When I started this blog, I wanted to connect it to something bigger in my life, but I really can’t make that connection. It’s just something that happened and won’t ever happen again, because I learned a couple of lessons. I don’t know how interested you are in reading the minutiae of life for a guy playing guitar in a really good band, but this is the type of thing that occasionally happens – hopefully rarely, but it’s pretty descriptive of some of the weird things that come up…those things you would never expect, but that’s what makes life interesting, right?
And the blog...
So, there’s this place that my band will never again play. And it’s not because we didn’t play well in our debut. And it’s not because the crowd didn’t like us – for the most part, anyway (that’s part of the story). The reason we’ll never play there again is because of something I said.
Yeah. You’ve got that right. Me: the diplomat. Me: the one who has the regular day job in which he has to play internal politics all the time and does it well. Me: the one who you can count on to keep a level head (unless things get really hairy and not keeping a level head is warranted). As a friend said, “that’s not the Mark Brown I know!”
I mean, Mick is the one with long hair and tattoos. If anyone should get us kicked out of a venue, it should be him, right! Right, Mick?
Mick agrees.
This time, it was me. The blame and the shame is all mine….And it’s not like I don’t take seriously costing my band mantes (and myself) some potential revenue, but you can only control so many things. One of those things you should control, however, is what comes out of your mouth….but how was I to know….
Enough of that. Onto the story….
We arrive at the club. Good vibes all around. We meet the owner, which is always something I’m a bit leery about, but this guy is really, really cool. We joke about my hernia, after I refuse to lift an amp. You know what? It’s all good and I’m feeling good about it. I’m gonna stand for a few songs for the first time since my surgery (for the hernia) and I’m happy about that. And better yet, we spot something at the edge of the dance floor and we all grin – it’s a stripper pole.
Just imagine the angels starting to sing when we spot the pole. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh….”
I’m looking forward to watching the girls dance tonight. And if they happen to end up on that pole, well then….all the better. While I'm married and a father, I'm still a red-blooded male. As a good friend sayd, "I'm not dead yet!" The rest of my band mates are looking also eyeing the pole and looking forward to the potential sights to be seen this evening. The jokes start flying. This is gonna be good…
We do the first set and the crowd is into us, but not responding overwhelmingly. I’m watching, and they’re digging it. They’re clapping. They’re moving in their seats, but they’re not dancing yet. I think we can get them dancing. It’s hard not to shake the caboose when listewning to this band.
So we jump into the second set. Things are rocking a bit more. We're still seeing the same thing, though, with people digging it, but staying away from the dance floor – with one exception….
There’s this guy. I won’t say he’s old, but he’s got a few years on the rest of the club. Maybe mid-50’s, maybe early 60’s. And he’s getting down. Dancing up a storm. And occasionally, he’s working the stripper pole. And if you haven’t seen a guy in his early 60’s, getting his drink on and working the dance floor, well, you haven’t played in a cover band before. It’s something that’s actually pretty common. It’s not the guy I want to turn out to be in the future, (God knows….my daughter will be embarrassed by me enough without that particular YouTube video) but it’s funny and it’s cool. And the bonus is, once one person starts working the dance floor (and the stripper pole) more are to come, usually. Anyone who’s getting down makes a band happy.
And then it happens...
A few songs into the second set, the aforementioned gentleman is on the stripper pole. He’s working it. Then he moves away. A girl starts working the pole. It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for….when the crowd turns and a good night turns great. When they all really start getting it….
But as it turns out, the next that happens is like a fumble in a football game. One of those situations where everything goes into slow motion and all you can hear is yourself, in a deep, slow motion, angst ridden voice, yelling, “Nooooooooooooooooooooooo……”
The older guy jumps onto the stripper pole and forces the girl off.
Okay, this not without its humor. It’s funny and it’s all good, but damn….I would have liked for that to have led to the a few more girls jumping onto the dance floor, working it, getting the crowd up, allowing us to do our thing….everybody moving and grooving and shaking it until the “last call.” Instead, the girl gets an angry expression, pouts, and leaves the dance floor. Damn.
And no one else is getting on the floor, either. Just “you know who.” Damn again.
So, I decide to work this situation….but I’m gonna do it a funny way, right?
I do a guitar version of “Devil Went Down to Georgia”, complete with adjusted lyrics for a guitar dual rather than a fiddle duel, Spinal Tap references, feedback, and buck dancing from Karen. It’s always a crowd pleaser. And there’s also a section where I talk a minute and work up the crowd to yell the line, “I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been.”
I’ve had crowds in the palm of my hand at this point. Because we rock it. And it’s a song I sing well (a rarity) and play better. It’s a high point in the show, most nights.
So, I get ready to do my speech about the crowd singing their favorite line in the song (the “son of a bitch” part) but first, I say this….
“Alright guys, let’s all get together for a moment. For the benefit of the brotherhood, can I get an amen on this? Can we all agree that when we see a lovely lady on the stripper pole… Can we all agree that we want to see that girl dance? Let’s all agree that we don’t want to interrupt that girl on the stripper pole. Let’s stay out of the lady’s way when she’s working it. Let’s let the ladies work that stripper pole, because, as guys, that’s the kind of thing we all want to see! Right?”
I swear I heard applause and saw some people laugh. I thought it went over well. Plus, I thought it was funny. My band mates thought it was funny.
One particular person in the crowd, however, didn’t think it was funny. He was offended. He was angry. I found out later that he, in fact, wanted to kick my ass.
Yeah. The old guy was pissed.
During the next break, Mick said the old guy was running around saying he wanted to kick my ass. We laughed, thinking it was a joke. I didn’t see the guy the rest of the night. The gig went fairly well for the third and final set. The crowd wasn’t quite as responsive as we wanted, but, it was a new place, a new crowd, and we were the new band, so that wasn’t too disturbing.
We packed it in, went home, and waited on the call from the booking agent for the next gig.
The call never came.
I heard later from the booking agent, via a band mate, that no future gigs would happen at that location.
Because of what I said.
And because of how the older gentleman in question felt about it. And because he told some other bar regulars. And because he’s very beloved among said regulars. And because they were pissed on his behalf.
One band mate didn’t even want to tell me about the reasoning behind our future absence at this venue, in part because the situation was so ridiculous.
Another band member wanted to screw with me about it – to tell me how pissed the band was at me that I’d cost them this gig. He couldn’t go through with it. he just thought it was funny. And he knew it would tear me up. He knew it would mess with my head enough to…oh,, for argument’s sake, let’s say it would screw me up enough to write a really long blog about the whole incident, etc. etc.
Obviously, he was right.
Instead, there have been a lot of jokes made about my forcing old people off the stripper pole and how I don’t like older people. Not true, actually. But that’s what makes it funny.
So, is there a lesson that I’ve learned?
Maybe I’ve realized that trying to bend a situation to my will is pointless. I wanted to see the crowd rocking out, tried to make it happen, and it didn’t work. I should have kept my mouth shut.
But the other lesson is….
Sometimes weird things that are out of your control are going to happen. Who knew the older dude would be pissed...or that he was so beloved. I’ve seen a lot of weird folks on the dance floor that everyone in the club thought were strange. And it kept others off the dance floor. And it hurt the response for the rest of the night.
But sometimes, that’s just going to be the way it is. There’s nothing that can stop a down night. Not even “Devil Went Down to Georgia” and Mark’s best efforts.
So. I’ll keep my mouth shut next time and try to make the best of a down night….quietly. At least as quietly as a guy with a Les Paul, a sweet sounding amplifier, and a microphone can do it.
But having said that…
I kinda wish we had a stripper pole at every gig. It’s not like the old dude follows us around. It’ll be a good night again, and soon. And with a stripper pole, a great night can’t be far behind.
Rock on.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
To Dave, A Tribute
Introduction:
For some people, music is in their blood, their DNA. It’s something they have to do and find a way to do it, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean those people don’t need support along the way. I’ve thanked my parents in this blog and my guitar teacher, who’s still active in the music world. My appreciation is unending.
This blog tells the story of another person who was responsible for opening my eyes and ears to a world of music, beyond what I would have found without help. This is a tribute.
Dave
I’ve been thinking a lot about an old friend lately. It was an unlikely friendship I had when I was in high school. It started because of music. It also ended when the musical connection ended. And music has been bringing the memories back.
Sometimes friendships just run their course, I suppose. But my friendship with Dave left a lasting impression on my personality, my humor and my music.
I was 16 or so when Dave and I met. I just realized that was half my life ago. I was trying to get a band going with a friend. Our first gig was at the friend’s church social – a truly auspicious start to our big rock and roll career, right?
We did three songs, all religious, but newer religious songs, sounding updated and even a little like a rock band. The crowd wanted more, but we only knew those three, so we did what any good up and coming band would do. We played them again. Yeah, we were destined for success.
Afterward, we were approached by a guy, short in stature, but long, it seemed, on musical knowledge. Dave’s family attended the same church and he came to the event because his mother wanted him to. (Or for the free food…whatever.) Dave was a DJ for local parties and weddings and owned all the requisite the equipment and hundreds of CD’s. We asked Dave if he knew of a singer for us. Dave said simply, “Yeah…me.”
Dave was a good singer and older than the rest of us. He was 25 at the time, 9 years older than me. And he was impressed when we had our first band practice. During a break, he was naming off songs, and I, the 16 year old guitar kid, knew how to play most of what he called out – classic rock songs that a 16 year old had no business knowing. Journey’s “Open Arms.” George Thorogood’s “One Bourbon, One Scotch One Beer.” Free’s “All Right Now.”
(Oh yeah. The band had obviously, very quickly, moved away from the religious music.)
It was through that musical connection that Dave and I became friends beyond the other band members. We drove to Winston-Salem to the used CD store, talking about music, making plans for the band and hanging out. We’d go to karaoke bars and criticize other singers. Dave could kill on “Desperado” and “Dust in the Wind.” I figured out that I could do a decent redneck rave-up on “Keep Your Hands to Yourself,” a song I’ve played or sung in the three bands I’ve been in.
For a time, I guess, Dave was my best friend. And he was older, so I got to ask his expert advice about girls (despite the fact that he was single), getting through the last couple of years of high school, music and a host of other things.
So why was Dave hanging out with someone so much younger? Well, he had a lot of time on his hands. Dave was a diabetic and, by his own admission, used to “drink like a fish.” It hurt him. Following a heart attack and open heart surgery, Dave went on disability. He had no job, not much to do, a steady—if meager—income and time to kill. Then his kidneys failed.
When I met Dave, he was on dialysis and always kept his beeper handy in case a match was found. He didn’t know how much longer he’d last on dialysis and didn’t expect to live past 30, either way. Eventually though, the beeper did go off and Dave got his third kidney. (They just left the two non-functional kidneys inside of him). Dave liked his scars. He felt they were earned and would show them off, if given the chance.
Unfortunately, the band was even less healthy. The drummer stopped showing up for practice at his own house. Then Dave’s family and the keyboard player’s family got into a dispute over the church they both attended. That got really nasty. I heard that one faction believed God was coming down in a flying saucer to take us all to Zion. Dave’s family was of the opinion that this was big pile of crap. The church split, and so did our keyboard player.
With the four-member band suddenly two members short, Dave and I talked about an acoustic act. We worked on it for a while but the idea eventually died out. We played with some other folks, some good friends, before Dave decided that he didn’t really want to do anything with music anymore. He found himself a girl. I had started college and there was a girl involved there, too. (I married her, actually). I guess the time for the friendship had just passed. We were headed in separate directions, and with the music gone, we didn’t have anything to talk about.
But the music, of course, remained. I learned a lot from Dave.
He was a huge fan of KISS. He had their entire collection. KISS was never a classy band, or a critically popular one. That didn’t matter to Dave. Performance and showmanship were king. He knew the words, owned the collector’s edition action figures and knew the band’s history. He also loved the song “Surrender” by Cheap Trick, probably as much for that line, “Rolling numbers, rock and rollin’, got my KISS records out….”
David lee Roth-era Van Halen also appealed to Dave’s sense of showmanship. As did Ted Nugent. He was a huge Rush fan. And Styx. He took me deeper into the Eagles catalog. Led Zepplin. CCR. Iron Maiden.
And then there was the best little boogie band you've ever heard. When Dave bought a new car, I think he was nearly as proud of the license plate, reading “Little Feat”.
Softer music sometimes worked for him, too, however. One of his favorite songs was “Leader of the Band” by Dan Fogleberg. In sharp contrast to the bombastic sounds of KISS and Van Halen, that sweet acoustic guitar plucked out a beautiful ode to a father.
There were hours spent listening to songs, talking about the songs, talking about the bands and finding new, cool things to hear. Those conversations are the reason I know who played in what band, and when. I can name every person that played in the Eagles and which albums they played on. Zep, Aerosmith, KISS and a host of other bands are part of the knowledge I carry in my head. Dave is a big part of the reason why I am the way I am.
But it wasn't just music. Dave’s sense of humor was pretty classic. He loved to change the words to songs. At the karaoke bar, every time someone would do Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page,” the words would change:
Original:
You walk into a restaurant
Strung out from the road
You can feel the eyes upon you
As you’re shaking off the cold…
Dave’s version:
You walk into a restaurant
Strung out from the drugs
You can feel the eyes upon you
As you’re shaking off the bugs…
One non-musical bit that stuck with me is something Dave used to do in restaurants. He would pick up a napkin, unravel it and wave it through the air. In a funny voice, he would say, “This is a model of the beautiful, nap-kan-fish. The nap-kan-fish has a serious of five peni…”
Those things come to mind often and always have. But I didn’t think about it much until recently, since I’ve been thinking a lot about Dave.
My band might be adding some new songs and I’ve seen a lot of those tunes that I first heard because of Dave showing up as possibilities. Including some KISS. And Cheap Trick’s “Surrender.”
I’ve also heard “Leader of the Band” three times in the last few weeks. Twice it’s played on the radio. I also heard it as Nicole and I were eating at a restaurant with friends. A really good guitarist and singer was playing 70’s light rock. That’s one of the songs he chose.
Nothing brings back memories like music.
It makes me happy that we might be playing some of those songs. Dave would definitely approve. I wish I could call him and talk about which songs to add. I’d love to bounce those ideas around with him. But I can’t.
Dave died last year. He was driving and had a massive heart attack. When the heart attack hit, Dave ran his car off the road, plowing into the fire station, and took out two stalls that house the fire trucks. It was a big story for a couple of days in the small town in which I grew up.
But even upon hearing that sad news, I had to chuckle at the way Dave went out. He was all of 5’3” and had a “little man” complex like you wouldn’t believe. In reaction to that, he never did anything small. That’s probably why that loud, showy rock and roll appealed to him so much. He went out with a bang nearly as loud as the rock and roll that was probably playing in his car when it happened. I hope it was a good song.
Dave didn't come to my wedding and I didn't go to his funeral. Honestly, I didn't think his death hit me that hard. But hearing and thinking of those songs have made me realize that maybe I just didn't have time to mourn. I'm mourning now.
And I hope some of those songs make it into the band’s set-list. (No pressure, band mates!) If so, I’ll be playing them as my own tribute to an old friend.
And if there is some sort of ever-after, and some way that Dave will know what’s happening back here in the world he left too soon, then I hope he’s looking down and smiling, throwing up devil horns, rocking along with my band. I don’t know if I believe that. But I hope it’s true.
To Dave.
For some people, music is in their blood, their DNA. It’s something they have to do and find a way to do it, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean those people don’t need support along the way. I’ve thanked my parents in this blog and my guitar teacher, who’s still active in the music world. My appreciation is unending.
This blog tells the story of another person who was responsible for opening my eyes and ears to a world of music, beyond what I would have found without help. This is a tribute.
Dave
I’ve been thinking a lot about an old friend lately. It was an unlikely friendship I had when I was in high school. It started because of music. It also ended when the musical connection ended. And music has been bringing the memories back.
Sometimes friendships just run their course, I suppose. But my friendship with Dave left a lasting impression on my personality, my humor and my music.
I was 16 or so when Dave and I met. I just realized that was half my life ago. I was trying to get a band going with a friend. Our first gig was at the friend’s church social – a truly auspicious start to our big rock and roll career, right?
We did three songs, all religious, but newer religious songs, sounding updated and even a little like a rock band. The crowd wanted more, but we only knew those three, so we did what any good up and coming band would do. We played them again. Yeah, we were destined for success.
Afterward, we were approached by a guy, short in stature, but long, it seemed, on musical knowledge. Dave’s family attended the same church and he came to the event because his mother wanted him to. (Or for the free food…whatever.) Dave was a DJ for local parties and weddings and owned all the requisite the equipment and hundreds of CD’s. We asked Dave if he knew of a singer for us. Dave said simply, “Yeah…me.”
Dave was a good singer and older than the rest of us. He was 25 at the time, 9 years older than me. And he was impressed when we had our first band practice. During a break, he was naming off songs, and I, the 16 year old guitar kid, knew how to play most of what he called out – classic rock songs that a 16 year old had no business knowing. Journey’s “Open Arms.” George Thorogood’s “One Bourbon, One Scotch One Beer.” Free’s “All Right Now.”
(Oh yeah. The band had obviously, very quickly, moved away from the religious music.)
It was through that musical connection that Dave and I became friends beyond the other band members. We drove to Winston-Salem to the used CD store, talking about music, making plans for the band and hanging out. We’d go to karaoke bars and criticize other singers. Dave could kill on “Desperado” and “Dust in the Wind.” I figured out that I could do a decent redneck rave-up on “Keep Your Hands to Yourself,” a song I’ve played or sung in the three bands I’ve been in.
For a time, I guess, Dave was my best friend. And he was older, so I got to ask his expert advice about girls (despite the fact that he was single), getting through the last couple of years of high school, music and a host of other things.
So why was Dave hanging out with someone so much younger? Well, he had a lot of time on his hands. Dave was a diabetic and, by his own admission, used to “drink like a fish.” It hurt him. Following a heart attack and open heart surgery, Dave went on disability. He had no job, not much to do, a steady—if meager—income and time to kill. Then his kidneys failed.
When I met Dave, he was on dialysis and always kept his beeper handy in case a match was found. He didn’t know how much longer he’d last on dialysis and didn’t expect to live past 30, either way. Eventually though, the beeper did go off and Dave got his third kidney. (They just left the two non-functional kidneys inside of him). Dave liked his scars. He felt they were earned and would show them off, if given the chance.
Unfortunately, the band was even less healthy. The drummer stopped showing up for practice at his own house. Then Dave’s family and the keyboard player’s family got into a dispute over the church they both attended. That got really nasty. I heard that one faction believed God was coming down in a flying saucer to take us all to Zion. Dave’s family was of the opinion that this was big pile of crap. The church split, and so did our keyboard player.
With the four-member band suddenly two members short, Dave and I talked about an acoustic act. We worked on it for a while but the idea eventually died out. We played with some other folks, some good friends, before Dave decided that he didn’t really want to do anything with music anymore. He found himself a girl. I had started college and there was a girl involved there, too. (I married her, actually). I guess the time for the friendship had just passed. We were headed in separate directions, and with the music gone, we didn’t have anything to talk about.
But the music, of course, remained. I learned a lot from Dave.
He was a huge fan of KISS. He had their entire collection. KISS was never a classy band, or a critically popular one. That didn’t matter to Dave. Performance and showmanship were king. He knew the words, owned the collector’s edition action figures and knew the band’s history. He also loved the song “Surrender” by Cheap Trick, probably as much for that line, “Rolling numbers, rock and rollin’, got my KISS records out….”
David lee Roth-era Van Halen also appealed to Dave’s sense of showmanship. As did Ted Nugent. He was a huge Rush fan. And Styx. He took me deeper into the Eagles catalog. Led Zepplin. CCR. Iron Maiden.
And then there was the best little boogie band you've ever heard. When Dave bought a new car, I think he was nearly as proud of the license plate, reading “Little Feat”.
Softer music sometimes worked for him, too, however. One of his favorite songs was “Leader of the Band” by Dan Fogleberg. In sharp contrast to the bombastic sounds of KISS and Van Halen, that sweet acoustic guitar plucked out a beautiful ode to a father.
There were hours spent listening to songs, talking about the songs, talking about the bands and finding new, cool things to hear. Those conversations are the reason I know who played in what band, and when. I can name every person that played in the Eagles and which albums they played on. Zep, Aerosmith, KISS and a host of other bands are part of the knowledge I carry in my head. Dave is a big part of the reason why I am the way I am.
But it wasn't just music. Dave’s sense of humor was pretty classic. He loved to change the words to songs. At the karaoke bar, every time someone would do Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page,” the words would change:
Original:
You walk into a restaurant
Strung out from the road
You can feel the eyes upon you
As you’re shaking off the cold…
Dave’s version:
You walk into a restaurant
Strung out from the drugs
You can feel the eyes upon you
As you’re shaking off the bugs…
One non-musical bit that stuck with me is something Dave used to do in restaurants. He would pick up a napkin, unravel it and wave it through the air. In a funny voice, he would say, “This is a model of the beautiful, nap-kan-fish. The nap-kan-fish has a serious of five peni…”
Those things come to mind often and always have. But I didn’t think about it much until recently, since I’ve been thinking a lot about Dave.
My band might be adding some new songs and I’ve seen a lot of those tunes that I first heard because of Dave showing up as possibilities. Including some KISS. And Cheap Trick’s “Surrender.”
I’ve also heard “Leader of the Band” three times in the last few weeks. Twice it’s played on the radio. I also heard it as Nicole and I were eating at a restaurant with friends. A really good guitarist and singer was playing 70’s light rock. That’s one of the songs he chose.
Nothing brings back memories like music.
It makes me happy that we might be playing some of those songs. Dave would definitely approve. I wish I could call him and talk about which songs to add. I’d love to bounce those ideas around with him. But I can’t.
Dave died last year. He was driving and had a massive heart attack. When the heart attack hit, Dave ran his car off the road, plowing into the fire station, and took out two stalls that house the fire trucks. It was a big story for a couple of days in the small town in which I grew up.
But even upon hearing that sad news, I had to chuckle at the way Dave went out. He was all of 5’3” and had a “little man” complex like you wouldn’t believe. In reaction to that, he never did anything small. That’s probably why that loud, showy rock and roll appealed to him so much. He went out with a bang nearly as loud as the rock and roll that was probably playing in his car when it happened. I hope it was a good song.
Dave didn't come to my wedding and I didn't go to his funeral. Honestly, I didn't think his death hit me that hard. But hearing and thinking of those songs have made me realize that maybe I just didn't have time to mourn. I'm mourning now.
And I hope some of those songs make it into the band’s set-list. (No pressure, band mates!) If so, I’ll be playing them as my own tribute to an old friend.
And if there is some sort of ever-after, and some way that Dave will know what’s happening back here in the world he left too soon, then I hope he’s looking down and smiling, throwing up devil horns, rocking along with my band. I don’t know if I believe that. But I hope it’s true.
To Dave.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
On "Sir" and "Ma'am"
It’s funny what offends us—and more funny when that which offends is intended as a term of respect. I was called “sir” the other day, at my job, and it was a bad moment for me. I posted, “Ouch. Was just called sir,” on my Facebook account and got a number of responses, many of which are copied in italics throughout this blog.
Tiffany Davis: Oh that is an ouch.
Courtney Conder: I feel your pain, Mark
Kent Bernhardt: Got called sir last week. Respect is nice, but still....Ouch.
Shannon Rasmussen Veurink: Gah, I hate it when they call me "ma'am" that's my granny thank you very much.
It got me thinking about why terms of respect can sometimes be far more offensive than “take a hike, jerk!” In digging through my brain and thinking about the situation, this is what I’ve decided. These things typically aren’t just about being called “sir” or “ma’am”. It’s the person calling us by that term that can turn it from a good moment to a bad one.
Jaime Mastromonica: Do youngins in the South not call everyone "sir" and "ma'am" anymore? I started getting ma'am'd at 12, so I never thought anyone was calling me old.
Jaime’s right. Had a child called me “sir”, I would have been impressed. It happens to me on occasion. Lots of kids go through my place of employment. Those children are the ones that make me smile a bit and increase my faith in mankind’s future. The little snot-nosed kids that scream, run under your feet, and show total disrespect for property that’s not their own? Well, unfortunately, it seems you might be more likely to run into them in any given day. Still, I do hear the little ones saying polite things in sufficient enough numbers that I think the next generation won’t be a total waste.
Kim Sifford: Respect. Tthats great!
You know, it occurs to me that if it had been someone older that called me “sir”, it also would have been fine. Because that’s just kind of cool, when your elders show you respect, as opposed to the other way around.
J.D. Shucker's: If it was a young cashier that said it, then yeah, you're getting old. If it was a cop, then...lol.
You know, in this situation, it wasn’t a woman, it was a guy who called me “sir.” I do, however, think that if it had been a woman, it would have been far worse. But in this case, and the real reason it became an “ouch” moment to me is because I looked like I could be this guy’s age. Well, close to his age. I mean, no more than five…okay maybe seven years older than him….tops…less than 10, anyway.
And isn’t that the social contract? If you’re within 10 years of each other, you don’t do “terms of respect.” You have a bond, created by proximity of age and experience, that allows you to step out of those social constraints and be more friendly and less formal. And that means he should have called me by any or all of the following: Man, dude, buddy, Holmes, pal, compadre, Chico, playa, bro, cracka,…
Mickey Byrd lol... huh huh (Butthead laugh), they thought u were old...
By not calling me one of the above, by calling me “sir”, by having the gall to show me respect, this stranger made me think, “Ouch, are the lines really starting to show? Is it getting that bad?” By abandoning the bond that should have existed between two guys no more the five years apart...okay maybe seven…less than ten years, certainly…when he abandoned that bond, I did, for a moment, feel old. And that’s why it hurt, just a bit. Because we’re all scared of how fast the years are moving past us. And they are moving quickly….
Connie Honbarrier: Mark, if you're just NOW getting called sir living here in the south, you're doing good! At least you don't get called hon or doll...or do you??
Actually, there was a “hon” and “sugar” later that day, both from woman (one, a sales rep and the otyher woman was working the drive thru) and I was perfectly fine with that. I quite enjoyed it actually. It didn’t make me feel young, but it did make me feel good. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
Mark
Tiffany Davis: Oh that is an ouch.
Courtney Conder: I feel your pain, Mark
Kent Bernhardt: Got called sir last week. Respect is nice, but still....Ouch.
Shannon Rasmussen Veurink: Gah, I hate it when they call me "ma'am" that's my granny thank you very much.
It got me thinking about why terms of respect can sometimes be far more offensive than “take a hike, jerk!” In digging through my brain and thinking about the situation, this is what I’ve decided. These things typically aren’t just about being called “sir” or “ma’am”. It’s the person calling us by that term that can turn it from a good moment to a bad one.
Jaime Mastromonica: Do youngins in the South not call everyone "sir" and "ma'am" anymore? I started getting ma'am'd at 12, so I never thought anyone was calling me old.
Jaime’s right. Had a child called me “sir”, I would have been impressed. It happens to me on occasion. Lots of kids go through my place of employment. Those children are the ones that make me smile a bit and increase my faith in mankind’s future. The little snot-nosed kids that scream, run under your feet, and show total disrespect for property that’s not their own? Well, unfortunately, it seems you might be more likely to run into them in any given day. Still, I do hear the little ones saying polite things in sufficient enough numbers that I think the next generation won’t be a total waste.
Kim Sifford: Respect. Tthats great!
You know, it occurs to me that if it had been someone older that called me “sir”, it also would have been fine. Because that’s just kind of cool, when your elders show you respect, as opposed to the other way around.
J.D. Shucker's: If it was a young cashier that said it, then yeah, you're getting old. If it was a cop, then...lol.
You know, in this situation, it wasn’t a woman, it was a guy who called me “sir.” I do, however, think that if it had been a woman, it would have been far worse. But in this case, and the real reason it became an “ouch” moment to me is because I looked like I could be this guy’s age. Well, close to his age. I mean, no more than five…okay maybe seven years older than him….tops…less than 10, anyway.
And isn’t that the social contract? If you’re within 10 years of each other, you don’t do “terms of respect.” You have a bond, created by proximity of age and experience, that allows you to step out of those social constraints and be more friendly and less formal. And that means he should have called me by any or all of the following: Man, dude, buddy, Holmes, pal, compadre, Chico, playa, bro, cracka,…
Mickey Byrd lol... huh huh (Butthead laugh), they thought u were old...
By not calling me one of the above, by calling me “sir”, by having the gall to show me respect, this stranger made me think, “Ouch, are the lines really starting to show? Is it getting that bad?” By abandoning the bond that should have existed between two guys no more the five years apart...okay maybe seven…less than ten years, certainly…when he abandoned that bond, I did, for a moment, feel old. And that’s why it hurt, just a bit. Because we’re all scared of how fast the years are moving past us. And they are moving quickly….
Connie Honbarrier: Mark, if you're just NOW getting called sir living here in the south, you're doing good! At least you don't get called hon or doll...or do you??
Actually, there was a “hon” and “sugar” later that day, both from woman (one, a sales rep and the otyher woman was working the drive thru) and I was perfectly fine with that. I quite enjoyed it actually. It didn’t make me feel young, but it did make me feel good. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
Mark
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Getting Into Hot Water
It’s the little things that make you happy. The things you don’t appreciate until they’re gone. Things like air conditioning, indoor plumbing, DVR, Battlestar Gallactica (…I frakkin’ miss you, BSG…) and hot water.
Hot water and I haven’t been getting along lately. It has apparently been causing issues for my wife for a while, but this is one of those instances when my wife doesn’t nag me enough. Nicole will tell me something one time and never again. She’ll just keep dealing with it, expecting me to get around to the problem eventually. This was one of those instances.
Nicole said to me a while back that the hot water wasn’t flowing very well in the bathroom. I looked at it, said, “Maybe the city is doing some work. It should come back.” Then I forgot about it.
My father-in-law also mentioned it at one point, but I thought he had just flushed the toilet before trying to use the water. And after all, the house was built in 1952. What do you expect?
If I wash my hands, it takes place in the kitchen. I only brush my teeth in the bathroom sink and I don’t need hot water for that. So, I just didn’t realize that hot water was flowing in what could best be described as an anemic trickle.
Then, I forgot to shave on a day when I really should have. I had a meeting in the afternoon and an event to attend that night and realized that I really should take the werewolf-like mane of hair from my face before I begin to scare small children and start to attack chicken coops. So, during my lunch hour I tried to shave in the bathroom sink.
The trickle of water that came from the hot tap was so sad, so pitiful. It was a thin needle of water. It took four or five minutes to actually get hot water from the tap. It was a travesty of bathroom etiquette that my wife had been made to suffer so. I (finally) sprang into action.
I called Dad.
Hey. Don’t get too judgmental. My dad is a contractor. He’s also one of those guys who disassembled a clock and put it back together at a young age, became an auto mechanic and received awards that filled an arm of the jacket he wore to work each day, taught himself more carpentry you’ll ever know, has built houses from the ground up, has renovated houses from a point of despair to comfortable livability, solved the Rubik’s Cube in under 12 seconds, leapt tall buildings in a single bound, fought crime with one hand tied behind his….
Well, he’s really good with tools and a hell of a resource to have. So he came to the house.
We looked at the pipes.
Okay, he looked at the pipes while I held the flashlight.
The decision was made to rip the wall out of the bathroom, because the stoppage in the pipe must be shortly before the water comes into the sink. We did that. That pipe was very stopped up. Old house. Steel pipes. Lots of rusted build up. We turned the water back on and…still just a trickle. We now have plans to replace all the hot water pipes in the house.
With that job looming over our heads, (hey, if you wanna join me and Dad in the crawlspace next weekend, feel free…) another issue came to light.
Nicole and I took our daily walk this past Monday and heard a noise upon getting back to the house. There was a sound coming from the laundry room. A sound like water. A sound like water running out of a large container. A sound almost exactly like the hot water running out of your aged hot water heater because the bottom has turned to rust and finally given way so that the whole thing has really ceased to be a hot water heather and turned into a circular hunk of metal sitting in your back yard, able to function as the world’s largest paper weight if so desired, but you’ll have to come and get the damn thing yourself because I’m not hauling it around…..
I’m getting ahead of myself.
I discovered that the pan in which the hot water heater sits was full of water.
Again, I call Dad.
Me: “Hey. You’re not gonna like hearing from me right now, but the pan below the hot water heater is filling up with water.”
Dad: “That’s not good.”
Me: “What can I do” Thinking: Please be able to fix this by turning some screw that I just can’t see without your guidance. Maybe I can seal something, or replace a seal, or do something that’s really easy that no one would ever think of…
Dad: “You have to replace it. When they’re rusted out, that’s the only thing you can do.”
Me: “Damn.”
While this conversation did not go as desired, you’ve got to give the old man credit. Thee and a half hours later, my house had a new hot water heater and hot water flowing through the pipes. It’s really good to have a father whose knows his way around a house, who owns more tools than most and has a willingness to tackle plumbing (God bless him).
And we still have that looming job ahead—replace all the hot water pipes under the house. The good news is, Dad will be back to help me. The wife and I gave him his first granddaughter three months ago. I think he’d do anything we asked at this point.
And when the job is done, we’ll not only have the hot water in the bathroom my wife has always dreamed of, we’ll also have something never before seen during our tenure as the happy homeowners of this particular home – water pressure.
Oh, water pressure—that sweet massage of the scalp in the morning as you take a hot shower. I have so enjoyed that feeling in every hotel bathroom I’ve ever had the pleasure of showering in. I’ve only dreamed of having such water pressure in my own home.
But that’s what’s in store after Dad and I finish this job.
Is it worth crawling around in the dirt crawlspace and replacing each of those pipes for no benefit beyond good hot water pressure?
Hell yes.
After all, it’s the little things that make you happy.
Hot water and I haven’t been getting along lately. It has apparently been causing issues for my wife for a while, but this is one of those instances when my wife doesn’t nag me enough. Nicole will tell me something one time and never again. She’ll just keep dealing with it, expecting me to get around to the problem eventually. This was one of those instances.
Nicole said to me a while back that the hot water wasn’t flowing very well in the bathroom. I looked at it, said, “Maybe the city is doing some work. It should come back.” Then I forgot about it.My father-in-law also mentioned it at one point, but I thought he had just flushed the toilet before trying to use the water. And after all, the house was built in 1952. What do you expect?
If I wash my hands, it takes place in the kitchen. I only brush my teeth in the bathroom sink and I don’t need hot water for that. So, I just didn’t realize that hot water was flowing in what could best be described as an anemic trickle.
Then, I forgot to shave on a day when I really should have. I had a meeting in the afternoon and an event to attend that night and realized that I really should take the werewolf-like mane of hair from my face before I begin to scare small children and start to attack chicken coops. So, during my lunch hour I tried to shave in the bathroom sink.
The trickle of water that came from the hot tap was so sad, so pitiful. It was a thin needle of water. It took four or five minutes to actually get hot water from the tap. It was a travesty of bathroom etiquette that my wife had been made to suffer so. I (finally) sprang into action.
I called Dad.
Hey. Don’t get too judgmental. My dad is a contractor. He’s also one of those guys who disassembled a clock and put it back together at a young age, became an auto mechanic and received awards that filled an arm of the jacket he wore to work each day, taught himself more carpentry you’ll ever know, has built houses from the ground up, has renovated houses from a point of despair to comfortable livability, solved the Rubik’s Cube in under 12 seconds, leapt tall buildings in a single bound, fought crime with one hand tied behind his….
Well, he’s really good with tools and a hell of a resource to have. So he came to the house.
We looked at the pipes.
Okay, he looked at the pipes while I held the flashlight.
The decision was made to rip the wall out of the bathroom, because the stoppage in the pipe must be shortly before the water comes into the sink. We did that. That pipe was very stopped up. Old house. Steel pipes. Lots of rusted build up. We turned the water back on and…still just a trickle. We now have plans to replace all the hot water pipes in the house.
With that job looming over our heads, (hey, if you wanna join me and Dad in the crawlspace next weekend, feel free…) another issue came to light.
Nicole and I took our daily walk this past Monday and heard a noise upon getting back to the house. There was a sound coming from the laundry room. A sound like water. A sound like water running out of a large container. A sound almost exactly like the hot water running out of your aged hot water heater because the bottom has turned to rust and finally given way so that the whole thing has really ceased to be a hot water heather and turned into a circular hunk of metal sitting in your back yard, able to function as the world’s largest paper weight if so desired, but you’ll have to come and get the damn thing yourself because I’m not hauling it around…..
I’m getting ahead of myself.
I discovered that the pan in which the hot water heater sits was full of water.
Again, I call Dad.
Me: “Hey. You’re not gonna like hearing from me right now, but the pan below the hot water heater is filling up with water.”
Dad: “That’s not good.”
Me: “What can I do” Thinking: Please be able to fix this by turning some screw that I just can’t see without your guidance. Maybe I can seal something, or replace a seal, or do something that’s really easy that no one would ever think of…
Dad: “You have to replace it. When they’re rusted out, that’s the only thing you can do.”
Me: “Damn.”
While this conversation did not go as desired, you’ve got to give the old man credit. Thee and a half hours later, my house had a new hot water heater and hot water flowing through the pipes. It’s really good to have a father whose knows his way around a house, who owns more tools than most and has a willingness to tackle plumbing (God bless him).
And we still have that looming job ahead—replace all the hot water pipes under the house. The good news is, Dad will be back to help me. The wife and I gave him his first granddaughter three months ago. I think he’d do anything we asked at this point.
And when the job is done, we’ll not only have the hot water in the bathroom my wife has always dreamed of, we’ll also have something never before seen during our tenure as the happy homeowners of this particular home – water pressure.
Oh, water pressure—that sweet massage of the scalp in the morning as you take a hot shower. I have so enjoyed that feeling in every hotel bathroom I’ve ever had the pleasure of showering in. I’ve only dreamed of having such water pressure in my own home.
But that’s what’s in store after Dad and I finish this job.
Is it worth crawling around in the dirt crawlspace and replacing each of those pipes for no benefit beyond good hot water pressure?
Hell yes.
After all, it’s the little things that make you happy.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Cars, Guitars and Playing In Bars
I think the type of guitar you play says something about you. It’s not the absolute final word on the entirety of a musician's personality. But it’s a pretty good indicator. Guitars come in all shapes and sizes, and the one you choose might tell the audience that you’re a badass, a metal head, a bluesman, a blue eyed soul man, a redneck country chicken-picker or a jazz guy. Just one look at the stage and you’ll have a pretty good idea of who the guy is that’s strumming those six strings.
NOTE #1 for the non-guitar playing amongst us. Here’s what I’m saying in a way you can easily understand: The guy driving a sensible sedan is not trying to show off his money or sexual prowess. He’s just a dude driving a car.
The guy who pulls up on a motorcycle is and always will be cooler than you. Maybe he’s not, but that’s the message he’s trying to convey.
The guy who pulls up in a Hummer is compensating for something. I won’t say what. You can guess.
The guy driving the 1987 Chevy Sprint is saying he’s been so beat down by life he just doesn’t care about your opinion anymore. The world has taken his self-respect. You know this because a man with self-respect would never drive a three cylinder vehicle that runs on a gas/oil mixture and sounds like a weed-eater on a hot summer day.
What you choose tells a story. But sometimes, you don’t have a choice…
The issue about guitars came up on St. Patrick’s Day. SugarSmaX, my band, had a gig. I packed my car during my lunch break, returned to work, hit the road at 5 p.m. without stopping by the house, drove the hour and ten minutes to get to Monroe and arrived pretty much on time. I walked into the club, found the stage, looked at it and froze. Oh damn. I stepped forward carrying my acoustic guitar, my gig bag and nothing else. I had a problem. It didn’t look like everyone was setting up for an acoustic gig. They were setting up for an electric show. I thought this was an acoustic gig. Hence, my arrival, armed with only my acoustic guitar.
NOTE #2 for those non guitar players amongst us. The acoustic guitar is hollow, made of wood, and is great to have around a campfire. Think of James Taylor. An electric guitar (the one I didn’t have) is played through an amplifier (something else I didn’t have), is very loud and made rock and roll what it is today. Think of Slash, the guitar player for Guns and Roses.
I was “James Taylor” arriving at a gig when “Slash” was expected. Think of Axl Rose hitting a primal scream, followed by the opening guitar strains of “Fire and Rain.” They go together like chocolate and pickles, which is to say, not at all.
This was one of those really bad moments you have when you realize that you have screwed up, there’s no one else to blame and you’re going to have to live with the fact that you’re going to make everyone else’s life a little more difficult.
Which is what I did…
NOTE #3 for those non guitar players amongst us. Stick with me. I’m not going to get too technical here…
Our bass player Mick typically sets up an electric guitar on a stand, which is plugged into a piece of electronics that make it sound like a synthesizer, piano, horn section, etc. We pulled that guitar for my use, forgoing the syth/piano/horn sounds during the first set.
Mick has a very nice Strat that’s seen a lot of use. It’s still in good shape and sounds sweet. The club happened to have an amp (miracle of miracles) and I was set to go with an ad hoc rig.
We also called our regular soundman (who wasn’t working this gig), Butch, who is an incredibly nice guy. Proving it, he brought one of his guitars to the club so I could play it during the second and third sets, allowing Mick to use his guitar again (you know, since he actually brought it to the club and didn’t forget that this gig was electric like some other horse’s ass who we won’t mention. Oh yeah. That was me!)
Butch’s guitar worked great and allowed us to finish out the gig in fine fashion. My only issue was the paint job. His guitar is an Ibanez – a good guitar with a good sound. But the paint job is more suited for heavy metal/hair metal bands where the guitar player is wearing leather pants, lighting those pants on fire and receiving sexual favors from willing groupies in between sets (see pic…the pic of the guitar, not the groupies, you horn dog!)
But that wasn’t who was playing this guitar. It was me. The guy who’s married, has a day job and is lucky if he can get the attention of the bartender in between sets to get a refill of Diet Coke.
“Between set sexual favors” vs. “between set Diet Coke refills”. You get my point?
That guitar really wasn’t me. I couldn’t play it regularly, despite the fact that it sounded and felt good. Don’t get me started on how happy I was that Butch brought it and how much of a life-saver the thing turned out to be. But would I own it? Nah.
I’ll stick with my Epiphone Les Paul Black Beauty (see pic..stop looking for a damned horse, it’s a guitar!). It’s a classic design, created by the man who invented the solid body electric (RIP Les Paul). The paint job is jet black and calls attention to the notes coming from the guitar, not the long haired, leather pants wearing, groupie scoring guy who’s playing it.
That guitar is much more my style. And yes, I drive a Nissan Altima – a sensible sedan, thanks for asking.
And by the way...Thanks again, Butch!
NOTE #1 for the non-guitar playing amongst us. Here’s what I’m saying in a way you can easily understand: The guy driving a sensible sedan is not trying to show off his money or sexual prowess. He’s just a dude driving a car.
The guy who pulls up on a motorcycle is and always will be cooler than you. Maybe he’s not, but that’s the message he’s trying to convey.
The guy who pulls up in a Hummer is compensating for something. I won’t say what. You can guess.
The guy driving the 1987 Chevy Sprint is saying he’s been so beat down by life he just doesn’t care about your opinion anymore. The world has taken his self-respect. You know this because a man with self-respect would never drive a three cylinder vehicle that runs on a gas/oil mixture and sounds like a weed-eater on a hot summer day.
What you choose tells a story. But sometimes, you don’t have a choice…
The issue about guitars came up on St. Patrick’s Day. SugarSmaX, my band, had a gig. I packed my car during my lunch break, returned to work, hit the road at 5 p.m. without stopping by the house, drove the hour and ten minutes to get to Monroe and arrived pretty much on time. I walked into the club, found the stage, looked at it and froze. Oh damn. I stepped forward carrying my acoustic guitar, my gig bag and nothing else. I had a problem. It didn’t look like everyone was setting up for an acoustic gig. They were setting up for an electric show. I thought this was an acoustic gig. Hence, my arrival, armed with only my acoustic guitar.
NOTE #2 for those non guitar players amongst us. The acoustic guitar is hollow, made of wood, and is great to have around a campfire. Think of James Taylor. An electric guitar (the one I didn’t have) is played through an amplifier (something else I didn’t have), is very loud and made rock and roll what it is today. Think of Slash, the guitar player for Guns and Roses.
I was “James Taylor” arriving at a gig when “Slash” was expected. Think of Axl Rose hitting a primal scream, followed by the opening guitar strains of “Fire and Rain.” They go together like chocolate and pickles, which is to say, not at all.
This was one of those really bad moments you have when you realize that you have screwed up, there’s no one else to blame and you’re going to have to live with the fact that you’re going to make everyone else’s life a little more difficult.
Which is what I did…
NOTE #3 for those non guitar players amongst us. Stick with me. I’m not going to get too technical here…
Our bass player Mick typically sets up an electric guitar on a stand, which is plugged into a piece of electronics that make it sound like a synthesizer, piano, horn section, etc. We pulled that guitar for my use, forgoing the syth/piano/horn sounds during the first set.
Mick has a very nice Strat that’s seen a lot of use. It’s still in good shape and sounds sweet. The club happened to have an amp (miracle of miracles) and I was set to go with an ad hoc rig.
We also called our regular soundman (who wasn’t working this gig), Butch, who is an incredibly nice guy. Proving it, he brought one of his guitars to the club so I could play it during the second and third sets, allowing Mick to use his guitar again (you know, since he actually brought it to the club and didn’t forget that this gig was electric like some other horse’s ass who we won’t mention. Oh yeah. That was me!)
Butch’s guitar worked great and allowed us to finish out the gig in fine fashion. My only issue was the paint job. His guitar is an Ibanez – a good guitar with a good sound. But the paint job is more suited for heavy metal/hair metal bands where the guitar player is wearing leather pants, lighting those pants on fire and receiving sexual favors from willing groupies in between sets (see pic…the pic of the guitar, not the groupies, you horn dog!)
But that wasn’t who was playing this guitar. It was me. The guy who’s married, has a day job and is lucky if he can get the attention of the bartender in between sets to get a refill of Diet Coke. “Between set sexual favors” vs. “between set Diet Coke refills”. You get my point?
That guitar really wasn’t me. I couldn’t play it regularly, despite the fact that it sounded and felt good. Don’t get me started on how happy I was that Butch brought it and how much of a life-saver the thing turned out to be. But would I own it? Nah.
I’ll stick with my Epiphone Les Paul Black Beauty (see pic..stop looking for a damned horse, it’s a guitar!). It’s a classic design, created by the man who invented the solid body electric (RIP Les Paul). The paint job is jet black and calls attention to the notes coming from the guitar, not the long haired, leather pants wearing, groupie scoring guy who’s playing it.That guitar is much more my style. And yes, I drive a Nissan Altima – a sensible sedan, thanks for asking.
And by the way...Thanks again, Butch!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Semantics
This is one of those blogs that breaks a cardinal rule – Have a point. The problem is, I don’t have a point. I have two. But they are linked by a common thread. Stick with me. It will all come together as you read.
Daylight Savings Time
I hate Daylight Savings Time. I don’t think it’s the fact that I lose an hour each Spring, gaining it back each Fall. Of course, when you lose something, only to gain it back later, you should be paid interest. And as valuable as sleep is for me, I should be gaining more interest than a teenage boy has in his dad’s Playboy collection.
Nope, it’s the way everyone refers to Daylight Savings Time. Ask someone who likes DST why they’re a fan. They’ll almost always answer, in a perky little voice: “Because you gain more daylight!”
My response: “No you don’t! There’s exactly the same amount of daylight. We just changed the clocks! Don’t you realize that we can’t change the sun! We can’t change the amount of daylight! Something far bigger than you, me, or Jimmy Carter is in charge of this little issue – the earth’s orbit around the sun!”
“I Taped It”
I hate it when Nicole says, “I taped it.” It irritates me beyond any reason. She used to tape things all the time. That was before we had DVR. Now, she doesn’t “tape” things. She “records” them. That’s because with DVR, there is no “tape”. There are 1’s and 0’s and computer hard drives and…and…well, I don’t know how it works, but it’s digital, not analog, and that means there is no tape!
There are lots of tapes in our house and we can still “tape” things – on the VCR is the bedroom. But she’s talking about the DVR and it irritates me.
And now that she knows how much this irritates me, she keeps doing it, just to dig in the needle every once in a while. I think she’s trying to irritate me half the time, and the rest of the time she just says “taped” out of habit. I’m still irritated, because she hasn’t changed what she says to reflect the fact that we have digital technology in our house.
The Reason This Irritates Me
I spent eight years as a radio show host. It was a talk radio station. In addition to the talk segments, I was also the news director. That means I was writing two 3 to 3 ½ minute newscasts each day. Using Microsoft Word, Times New Roman, 14 Point, that’s about three and a half pages each day. You would think that would have made me a Grammar Nazi. If I had been writing for print, it might have. I was writing for radio. Grammar wasn’t as much of an issue.
So end your sentences with a preposition, leave the “-ly” from adverbs and speak in run-on sentences all you want. I’ll notice, but I can keep that to myself.
The thing that irritates me is “semantics”. I admit it. I am a “Semantics Nazi.”
The Dictionary.com definition of semantics is, “the study of meaning.” Semantics refers to what words mean. I think our language should reflect our meaning. The correct words should be chosen. When incorrect words are used, it’s a problem.
So when people say there’s “more daylight,” I feel compelled to be the jerk that points out that daylight is a function of astronomy. Not of clocks.
It also bothers me that we’re now living longer on Daylight Savings Time than we live on regular time. Because we want “more daylight.” Grrrrrrrr. Just typing it pisses me of. We couldn’t have just gotten to work an hour earlier and left an hour earlier? That way, we would be enjoying more of the daylight that was already there. There have been arguments that DST doesn’t save the money or energy it’s supposed to save. That’s here. And there have been arguments made that DST has real life and death consequences. If you’re interested, those arguments are here.
And eventually, I’ll break Nicole down. I’ll keep making the point that there is no “tape” involved in the recording process until she changes. I’ll be successful, because I’m more irritated than she is committed to saying something incorrectly. As least I think so.
I just had another thought…
We really shouldn’t say “rewind” anymore when the DVR is being used, because there is no “winding” in the recording or playback process. It would be more proper to say “review,” which, by the way, is what my newest remote control says. Oh boy. I’m not sure that I’ve got enough fortitude to break the wife down on that one. Wish me luck…
Daylight Savings TimeI hate Daylight Savings Time. I don’t think it’s the fact that I lose an hour each Spring, gaining it back each Fall. Of course, when you lose something, only to gain it back later, you should be paid interest. And as valuable as sleep is for me, I should be gaining more interest than a teenage boy has in his dad’s Playboy collection.
Nope, it’s the way everyone refers to Daylight Savings Time. Ask someone who likes DST why they’re a fan. They’ll almost always answer, in a perky little voice: “Because you gain more daylight!”
My response: “No you don’t! There’s exactly the same amount of daylight. We just changed the clocks! Don’t you realize that we can’t change the sun! We can’t change the amount of daylight! Something far bigger than you, me, or Jimmy Carter is in charge of this little issue – the earth’s orbit around the sun!”
“I Taped It”
I hate it when Nicole says, “I taped it.” It irritates me beyond any reason. She used to tape things all the time. That was before we had DVR. Now, she doesn’t “tape” things. She “records” them. That’s because with DVR, there is no “tape”. There are 1’s and 0’s and computer hard drives and…and…well, I don’t know how it works, but it’s digital, not analog, and that means there is no tape!
There are lots of tapes in our house and we can still “tape” things – on the VCR is the bedroom. But she’s talking about the DVR and it irritates me.
And now that she knows how much this irritates me, she keeps doing it, just to dig in the needle every once in a while. I think she’s trying to irritate me half the time, and the rest of the time she just says “taped” out of habit. I’m still irritated, because she hasn’t changed what she says to reflect the fact that we have digital technology in our house.
The Reason This Irritates Me
I spent eight years as a radio show host. It was a talk radio station. In addition to the talk segments, I was also the news director. That means I was writing two 3 to 3 ½ minute newscasts each day. Using Microsoft Word, Times New Roman, 14 Point, that’s about three and a half pages each day. You would think that would have made me a Grammar Nazi. If I had been writing for print, it might have. I was writing for radio. Grammar wasn’t as much of an issue.
So end your sentences with a preposition, leave the “-ly” from adverbs and speak in run-on sentences all you want. I’ll notice, but I can keep that to myself.
The thing that irritates me is “semantics”. I admit it. I am a “Semantics Nazi.”
The Dictionary.com definition of semantics is, “the study of meaning.” Semantics refers to what words mean. I think our language should reflect our meaning. The correct words should be chosen. When incorrect words are used, it’s a problem.
So when people say there’s “more daylight,” I feel compelled to be the jerk that points out that daylight is a function of astronomy. Not of clocks.
It also bothers me that we’re now living longer on Daylight Savings Time than we live on regular time. Because we want “more daylight.” Grrrrrrrr. Just typing it pisses me of. We couldn’t have just gotten to work an hour earlier and left an hour earlier? That way, we would be enjoying more of the daylight that was already there. There have been arguments that DST doesn’t save the money or energy it’s supposed to save. That’s here. And there have been arguments made that DST has real life and death consequences. If you’re interested, those arguments are here.
And eventually, I’ll break Nicole down. I’ll keep making the point that there is no “tape” involved in the recording process until she changes. I’ll be successful, because I’m more irritated than she is committed to saying something incorrectly. As least I think so.
I just had another thought…
We really shouldn’t say “rewind” anymore when the DVR is being used, because there is no “winding” in the recording or playback process. It would be more proper to say “review,” which, by the way, is what my newest remote control says. Oh boy. I’m not sure that I’ve got enough fortitude to break the wife down on that one. Wish me luck…
Monday, March 1, 2010
February doesn't think much of us, and the feeling is mutual
Let’s just give February a kick in the ass on its way out the door.
That’s right, as we close out this first day of March, I’m still focused on the second month of the year. There are a lot of articles about why February sucks (Google: “February is the cruelest month”), but I’ll throw my two cents into the public domain anyway.
This was the most miserable month of weather we’ve had in a while. It’s been the coldest in this region in 30-some years. There were three hits of snow in three weeks. Well, the first actually happened during the last days of January, but we were still dealing with it Monday, Feb. 1st.
Here’s some irony. We brought my daughter home from the hospital right before it snowed—just over a week before Christmas. Shelby has now seen four snow events in her two and a half months of life. Four! It took something like six years of my childhood before I snow four separate snow events. And she’s not even big enough to make a snowman, have a snowball fight, or even make snow angels. But I was big enough! And I didn’t get any snow.
Not that I’m bitter.
Skies seemed to be overcast for most of the month. My daughter, the poor girl, will be shocked when she realizes the sun typically comes out every day, rather than making one measly appearance each week.
I typically like to see some snow in North Carolina during the winter. But one really good wintry event each year is enough for me. Having four hits of icy weather in is enough to make you wonder if they moved the Mason-Dixon line. It’s a damned Yankee conspiracy, some will say. Then they’ll spit tobacco and crank up the Skynard.
I had a special reason this year to be pissed about the weather. I had three gigs called off due to weather. Only one of them, in the end, was rescheduled. The lesson: Don’t count on gig money until “last call” has been called, staff is putting the chairs on the tables, and kicking the last pitiful drunk out of the bar.
And then the holidays:
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. I have no problem with this one. As a state employee, I had the day off. Cool.
Valentine’s Day: It’s a reason to spend money. It’s also a day when passion is the expectation, rather than just a hope. This year, Nicole and I were both sick. So, I got to spend the money and had no pay off. Excellent!
President’s Day: This is the most useless holiday we have. Okay, Arbor Day might be even weaker, but banks and federal offices are actually closed on President’s Day. I had to work. Most people had to work. But we couldn’t get our money into or out of the bank, which just makes work that much more frustrating.
You know what the main purpose of President’s Day has become? It’s an excuse to put cars on sale. I heard a commercial several times that called to mind the freedoms provided by Washington and Lincoln, and then urged us to take advantage of those freedoms by buying a Jeep.
LINCOLN FREED THE SLAVES!!! (History buffs, please don’t parse that statement, just work with me.) Does Jeep really want to put buying a car on the same level as freeing a race of people from the bonds of slavery? Really? It shocks me that no one in Jeep’s Advertising Department said, “Hey, uh, boss…maybe that claim is a little over the line. Maybe we ought to pull that back just a bit?”
And this year, just to throw something else into the mix, the Olympics mangled my television schedule. It wouldn’t have been so bad if my wife wasn’t such a huge fan of the Olympics. But she is. So now we’re backed up on a number of television shows and we have to close our eyes every time a promo comes on the TV. We also talk loudly so we won’t hear any plot points that are patiently waiting in the DVR.
You know, as I look back on this writing, it really doesn’t seem like there was anything monumentally bad about the month. I realize I’m a blessed individual if I’ve got time to bitch about car commercials and weather and my prime time TV schedule.
I have a friend who lives in Philly and the snow she got would make a southern boy weep.
I have another friend with Seasonal Affective Disorder, and she’s been more miserable than I can fathom this month.
So it looks like maybe I should keep my complaints to myself.
But that’s the trick February plays on you. It doesn’t bring it all at once. It operates in stealth. It nibbles away at you, piece by piece. It pisses you off just a little at a time. Then a big, fat snowstorm comes along and kicks you in the knee.
We’ve endured our 28 days of bleakness, though. February is over. March is here and warmer weather is on the way.
Well…not yet.
We’re all watching the forecast for this next winter storm. Yep, it’s the fifth such storm in the region this winter. If it actually turns out to be a significant event, it will hit North Carolina March 2nd.
But the damned system formed out west in the waning days of February.
It’s February’s middle finger, extended for all, as we get one final reminder of the bleak existence granted to us during the second month each year.
That’s right, as we close out this first day of March, I’m still focused on the second month of the year. There are a lot of articles about why February sucks (Google: “February is the cruelest month”), but I’ll throw my two cents into the public domain anyway.
This was the most miserable month of weather we’ve had in a while. It’s been the coldest in this region in 30-some years. There were three hits of snow in three weeks. Well, the first actually happened during the last days of January, but we were still dealing with it Monday, Feb. 1st.
Here’s some irony. We brought my daughter home from the hospital right before it snowed—just over a week before Christmas. Shelby has now seen four snow events in her two and a half months of life. Four! It took something like six years of my childhood before I snow four separate snow events. And she’s not even big enough to make a snowman, have a snowball fight, or even make snow angels. But I was big enough! And I didn’t get any snow.
Not that I’m bitter.
Skies seemed to be overcast for most of the month. My daughter, the poor girl, will be shocked when she realizes the sun typically comes out every day, rather than making one measly appearance each week.
I typically like to see some snow in North Carolina during the winter. But one really good wintry event each year is enough for me. Having four hits of icy weather in is enough to make you wonder if they moved the Mason-Dixon line. It’s a damned Yankee conspiracy, some will say. Then they’ll spit tobacco and crank up the Skynard.
I had a special reason this year to be pissed about the weather. I had three gigs called off due to weather. Only one of them, in the end, was rescheduled. The lesson: Don’t count on gig money until “last call” has been called, staff is putting the chairs on the tables, and kicking the last pitiful drunk out of the bar.
And then the holidays:
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. I have no problem with this one. As a state employee, I had the day off. Cool.
Valentine’s Day: It’s a reason to spend money. It’s also a day when passion is the expectation, rather than just a hope. This year, Nicole and I were both sick. So, I got to spend the money and had no pay off. Excellent!
President’s Day: This is the most useless holiday we have. Okay, Arbor Day might be even weaker, but banks and federal offices are actually closed on President’s Day. I had to work. Most people had to work. But we couldn’t get our money into or out of the bank, which just makes work that much more frustrating.
You know what the main purpose of President’s Day has become? It’s an excuse to put cars on sale. I heard a commercial several times that called to mind the freedoms provided by Washington and Lincoln, and then urged us to take advantage of those freedoms by buying a Jeep.
LINCOLN FREED THE SLAVES!!! (History buffs, please don’t parse that statement, just work with me.) Does Jeep really want to put buying a car on the same level as freeing a race of people from the bonds of slavery? Really? It shocks me that no one in Jeep’s Advertising Department said, “Hey, uh, boss…maybe that claim is a little over the line. Maybe we ought to pull that back just a bit?”
And this year, just to throw something else into the mix, the Olympics mangled my television schedule. It wouldn’t have been so bad if my wife wasn’t such a huge fan of the Olympics. But she is. So now we’re backed up on a number of television shows and we have to close our eyes every time a promo comes on the TV. We also talk loudly so we won’t hear any plot points that are patiently waiting in the DVR.
You know, as I look back on this writing, it really doesn’t seem like there was anything monumentally bad about the month. I realize I’m a blessed individual if I’ve got time to bitch about car commercials and weather and my prime time TV schedule.
I have a friend who lives in Philly and the snow she got would make a southern boy weep.
I have another friend with Seasonal Affective Disorder, and she’s been more miserable than I can fathom this month.
So it looks like maybe I should keep my complaints to myself.
But that’s the trick February plays on you. It doesn’t bring it all at once. It operates in stealth. It nibbles away at you, piece by piece. It pisses you off just a little at a time. Then a big, fat snowstorm comes along and kicks you in the knee.
We’ve endured our 28 days of bleakness, though. February is over. March is here and warmer weather is on the way.
Well…not yet.
We’re all watching the forecast for this next winter storm. Yep, it’s the fifth such storm in the region this winter. If it actually turns out to be a significant event, it will hit North Carolina March 2nd.
But the damned system formed out west in the waning days of February.
It’s February’s middle finger, extended for all, as we get one final reminder of the bleak existence granted to us during the second month each year.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Thanks, Old Facebook Friend
First off, I type these updates in Microsoft Word, then copy and paste into Blogspot. When I type the word “Facebook”, the little red squiggly line comes up underneath. In other words, my Word program doesn’t recognize the word “Facebook”. Word thinks I misspelled something. (I’ve found that Word sometimes has funny ideas about grammar, but that’s a whole other blog.) Still, it’s another way to show how something so pervasive is still so new. Facebook is still a very young entity. It’s new enough, at least, that the term hadn’t been invented when my version of Word was created. But it has quickly become a fixture in my life – you know, like oxygen and food and Star Trek and zombie films.
Now, on to the blog…
“I found a new friend today.”
That’s what I would tell my mother coming home from pre-school, when I met someone I though was kind of cool or had a better collection of GI Joes than me. These days, thousands (tens of thousands? hundreds of thousands?) of people say the same thing, “I found a new friend today.” They say this to those people they actually see in person when they log off from the virtual “friend” gallery we know as Facebook.
What’s funny is that I’ve never actually met someone “new” through Facebook. There are a couple of friend requests I’ve approved after meeting someone in a bar during a gig. But I did see those people in the real world first – you know, the world that has oxygen and trees and plants and real flesh and blood human beings. Facebook’s success isn’t in helping to find new friends. It’s helping to find the old friends – those that we’ve forgotten over the years.
Today, I had the chance to rediscover someone I had forgotten. Not only was it someone from my past, but this person also continues to have a profound effect upon my present. It was pretty serendipitous how I found person, too. And yes, I’m going to tell the whole story and make you wait to find out who it is. (It’s my blog, and I’m trying to create some freakin’ suspense, so play along…)
See, I’m Facebook Friends with a guy at work, who’s actually in a totally different city. We were both on a conference call this morning, and since he and I are Facebook Friends and I didn’t want him to see me updating my Facebook status during the conference call, I was just looking, not posting. Ironically, my Facebook Friend had fewer reservations about using Facebook during the call.
Now this Facebook Friend, outside of his day job, is a really, really good banjo player, which means a lot of his friends come from the music world — fans and fellow musicians, etc. As I was listening to the conference call, I saw that the banjo player had approved a new Facebook friend. It amused me that I was being a good little employee and he wasn’t. So I gave a closer look at the entry that announced his new friend. His new friend turned out to be an old friend of mine. What are the odds?
It was someone I knew from age 11 to 13, when my mother forced me to take up a musical instrument. She wanted me to take piano lessons. I wanted to play guitar. She was happy as long as I was playing something, so guitar it was. She signed me up for lessons at a place called Pearson Music in Winston-Salem. Pearson Music no longer exists and it’s no wonder. Even to my 11 year old eyes, the place seemed way overpriced.
The man who gave lessons in the back room of the store was named Richard Matteson. It was a name I thought of only very occasionally over the years and had nearly forgotten. It was Richard who the banjo player had just friended. (By the way, "friended" also has a red squiggly line.)
Forgetting all thoughts of workplace propriety, I immediately clicked the name, saw a very familiar face, and hit the “Add As A Friend” button. How cool. My old guitar teacher was on Facebook. The man who first told me which frets to fret and which strings to pluck was suddenly right in front of me…online anyway.
You see, my old guitar teacher was (and is) a man of many musical styles. I saw him play some beautiful flamenco music once. He gave me one of the blues tapes (yes, back in the days of tapes) he made. He taught me rock, pop, blues, jazz (only a little) and even heavy metal tunes. These days, it seems, he’s doing a bit more with bluegrass—which is how he and the Banjo Player Facebook Friend From Work Who’s Actually In A Totally Different City got to know each other.
This is despite the fact that Richard now lives in Louisville, KY.
Driving home the serendipity angle, the banjo player approved seven or eight other friend requests in a few minutes, so my guitar teacher’s name was only listed for a short time before the listing changed to “(Banjo Guy) is now friends with (some other dude) and seven other people.” I was looking at just the right place at just the right time.
It was also cool because it gave me the chance to shoot Richard a quick message. While I’ve only thought of him rarely these past few years, when he did come to mind, there was something I hoped I’d be able to do.
You see, my mother bought the guitar, signed me up and paid for the lessons. For that, I've thanked her and will continue to do so. Richard, however, taught me to play, showed me the path to teaching myself, and is just as responsible for the joy and the friends and the cash and the therapy that music brings to my life.
I can’t imagine how my life would be different when I think of the people the guitar has brought into my life. I love the sound of the instrument, I love to play it, and I love to call myself a guitar player. Richard was a big part of that.
Finally twenty one years after my first lesson, I was finally able to say to Richard, if only through a private Facebook message…
“Thanks”.
It’s not a big enough word sometimes.
I hope he realizes that. I hope he has a clue of the effect he’s had on my life. And I hope that someday my playing or teaching or recordings will have a similar effect on someone else.
Again, Richard, “Thanks.”
Now, on to the blog…
“I found a new friend today.”
That’s what I would tell my mother coming home from pre-school, when I met someone I though was kind of cool or had a better collection of GI Joes than me. These days, thousands (tens of thousands? hundreds of thousands?) of people say the same thing, “I found a new friend today.” They say this to those people they actually see in person when they log off from the virtual “friend” gallery we know as Facebook.
What’s funny is that I’ve never actually met someone “new” through Facebook. There are a couple of friend requests I’ve approved after meeting someone in a bar during a gig. But I did see those people in the real world first – you know, the world that has oxygen and trees and plants and real flesh and blood human beings. Facebook’s success isn’t in helping to find new friends. It’s helping to find the old friends – those that we’ve forgotten over the years.
Today, I had the chance to rediscover someone I had forgotten. Not only was it someone from my past, but this person also continues to have a profound effect upon my present. It was pretty serendipitous how I found person, too. And yes, I’m going to tell the whole story and make you wait to find out who it is. (It’s my blog, and I’m trying to create some freakin’ suspense, so play along…)
See, I’m Facebook Friends with a guy at work, who’s actually in a totally different city. We were both on a conference call this morning, and since he and I are Facebook Friends and I didn’t want him to see me updating my Facebook status during the conference call, I was just looking, not posting. Ironically, my Facebook Friend had fewer reservations about using Facebook during the call.
Now this Facebook Friend, outside of his day job, is a really, really good banjo player, which means a lot of his friends come from the music world — fans and fellow musicians, etc. As I was listening to the conference call, I saw that the banjo player had approved a new Facebook friend. It amused me that I was being a good little employee and he wasn’t. So I gave a closer look at the entry that announced his new friend. His new friend turned out to be an old friend of mine. What are the odds?
It was someone I knew from age 11 to 13, when my mother forced me to take up a musical instrument. She wanted me to take piano lessons. I wanted to play guitar. She was happy as long as I was playing something, so guitar it was. She signed me up for lessons at a place called Pearson Music in Winston-Salem. Pearson Music no longer exists and it’s no wonder. Even to my 11 year old eyes, the place seemed way overpriced.
The man who gave lessons in the back room of the store was named Richard Matteson. It was a name I thought of only very occasionally over the years and had nearly forgotten. It was Richard who the banjo player had just friended. (By the way, "friended" also has a red squiggly line.)
Forgetting all thoughts of workplace propriety, I immediately clicked the name, saw a very familiar face, and hit the “Add As A Friend” button. How cool. My old guitar teacher was on Facebook. The man who first told me which frets to fret and which strings to pluck was suddenly right in front of me…online anyway.
You see, my old guitar teacher was (and is) a man of many musical styles. I saw him play some beautiful flamenco music once. He gave me one of the blues tapes (yes, back in the days of tapes) he made. He taught me rock, pop, blues, jazz (only a little) and even heavy metal tunes. These days, it seems, he’s doing a bit more with bluegrass—which is how he and the Banjo Player Facebook Friend From Work Who’s Actually In A Totally Different City got to know each other.
This is despite the fact that Richard now lives in Louisville, KY.
Driving home the serendipity angle, the banjo player approved seven or eight other friend requests in a few minutes, so my guitar teacher’s name was only listed for a short time before the listing changed to “(Banjo Guy) is now friends with (some other dude) and seven other people.” I was looking at just the right place at just the right time.
It was also cool because it gave me the chance to shoot Richard a quick message. While I’ve only thought of him rarely these past few years, when he did come to mind, there was something I hoped I’d be able to do.
You see, my mother bought the guitar, signed me up and paid for the lessons. For that, I've thanked her and will continue to do so. Richard, however, taught me to play, showed me the path to teaching myself, and is just as responsible for the joy and the friends and the cash and the therapy that music brings to my life.
I can’t imagine how my life would be different when I think of the people the guitar has brought into my life. I love the sound of the instrument, I love to play it, and I love to call myself a guitar player. Richard was a big part of that.
Finally twenty one years after my first lesson, I was finally able to say to Richard, if only through a private Facebook message…
“Thanks”.
It’s not a big enough word sometimes.
I hope he realizes that. I hope he has a clue of the effect he’s had on my life. And I hope that someday my playing or teaching or recordings will have a similar effect on someone else.
Again, Richard, “Thanks.”
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The Roads We Choose, and the Detours We're Inclined To Take
I guess one of the most hackneyed, overused and ridiculous things to say is, “I didn’t think life would end up this way.” Well, of course it didn’t end up like you planned it. That’s what living is. You pick the road you want to travel. You start your journey. Then a big 18-wheeler comes along and forces you down a detour you didn’t expect. Maybe you find your way back to the road of your choice. Or maybe that detour never leads back to your original path.
I say this as I sit in a very quiet house at 2:54 a.m. I got home about an hour ago, having played a gig in Charlotte tonight. I’m still awake, because Shelby should be fed in a few minutes and I’m just the man for the job.
Still, being awake at this lonely hour leads me down this line of thought…
I am not on the path I chose for myself.
At age 18 I decided I wanted to be a radio DJ. My thought was, “I’m a pretty good guitar player, but there aren’t too many job openings for rock star, so what other job in the music industry could I take?” I took the radio route.
The problem with radio…well, actually, there are a lot of problems with radio:
—The industry is shrinking. There just aren’t as many jobs as there once was.
—In order to really advance and really make good money, you’ve got to be willing to move. Nicole and I were into that at first. Then we weren’t into it as much. I ended up working at the same small station for eight years.
—Music radio these days is boring. I worked at a music station for a few months. It was the most boring job I’ve ever had. Play a song, run a liner, play a song, read from the script, repeat until a commercial break is scheduled.
So, I got out of radio, took a good job for the good benefits and here I am, right?
Nope. There’s another part of my life that keeps me awake and typing at 3 a.m.
I started playing in a band a couple of years out of college. It was a small band with a high school friend and surprisingly (neither of us realized this until I walked into the first practice) my cousin! Marble Alley is a good band that I still play with sometimes. Otis Redding and Wilson Pickett and all the blues you can handle. I really like playing a lot of that music.
Other opportunities arose though, and the need for money and more gigs led me to another band. Locked and Loaded was (and still is) a southern rock and country band. That was good music, too, though it wasn’t anything I listen to on a regular basis. Still, it was really fun to play with a bunch of really good guys, and extremely talented musicians.
But there came a time (January, 2008) that I looked at our schedule, saw one gig in February and another in May and realized that I was counting on money from gigs that weren’t there. I went searching.
It’s a longer story (and a good one, I’ll tell it sometime) about the path it took me to join SugarSmaX, but suffice it to say, that’s where I landed. It’s where I remain. And I’m happiest in this band.
Performing music with other people and getting paid takes some work and involves some late nights. At most bars, we’ll start playing at 10 p.m. and end at 2 a.m. Now, I’ve always been a night owl, but keep in mind, I’ve got a 40 hour work week, going 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Suddenly, on the weekend, I’m supposed to play on Fridays and Saturdays until 2 a.m., pack up the equipment, return home between 3:30 and 4 a.m. and work my sleep schedule back to normal by the time Monday morning rolls around?
Yep. That’s exactly what I’m supposed to do. I feel just as natural with my guitar strapped on as I do in my favorite pair of blue jeans. I’ve played in front of 5 people and I’ve played in front of 700, and as long as they’re getting into to it, I’ll take either one. (Though I would prefer the 700, obviously.)
I had written music and dabbled with some recording in Locked and Loaded, but we never really got that project off the ground — probably because I left the band. Still, SugarSmaX has been recording, I think the songs are really good, and I’m interested in what a record company might have to say about what we’ve gotten down.
So, do you get the irony? I’ve come full circle, from deciding that being a rock star wasn’t realistic and choosing another path, all the way back to recording music with the back-of-the-mind hope that there might be a little room in the rock star world after all.
Our recordings may never do a thing. We could sell the songs and have someone else record them. We could have a massive hit on our hands. There are lots of options and the worst one is that I’ll have some good recordings of some good musicians, including myself. I can pull it out and let the grandkids listen to it someday!
So that’s how I landed in front of a computer, early on a Sunday morning, typing out a few thoughts about the roads we choose and the detours we’re inclined to take.
Now. It’s late and the baby needs her food.
Mark
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Called Off Due To Snow
I turned 32 Saturday. I’ve had better birthdays.
The plan had been to play two gigs on the weekend. Friday, SugarSmaX was scheduled at Wild Wings Café in Winston Salem. It’s been a month since we’ve done a gig and I was really looking forward to playing again. Saturday, I was going to do play with Marble Alley, a band I play in from time to time, at the High Rock Boat and Ski Club. It’s a beach, soul, and R& B band that I’ve played in for five or six years now, so I was looking forward to playing that one, too.
The fact that my birthday was going to be mixed in on the weekend worked nicely. The better partiers are in SugarSmaX, but Nicole said she’d drive home Saturday (with the club only a few minutes from the house), so I figured that we would have fun both nights. That’s the really cool thing about playing in a band. You have a extra job and extra money, but you always have a place ready for you and your friends to celebrate.
A family gathering was scheduled for Sunday at my parents’ house to finish up a weekend’s worth of celebrating.
“The best laid plans of mice and men…”
The forecast looked daunting from about Tuesday. It improved a little Wednesday and then went to hell Thursday. Friday, it was just a matter of watching what I didn’t want to happen, happen. Snow, ice, etc. And the forecasters, despite the way everyone complains that they never get it right, got it just right.
So, the gigs were cancelled. Money was lost. Nicole and I were stuck at home. Nicole was just as disappointed as I was, because she’s not able to get out of the house that much. Even my parents and Nicole’s dad and stepmother were disappointed, because all of these plans had been contingent on the baby staying with her grandparents over the weekend.
It made me think how strange it is that we celebrate birthdays at all. I suppose someone, somewhere, decided that they needed an excuse for a party. The inventor of the birthday party was fairly self-centered one, I guess. Think about it. It would have been easy to come up with a reason for everyone to celebrate—the fall harvest or Christmas or New Year’s or Halloween or St. Paddy’s Day or Columbus Day or even freakin’ Arbor Day. \
But this inventor of the birthday party didn’t want everyone to just celebrate. He wanted everyone to celebrate him.
Or her. Either way, it was brilliant. And I suppose it’s nice for everyone to have a day dedicated to himself or herself, even if the concept itself is, by definition, wholly self-centered.
So, instead of focusing on the fact that my birthday, like our gigs, was essentially cancelled this year due to snow, we’ll find a way to stretch the celebration into next week. The fact that we’re celebrating is an arbitrary thing. The day on which we celebrate doesn’t have to be any less arbitrary.
So, pick a day. Let’s have some fun.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Rock (and roll) a bye baby
The other day, I walked in on Nicole exposing our child to something I really disapproved of. It’s nothing that will harm little Shelby – at least, I don’t think it will. But it was something I wish my wife would have discussed with me.
We know that Shelby has been hearing music since before she was born. While pregnant, Nicole would go to my band’s gigs, and the volume of my guitar certainly made it to the little one’s developing ears in utero.
The band plays a lot of different types of music, from hard rock to classic rock to some dance and rap tunes. The variety works for the crowd and makes it more interesting for the band members.
That variety has always been reflected in the family CD collection, too. Nicole and I each have wide-ranging taste in music. When we combined our CD’s more than a decade ago, the mix became even more diverse. Barbara Mandrel was just a few slots above Metallica. When Nicole added ABBA to the collection, my Aerosmith CD’s ceased to be first in alphabetical order. That hurt.
We each have favorites that the other hates. But more often, our tastes cross over, mainly when it comes to rock and roll. AC/DC was always part of both our collections. Aerosmith, Guns and Roses, the Rolling Stones, Van Halen, the Eagles, and Motley Crue are bands loved by both husband and wife, now mother and father.
When Nicole got pregnant, we joked about having a “rock and roll baby”. Me being a guitar player, in a band, and our musical tastes being what they are, it just made sense. Nicole even purchased two “onesies” for Shelby – with AC/DC and KISS across the front. They’re really cute.
Lately, while spending time on the computer in the afternoons, Nicole has taken to exposing Shelby to music. Later, Nicole will tell me which tunes Shelby liked (slept through) or didn’t like (cried). Shelby apparently has an affinity for Soundgarden (Outshined), Aerosmith (Rag Doll), Staind (It’s Been A While), Guns and Roses (Welcome to the Jungle), and even Price (Let’s Go Crazy). She didn’t like Queen, which is strange, because it’s not like Nicole played “Bicycle” or anything. Still, I like the idea that my daughter is getting a solid dose of rock and roll.
Friday, however, I found Nicole playing something truly offensive—at least, to my ears.
As I walked into the house after a long day at work, streaming from the computer speakers were the unmistakable harmonies of The Statler Brothers. The Kid’s Last Fight. Whatever Happened To Randolph Scott? I’ll Go To My Grave Lovin’ You. Flowers On The Wall. It was an ugly scene. Even worse, Shelby seemed perfectly content to listen.
Nicole needs to understand. Shelby’s not going to like music I disapprove of. She’s my daughter and will obviously like what I like. She’ll always dislike the things that I hate, right? Right?!?
(sigh) Okay. I realize that kids have minds of their own. And I realize my daughter is probably going to, at times, enjoy things that Mom and Dad don’t—only for the simple fact that Mom and Dad don’t like it. Maybe it’s good that Lady Gaga is doing her thing now. It’s my hope that she’ll burn out before Shelby has control of the radio dial.
Still, it’s not fair for Nicole to undermine my dislike of the Statler Brothers when I’m out of the house. I have two choices. I can either move the offending Statler Brothers CD’s to a safer place (the trash) or take some proactive steps of my own.
I have instituted KISS listening parties each Thursday night. Me and my daughter are gonna rock out to the hottest band in the land. The mighty KISS. And after a few hours of Paul’s vocal, Gene’s bass, Peter drums and Ace’s rockin’ guitar, my baby girl will scream bloody murder and cry her eyes out when she hears The Statler Brothers.
Just like her Dad.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Dog Has Turned On Me
When I lean over to take the baby from my wife, I’m in danger. This wasn’t always the case. But recently, one of our dogs has turned on me. Yep. A normal day now is just an uneasy truce between me and our miniature poodle—with occasional moments of friendliness, but more often, moments of barred teeth and growling.
Hershey is a miniature chocolate poodle. Anyone who thinks poodles are snooty dogs with their tails held high and an air of superiority are sadly mistaken. At least, they are when it comes to Hershey. He’s the most lovable dog I’ve ever had. He’s always incredibly happy to see us. If I sit down on the couch, he’s right beside me with his head on my lap. Each night, when we go to bed, Hershey curls up beside me.
Those things still happen, but Hershey has also taken to snapping and even biting me. I should be angry. But Hershey’s motives, it seems, are pure.
The reason? Shelby. Our daughter has changed the household dynamic.
Hershey actually seemed relatively unaffected when we brought Shelby home from the hospital. That’s not to say he wasn’t interested. In the first week, he would sniff at the baby several times a day, trying to figure out what was up with the funny smelling bundle of blankets.
Then one night, Nicole and I were lying in bed while Shelby was in the pack and play bassinet. Hershey jumped from his typical spot in bed (beside me) and headed elsewhere. I heard him jump again. And Shelby made a gurgle. As it turns out, Hershey decided that there was someone else he’d rather snuggle with to sleep. It wasn’t me. When I crawled out of bed and looked into the pack and play, Hershey was curled beside the baby.
For the record, with the risk of SIDS, I did not allow that situation to continue.
But it did show that Hershey had taken a liking to the family’s newest addition. Little did I know, his affection for Shelby would mean danger—but only for me.
A few days later, Nicole needed me to take Shelby from her. She was on the couch, with Hershey curled up nearby. I leaned down to take the baby and the unexpected happened. Hershey snapped. I didn’t quite believe that he had done it, so I reached for the baby again. He tried to bite me again. I yelled at him, he cowered (because he’s a wimp) and I took the baby.
I won’t be defeated by a 12 lb. dog.
Still. It’s nice to know that in a pinch, Shelby will have someone who will at least make an effort to protect her from perceived danger.
I just wish Hershey would stop perceiving ME as danger.
It’s funny how quickly he has become attached. We left Shelby at the in-laws last week. As Nicole and I arrived home and let the dogs out of the bedroom, Hershey made us smile. He ran around the house, sniffing at the baby car seat, obviously searching for Shelby. He went to the baby swing, the little vibrating chair, back to the car seat, and made another lap of the house. A person is truly a part of the family when they’re missed.
My daughter has a buddy, a canine brother, and even a protector. It’s nice.
But if the little bastard ever successfully bites me, look out. It’s on.
15 Albums - A Facebook Reprint
This was one of those Facebook posts that was going around a while back. As you can tell, I really took to this one. There were supposed to be 15 albums listed. I have 17, because I couldn’t keep any of the following out of the list. The musical choices probably say a lot about me. I don’t know what that is, so feel free to enlighten me.
The request was for 15 albums that had "such a profound effect on you they sucked you in and took you over for days, weeks, months, years. These are the albums that you can use to identify time, places, people, and emotions. These are the albums that no matter what they were thought of musically shaped your world."
A lot of these albums, today, I consider cheesy. But I’m being honest. And don't lie, in the late 80’s and early 90’s you were listening to the same stuff. :)
1. Bon Jovi - Slippery When Wet - I remember hearing "Wanted Dead or Alive" at the pool one summer and thinking, "What was that. I need to hear that again." I was only 7 or 8 years old.
2. The Beatles - "Let It Be" was my introduction, but the "Greatest Hits 1967-1970" made the biggest impact. Staggering pieces of songwriting, bridging the gaps between classical, English pub songs, psychedelia, and rock. No style, form, or instrument was off-limits
3. Def Leppard - Hysteria - This was one of the first rock albums I owned. I remember the videos. Just very cool, very rock and roll. The lyrics didn't mean much and didn't have to. The guitar work was so produced and so slick. And the drummer only had ONE ARM! It hooked me at a young age.
4. Garth Brooks - Ropin' the Wind - It's something the whole family listened to before I was old enough to have some say in what we listened to. The songs were great, whether you like country or not. It was also the idea that country music could be fun. And loud. This was the second concert I saw live, and it was like a rock and roll show.
5. Aerosmith - Greatest Hits, Pump - I discovered these albums around the same time, via my cousin Marty. It was a great representation of the early years and the comeback years. Thirty years later, you can still rock, even harder? Okay, cool. Aerosmith is the American version of the Rolling Stones. But they're better. Better singer, better guitar players. You could argue that the Stones had better songs, but that's an opinion. My first concert was the Get A Grip tour.
6. The Black Crowes - Shake Your Moneymaker - I love Stones-influenced bands, much more than I actually like the Rolling Stones. Odd. The Black Crowes were young and vibrant and doing music that harkened back to a time about 30-35 years earlier. Chris Robinson has an incredible whisky-soaked voice and Rich Robinson's guitar was tuned to open chords - something that was alien to play, then frustrating, then very very cool.
7. Guns and Roses - Appetite for Destruction - I remember thinking, "this is music my parents might not want me to listen to. But I really want to hear it." I felt more of an impact from that album as time went on. I still learn from what Slash and Izzy did when it comes to having two guitars in one band. An amazing piece of musicianship, with anger from Axl that was raw and unfettered, unlike the over-produced posturing he gave on much of the Use Your Illlusion albums and Chinese Democracy. My band now plays "Sweet Child of Mine" every show and the audience always, always gets off on it.
8. Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble - Texas Flood - My first entre into the blues. That three chord progression, so very structured, with so much going on over top. An 8 or 12 bar blues makes me want to move. Then it makes me want to play. This led me down a totally different path, musically. In the end, I'll always be a blues based guitarist.
9. Jimi Hendrix - Are You Experienced? - I pulled this out of my Dad's record collection and realized what the next step from blues could be. I'm not a huge fan of the really stoned stuff. But the songs were and still are amazing. The ideas Jimi had remain staggering. He was simply on a different level.
10. AC/DC - Back in Black. Wow. More blues based guitar, but from a different direction. Guitar from heaven or hell. One way or the other, those riffs weren't created on this earthly plane. I eventually learned to play the entire album. Still can.
11. The Eagles - Greatest Hits Volume 1 - This is songwriting that is just staggering in it's beauty. We listened to this as a family when I was young. I rediscovered them as a teen and became a huge fan of the band, and can generally name which of the band's seven different members (over their entire career) were playing on which album. Harmonies. On my goodness, the harmonies. The songwriting. Lyrics that read like poetry and your buddy talking to you at the bar - at the same time! And of course, the Hotel California guitar solo may be the best of all time.
12. Jackson Browne - Practically an honorary member of the Eagles. He helped write Take It Easy and was part of the California sound. Again, the lyrics. Wow. Poetry and self-importance only surpassed by Bono and Springsteen. Still, it was spectacular and Jackson Brown's music always hit me closer to home than U2 or The Boss. Don't know why. It just did.
13. James Taylor - Greatest Hits Volume 1 - This is when I realized that wimp music was worth listening to. Much the same as the effect of the Eagles and Jackson Browne. But the stripped down nature of the guitar work was incredible. If you're by yourself (or with a girl) it's hard to go wrong here. The only problem--the music sounds far easier to play than it actually is. "Fire and Rain" and "Country Road" and "Something in the Way She Moves" all kill me.
14. Metallica - The Black Album - Suddenly, heavy metal had melodies and harmonies. And it suddenly made sense to me. I had liked "One" from "And Justice For All," but this entire album again turned me in a direction I hadn't considered. And I loved it. So very heavy. My favorite song off the album is still "Sad But True."
15. Pink Floyd - The Wall - I like "The Wall" a lot better than "Dark Side of the Moon." It feels deeper to me. I was also getting into it around the same time my English class was getting into the Expatriat poets--T.S. Eliot, etc. I liked them both a lot and saw a lot of crossover in subject matter. Again, so many levels. I can always go back and find something new.
16. Steely Dan - Best of - This is the first music I discoverd as a guitar player that I never tried to learn. I didn't see the point. It was perfect as it was. I would never be in a group that could pull it off, with the horns and keys and everything else that was going on. But I was still hooked through the nose on this album. These guys are the closest I'll ever get to really getting off on jazz.
17. Led Zeppelin – II - This is the first Led Zeppelin album I owned and loved. It has classic songs that are still played (or even over-played on the radio today. “Ramble On,” “Living, Lovin’ Maid,” “Heartbreaker,” and more. And possibly my favorite riff of all time is in Bring It On Home. It led to a love of the band and an appreciation of Jimmy Page’s influences. Their impact can’t be overstated.
Honorarble mentions: These are other albums I got hooked on that might not have rated all the time I put into the above.
Journey - Greatest Hits
Motley Crue - Dr. Feelgood
Janis Joplin - Greatest Hits
Soul Asylum - Grave Dancer's Union
Hootie and the Blowfish - Cracked Rearview and Fairweather Johnson
The Beach Boys - Greatest Hits (loved it as a kid)
The Refreshments - Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big and Buzzy - You know "Banditos". Trust me. Look up the lyrics.
Bare Naked Ladies (Greatest Hits)
Tesla - Greatest Hits
And of course, the trash rock like Warrant, Poison, and others taught me a lot of good guitar. Worth mentioning.
The request was for 15 albums that had "such a profound effect on you they sucked you in and took you over for days, weeks, months, years. These are the albums that you can use to identify time, places, people, and emotions. These are the albums that no matter what they were thought of musically shaped your world."
A lot of these albums, today, I consider cheesy. But I’m being honest. And don't lie, in the late 80’s and early 90’s you were listening to the same stuff. :)
1. Bon Jovi - Slippery When Wet - I remember hearing "Wanted Dead or Alive" at the pool one summer and thinking, "What was that. I need to hear that again." I was only 7 or 8 years old.
2. The Beatles - "Let It Be" was my introduction, but the "Greatest Hits 1967-1970" made the biggest impact. Staggering pieces of songwriting, bridging the gaps between classical, English pub songs, psychedelia, and rock. No style, form, or instrument was off-limits
3. Def Leppard - Hysteria - This was one of the first rock albums I owned. I remember the videos. Just very cool, very rock and roll. The lyrics didn't mean much and didn't have to. The guitar work was so produced and so slick. And the drummer only had ONE ARM! It hooked me at a young age.
4. Garth Brooks - Ropin' the Wind - It's something the whole family listened to before I was old enough to have some say in what we listened to. The songs were great, whether you like country or not. It was also the idea that country music could be fun. And loud. This was the second concert I saw live, and it was like a rock and roll show.
5. Aerosmith - Greatest Hits, Pump - I discovered these albums around the same time, via my cousin Marty. It was a great representation of the early years and the comeback years. Thirty years later, you can still rock, even harder? Okay, cool. Aerosmith is the American version of the Rolling Stones. But they're better. Better singer, better guitar players. You could argue that the Stones had better songs, but that's an opinion. My first concert was the Get A Grip tour.
6. The Black Crowes - Shake Your Moneymaker - I love Stones-influenced bands, much more than I actually like the Rolling Stones. Odd. The Black Crowes were young and vibrant and doing music that harkened back to a time about 30-35 years earlier. Chris Robinson has an incredible whisky-soaked voice and Rich Robinson's guitar was tuned to open chords - something that was alien to play, then frustrating, then very very cool.
7. Guns and Roses - Appetite for Destruction - I remember thinking, "this is music my parents might not want me to listen to. But I really want to hear it." I felt more of an impact from that album as time went on. I still learn from what Slash and Izzy did when it comes to having two guitars in one band. An amazing piece of musicianship, with anger from Axl that was raw and unfettered, unlike the over-produced posturing he gave on much of the Use Your Illlusion albums and Chinese Democracy. My band now plays "Sweet Child of Mine" every show and the audience always, always gets off on it.
8. Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble - Texas Flood - My first entre into the blues. That three chord progression, so very structured, with so much going on over top. An 8 or 12 bar blues makes me want to move. Then it makes me want to play. This led me down a totally different path, musically. In the end, I'll always be a blues based guitarist.
9. Jimi Hendrix - Are You Experienced? - I pulled this out of my Dad's record collection and realized what the next step from blues could be. I'm not a huge fan of the really stoned stuff. But the songs were and still are amazing. The ideas Jimi had remain staggering. He was simply on a different level.
10. AC/DC - Back in Black. Wow. More blues based guitar, but from a different direction. Guitar from heaven or hell. One way or the other, those riffs weren't created on this earthly plane. I eventually learned to play the entire album. Still can.
11. The Eagles - Greatest Hits Volume 1 - This is songwriting that is just staggering in it's beauty. We listened to this as a family when I was young. I rediscovered them as a teen and became a huge fan of the band, and can generally name which of the band's seven different members (over their entire career) were playing on which album. Harmonies. On my goodness, the harmonies. The songwriting. Lyrics that read like poetry and your buddy talking to you at the bar - at the same time! And of course, the Hotel California guitar solo may be the best of all time.
12. Jackson Browne - Practically an honorary member of the Eagles. He helped write Take It Easy and was part of the California sound. Again, the lyrics. Wow. Poetry and self-importance only surpassed by Bono and Springsteen. Still, it was spectacular and Jackson Brown's music always hit me closer to home than U2 or The Boss. Don't know why. It just did.
13. James Taylor - Greatest Hits Volume 1 - This is when I realized that wimp music was worth listening to. Much the same as the effect of the Eagles and Jackson Browne. But the stripped down nature of the guitar work was incredible. If you're by yourself (or with a girl) it's hard to go wrong here. The only problem--the music sounds far easier to play than it actually is. "Fire and Rain" and "Country Road" and "Something in the Way She Moves" all kill me.
14. Metallica - The Black Album - Suddenly, heavy metal had melodies and harmonies. And it suddenly made sense to me. I had liked "One" from "And Justice For All," but this entire album again turned me in a direction I hadn't considered. And I loved it. So very heavy. My favorite song off the album is still "Sad But True."
15. Pink Floyd - The Wall - I like "The Wall" a lot better than "Dark Side of the Moon." It feels deeper to me. I was also getting into it around the same time my English class was getting into the Expatriat poets--T.S. Eliot, etc. I liked them both a lot and saw a lot of crossover in subject matter. Again, so many levels. I can always go back and find something new.
16. Steely Dan - Best of - This is the first music I discoverd as a guitar player that I never tried to learn. I didn't see the point. It was perfect as it was. I would never be in a group that could pull it off, with the horns and keys and everything else that was going on. But I was still hooked through the nose on this album. These guys are the closest I'll ever get to really getting off on jazz.
17. Led Zeppelin – II - This is the first Led Zeppelin album I owned and loved. It has classic songs that are still played (or even over-played on the radio today. “Ramble On,” “Living, Lovin’ Maid,” “Heartbreaker,” and more. And possibly my favorite riff of all time is in Bring It On Home. It led to a love of the band and an appreciation of Jimmy Page’s influences. Their impact can’t be overstated.
Honorarble mentions: These are other albums I got hooked on that might not have rated all the time I put into the above.
Journey - Greatest Hits
Motley Crue - Dr. Feelgood
Janis Joplin - Greatest Hits
Soul Asylum - Grave Dancer's Union
Hootie and the Blowfish - Cracked Rearview and Fairweather Johnson
The Beach Boys - Greatest Hits (loved it as a kid)
The Refreshments - Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big and Buzzy - You know "Banditos". Trust me. Look up the lyrics.
Bare Naked Ladies (Greatest Hits)
Tesla - Greatest Hits
And of course, the trash rock like Warrant, Poison, and others taught me a lot of good guitar. Worth mentioning.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
My Top Ten of 2009
It’s easy to live your daily life, without consideration of the accomplishments, struggles, and hurdles overcome in the past year. Mine are listed below, typed before the new year actually arrived, but alas, just now posted. If you're interested, my life is laid before you...
10. Welcoming a new nephew to the family
Carson Everhart was welcomed to the family this past April, my sister’s second son. Of course, that wouldn’t be the only family member added this year.
9. Another year of SugarSmaX gigging, frat gigs, etc.
The band continued to gig at more quality locations, and to do so consistently. We’ve now had year-long monthly engagements at two clubs, Fifty One in Pineville and Caveman’s in Mint Hill. Here’s to another year of gigs, more fans and more money!
8. Successfully helming the Disney event
At my day job (which will remain unnamed) I was put in charge of an event that grew beyond what I originally expected. Having started that job less than a year earlier (when planning began), it was not something that was going to be particularly easy. However, the museum staff are grizzled veterans at big events and made it all a success. I got some credit and was proud of how I performed.
7. Buying a new car
It’s not that Nicole and I bought the greatest, nicest car ever seen. It’s not even particularly notable, a decade old Nissan Altima. However, it did make me a happy man that when we needed to purchase a car, we found the money to do it, and the wherewithal to hold out until we found a quality car for a great price.
6. Recording for the SugarSmaX album
This will hopefully be my number one choice next year. Most of the rhythm guitar parts are recorded for what promises to be some very good music. With vocals scheduled to be added over the coming months, we should have a really cool musical document of these four people and possibly a product that people will be willing to spend some of the hard earned money to have.
5. Becoming closer to a number of friends
Nicole and I were able to strengthen some relationships this year, particularly with people we’ve come to know through SugarSmaX. Those relationships have become more important, especially as we Shelby’s birth approached. We really appreciated that support, which means more than we’ve said. And for that, shame on us.
4. Songwriting
I feel like I’ve been able to write songs that I will be proud of for the rest of my life. This is truly the first time I’ve been able to say that, and thanks of course goes to Mick and Karen for being in a position to want to record, and to want to hear what I have to say, lyrically and musically. While some of these songs have been built from the ground up, the one I’m most proud of is a true team effort. Mick wrote the music, I wrote the lyrics, and Karen applied incredible vocals and harmonies to bring those words to life. I can't wait for everyone to hear it.
3. Rochester trip/wedding
Nicole and I took our first week long vacation/trip since our first anniversary. At first, traveling to Rochester to celebrate my cousin’s wedding felt a little like an obligation. I’m so very thankful, however, that we had that reason forcing us to take to the highway. We had a really good time seeing and staying with Marty, while Melissa’s wedding was a spectacular occasion.
2. Preparing the house for a new addition
There was a fairly large task undertaken this year to prepare the house for a very big change. Nicole and I had to take a room that has been the “forgotten items wasteland” and make that room ready to serve the purpose for which it was always intended. Preparing the nursery impacted every other room in the house in one way or another and took an enormous amount of time. Again, I have to thank Mick, as well as Jason, for their help in getting the room painted. Helping hands are always, always appreciated.
1. Shelby
Nicole and I welcomed our daughter into this world December 15th, 2009. There’s a far longer piece of writing that deals with my feelings on the birth of Shelby, so I’ll let that piece speak for itself. Suffice it to say, there was no greater gift that we could have received. Thanks to all those who contributed in so many different ways – through baby showers and gifts and support and advice and jokes and a million other things.
Thanks for walking with...
10. Welcoming a new nephew to the family
Carson Everhart was welcomed to the family this past April, my sister’s second son. Of course, that wouldn’t be the only family member added this year.
9. Another year of SugarSmaX gigging, frat gigs, etc.
The band continued to gig at more quality locations, and to do so consistently. We’ve now had year-long monthly engagements at two clubs, Fifty One in Pineville and Caveman’s in Mint Hill. Here’s to another year of gigs, more fans and more money!
8. Successfully helming the Disney event
At my day job (which will remain unnamed) I was put in charge of an event that grew beyond what I originally expected. Having started that job less than a year earlier (when planning began), it was not something that was going to be particularly easy. However, the museum staff are grizzled veterans at big events and made it all a success. I got some credit and was proud of how I performed.
7. Buying a new car
It’s not that Nicole and I bought the greatest, nicest car ever seen. It’s not even particularly notable, a decade old Nissan Altima. However, it did make me a happy man that when we needed to purchase a car, we found the money to do it, and the wherewithal to hold out until we found a quality car for a great price.
6. Recording for the SugarSmaX album
This will hopefully be my number one choice next year. Most of the rhythm guitar parts are recorded for what promises to be some very good music. With vocals scheduled to be added over the coming months, we should have a really cool musical document of these four people and possibly a product that people will be willing to spend some of the hard earned money to have.
5. Becoming closer to a number of friends
Nicole and I were able to strengthen some relationships this year, particularly with people we’ve come to know through SugarSmaX. Those relationships have become more important, especially as we Shelby’s birth approached. We really appreciated that support, which means more than we’ve said. And for that, shame on us.
4. Songwriting
I feel like I’ve been able to write songs that I will be proud of for the rest of my life. This is truly the first time I’ve been able to say that, and thanks of course goes to Mick and Karen for being in a position to want to record, and to want to hear what I have to say, lyrically and musically. While some of these songs have been built from the ground up, the one I’m most proud of is a true team effort. Mick wrote the music, I wrote the lyrics, and Karen applied incredible vocals and harmonies to bring those words to life. I can't wait for everyone to hear it.
3. Rochester trip/wedding
Nicole and I took our first week long vacation/trip since our first anniversary. At first, traveling to Rochester to celebrate my cousin’s wedding felt a little like an obligation. I’m so very thankful, however, that we had that reason forcing us to take to the highway. We had a really good time seeing and staying with Marty, while Melissa’s wedding was a spectacular occasion.
2. Preparing the house for a new addition
There was a fairly large task undertaken this year to prepare the house for a very big change. Nicole and I had to take a room that has been the “forgotten items wasteland” and make that room ready to serve the purpose for which it was always intended. Preparing the nursery impacted every other room in the house in one way or another and took an enormous amount of time. Again, I have to thank Mick, as well as Jason, for their help in getting the room painted. Helping hands are always, always appreciated.
1. Shelby
Nicole and I welcomed our daughter into this world December 15th, 2009. There’s a far longer piece of writing that deals with my feelings on the birth of Shelby, so I’ll let that piece speak for itself. Suffice it to say, there was no greater gift that we could have received. Thanks to all those who contributed in so many different ways – through baby showers and gifts and support and advice and jokes and a million other things.
Thanks for walking with...
Rochester, NY
We often take pictures during our vacations, but rarely have I seen a written review. Knowing that I’ll forget some details of this trip, I thought I’d tell the story. Why? Maybe I’m saving myself the trouble of remembering. Maybe I’m just arrogant enough to think people want to read it. But mostly, I think it’s the fact that Nicole and I took this trip with a little person growing in belly. Someday that little one will be told about taking a trip to another country while still in the safe confines of the womb and I thought it would be nice to get the story right.
Key West, Vegas, Disney World, or…Rochester?
My cousin Melissa sent her wedding invitation to us early this year. That side of the family moved to Rochester, NY when I was very young due to my uncle’s job at Xerox. My cousins pretty much grew up there and it’s where Melissa met her fiancé, Phil. It was a no-brainer as to where they would get married. The question was: Would we be there?
We probably wouldn’t have had this week away from home if we hadn’t felt a little bit obligated to attend the wedding. In the end, the trip turned out to be a blessing. But with a baby on the way and money always tight, my first thought was: Do we really have the cash? Then Melissa’s brother, my cousin Marty, offered his house in Rochester to us. We would still have to board the dogs, since Mom and Dad were heading north as well, but with no hotel bills, the cost was very reasonable for a week away from home. If only Marty lived in Key West….
We also figured we could add in a few “vacation-like” aspects to the trip. For a couple of months I tried to figure out a way to work New York City into the trip. After a lot of talking and figuring, there was just too much we wanted to do in the city in order to fit it into the schedule. Still, we figured we could at least visit Niagara Falls. Seeing my cousins would be the highlight anyway, especially Marty, as he spent several months in North Carolina last year and we had gotten very close to him.
Of course, there were some issues getting ready for the trip. The worst of it was the fact that I worked myself into a head cold the week leading up to the vacation, and, hard as I tried not to, gave the cold to Nicole before we left. She never got the sore throat or achiness. She just had to deal with an inability to breath through her nose for most of the trip. She complained very little and soldiered through the inconvenience, a credit to a good wife.
North to Rochester
While my parents, sister, brother-in-law and their two children were all traveling together, Nicole and I decided to do the trip on our own. For one thing, the other Browns were splitting the trip into two days (with a new-born, you would, too.) I wanted to avoid the hotel bill. I also figured I could do the drive in a single day without too much trouble.
Then everyone started telling me how hard it would be. It’s a long drive. Nicole and I would have to split the driving. She’s pregnant, the hormones will kick in, she’ll grab the wheel and you’ll all die. Or you’ll fall asleep, killing yourself, your wife, and your unborn child. At least I wouldn’t have to live with the guilt. Every story seemed to end with our potential demise. I admit it. I got worried…
…which is probably why the drive was so easy. It was really no problem. We made it to Rochester in about 11 ½ hours, maybe a little less. I felt good. No soreness, as long as I kept my wallet out of my back pocket. Otherwise, my back started to hurt.
We substantially beat the time on the Google directions and the drive was really beautiful. While I-81 was fairly boring (Nicole slept through Maryland) there are some areas of US 15 that rival the Blue Ridge Parkway. And it didn’t take the 70 years of construction that went into BRP to create it.
Casa De Marty
Upon arrival, we met up with my cousins, who were all there to greet us. My cousin, Marty, in particular, made it a great stay in Rochester. He not only opened his house to us, but also gave us his bed. It was upstairs in a bonus room of the house. There was a new mattress, sheets were washed and waiting upon our arrival and it was actually kind of romantic.
Reaching our destination, we met Marty’s girlfriend, Marne. She’s a spectacular girl, a teacher for special needs children, who has a special talent for putting up with my cousin and his peculiar need to pass gas more often (and more loudly) than most. She also plays guitar and was an Irish dancer. Nicole and I definitely approved, despite the fact that her name and my cousin’s name rhyme. Say it fast: Marty, Marne, Marty, Marne, Marty, Marne, Marty, Marne. Not that easy, huh?
Marty slept on an air mattress while we slept in his bed. He paid for nearly every meal. He wouldn’t allow us to drop a dime until breakfast the morning we left. (If only the Canadians had been so nice—see below). All in all, Marty was the most gracious host. The only repayment he asked was that we bring a particular type of liquor not available by law in the Empire State. (Here’s a hint: It rhymes with “never fear”). It was a great deal – a deal we would have been fools to pass up.
Before the trip, I got a bit worried upon hearing that Marty had a new roommate. My wife and I would be staying in a house with some strange guy, right? That’s a bit weird and a little uncomfortable. We were going to be showering under the same roof. What if he tried to check out Nicole in the shower? This could have been bad.
Instead, we met Nick, a spectacular guy and one of the very nice surprises of the trip. He and Marty had worked together for a couple of years and when Marty had a vacancy at the house, Nick took the spot. He moved in a few days before we arrived. Nick is a 22 year old who comes off as someone who has lived a lot of life in a short time. It’s because he has. He has a good job, knows his food, orders wine like an aficionado and is improving at Rock Band – I think.
How We Snuck Into Canada To See Niagara Falls
While Nicole and I planned to visit Niagara Falls, we didn’t plan it very well. It was a week before the trip that we were told about new regulations regarding travel to Canada. The bottom line is, without a passport, you can’t. The stinks because the American side of the falls just doesn’t offer much. It’s far less spectacular than the Canadian side and the experience would just be diminished. But we didn’t have time to get passports. We would have to do without Canada…or so we thought. (That’s called foreshadowing).
Still, we figured it would be worth the two hour drive to one of the most spectacular natural attractions ever. I Googled the directions the night before. One set of directions had “Now Entering Canada”. Another didn’t. I chose the one that didn’t, because, without passports, we didn’t think we could get into the land of bacon.
As we drove toward the falls however, I pulled the car around a corner that put us…at the border crossing. And there was nowhere to turn around. Besides, I figure, if you hit the border crossing and quickly try to turn around, someone’s probably going to think you’re doing something you shouldn’t. Can you see the news coverage?
A pregnant woman and a father-to-be were detained by SWAT today after acting suspiciously in front of border crossing agents. After 18 hours of interrogation, it was determined they trying to smuggle four Star Trek books and several empty McDonalds wrappers into the country. Cut to a shot a shot of me and Nicole being shackled and slammed across the hood of the car.
So we cruised up to the border agent’s booth to explain the situation and ask how we could head back to the US side of the falls.
The agent, an American woman, was very cool about it. As I started into my explanation, she stopped me with, “Well, what documents do you have?” Being unprepared, Nicole and I handed over only our driver’s licenses and answered the agent’s questions, assuring her that we had no massive stashes of liquor, tobacco or firearms in the trunk.
The border agent told us she was satisfied that we were citizens and would let us through. It was a strange choice of words. She was “satisfied” that we were citizens. Is that the standard by which people leave and enter our country. Still, this was working in our favor. We were ready to go. She also told us to expect a lecture when were ready to cross back into the US.
The actual trip to Niagara Falls is better explained through pictures, so check them out in the photos section. Suffice it to say that we hit the tunnels under the falls and rode the “Maid of the Mist”, a boat, into the middle of Horseshoe Falls. I got very little out of the tunnels but the Maid was a really neat ride that won’t soon be forgotten.
The money we dropped in Canada, however, was another story. The tunnels and Maid of the Mist were about $30 each. That wasn’t so bad. When we found we were without batteries for either camera, I thought we’d take a hit. And yes, we did. We dropped another $30 for batteries. For six AA batteries! Oh, and to cross the border into Canada? That’s an $18 toll charge. All in all, it was about $150 to check out a massive international attraction. Okay, okay, okay. Maybe that wasn’t so bad, after all. But still, $30 for six AA batteries? That hurts.
The other neat thing about Niagara Falls was the international nature of it. And I’m not just talking about Canada and the US. We saw every color and numerous faiths and nationalities represented. More than I expected. Asians, it seems, are particularly drawn to the area. There were people speaking Italian in front of us boarding the “Maid of the Mist.” We heard French, German (I think) and other languages I didn’t recognize. Indians in full headdress were present. Hispanics were on the US’s opposite border. And while language may have separated many of us, there is no language barrier when you hand a camera to someone to take a picture of you and your girl. That, it seems, is an action not bound by borders.
On the way back into the US, we got the expected lecture. A US border agent (strangely) with a French accent, questioned us in detail. Why didn’t you bring your documents? Why are you in this part of the country? Whose car is this? Boxers or briefs?
We had all the right answers (apparently) and the border agent and his French accent decided to let us reenter our country of origin. We had done it! We crossed the border illegally! Twice! It was a Bonnie and Clyde moment for us both.
The Family, the Wedding and the Music
Marty continued to play a great host throughout the week, despite his car breaking down and some unexpected issues. We spent some good quality time with he and Marne. We got to see my cousin Melissa and fiancé Phil several times. We got to see Marty’s son, Skyler – a rarity due to time and distance. We even got to see Marty’s ex, Sharon, who accompanied him to North Carolina last year and became a good friend.
The wedding was held at the Esperanza Mansion in Bluff Point, NY – a beautiful place about an hour’s drive from Rochester. We drove out twice, once for the rehearsal dinner and the next night for the wedding. The wedding went off without a hitch. My six year old nephew, Mason, performed his ring-bearer duties admirably and looked great in his tux.
The reception was very cool, in a ball room with great food – especially the mushroom ravioli – and a live band.
The music was all reggae, as Phil, the groom, is a huge fan of the music. After he and Melissa had their first dance and the parents got their dances out of the way, I asked Nicole if she wanted to take the floor. The band was rocking Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry”. As we stood to dance it occurred to Nicole we would be the only ones on the dance floor. A deer staring into oncoming headlights would have looked casual compared to Nicole in that moment. I assured her we wouldn’t be going solo for long. The floor quickly filled up. It was great music for a great night. And those lyrics, from now on, will take me back to that dance.
Rise up this morning, smiled with the rising sun
Three little birds pitch by my doorstep
Singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true
Saying, this is my message to you:
Don’t worry, ‘bout a thing. ‘Cause every little thing’s, gonna be alright
Homeward Bound
The trip home was uneventful. Since we came back the day after the wedding, we didn’t actually hit the road in Rochester until about 1:15 p.m. It was a little tougher going home, because, I think, I knew how late we would be. We arrived home at about 12:45 a.m. – again making the trip in 11 ½ hours. And that includes the bathroom breaks for a pregnant woman. Nicole slept through Maryland again, but that was okay, since it gave me an hour to listen to Alice in Chains.
The Final Tally
Let me take a moment to give a shout out to the 1998 Nissan Altima. We bought it this past year and could not have made the trip without it. The car took on more than 2000 miles in seven days and killed thousands of bugs. I bonded with that car on the trip.
Thanks go to Mom and Dad for taking care of the dogs for a few days to save us the cost of boarding them.
Thanks again, of course, to Marty for opening his home to us.
And of course, congratulations go out to Melissa and Phil who are starting their new life. They’re great together and get my vote of confidence. And they made us get out of the house and away from my job for a week. For that, I remain eternally thankful.
Thanks to you also for taking the time to read this little tale and for taking this ride with us.
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