baggage's Diaryland
Diary
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Almost forgot
Saw Patty Griffin at The wonderful Wiltern Theater last night.
But, although her voice certainly tickles certain deep spots of the soul, the best part of the evening was, by far, the company of my long-time best friend, J.
J and I have grown close and apart and close and yet apart again over the almost three decades that have passed between us.
Still, we maintain a certain closeness that feels rare and beautiful. He is, most certainly, one of the brightest jewels thus far.
9:12 p.m. - 2007-03-14
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Six wonderful strings
I am SO happy that I can play this thing.
9:11 p.m. - 2007-03-14
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Is forever enough?
In my mind, there are a million wonderful places in the world that I'll never get to see.
A million wonderful people I'll never meet.
A million loves I'll never experience.
A million memories I'll never re-experience.
A million songs I'll never hear.
Nor write.
There just isn't enough time.
9:20 a.m. - 2007-02-24
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Not just A Soldier's Poem
Throw it all away
Let's lose ourselves
'Cause there's no one left for us to blame
It's a shame we're all dying
And do you think you deserve your freedom How could you send us all far away from home
When you know damn well that this is all
I would still lay down my life for you
And do you think you deserve your freedom No I don't think you do
There's no justice in the world
There's no justice in the world
And there never was
9:16 p.m. - 2007-01-15
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Dec 25, 2006
Woke up this morning naked, warm and fuzzy.
Hugged on the girl, got a quick massage and said hello to the cat, who was walking on my back without extended claws.
Merry Christmas.
8:04 a.m. - 2006-12-25
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I should be wrapping presents
Currently listening to:
Tom Waites
Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards At least that's what I think the title is. Muse
Black Holes and Revelations Vince Guardi
A Charlie Brown Christmas Not feeling much like updating these days. In the final moments of a two week vacation. The CD is here and, as unexpected, the overall vibe is anti-climactic.
Not that I'm not proud of it. The music was done months ago and I'm just burned from the huge amount of work and funds that went into it. Note to self: no more CDs. Christmas is here and I'm pretty much ready. Just need to design a gift cerificate for my dad. He will be getting his piano tuned. Hopefully, he'll play more. The house is a mess and, like Jimmy Crack Corn, I don't care. Been murdering brain cells almost 24-7. I fear there's something wrong with me. Went out last night to an old haunt and watched a mediocre band play. I did enjoy watching the dance floor though. Blah blah blah. Merry Christmas!
9:25 a.m. - 2006-12-23
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So worth it
It's here.
And, it sounds great.
12:35 p.m. - 2006-12-18
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The sun on my back, the wind on my face
Had a bit of a meltdown today.
But, the hours have been kind. And I feel worlds better now-with some thanks to a perfectly satisfying and lovely afternoon alone.
My eyes are heavy with chronic and sleep. Spent most of the day putting together a new intro for the website and am quite happy with the result. One of the advantages to not knowing what you're doing is that your ideas become simpler by default. And we all know that simpler is almost-always better, no?
Had dinner with my long-lost nephew. he's expecting his first child soon, and I'm hoping he's a better father to his daughter than his father was to him.
There's a long story there. Mostly involving the delinquent thinking of my oldest brother-who seems to be perpetually stuck in the mud of adolescence. His son came out rather well. I told him tonight that he could have been better off not being around the fool while he was younger.
Not sure how that statement came across but, oh well.
These things are simply said sometimes.
J next door told me tonight that his girlfriend of two weeks is pregnant. "Can you play our wedding?" his fiance asked sweetly. "Why, yes, darlin," I replied. "I'm getting pretty good at playin' sad songs."
Girl-Unit has been gone all day. She's been gone every Saturday this month and I daresay it's done me some good, I've been in a state this month, and I'm hoping the upcoming holidays will serve me with a good dose of giddy.
Sometimes, I look at her and wonder why we're together.
Sad, isn't it?
10:55 p.m. - 2006-11-25
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Happy Thanks
Today is a good day.
Didn't have to use AAA.
1:41 p.m. - 2006-11-23
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I had a sister twisted
The night is bent over like a sunflower gone to seed. And my eyes feel bloated.
Which sounds worse than it is.
i wandered today; wasting precious gas and time rolling across the interstate thinking of this, that and the all-mighty other.
The places I needed to be seemed secondary to the trip, and I felt a little ashamed for not looking forward to the company of friends perfectly decent.
But, alas, that was the state of the mind today. ---- I worry about you. And I wish some form of resolution for that thorn in your side. I wish we could talk freely-or at least have the option if one of us wishes to take it.
Sometimes having the option is enough, don't ya think? ---- The house is so quiet-save for the sound of tapping keys. It's time to sleep.
10:58 p.m. - 2006-11-11
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Maybe you will always be just out of reach
Shining like a work of art
Hanging on a wall of stars
Are you what I think you are? You're my satellite
You're riding with me tonight
Passenger side, lighting the sky
Always the first star that I find
You're my satellite
11:36 a.m. - 2006-11-03
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All Hail The Command Q
Ahem.
Let me just say that this morning was totally so fucked up.
I mean. heavens to murgatroid.
dear lord.
it's a good thing laughter comes oddly naturally to me.
So, ummm, what else?
God-does Myspace suck or what?
Well hello Mr. Blather!
Maybe I should refrain from coming here when I have nothing poetic or important to say.
but you see. I'm home alone.
And, I have this insatiable need to communicate. With ANYONE, damnit.
So, here I am.
Talking to nobody at all.
Just typing.
hell-even my cats are asleep.
i actually have loads of work to do.
More coding for me!
yay!
God bless those who wear slacks to work.
OK. I'll stop.
really.
i will!
Don't think I'm kidding!
I have a command Q and I know how to use it!
This weekend i drive to Idyllwild and play the guitar with old friends.
"Dude. you need to call R," T the bassist said to F the handsome singer.
And you know what F the handsome singer did?
he called me.
Imagine that.
In related matters, seems that the Main Band will be playing some fusion/jazz shows next year.
Funny that.
And people seem to be very interested in hearing this stuff live.
And I thought no one cared about long musical journeys anymore.
Where's the chorus? The singers? the words?
Well, fuck you you ya yas.
Music was around long before the FM radio deluded generations of listeners into thinking that songs must have lyrics and be under 3 minutes long.
oh.
Sorry.
There I go again.
being all music snobbish and shit.
Other plans this weekend involve a 3D version of some movie at the El Capitan in Hollywood.
Not big plans.
medium ones.
really, despite this morning, i could die right now and be OK with it.
I mean, it would be kind of a bummer not living to see 40.
But, you know, a dust bunny told me the other day that there are MUCH better things ahead.
And you know what i said?
I said, "OH MY GOD! FUCKING TALKING DUST BUNNY!"
8:55 p.m. - 2006-10-19
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Who are you Mr. Gershwin?
C'mon. Now really. Can music get much better than "Symphony In Blue?"
7:50 p.m. - 2006-10-17
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Guess What I'm Doing?
Too much fun. I must say.
8:05 p.m. - 2006-10-16
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Still Somewhat Crazy After 38 Years
Like angels winking me eastward, the stars watched over me as I drove the eastbound 90 278-miles back to my hotel room.
Drivers in this part of the Earth are encouraged to stay to the right, thus reserving the left lane for passing. Earlier, it felt ridiculous to abide by such nonsense (I fail to understand the purpose. Back home, one could get ticketed by making such unnecessary lane changes). But, with my lightweight synapses ever-so-slightly compromised by a minor bit of indulgence earlier in the evening, the constant lane changes became a comical diversion in an otherwise uneventful yet thoughtful drive.
Simple pleasures get even simpler when you're in the middle of nowhere and there's no one around to wag a disapproving finger.
That afternoon, the highway was awash in a flawless rendition of fall. The sun's warmth poured in through the windshield, bathing my arms and chest in a golden glow which seemed unnaturally bright compared to what I typically experience behind Uma's tinted windows. The tint offers a perpetual filtered dusk, and a cooler temperature, while driving in the heat of my hometown (which is considerable at times). Back home, the subdued sun in the car is preferable. Here, a 6-hour flight due north, the brightness was affirming. I felt cleansed - like melting ice warmed by earth and sky.
Perpetual fields of gold surrounded the early leg of my trip. The river would occasionally lap near the road and blind me with the sun's reflection. I could see the smoothness of the hills and mountains in the distance - their grandeur interrupted with quaint, aged structures that took their liberty with space.
3 hours later, tree-covered hills � huge expanses of forest green that ran up and down mountain sides like an inexhaustible 6-year-old on Christmas Eve � filled the windshield. Their scent flowed in through the windows and filled my lungs as the wind brushed my skin. Hector, a fan of the occasionally brilliant show "Twin Peaks" from yester-decade and barely a friend from college, floated back into memory: "The open road! Wind in my hair!," he would exclaim as a running joke bringing snickers to anyone within earshot including myself (although, now that I think about it, I don't recall having much of an affinity for his all too apparent, and far too healthy, ego).
My memory serves me far too well.
The trees were thick - full of fissures and imagined trails luring me from the road. The standard-issue weekend at home would have surely included a welcome hike I thought.
But, home this wasn't.
Home is a sea of brake lights and salmon-colored tile rooftops pointing upwards like fingers reaching for some glittery brass ring. At home, the river behaves more like a storm duct and mountains are often invisible; unseen behind weather and smog.
The weather here was exceedingly mild and clear. If all goes well, I thought, the view at the end of this trip is gonna kill.
330 or so miles and nearly five hours later, I was 520 feet in the air staring down through various metal beams and asking myself aloud, "why the hell are you so scared of heights?"
No one answered. Not God, Buddha, Elvis nor the little girl standing next to me wondering when she'd get to peek through the telescope I apparently was hogging.
The setting sun was intoxicating. Washes of orange gold lit up the mountains like a firefly, and the city underneath was just starting to turn on its brights. Ferries and freighters silently plunged through the river and, all around me, cameras clicked and people posed.
All in all, a generally happy moment punctuated with a questioning glance at every stranger's face.
It was odd looking for a sign of recognition amongst those around me. I was a combination of nervous and giddy heightened by my illogical fear of heights and falling.
The recognition I was hoping for came surprisingly-appearing just when my thoughts were drifting back to the rapidly submerging sunset. The Other Half initially stretched out a hand, but quickly reciprocated (thankfully) the greeting hug that was offered in return.
Hug or handshake? That seemed to be the question. And, I confess, the thought didn't cross my mind until that very moment. I shake hands with business associates and people that wear ties and suits-people I meet for the first time. And although this technically was our first meeting (our relationship arguably stretches back a few years actually), I certainly wasn't wearing a suit and tie nor did it feel like I should be wearing a suit and tie.
There would be enough of that later.
Anyways, hug or handshake? I hope I answered correctly. I think I did.
Like me, the Other half spoke quickly and, maybe, nervously (really, I can only write for myself. I hesitate to speculate on anyone else's state of mind, but I do anyway. It's an unavoidable habit.). The first few moments were ebullient as the view was explained to me: An M was hiding in the mountains; A waterside park where residents spend their fourth of Julys; Art deco and lifestyles aplenty. The city, the Other Half commented, seemed unfinished-interminable in its progress of building and reinvention and rebuilding yet again.
I felt honored to hear such detail. A few moments prior, I was staring at a frame from Sim City-complex in view, but flat in resonance. Now, I had descriptions and stories. The view grew flesh and filled out like a skinny child in the midst of a growth spurt.
We were late for dinner. The Other Half confidently strode in front of me and I hurried to remain in step-breathing in the fresh air of our conversation. Any lingering nervousness was replaced with reinvigoration and I at once realized that the the pain in my ass from the long flight and almost-as-long-drive was well worth it.
Did the other half feel similar? I wondered.
Dinner was delicious - interspersed with much laughter, exchanged confidences, details upon details, and a minor sort of paranoia. I kept my indulgence to a minimum � being a lightweight in every sense of the word � and offered the remainder of my drink across the table. There was the long drive back ahead after all. And this time, the view I so easily inhaled on the way over would be cloaked in darkness.
Wits can be highly useful when transgressing unfamiliar territory in a rental.
At first, it seemed as if the Other Half's eyes continually stared past me. Just over my shoulder perhaps. Or somewhere sideways to my stare. But, as the short hours passed underneath us, it was reassuring to see them meeting my gaze more often. We interrupted each other frequently (normally considered rude but, for whatever reason, felt simply natural here) and I realized that whatever expectations I may have entertained about the evening couldn't have been more satisfied. Exceeded actually.
I shared this potentially cheesy insight and hoped the sincerity was apparent. I've no problem with cheese. Insincerity is far more grating.
We indulged in a shared slice of cheesecake to top off the meal (which was delicious, by the way. I can't say it enough. Redundancy is acceptable in matters of good cuisine. And besides, my drink was on fire!).
It was 10ish. And, although it felt our time could have easily stretched a few more hours (years even if not for the dastardly barricade of distance), my mood was slightly tempered by the long and winding road that led back to where I was belonged.
I really wish I could have stayed a while.
The handshake or hug issue seemed resolved. Parked illegally just beyond a sign pointing the way south, we hugged farewell. And I, with my view of things altered from so many recently forced farewells, unconsciously longed to memorize every detail.
I stood back and stared.
The Other Half is enormously beautiful.
In countless ways.
It was well past midnight before I gave in to sleep. The next two days were spent toying with the logical side of the brain: the side that would have (and did!) protest loudly at the thought of traipsing over 600 miles for a commune with an unfamiliar face.
This morning, I said goodbye to no one in particular and faced my illogical fear of heights again-this time from the vantage of a tiny window overlooking a metal wing and stretches of white wispy clouds.
I doubt I'll drive the 90 ever again.
Huzzah.
5:12 p.m. - 2006-10-02
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Excuse me while I hold on as tight as I can
Fucking Oxycotton.
R died last week. Fucking OD'd at 24. I'm playing his funeral.
J died a few months ago to cancer. I never even mentioned it cuz I'm tired of spilling my guts on this thing when i should spilling my guts to the folks who have been friends for nearly all of my life. I've so much to write and say that i can't type fast enough. I'm sure it'll all come out eventually. But, for now, I just want to run to all these people in my life and memorize them: their voices, their words, their clothes, their smell and their likes, dislikes - the colors of their eyes.
Writing just isn't good enough.
8:24 p.m. - 2006-09-13
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wow
Oh my.
I'm in love with little miss sunshine.
6:37 p.m. - 2006-09-03
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22 percent and a pocketful of frustration
The absence of updates has been curious - considering that I love writing and am fully aware of the cathartic advantages it offers. There was a time when I wrote almost daily during my commute. But, those hours have recently been spent asleep or otherwise daydreaming of other places and lives. My intellect feels a bit drained, I'm emotionally wrecked and my affinity for documentation has become embarrassingly lackadaisical.
I posses reasons aplenty (all over-dramatic and rather silly when placed alongside the concerns of the world, but reasons nonetheless). And, well, I suppose, I didn't feel like writing the mess down. They seemed comfortable residing in my head; my own personal Alba-utterly private and immune to most forms of emotional wrestling.
My head, (and I've been aware of this almost all of my life) is a superior vault for certain skeletons-much better than any closet or online journal.
-------
I've spent the last four years composing over an hour's worth of music that will soon be my second release (I'm thinking a month or two depending on how quickly I can get some portraits of my musical allies). I've listened to the entire collection untold numbers of times and I know that, at this point, it's the absolute best I can do.
It's good knowing you've done your best. Or at least tried. But, I do know that the validation I too often seek for my efforts won't be coming soon. My friends are kind, but I doubt their sincerity. That sounds bad I know-but it's not an expression of anger. It's just a fact. They're good peeps, my friends.
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Work has been busier than usual-affording me a plethora of distraction. The past few weeks have been harried and I'm grateful for the quiet Saturday morning at hand.
Labor Day 2006 will be spent mostly alone. My better three-quarters is spending two of the three days wandering off to work leaving me free time aplenty to mentally wander about. I do treasure my time alone although I am currently grateful that she's sitting on the opposite sofa, her focus on a book of quotes. I often teeter between these two extremes; one side says "leave me alone" while the other says "where is she?" I wonder why that is.
-------
I do have plans to lay poolside on Monday with a friend I met over guitar lessons over 10 years ago. Our relationship is strung together by music and a shared affinity for animals. I've spent plenty of time on his couch-waking up Wednesday mornings to the sound of cartoons and his children's muffled carpeted footsteps stumbling from their bedrooms to the living room. We shared a hotel room while the band was touring through Utah. It was his role to keep the adventure from turning into a fiasco (which it did to no real fault of his own). And I am the godfather to his children (a poor one at best unfortunately). He's certainly done a lot more for me than I have for him over the years; the best I have to offer (at least as far as I can tell) is a sort of refuge from the domestic placidness of his own day to day. He comes over when he needs time away. And with my home full of guitars and empty of kids (and a wife since The Girl is often out), my place is the obvious retreat.
I don't mind. We all have our roles to play.
I do plan on playing some guitar within the next three days. There are new songs in my chest-aching to burst out with a top hat and tails-a song and dance routine to keep me company. It's really more of the same you know.
My soul is set (for better or for worse) and the world spins madly on.
8:43 a.m. - 2006-09-02
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Lumos!
OK. So here's the deal. I am so loving the Harry Potter series that I've gone back to Book One and started the whole darn saga over.
It's embarrasing, really.
But, since my precious 17 incher is being borrowed, I no longer have my electronic sandbox with me during those 4 hour commutes to and from work.
Which means I have to resort to truly base methods of time killing.
I must...READ! Gasp!
Did he just type what he just typed? Yes I did. I am a man out of control. Yeah, so I'm at book five now. And, I'm diving right back in. Toodles.
9:45 p.m. - 2006-08-14
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These songs that is
The sad thing is that nobody around me quite fully grasps how close I hold these things to my soul.
10:43 p.m. - 2006-07-15
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A Glimmer of Hope
The Dixie Chicks rule.
Talented, smart, and not afraid to stand up to the BULLSHIT that supposedly typifies country music.
Fuck you country radio-for not playing a genuinely talented trio of musicians who actually write and perform their own songs-songs that are so much better than the bland mediocre pop passing as country music these days.
By the way, their album is currently no 1, thank you very much: proof that not all country fans like Toby Keith.
9:24 p.m. - 2006-05-31
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The clock that demands attention
We have a clock that once had long black hour and minute hands easily seen from across the living room.
Those hands fell off, and Girl-Unit replaced them with these tiny gold hour and minute hands that simply disappear into the clock face.
So, I'm sitting here-wondering what time it is-and am staring at this clock with no hands. The thing is virtually useless. It even has a red seconds hand that doesn't move.
If I stare long enough, the golden hour and minute hands come into focus and I can kind of tell what time it is.
And that's what I've been doing for the past 30 minutes.
Girl-Unit heard me boot up the laptop this morning, came out into the living room, layed next to me on the sofa and went back to sleep-which, of course, is ultra-sweet and romantic. Her foot is sticking out from underneath the blanket and the cat (my absolute favorite cat ever) has tucked himself right between my right thigh and her butt.
It's all so very cozy.
Last night, I dreamt that someone took him (the bestest cat ever) away and I woke up jonesing for some extra-strength tylenol. I looked at him and promised that no one would ever, ever take him away as long as I could help it, popped the pills and tried to go to sleep.
Of course, I couldn't.
The Girl sleeps in a matter of seconds. I swear-she can fall asleep mid-sentence. It's amazing. I'm usually up for at least 30 minutes-my mind indulging its affinity for details of days previous and yet-to-come.
Sometimes, it's longer than 30 minutes. Sometimes, my brain keeps me up all night.
And sometimes I like it. Sometimes I don't.
Kinda like the clock in my living room.
7:07 a.m. - 2006-04-15
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38 and still sexy as ever (which isn't very much for me but oh well)
Let's see: Girl-Unit
cabin
indian food
fireplace
jacuzzi
snow
snowman
guitar
blue skies I quite believe that was the loveliest birthday ever.
8:21 a.m. - 2006-04-03
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Open Letter to my $33 dollar tab
I wrote the following to my dear friend Nictate and she suggested I post it. So, since I generally do everything she tells me, here it is. More relevant matters (job, girl, more music) to be discussed later this week since I'm finally on vacation. I love pop music-the kind of tunes that wrap around your ear on the first listen and is instantly new and recognizable all at once, the songs that tap into the emotional well holding all those silly things that makes us human.
A perfect example? My Sharona. Easily one of the silliest, shamefully poppy songs of the 80s. But, damn-it feels so good to hear it. It's magic!
Then there's progressive music-the kind that challenges melodically and mentally. These songs take me on journeys. They're like puzzles-audible mysteries to be explored and questioned. I love them too. But, do they appeal to most other people?
Well, no.
Most people want to hear pop. And I don't blame them. Pop is pure. And it's wonderful.
When I write, my ear leans towards the progressive side of the art form. I like to play with notes, rhytmns, keys, melodies-it's interesting and fun to me.
But, will other people like it?
Well, no.
I wish they would. I sincerely do. I spend an incredible amount of effort on my songs. And I'd love for other people to enjoy listening to them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
But, they're not pop. I realize that. And the audience is limited.
So, I am writing in a vacuum. To please my own ear. But, I worry about what other people will think as well. I guess it's a vacuum with an open invitation.
I have written lots of pop tunes-and the next album, if I get the chance and the desire to do another, will most likely be filled with them.
And, then, maybe, I won't be the only one in this vacuum.
7:34 p.m. - 2006-03-12
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Back home
I was sitting in my favorite booth this afternoon in my favorite restaurant, staring out the window at a sunny 85 degree Southern California day.
And the sun never felt so good.
7:22 p.m. - 2006-02-03
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Dreamer's Ball
Jan 23, 2006
6:56 am The Santa Ana winds making their way down the Cajon Pass have stirred up dust and dried out my mood and skin-which seems to be flaking off my body despite the liberal application of moisturizer this morning.
I don't like the wind. But, will I miss it if I move to New York?
This weekend, I fly out of Ontario and trek to the east coast with my first suit, dress shoes and brand new ties in tow. The plane arrives in La Guardia around 9 p.m. and, with any luck, I'll be in my room by 11-alone with nothing but baggage-both emotional and physical.
The ego tells me I'll most likely stay in Southern California. If offered a position in clearly the best company (in my industry anyway) in the country, I expect my current employer to try their best to get me to stay. I expect an offer that would make it foolish for me to go despite the tremendous career opportunities that await for me on the opposite side of the U.S.
I expect (in other words) for the decision to be easy.
God forbid I make a difficult choice now and then.
I'll be staying in in a Manhattan apartment-four walls designed specifically for the needs of out of towners like me flying in to parade and preen (in hopes that we're good enough) in front of strangers.
I'll also have Sunday and Tuesday to play tourist. Where to go? What to see? The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State. Central Park. Painfully obvious.
But, at 37, I haven't had the chance to indulge to wanna-be-traveller within me and the thought of navigating new territory on my own leaves me bewildered though somewhat excited.
In my mind, I see someone who will see me for the neophyte that I am. Someone to guide me through the maze of the city. "You must see this," The Guide would say."Forget the damn statue," The Guide would urge. "We're going here. And here. And here."
And in 48 hours, I would have seen a more interesting New York than what I would have experienced alone.
Doubtful. Though I wish it weren't so.
Wednesday I take a train five hours southeast for another round with yet another company. Both places called within two days of each other and it seemed logical to time my interviews during the same trip. I'll don the second set of pants and tie (same jacket though. I'm a cheap bastard when it comes to clothes), and do the career dance once more.
It's my show, people, and I have the $600 monkey suit to prove it.
There are dinner plans (part of the interview) Wednesday evening and my official interview is Thursday. I won't have much time to look around-although, I would like to visit the aquarium.
Not sure why. My affinity for the hobby has diminished significantly over time.
Thursday evening, I fly home to Orange County. And, hopefully, be in my bed by midnight with nothing on but jet lag.
Southern California is much warmer than the east coast, and it'll be nice to feel the familiar scrape of my own sheets -and the Santa Ana winds-against the skin.
10:27 p.m. - 2006-01-24
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