The Afternoon Nap
One of the great things about observational posting, is that the subject matter is only subject to my whims.
This post was supposed to be about music. I am feeling revved up again after the summer of my discontent and I wanted to share some sunshine.
Yet on Sunday morning I found myself in a sea of families with no clear direction other than that is was Soccer Picture Day. There was going to be a funny bit about awkward children and their awkward families and the color green. There was also gonna be a funny bit about the fight I got into with my wife and that fact that Calvin looks a little creepy when he takes posed photos. There was also gonna be something about his current smile which due to the lost teeth and the size of the replacements only half emerged makes him look like a caricature drawing of the royal family.
And then we were back to music, for I had a long drive this morning.
And then it was going to be about family, money, and football for I got to spend some wonderful hours with my own dad, and those are laughs I like to share.
Yet I got home and there were no pressing chores except for Yahoo Sports, who apparently needs to let me know that one of my running backs was down for the season. Ho Hum. And Calvin was playing outside, and the wife was in the room reading, and I was very relaxed and just a bit on the dozy side.
So I took a nap.
A glorious nap.
Sweet dreams and cool breezes.
My pal Joey said to me once that he wasn't sure if he should go home a take a nap after work. I told him of course he should.
If you can, you should.
And today I could.
So I did.
And I got up a little woozy and becalmed. I swapped my injured running back for a long shot wide receiver who isn't gonna do squat for a few more weeks, but has a few tasty match ups if he can get healthy and learn his routes. I ate dinner (chicken cutlets and peas) and realized I have soccer practice in less than an hour and there is no way I could write about sensitive issues with a sharp wit and soft hands.
Too much editing.
So today's morality play is simple.
If you can take naps, do it, they are wonderful.
As is music, family, chicken cutlets, and the color green.
Take naps even if you have to reduce your posting to just a few unedited paragraphs.
Your readers are a forgiving bunch of people.
This post was supposed to be about music. I am feeling revved up again after the summer of my discontent and I wanted to share some sunshine.
Yet on Sunday morning I found myself in a sea of families with no clear direction other than that is was Soccer Picture Day. There was going to be a funny bit about awkward children and their awkward families and the color green. There was also gonna be a funny bit about the fight I got into with my wife and that fact that Calvin looks a little creepy when he takes posed photos. There was also gonna be something about his current smile which due to the lost teeth and the size of the replacements only half emerged makes him look like a caricature drawing of the royal family.
And then we were back to music, for I had a long drive this morning.
And then it was going to be about family, money, and football for I got to spend some wonderful hours with my own dad, and those are laughs I like to share.
Yet I got home and there were no pressing chores except for Yahoo Sports, who apparently needs to let me know that one of my running backs was down for the season. Ho Hum. And Calvin was playing outside, and the wife was in the room reading, and I was very relaxed and just a bit on the dozy side.
So I took a nap.
A glorious nap.
Sweet dreams and cool breezes.
My pal Joey said to me once that he wasn't sure if he should go home a take a nap after work. I told him of course he should.
If you can, you should.
And today I could.
So I did.
And I got up a little woozy and becalmed. I swapped my injured running back for a long shot wide receiver who isn't gonna do squat for a few more weeks, but has a few tasty match ups if he can get healthy and learn his routes. I ate dinner (chicken cutlets and peas) and realized I have soccer practice in less than an hour and there is no way I could write about sensitive issues with a sharp wit and soft hands.
Too much editing.
So today's morality play is simple.
If you can take naps, do it, they are wonderful.
As is music, family, chicken cutlets, and the color green.
Take naps even if you have to reduce your posting to just a few unedited paragraphs.
Your readers are a forgiving bunch of people.
Friday Five Pop Radio
So . . . Now that the new album is in post production I can finally listen to music on the radio again.
The reason for the self imposed pop music boycott is simple. While I'm working I am highly influenced by the sounds around me and my sub conscience will willingly adopt/incorporate/steal anything it can get its grubby little hands on.
I'll spend weeks on a piece only to realize that I've just rewritten "Yesterday" with the original scrambled eggs lyrics.
Yet this sonic diet has lasted almost four years and although the twelve notes haven't changed, there have been some interesting developments since the last time I switched from my local NPR station.
So here we go:
Five things I've learned about pop music this week:
1. Justin Beiber really is really that bad.
For someone who has been as culturally ever present as this little Canadian import, I assumed there would be at least some redeemable quality in his work. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Can't change the channel fast enough.
2. Lady Gaga, Kelly Clarkson,
Katie Perry and Taylor Swift
have all gotten much much worse,
while Pink has gotten much much better.
The pop girls have become imitations of their own parodies. In contrast, Pink has got some writing and producing chops. There is a duet on her new album that is just breath taking.
3. If Maroon 5 did it, it must be good.
I've teased Adam Levine before, but its ridiculous the amount of airtime he's getting. I found three different Maroon 5 songs on three different stations playing at the same time. What's more amazing, I discovered that they don't even write all there own material. Which means that there is a demo version of "Moves Like Jagger" out in the universe. A demo version which must have been selected over thousands of other submissions. That shit wasn't just an accident, it was a fucking choice.
4. Auto-Tune is a playable instrument.
Everyone now knows that Auto-Tune is pitch correcting software. Singer sings off key and Auto Tune will automatically tune it. By now we've also grown accustomed to the sound it makes at the beginning of each note as it drags the wave length up or down to stay in key. What you might not know is that in order to get that way-wah sound, the vocalist has to be REALLY off key. Which is REALLY hard to do. So now I'm imagining hip hop session where some guy at a mixing board is saying something like "Sorry Jay Z, you're just too good with the pitches, lets try it again, only this time I gotta feel you suck more."
5. Regardless of time, technology, and taste, there is still only two kinds of music.
Good and not.
26 Points
26 points to win.
Those are all the points I need. I've got two guys playing tonight. If they both have a good game, I win. If one of them has a good game and the other doesn't, I win. If they both only give me as much as their worst game, I win.
So yes, the odds are stacked in my favor.
But I won't win . . .
Until I win.
And I think of everything that went into tonight's better than average win possibility. The research, the choosing, the deciding, the weighing of factors, the luck and the un-luck.
And the best part?
The outcome is meaningless.
There will be no less food in the fridge if I lose, I won't be any thinner if I win. For its not whether you win or lose, its how awesome the ribs taste on a Sunday afternoon with your bros watching football.
Nah . . . I'm just kidding.
Winning kicks ass and losing sucks, no matter what the stakes.
I'm not here to make friends, I'm in it to win it.
So when Joey tells me that he's quitting his job because he doesn't make enough money, I totally understand. Right now his job feels like a lose.
He's in his early twenties, he lives with his parents, his car is dead, his smart phone is shattered, and his job barely pays enough for him to travel back and forth to his job.
Joey's not dumb, lazy, or useless. Far from it. Not only is he a healthy male with a full head of hair, but he's also easily one of the most talented musicians I've ever worked with. He's a skilled craftsman, a focused technician, and a very sweet humble man. You put him into a cool car and some clean fitting clothes and there isn't a single girl out there who wouldn't drop and give him twenty.
This is what sucks about life in your twenties. You do all this research, choosing what you want, deciding who you are, figuring out what makes you happy and what makes you sad. You have all these people around you who will give you advice, most of which fall under the category of what not to do and every day you toss the dice hoping for the one throw that makes you Jay-Z on the Sunset strip. And everyday you go home, and your room's a mess and your parents want you to do some chores and you've got that project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the other project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the project that you dream to be working on. And Please God don't let me end up like my Dad/Older Brother/Boss/Friend/Jay-Z's Dentist. Let me be who I am, if I ever discover who that is. Don't force me to sell out until the price is right.
But he wants to sell out. Even if for a little bit. Even if it's just to get him to that next level. The level that involves a room that his mom doesn't see and a car that starts up in the morning. Just to be able to say to a girl, "Why don't we finish this conversation at my place . . . baby."
And this is not too much to ask.
But there's a problem.
Once you reach that level,
You are now playing the game. The game where decisions have consequences. The game where once you sell out, it becomes harder and harder to buy some of that back.
So Joey, who's got the talent to become a full time musician, who's got the skill to open up a shop of his choosing and who's got the smarts and time to go get his Master's Degree in biological warfare, may end up driving a truck for $30,000 a year.
Which is great.
When you're twenty.
But then you're forty, making $50,000. And that hot chick you brought to your studio apartment is now your ex wife who hates you and tells your children how much of a loser you are.
And you're a little fat, and a little bald, and all your stories sound the same.
But this won't happen to Joey.
Just as this won't happen to my boys, one of which is so close to Joey's age that I'm already taking notes of my own writings so that I will have one helluva speech when he comes to me wanting a few buck to get his Class A license.
But the odds are in your favor, Joey.
Just don't lose.
26 points man.
Those are all the points I need. I've got two guys playing tonight. If they both have a good game, I win. If one of them has a good game and the other doesn't, I win. If they both only give me as much as their worst game, I win.
So yes, the odds are stacked in my favor.
But I won't win . . .
Until I win.
And I think of everything that went into tonight's better than average win possibility. The research, the choosing, the deciding, the weighing of factors, the luck and the un-luck.
And the best part?
The outcome is meaningless.
There will be no less food in the fridge if I lose, I won't be any thinner if I win. For its not whether you win or lose, its how awesome the ribs taste on a Sunday afternoon with your bros watching football.
Nah . . . I'm just kidding.
Winning kicks ass and losing sucks, no matter what the stakes.
I'm not here to make friends, I'm in it to win it.
So when Joey tells me that he's quitting his job because he doesn't make enough money, I totally understand. Right now his job feels like a lose.
He's in his early twenties, he lives with his parents, his car is dead, his smart phone is shattered, and his job barely pays enough for him to travel back and forth to his job.
Joey's not dumb, lazy, or useless. Far from it. Not only is he a healthy male with a full head of hair, but he's also easily one of the most talented musicians I've ever worked with. He's a skilled craftsman, a focused technician, and a very sweet humble man. You put him into a cool car and some clean fitting clothes and there isn't a single girl out there who wouldn't drop and give him twenty.
This is what sucks about life in your twenties. You do all this research, choosing what you want, deciding who you are, figuring out what makes you happy and what makes you sad. You have all these people around you who will give you advice, most of which fall under the category of what not to do and every day you toss the dice hoping for the one throw that makes you Jay-Z on the Sunset strip. And everyday you go home, and your room's a mess and your parents want you to do some chores and you've got that project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the other project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the project that you dream to be working on. And Please God don't let me end up like my Dad/Older Brother/Boss/Friend/Jay-Z's Dentist. Let me be who I am, if I ever discover who that is. Don't force me to sell out until the price is right.
But he wants to sell out. Even if for a little bit. Even if it's just to get him to that next level. The level that involves a room that his mom doesn't see and a car that starts up in the morning. Just to be able to say to a girl, "Why don't we finish this conversation at my place . . . baby."
And this is not too much to ask.
But there's a problem.
Once you reach that level,
You are now playing the game. The game where decisions have consequences. The game where once you sell out, it becomes harder and harder to buy some of that back.
So Joey, who's got the talent to become a full time musician, who's got the skill to open up a shop of his choosing and who's got the smarts and time to go get his Master's Degree in biological warfare, may end up driving a truck for $30,000 a year.
Which is great.
When you're twenty.
But then you're forty, making $50,000. And that hot chick you brought to your studio apartment is now your ex wife who hates you and tells your children how much of a loser you are.
And you're a little fat, and a little bald, and all your stories sound the same.
But this won't happen to Joey.
Just as this won't happen to my boys, one of which is so close to Joey's age that I'm already taking notes of my own writings so that I will have one helluva speech when he comes to me wanting a few buck to get his Class A license.
But the odds are in your favor, Joey.
Just don't lose.
26 points man.
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