was the opposite of old to me. It actually was written for a Swedish porn (I am told this is an abbreviation for something) film. Here's a link to the previously most popular version of the tune.

Son of beech. Sheet.

Coffee drinkers: When you drink coffee from a coffee shop, or heaven forbid chain, that uses the lids that rise from the top 1/4" with the very small hole in the top, how do you drink it? Do you:

A. Look at the hole, noting its location, then use your visual memory to determine the placement of the lid to your lips.

B. Raise the cup to your lips, then determine the location of the placement of the cup based on the tactile sense in your lips.

C. Raise the cup to your lips, then determine the location of the placement of the cup by sticking your tongue out slightly until it finds the hole.

D. Gamble by simply gulping, also known as "sipping by faith."

E. Other. Please specify.

Heard more than once last night: "Happy new years."

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

• I am pretty sure I was in line behind this guy at the Taco Bell tonight.
• The Big E joins us. In order to avoid confusion with tha Big C (who thinks I am a stranger!), I will call him Erik. He really likes that.
• This is cool. (Subscription required… you should be reading the paper anyway, even if you don’t like the slant).
• This isn’t (diteaux). What the hell is the point of a Sug@r Bowl P@rade without beads and boobs. Absolutely pointless.
• I was reading tonight, and it occurred to me again. I keep waiting for this big thing to happen.. a miracle, a revelation, an epiphany, or something. I think that’s foolish… I think it is always happening.
• The smell of a dryer sheet from the dryer vent reminds me slightly of waiting for the babysitter as my parents were going out on a Saturday night when I was a kid. When you add a touch of cheap perfume and the sound of Mickey Gilley, it reminds me of it a lot. Our babysitters were twins, and (I swear on the future of good whiskey this is true) their names were Daphne and Davina. I wonder what they wound up doing.
• Heading back to Atlanta tomorrow for bowl and new year activities. Back on 1/3.

Memory from the Five Points HM

A dear old friend was in town today. David D0ver lived on the floor below me my freshman year in college. My third and fourth years, he lived next door to me. Today, he, his wife, and several members of her family joined me for lunch on the row. They brought their son Owen along, and it was really cool to see them all. (Warning: Inside joke approaching). The conversation and company were great. Not once was I asked whether or not I could sing five shelves elective hole. Here's the post-lunch pic.



My favorite Dave story is from my freshman year. The two of us, along with Special K and others, were making a late night trip to the HM (HM was the W@ffle H0use, and was so named because one of those two put a W@ffle H0use hat on upside down, and the other read the initials too literally). For some reason, Dave had a toy hook arm with which he had been scaring performance majors. Before leaving the dorms for the HM, it was determined that Dave should go into the Waffle House with the hook arm on. On the way to the car, it was furthermore determined that we should make a big deal out of the hook arm upon our arrival at the HM. The end result was as follows.

Special K drove (I think) south on Lumpkin, then East on Milledge and took the left directly into the HM parking lot. He stopped about 20 feet into the parking lot, positioning the vehicle carefully directly in front of the building's largest window so that the car's presence was obvious to all of the restaurant patrons.

I exited the vehicle from the passenger's side and SpecialK popped the trunk. I lifted the trunk door and offered a hand to a fetal yet patient Dave. I helped him out of the car and onto his feet where, in full view of an attentive HM population, he stood looking bewildered and completely unaware of the fact that he had a hook for an arm. Gaining his composure, he slowly turned to look at those dining within, and simply stood and smiled as the HM customers looked on with their mouths open, thinking as one, "WTF?"

The rest of us were laughing wildly at Dave's ice-cold self-control and the awe on the faces of the onlookers. We were also remarkably embarassed to go inside, and instead thought it best to continue down Milledge to the next HM, just so we weren't eating at an establishment at which we were already branded crazy. We did so, and the meal was fine. But I will never forget the looks on those faces as Dave emerged from the trunk. It was as though reality had wrapped itself around its own neck and was threatening to cause the universe to explode. I'm glad I have that to remember.

Results of Christmas and Randomhood

I enjoyed a great trip home for Christmas. Russ has pics of the Sweater Party, which I thought was a blast. After hanging one more day with the Blog This and GeorgiaGirl, I headed to my folks’ house.

I’m pretty well convinced that the bed in which I slept at my parents’ house was dressed with brand new sheets… brand new as in unwashed. They were rough enough that I actually had a strawberry on one knee.

I took very few pictures, but here are a couple. This one was right before the present-opening began. The family has gotten big enough that some gifts have to go on the fireplace in order to facilitate walking through the den. It’s really rather ridiculous.


Here’s a pic of the boys (my nephews). Only some of you will know what I’m talking about, but it’s hard to believe that it was almost five years ago that I was canceling the Hawaii Party Part 2 in order to go to the hospital on the night the oldest was born.


I asked for two large gifts this year, expecting that I would only get one of the two. I didn’t get the accordion. I did get this.

Needless to say, this was a hell of a lot of fun to drive from Atlanta to Nashville. It was even more fun unloading it from the ‘splorer into the apartment.

I liked almost everything I got, but I think I might take this one back.

Talk me out of it if I should keep them.

Random:

• It is supposed to rain tonight. I’m excited.
• I have been eating like shit since my birthday. I’m not doing that New Year’s resolution stuff, but I am over this. I would start tonight, except the bowl trip will blow it.
• AHayes was back in town for a day. We had a blast as always.
• Adam Evans is now linked on your right. He’s a former student, a good friend, and probably the most intensely loyal Georgia Bulldog I know. Enjoy.
• I’m-a head back to Atlanta Saturday for the big New Year’ Party and the bowl trip, which isn’t really a trip at all.
• I’m ready for the fall right now.
• AHayes talked with me about a song on the radio called “The D0llar.” I don’t really care for the tune, but it reminds me of a thought I had from my childhood. At about 4 years old, I remember asking my mother where Dad went every day. She told me he went to work. I asked why, and she responded that he went to work to make money. At that moment, a mental picture entered my head that has never really left. That was of my Dad standing above a desk, intently depressing a lever on a machine attached to said desk, and watching pennies fall from the machine into a bucket. Yes, he was making money.

You guys were exceptionally good sports about that. I hope you laughed as loud when you saw the response as I did when I realized my results were sent to a former student that I honestly really don't know that well.

Try this.

Oh yeah... this quiz is definitely worth taking.

Be bold and unafraid. It's pretty accurate.

Wrapped in gigglitude

My brother thinks he is very funny. Every year for Christmas, he manages to package something very cleverly or send a message that he thinks is appropriate. He is usually wrong.

I once received a small pocket knife from him. It was wrapped very carefully in a tube that was about five inches in diameter (I wonder if that's a lot... hmmm) and six feet long (I know that is.). I once received a pair of pants that had three holes in it and was missing one-third of one leg. Two years ago, he gave me a plastic shoe horn, on which was a decal with the Auburn logo and an explanation that this was to be used to remove the Warplainstigers foot from Georgia's ass the following fall.

He really is a card.

This year, I am reminded that Christmas is not only about giving. It's also about receiving. I will be receiving me a belly-full-'o'-laughs when he opens one of his gifts this year.

Here is the actual gift itself, a book that I happen to know he wants.


Here is the package as it will appear before he opens it.


Luckily for those of us on the correct side of the rivalry, I thought to purchase an AJC before leaving Athens on the morning of December 4, 2005. I thought that one particular page from that paper would make good "padding" for the gift. The result, when he opens it, will be something like this:


So what if they beat us. Little bastards still aren't champs.

Did I just see Malc0lm-Jam@l W@rner pretending to be a member of a pseudo E@rth, Wind, and Fire band on a T@rget commercial?

• Today, I finally got my business license, so my plan to take over QuikTrip is underway.
• Got my guitar back from the shop, uuuuuuuuh-gain. The first time I took it in was on the morning of the expletiving Tennessee game. It's been in twice, and I picked it up today to find that only half of the work I had requested had been done. Needless to say, I'm pretty pissed off (but only paid half of the price of the new set of strings for the entire repair job... a solution that kept me from going postal at the local Music and Ar+s).
• I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight. I liked it. I also saw The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and was unpleasantly surprised.
• I have more additions to the side, even though some in the list have not posted in over three months. I won't be blog police right now, because I know life gets busy. I'm only pulling links when someone officially closes their blog, or when they tell me that they're not going to blog anymore.

With that in mind, there are some additions to the right (again: your right, my left):

• The Blog Flogger is one of the guys who works in the office in which I used to work. He's a great guy, and a donk trombone player.
• The Big Bad Wolfe is a musician and teacher with whom I get to work every now and then, not to mention a great friend. He now teaches in small town America, and runs a "You Scratch My Back" racket with the Barr0w County Oobs.
• Special K is really Alan K, with whom a spent a significant amount of my mischeivous free time in undergrad. We work together pretty frequently, and I miss being around him as much as I was when we were at UGA. He's also a great teacher, and a hell of a good cook.

NewsRadio

I’ve been catching up on DVD’s lately, in an effort to make up for anything I may have missed when I was in a job that was significantly busier than the one I have now. Over the last three days, I have been enjoying seasons 1 and 2 of the series NewsRadio. When Russ and I used to hang out pretty much every night (which eventually became 6 or 7 of us hanging out every night), we would have a drink and watch whatever crap the TV would spit out at us. There were at least three serials, however, that I didn't feel fell into the crap category.

For about a year or so, A&E would rerun NewsRadio frequently, and often in marathons. I think that was the first show whose sudden appearance I recall to have caused both of us to say “Hell, yes,” go back to the kitchen for just one more, and settle in until the network moved on to some new program. In fact the only other one that I remember working that way for us was Sportsnight (the DVD of which would later become the centerpiece for gatherings of several of us). West Wing would often work with Trina.

I like the marathon idea, as long as I like the show. In fact, like a good book, I find that I get involved or invested in the show, the characters, and especially the theme music (if it’s good). When the marathon or DVD ends, I kinda feel like I’ve lost some friends. And I guess that means that those involved in the production did their jobs… and that I have behaved exactly as they had hoped I would. Wow, I should be sorta sad about that.

That Toddlin' Town

I’m back from the great white north. I used to have a love-hate relationship with that conference, but now that I don’t feel an obligation to be anywhere before 5:00 pm I really enjoy it.

I have included a very few photos for your enjoyment. I still haven’t quite grasped that batteries can “run down,” so the level of sharing is limited to what I could manage to take before this inevitability became a reality.

In an effort to avoid being branded a potential terrorist, any pictures I took on the train were taken discretely. So I only took two. For those of you who haven’t seen snow in a while, this is what it looks like from the train.


A look at the floor of the train is a nice reminder that having snow (and thus sand) all over the place might be fun and all, but it can make for some pretty disgusting surfaces (not that train floors were ever… whatever, here’s the damn picture because I took it).


There are lots of really cool things to do at this convention, but by far my favorite was always the revelry (and the side effects thereof) that took place at the bar in the lobby of the Hilt0n. This year was no exception, and Happy Holidays were enjoyed by many.

As a public service, I wisely thought to take a series of time-lapse photos documenting the increasing population of the bar as the evening progressed. Though the results are a little disappointing (it was the slowest of the three nights), I still think it is worth posting.

Photo #1 is from somewhere in the neighborhood of 8:30 PM CST Wednesday.


Photo 2 is at approximately 9:40 PM CST. Again, I am really disappointed in the results and my poor battery management.


Photo 3 was at about 10:15 PM CST. I think you can tell that the cigars had come out at this point.


Here are Mike and Scott after a lovely dinner with the Lovely Young Woman (and for the record, she proved herself to be all three), a friend at Miss0uri, and your's truly (me).


Here’s Barnes, right after he thought of a way for us to get a free round of drinks.


Here’s my attempt to take a picture of Barnes forging the receipt in the name of one of his friends (along with the friend’s room number). Brad’s friends were really good to us. Whether or not they intended to be isn’t the point. (Editor’s Note: This picture is blurry because Dwight bumped me, almost made me spill my drink, and did cause the camera to move.)*


This is what the bar looked like at closing time (Editor’s note: The camera was not moving. This is definitely exactly what the bar looked like. I know because I remember… sorta.)


Needless to say, closing time is just an excuse to get some fresh air and find a new place to continue the revelry. Many of us did. Pictures are not available.

Other highlights and lowlights include the following:

• Scott had to bolt before I got a chance to say good-bye. Good-bye after the fact. I know I’ll see you ‘fore long.
• Barnes broke the company record for Manhattans consumed at one sitting. That would be 8, and the rest of his night reflected this. It was pretty much priceless, and full of well-intended cursing (Example: “I f**king love you, man.”).
• Enjoyed conversation with Mike as much as I ever had. He had lots of well-timed wisdom.
• The lack of pressure, resulting from no longer working at my former place of employment, allowed me to enjoy my time there much more.
• I was repeatedly asked repertoire questions. I would usually attempt to answer the questions, and then remember that this was my area of greatest weakness in my former profession.

All ridiculous examples of consumption aside, it was a very nice few days in a new-old venue with good old friends and some new ones. In addition to those already mentioned (I realize some of the names will mean nothing to some readers), I enjoyed quality time with Christian, Laura and D, Heath J., and at least one Matt. There were also some Richards.

When I can afford it and justify it professionally, I would like to be in a position in which I could jet out of town to a new place for a few days at a time every six weeks or so. It just keeps things fresh.

Notes:

* - This is not true.

Out to lunch and more documentation

I am off to Chicago Wednesday morning and won’t be posting in that time. If I do not have something to say when I return Saturday evening, the trip will have been a waste of time and a total buzzkill.

When I began this blog almost 13 months ago, it was intended to allow me to join a trend, share my silly little ideas with people with whom it wasn’t feasible to speak everyday, and to document what seemed to be a puzzling time in my life. I never kept a journal, and this seemed to be a reasonable outlet.

Having now lived in Nashville some five months, the blog seems to have become a documentation of my progress in the music business. I hope I never bore you with it (you know what to do if I do!) but I think this is a worthy cause.

Over the last couple of weeks, my attention has admittedly been more drawn to Nashville than it has been since I moved, for a variety of reasons. Since beginning that change of focus, I have definitely begun to feel that I was progressing more rapidly in my professional trip. I have started feeling more and more like I was actually achieving something here (albeit very slowly… just how I prefer it) rather than simply sleeping here.

Tonight was a particularly strong example. On Sunday, I met a writer in the kitchen of the home where the party was held. We’ll call him Don. Don was a quiet guy, the sort of person to whom, as I mentioned a few days ago, I feel I should make it a point to pay attention. As he drank his Dixie cup full of pure water (he didn’t appear to be in “need” of water), we struck up a conversation that was rather dry yet comfortable. I had overheard that he was playing a round tonight, and I asked him about it. After he confirmed the time and location, I mentioned that I might attend. He encouraged this, mentioning that there would be three other very solid writers.

Tonight I went to that show, which was honestly rather out of the way. As I sat for dinner, he made it a point to say hello to me from the stage in the middle of a tune. Over the course of the next hour or so, I realized that his reference to the other writers as “solid” was a wee bit understated. By the time the show was over, I had heard old and new music by the writers of this, this, and this, among others. And I didn’t realize until he played it that Don himself had written this.

At that point, I think I realized that a great deal of the key to becoming a successful part of this community is to genuinely want to be a successful part of this community – not to attempt to get to know people for the purpose of exploiting their own prior success. I would never intentionally use someone, but everyone has heard the phrase “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know” before. The temptation to try to develop a professional relationship with the people one meets, without bothering to concern oneself with the real individual, is a temptation for everyone here. I suspect the people who have operated in that fashion have either gone home or soon will.

After the show, Don was very cordial – took the time to thank me for coming, asked me about my week, and encouraged me to keep writing. I thanked him for letting me know about it, and promised to do my best to show the next time he was playing. If a number one eventually develops out of the acquaintanceship, great. If it doesn’t, it has to be enough for what it is – and that in itself is worth enjoying… another friend, another part of the ride, and another story to tell.

For the record, in the midst of listening to the classic tunes these gentlemen were singing, I was reminded of a couple of really important and valuable facets of this brand of music. I had forgotten about the importance of humor in a song, and will try to get back to that immediately. I had also forgotten about the a-ha moment, the live performance of which often results in a verbal expression by the audience indicative of what I like to call The Gospel of Country Music (just my overly dramatic name for a very real phenomenon that I think one can only experience here). I’m sure there’s a post coming on that one day.

So, I didn’t mention in the last big entry that I had been invited to a holiday party that was to have taken place tonight. It was pulling rotten teeth to get myself to go, but I did. And I had a great time.

I met and became friends with some folks who have been doing what I am doing for a long time. I think I might have acquired some degree of comfort that I had been looking for… a way to socialize here with people that have an interest in this business. I met some folks that I think I can work with. I also saw some folks that gave me a solid vision of what I don’t want to become. I think that’s healthy.

It was a good night.

I don't know when the D@wgVent got this far off course, but this is the most screwed up string I have ever seen. I can not imagine.

Finally saw Sling Bl@de tonight. I've been missing out.

Making something happen (long with lots of backstory)

The most solid and promising friendship that I have with a person in the business (we’ll call him Dave) was a result of what has been considered my best song to date… those of you who know me pretty well, know what that song is… it has the name of one of the people linked to the right in the title. He became familiar with the tune in the late winter and spring of 04 as it was being reviewed for the song contest that was sponsored by the organization for which he works. As each of the ten finalist songs was being announced at the gathering at the end of a conference, the writer stood and was recognized. He approached me about writing after that happened, and thus began the friendship.

Later that summer, after writing together, he referred me to another person (we’ll call him Chad) in the industry who, when he hears a song of promise, has the ability to do something about it. This person listened to my stuff, and didn’t do what I wanted him to do. But he did offer me a spot in a once-per-month seminar his organization/company does with up-and-comers every summer. I began to attend this seminar in the late summer of 04, but I could not continue due to a legal issue prohibiting me from becoming a member of his organization until the Summer of 06. Nevertheless, I met a writer (let’s call her Jenny) at one of the seminars I was able to attend. We agreed to write the next time I was in town. We had a brief email exchange, and then we stopped communicating since it was so tough for me to write with her from out of town.

When I moved here in July of this year, I sent several emails to friends in town letting them know that I was on my way. One of them was to Jenny, whom I had really planned on writing with. I received no response from her, and was frankly a little agitated that this was the case. I also knew, however, that she was getting some attention from publishers, and decided to accept the fact that she may no longer want to write because she may be getting action with hit writers already. I figured that I probably wouldn’t hear from her, and just got on with it.

Lately, most of the time I have spent on the internet has been devoted to researching songwriting websites and kinda trying to keep my “finger on the pulse” of what’s going on. A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled onto a site that was promoting a showcase for a writer. The writer was Jenny, and the venue happened to be the same one in which this night started. Oddly, in an effort to reconnect with one of the first writers I got to know after I moved (we will call her Lisa), I noticed on her website that she would be performing as a member of Jenny’s band at this showcase. I decided, “what the hell,” and booked myself to go to the show tonight.

I sat in the corner at the show, as I usually do. When Lisa arrived, she noticed me there and came up to say hello. In the course of conversation, I told her that I had known Jenny from some time back but was sure she “didn’t remember me” (because I was sure that, if she didn’t want to write, she would pretend she didn’t remember, and I didn’t see the point in embarrassing her). Lisa replied, “No, I’m sure she does,” and proceeded back to Jenny to initiate a re-introduction. Jenny came over and we “re-met.” After 30 seconds of catching up, she recalled the last name. I told her I was in town now and had been for several months.

Shortly thereafter she said, “Well, when are we going to write?”

Before the end of the evening (which was actually quite humorous in a number of ways) I had a three-person co-write (which is not what it’s called, but I’m trying to keep Russ from giggling) promised in early January. I had also learned that Jenny no longer had my email address because she had lost a year’s worth of emails deleted from her server. Whether or not that was the whole truth isn’t important (and for the record, she seemed sincere… not that I’m a great judge of that).

The point is that I learned tonight that, when things aren’t happening and “letting go” doesn’t seem to be getting me somewhere, maybe making something happen will. Stay tuned.

Collaboration

I’m normally a person who does his best work alone. When the partial phrase “group proj…” was uttered at any level of school, I almost always threw up a little. I never felt my best work was completed that way.

Lately, however, a couple of opportunities have presented themselves in which I could collaborate with responsive, open, honest, and respectful minds. It gives me a glimmer of hope that I may be able to work with someone in a creative fashion.

An old friend or two has agreed to work with me on their fall shows, and at times I find myself very happy to have such inventive, creative material and feedback with which to work. Tonight, I spent three hours in a co-write (smack dab in the middle of the Tech bball game) with a guy who loved what we started with enough that he agreed with me that we couldn’t phone the second verse in. That seems to be rare around here. For better or worse, we wrote nary a word in stone. We spent that time debating the character of the character we were writing. Though I know I am bad about injecting talk like that into everyday conversation at times, I’m really glad he had the patience and resolve to respect the seed of the song enough to make sure that the execution was deserving of its origin.

I curse my work on a frequent basis, but I suspect that is more out of loneliness or frustration than anything. I really like making stuff up. I function really well in a make-believe world. I have always been better at that than maintenance, and that realization honestly is owed to Dwight, whether or not he is an ass.

Unfortunate also, however, is that I make up a lot of things. Sometimes, I insist that they must become true, and torture my chassis until it becomes so. Other times, I wind up disappointed. And I guess that winds up as fuel for more imagination.

I would love to live in a world of truth… where things were obvious, and time wasn’t wasted figuring out what reality was. I would love to live in a world in which people weren’t offended when you said what you really thought, and where you never lived in fear of doing that.

I think that’s a pipe dream. But I do appreciate the glimpses of that possibility that I get when someone tells me that I did something exactly right, or exactly wrong. I appreciate my current collaborators in all media for doing that.

What I fear the most is that I might love that idea so much that I won’t be able to function long in a world that isn’t based on telling the truth the second you know it. I worry that I might believe in the face value so much that I may not ultimately be able to deal with the fact that we lie and mislead in order to end in a way that meets our satisfaction.

I have rarely been happy with the truth, but I have always been satisfied when it was given to me completely and without remorse or reservation. I’m not much of a salesman for that reason… I demand that you know of my penchant for sleeping long hours, a relaxed glass of jack, the stupid in the context of the noble, and a disdain for those who can’t make decisions and don’t think about the big picture before doing so. I guess my only outlet at this point is to keep doing what I (and maybe I only) know how to do. That is to be myself, and trust that there are more people out there willing to think the same thing.

For now, I seem to be calmed by the fact that I couple of great collaborators are listening, and they’re telling me everything they think and perceive. And that’s fine… for now.

Thanks, D.J.

What a pretty picture.

Donk.

Ok, now that I've gotten that out of the way, I am going to give myself a bit of encouragement after a five-day stretch that has seen extreme highs and bitter lows. Read if you want. It is, after all, a public blog. But don't think ill of me for preaching... I'm not writing this for you tonight.

Last August, I proclaimed my belief that Georgia would go 7-4. I didn't think Shock would get all of the way through the season as a starter. I think I had reasons to believe that, and I was absolutely dead wrong.

As many have already said, D.J. has to go down as one of my favorite Dawgs ever. That he sat for four years and waited patiently and without public outburst is admirable, but many thought it was stupid. I include myself in that group. That he accepted circumstances that should have relegated him to status as an also-ran in the history of Georgia football was portrayed by many to be either foolish or indicative of a lack of confidence in his own abilities. I include myself in that group also. That he took his only chance and turned it into paydirt is nothing but magic and a testament to the fact that loyalty and belief can still result in something great in a world based more and more on probability and actuarial tables.

This is obviously not the ultimate feat in football, but for myself and many others it is the sweetest tonight.

The statement "there were no expectations this year" is stupid. There were expectations (there always are). We expected not to be in this game. We expected D.J. to take one for the team and regret having ridden this thing out to the end of the line. We expected to be average. It's one thing to be expected to dominate a season and to fulfill that expectation. It is a far more rewarding end to be expected to be average and to emerge a champion.

At a time when I had lost just a little bit of the width in my eyes... at a time when I had begun to stop believing in fairy tales, in risk, or in belief itself... at a time when I started to think that the smart money was with the oddsmakers, D.J. reminded me why I needed to keep my belief in the infinite and the preference for being the underdog.

This was sweeter because it was all but impossible.

I love the vision of a 5'8" defensive back intercepting a ball against a man 6 inches taller than him, and outrunning faster men as assistant coaches and trainers fall to the ground, pounding the artificial turf with their open hands, and screaming their vocal cords into nodules, "Go, go, go, go, go, go, goooooooooooo!" I love Sid Bre@m running on a bad knee, lumbering around the bags, running a race that he can't win against a 9-inch-around ball that can travel over 100 mph, and winning. I love the unsinkable shot from half court that swishes. I love the afterburner firing on the last turn for the victory, the Hail Mary that connects, the ugly guy that gets the girl because he's funny, the cancer patient that beat 10-1 odds and lives to become a successful physician, the no-name candidate that shocks the world, the royal flush, and the 400-pound guy that whittles it down to 185.

Success is great. But I think that the people who really experience euphoria are the ones who find the impossible and unthinkable missions, fulfill them, and have learned to experience the moment. I think that might have something to do with why I chose a profession in which the odds are so bad.

I needed to be reminded to get to know the geeky-looking kid that looks like he will be picked last. I needed to remember to eat at the hole in the wall. I needed to recall that the guy with the rough voice might be the most beloved radio personality. I had to remember to write against the market, to love the one you can't have even when you know you're going to have your heart broken, to speak the socially unacceptable, to belch, to take the scenic route, and to risk imperfection.

I believe that the euphoria of beating the odds makes you virtually forget your failures. I believe that riders on the bandwagon experience empty victories. I believe that those who seek to live lives devoid of complication and frustration will get exactly that, and that nothing that is worth doing is easy.

Thanks D.J. I am glad this had paid off for you so far, and I hope it continues to do so for a long time. It definitely did for me.

When I'm 64 (edited)

So, today (12/1) was my birthday. Yay. Late last night, I wrote a parody of “When I’m 64” but I pulled it at about 6am ET, for fear that anyone who might have forgotten the day might see this as a veiled attempt to publicize the day.

In the mean time, I have received no less than 60 IM’s, emails, Facebook messages, and phone calls to wish me well. Those who forgot were way more apologetic than necessary, and those who remembered were way too kind. I… well, I pretty much laid around and did nothing all day.

In an effort not to rob the world of useful parody, I have decided to repost last night’s entry. Hope you enjoy. And if you didn’t know, buy me something nice, and see if I remember yours. I’m horrible. In fact, comment with your birthday, so those in the blogosphere who care for you by way of ones and zeroes can wish you happy birfday. Enjoy.

When I get older
Devoid of hair
Twice as old as now
Will you still be humping me on Valentine’s
Hiding all my bottles of wine
If I’d come home
With my women friends
Who really were whores
Would you still love me
Lying above me
When I’m 64

Aaaaaaah.
You’ll be older too.
Aaaaaaah, and if you say the word
I could lay on you.

I could be handy
Watching the tube
When your urge is gone
We could watch the bulldogs by the ocean side
Take my Harley
Go for a ride
Poisoning my mistress
Smoking my weed
Who could ask for more
Though you might strike me
Will you still like me
When I’m 64

Every summer we could rent a woman on the first of June
She will cook and clean
It’s my half birthday
Ahhhh and if you don’t like her
She won’t have to stay

Send me an ointment
Drop by the home
Force me to eat fruit
Check up on my fiber and triglycerides
Sneak me in some foods that are fried
Give me a back rub
Spike my IV
Pick at my bed sores
Girl will you hate me
Or stimulate me
When I’m 64