That's an Elton John song, by the way, the title to this blog. Let's just get that out of the way to start out with so no one gets the wrong idea. There wasn't anything close to fighting going on today. I don't know why but it's always the first thing that pops in my head anytime the words "Saturday" and "night" are conjoined in the same sentence. And I've never even heard the song.
So this was a chill out day. Study the moods sort of day. Keep Dad company and fly through the netflix rentals sort of evening. Finished Fanny & Alexander (the FAR superior television version - how often does one get to say that?) and watched the Squid and the Whale. Probably won't be going back to the Squid and the Whale, definitely won't be going back to it as often as I'll continue to revisit Fanny & Alexander.
Last night was a good and bad night for me. Remember how in my last post I concluded things by saying something about how I gotta "get out there" and "start doing stuff" and insecurities weren't so much a "big deal" in these parts for me anymore? Well, lesson learned is (yet again) don't write checks your blog can't cash. Had a jam with Mark and Chouser, went reasonably well. We got pretty fucked up over the course of it. Had to play extra loud since Havlin's band was practicing on the other side of the wall. That was a collison I had wanted to avoid. Not Havlin personally, just was hoping to have a night where things could get accomplished. But as a result of two bands having to play over the top of each other all night it ended up just being fun. I mean, there could've been some productivity in there - it's always good to get out there and play with people. But it would've been nice to lay some shit out, get Chouser acclaimated to the sound so that he could see if it'd be his style or not (his first jam with Mark and me). I can tell it's probably not his bag, which is fine, I'm pretty sure the world isn't quite ready yet either.
Macbook Pro will be here a lot sooner than expected. Ships now March 3rd instead of the 21st. So stoked. At work, in between calls, I pretty much just read articles and watch videos and look at pics of this stupid computer. It's pathetic and if I had to wait until later March to actually get it I'm sure my penis would've turned itself inside out. Once that arrives I may just go into recording seclusion and emerge every now and then in search of guest musicians. If anyone can play some hot trumpet for me let's get in touch. I've got some parts in mind for you. Okay, the battery is about to die on this thing. So I'm gonna finish up chatting with Paul on facebook and go to bed. Peace.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Death cannot say what you've already lost,
hold on to those you hold dear - Jason Spaceman
I sat down at my desk to do some research on the constitutionality (or lack thereof) of income tax. My dad and I were watching MSNBC and somehow or another this topic comes up between he and I at least, oh, maybe once every two months. I always take the contrarian position - "but Dad, I TOTALLY saw this documentary on Netflix that says income tax is illegal cuz the constitution says that Congress can't impose any direct tax on the wages of the citizens." Dad - "jesus christ, you really think that Bill Gates, General Motors, IBM, guys who have attorneys on million-dollar-a-day retainers, would even let something like an income tax go if there was even a shred of a possibility that it could be overturned?? Jesus Christ. The common sense!" Finally, after we go back and forth for a while I hear the magic words - "prove it!"
It's just as fun to lob softballs at my dad as it is to Kevin. Reactions are similar, but Kevin is a little more in on it.
So I run downstairs and start googling things like "constitutionality of income tax" which invariably leads me to wikipedia, the source of all knowledge. Pretty soon I find out about this thing called the Sixteenth Ammendment and I give up any hope of finding a roundabout argument to present to Gary to repeal the income tax.
Now I'm trying to blog. I can't express how unnecessarily hard this is for me. I don't know why I bother. Bothering is not the point. You're just supposed to word vomit to the world and that's that. I will never allow anything to be easy.
I will say, though, that life is starting to rebound. Maybe it's the extra sun, the extra temperature, the extra getting to know people. Maybe it's just the passage of time. It doesn't heal everything, but it gives and creates perspective. Sounds obvious and cliche. But I guess people say it over and over because it has some truth to it. Some things, some people, can't be replaced. Shouldn't be replaced. What can you do if there's nothing to do other than remember? You hold on to what you have, I guess.
I've met some great people over the course of the last month or two. I don't know why but it's coming so easy. It never worked like this in Minneapolis. Maybe this means this is my home. This is my element. The base of operations. Where everybody knows my name. That sort of thing. I actually feel able here to not let little insecurities overwhelm me. This is where I know there are people in my corner. I hesitated last night when talking with a friend about this being my home. I should not have. This IS my home. It has no other choice. I am bound to it and it is bound to me. There's a relationship. There's responsibility.
And time makes it harder
where words already failed,
hold on to those you hold dear.
There's only so much time! This might be the most frustrating and obvious thing of all. Frustrating because we'll never have the personal experience until the end. Sure, we'll see it happen to others, but when it happens to you, when you're watching your very own last few grains of sand trickle to the bottom of the glass, when you actually know that they are yours and they are going and almost gone, it'll be too late to savor the experience. There's no pause button that we know of, Obvious because everything ends and maybe you'll have so many regrets of waking up in the morning lost, unsure, embarassed, and cotton-mouthed, stumbling. There aren't enough doors to get you through this. No one has an answer. No one even pretends to speak the languages you speak.
So if we can't be replaced, if your smile is unique, and your hair is a shade of black that no one else's is (because it is), and you hear something different in every song, or taste some beautiful new regret with every sip, I think we should hear about it. There's gotta be some kind of record for all this. A great book somewhere. We're writing in it all the time. I want to do more of this whatever the outcome.
hold on to those you hold dear - Jason Spaceman
I sat down at my desk to do some research on the constitutionality (or lack thereof) of income tax. My dad and I were watching MSNBC and somehow or another this topic comes up between he and I at least, oh, maybe once every two months. I always take the contrarian position - "but Dad, I TOTALLY saw this documentary on Netflix that says income tax is illegal cuz the constitution says that Congress can't impose any direct tax on the wages of the citizens." Dad - "jesus christ, you really think that Bill Gates, General Motors, IBM, guys who have attorneys on million-dollar-a-day retainers, would even let something like an income tax go if there was even a shred of a possibility that it could be overturned?? Jesus Christ. The common sense!" Finally, after we go back and forth for a while I hear the magic words - "prove it!"
It's just as fun to lob softballs at my dad as it is to Kevin. Reactions are similar, but Kevin is a little more in on it.
So I run downstairs and start googling things like "constitutionality of income tax" which invariably leads me to wikipedia, the source of all knowledge. Pretty soon I find out about this thing called the Sixteenth Ammendment and I give up any hope of finding a roundabout argument to present to Gary to repeal the income tax.
Now I'm trying to blog. I can't express how unnecessarily hard this is for me. I don't know why I bother. Bothering is not the point. You're just supposed to word vomit to the world and that's that. I will never allow anything to be easy.
I will say, though, that life is starting to rebound. Maybe it's the extra sun, the extra temperature, the extra getting to know people. Maybe it's just the passage of time. It doesn't heal everything, but it gives and creates perspective. Sounds obvious and cliche. But I guess people say it over and over because it has some truth to it. Some things, some people, can't be replaced. Shouldn't be replaced. What can you do if there's nothing to do other than remember? You hold on to what you have, I guess.
I've met some great people over the course of the last month or two. I don't know why but it's coming so easy. It never worked like this in Minneapolis. Maybe this means this is my home. This is my element. The base of operations. Where everybody knows my name. That sort of thing. I actually feel able here to not let little insecurities overwhelm me. This is where I know there are people in my corner. I hesitated last night when talking with a friend about this being my home. I should not have. This IS my home. It has no other choice. I am bound to it and it is bound to me. There's a relationship. There's responsibility.
And time makes it harder
where words already failed,
hold on to those you hold dear.
There's only so much time! This might be the most frustrating and obvious thing of all. Frustrating because we'll never have the personal experience until the end. Sure, we'll see it happen to others, but when it happens to you, when you're watching your very own last few grains of sand trickle to the bottom of the glass, when you actually know that they are yours and they are going and almost gone, it'll be too late to savor the experience. There's no pause button that we know of, Obvious because everything ends and maybe you'll have so many regrets of waking up in the morning lost, unsure, embarassed, and cotton-mouthed, stumbling. There aren't enough doors to get you through this. No one has an answer. No one even pretends to speak the languages you speak.
So if we can't be replaced, if your smile is unique, and your hair is a shade of black that no one else's is (because it is), and you hear something different in every song, or taste some beautiful new regret with every sip, I think we should hear about it. There's gotta be some kind of record for all this. A great book somewhere. We're writing in it all the time. I want to do more of this whatever the outcome.
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