I had actually typed out the eulogy I gave at my father's funeral, as today is six years since he passed.
But then I realized, some things are just for me and my dad. Maybe some day I'll post it, but as ok with everything I am right now, this one is a bit too much for me now.
Strangely enough, in my opinion, today is my birthday. Sure, I was born on another day, but as I described to a friend at the time, 'the day my dad died was the first day I felt like I was working without a net.'
And I still feel that way. That's not a good or bad thing, it just is.
I hope you don't understand.
Thank you, Dad, thinking about you.
Regular posts to follow next week.
NandD
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Year Six
Wheels keep a spinning round and round years keep a spinning round and round
With the passing of your time, though you seldom come to mind I remember the day
Sure as winter follows fall, sure as maybe I will call, just remember the day. ~ Robert Plant, "Far Post."
Just remembering the day. Six years ago, and sometimes it seems like a lifetime, other times, the wound is still fresh. I guess ultimately that's what you need to do, stitch it up, lament the pain, and move along.
For the first time in six years, I'm going to celebrate Christmas. It was my father's favorite holiday. I can't say I'm 'over it' per se, but I do know that I finally am feeling out from under. And it's good to feel that way.
It's also nice to feel like there were good times. And there were plenty of those.
So why do we remember our dead? They're no longer with us, obviously, but they take up mental and emotional space far greater than their actual presence ever did.
The conclusion I've come to is we remember for our own sake. Hoping against hope that it all means something, that when our predetermined time arrives, others will keep us alive. So that we can matter. So that we can believe. So that we can live on. If only for a second.
So Dad, you can rest easy, you still live on through me, my sisters, and even my mom. Though you may not have gotten everything you could have hoped for, you did get immortality.
It's the only gift I have left that I can give you.
But what else can a son do? All men are sons, and all of us secretly dread and aspire to the same thing: that we too can play it the way you played it.
You didn't play it perfectly, but you played it well.
A week and a half ago, I had a dream about my dad, and I haven't had one of those in years. I was on a couch, watching tv, and inexplicably I looked over and my dad was on a couch as well. He looked at me and said "Son, you've got to sleep more than four hours a night." He then got up, covered me in a blanket, and said "Son, just relax, it's ok."
You know what Dad? You're right as usual. Everything's ok.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
With the passing of your time, though you seldom come to mind I remember the day
Sure as winter follows fall, sure as maybe I will call, just remember the day. ~ Robert Plant, "Far Post."
Just remembering the day. Six years ago, and sometimes it seems like a lifetime, other times, the wound is still fresh. I guess ultimately that's what you need to do, stitch it up, lament the pain, and move along.
For the first time in six years, I'm going to celebrate Christmas. It was my father's favorite holiday. I can't say I'm 'over it' per se, but I do know that I finally am feeling out from under. And it's good to feel that way.
It's also nice to feel like there were good times. And there were plenty of those.
So why do we remember our dead? They're no longer with us, obviously, but they take up mental and emotional space far greater than their actual presence ever did.
The conclusion I've come to is we remember for our own sake. Hoping against hope that it all means something, that when our predetermined time arrives, others will keep us alive. So that we can matter. So that we can believe. So that we can live on. If only for a second.
So Dad, you can rest easy, you still live on through me, my sisters, and even my mom. Though you may not have gotten everything you could have hoped for, you did get immortality.
It's the only gift I have left that I can give you.
But what else can a son do? All men are sons, and all of us secretly dread and aspire to the same thing: that we too can play it the way you played it.
You didn't play it perfectly, but you played it well.
A week and a half ago, I had a dream about my dad, and I haven't had one of those in years. I was on a couch, watching tv, and inexplicably I looked over and my dad was on a couch as well. He looked at me and said "Son, you've got to sleep more than four hours a night." He then got up, covered me in a blanket, and said "Son, just relax, it's ok."
You know what Dad? You're right as usual. Everything's ok.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Haunting
"Blame me,
Save a prayer for those haunt you.
There now,
I don't mind if you still love me." ~ Jerry Cantrell, "Leave Me Alone."
The world is a lot smaller than I previously thought.
A good friend of mine invited me to a book release party last night. So a hearty 'howdy' to Joe and Brett, who were great company. Oh, and Katie too. I also managed to get talked into cooking again by my boss, but that's another story for another time.
I had a fucking blast. I got to meet the author. I'm sure it's no surprise to any of you how much this meant to me since my one goal in life at this point is to finish my book. I don't even care at this point if it sucks, I just need to get it done. Oh, the book.
"How to Fail: The Self-Hurt Guide." The author's name is Aaron Goldfarb, and I have to tell you, I don't generally like anyone, but this guy was really nice. He took time out to say hello and say a few encouraging words, which is incredibly cool. His blog is funny as hell too. It's located here. Give the guy some love, anyone who's written a book deserves it, because it's fucking hard as hell.
How do I know this? Well, as I said, I've been writing a book which is responsible for my lack of attention to this blog, among other things.
I started out writing a book with the working title "Fucking Mexicans." I actually had 90 pages finished, then in a fit of rage (which when it comes to my writing, is not rare, for instance, I have about 40 posts for this blog in queue that I will never post because I can't stand to read them. That's right, the shit I put up is actually better than the shit I don't put up, so you can thank me for that later.) I deleted it. All of it. Character sketches. Outline. Treatment. Every last fucking word. Enough self loathing for you?
So what have I been writing? You may ask. You may not care. I wouldn't blame you.
The haunting. It never leaves me. There's always a look, a place, a name, a girl. It all factors in.
And with no further ado, or any at all for that matter, the current project is called "Old City Stories." It's a collection of short stories about the places I live and love. A bit of back story is necessary at this point.
As you all know, I used to practice law. "Practice" being the key word. After much soul searching and discussion with my wife, it became apparent that I couldn't do it anymore. I've lived too much of my life for others, and at 38, for the second time, it is time for me to live for me. Typing those words is weird. Anyway, back to the book and my life.
I've been holding out on you all. I'm actually training to be a bartender. And I love it. It's so nice to actually have people come in and be happy to see me. For ten years, I would pick up the phone and the person on the other end of the line was dismayed. Now, when people see me, they're happy. What a change. I'm sure it's the booze, but I'm ok with a little self delusion.
Anyway, one day I was sitting in the bar, waiting for my first customer, and I thought "Hey, fuck it, I should write a story about this." I don't know what inspired me to think that, but there it was. So I started writing notes. A Conflict arose. Characters entered next. The scenery was already there. And so it goes.
It gets really difficult to write. Some days I stare at the computer screen and I want to scream. Nothing comes. It's all around me, the inches I need, but they don't cooperate. Why anyone would choose this life is beyond me, but that's a continuing theme in my life. The choices just seem to happen without any regard for my tastes. So I slog through the best that I can.
That's what haunts me. The knowledge that it's all around me, and I just can't seem to find it. It's like being blind in the spring. The beauty is all around you, but you can't see it. Torture. Degradation. The half an inch you need, just out of reach.
And isn't that really the basis of failure? Reaching for something that is just a half an inch out of reach? You strain, you feel the arm muscles tighten, you look at the raised fingers, but at some point, you just know.
It's not enough. Your best just isn't good enough. And that's what writing is for me every single fucking day. So why do I do it? I don't know. Compulsion? Perhaps. Crashing by design? Most definitely.
So I've promised my wife that I wouldn't delete anything anymore. Hopefully, I'll come out with something cohesive and serviceable, but even if I don't, at least I'm trying.
And isn't that really what you can do? Try? It's all I've got left, and who knows, maybe I'll actually be successful.
More to come.
Oh, why is the world smaller than I previously thought? The editor of the book by Aaron Goldfarb is a girl named Amy whom used to be a waitress at a lunch place I used to go to back when I was an 'important person.' It was good to see her again, and I'm glad she seems to be heading in her dream direction.
Save a prayer for those haunt you.
There now,
I don't mind if you still love me." ~ Jerry Cantrell, "Leave Me Alone."
The world is a lot smaller than I previously thought.
A good friend of mine invited me to a book release party last night. So a hearty 'howdy' to Joe and Brett, who were great company. Oh, and Katie too. I also managed to get talked into cooking again by my boss, but that's another story for another time.
I had a fucking blast. I got to meet the author. I'm sure it's no surprise to any of you how much this meant to me since my one goal in life at this point is to finish my book. I don't even care at this point if it sucks, I just need to get it done. Oh, the book.
"How to Fail: The Self-Hurt Guide." The author's name is Aaron Goldfarb, and I have to tell you, I don't generally like anyone, but this guy was really nice. He took time out to say hello and say a few encouraging words, which is incredibly cool. His blog is funny as hell too. It's located here. Give the guy some love, anyone who's written a book deserves it, because it's fucking hard as hell.
How do I know this? Well, as I said, I've been writing a book which is responsible for my lack of attention to this blog, among other things.
I started out writing a book with the working title "Fucking Mexicans." I actually had 90 pages finished, then in a fit of rage (which when it comes to my writing, is not rare, for instance, I have about 40 posts for this blog in queue that I will never post because I can't stand to read them. That's right, the shit I put up is actually better than the shit I don't put up, so you can thank me for that later.) I deleted it. All of it. Character sketches. Outline. Treatment. Every last fucking word. Enough self loathing for you?
So what have I been writing? You may ask. You may not care. I wouldn't blame you.
The haunting. It never leaves me. There's always a look, a place, a name, a girl. It all factors in.
And with no further ado, or any at all for that matter, the current project is called "Old City Stories." It's a collection of short stories about the places I live and love. A bit of back story is necessary at this point.
As you all know, I used to practice law. "Practice" being the key word. After much soul searching and discussion with my wife, it became apparent that I couldn't do it anymore. I've lived too much of my life for others, and at 38, for the second time, it is time for me to live for me. Typing those words is weird. Anyway, back to the book and my life.
I've been holding out on you all. I'm actually training to be a bartender. And I love it. It's so nice to actually have people come in and be happy to see me. For ten years, I would pick up the phone and the person on the other end of the line was dismayed. Now, when people see me, they're happy. What a change. I'm sure it's the booze, but I'm ok with a little self delusion.
Anyway, one day I was sitting in the bar, waiting for my first customer, and I thought "Hey, fuck it, I should write a story about this." I don't know what inspired me to think that, but there it was. So I started writing notes. A Conflict arose. Characters entered next. The scenery was already there. And so it goes.
It gets really difficult to write. Some days I stare at the computer screen and I want to scream. Nothing comes. It's all around me, the inches I need, but they don't cooperate. Why anyone would choose this life is beyond me, but that's a continuing theme in my life. The choices just seem to happen without any regard for my tastes. So I slog through the best that I can.
That's what haunts me. The knowledge that it's all around me, and I just can't seem to find it. It's like being blind in the spring. The beauty is all around you, but you can't see it. Torture. Degradation. The half an inch you need, just out of reach.
And isn't that really the basis of failure? Reaching for something that is just a half an inch out of reach? You strain, you feel the arm muscles tighten, you look at the raised fingers, but at some point, you just know.
It's not enough. Your best just isn't good enough. And that's what writing is for me every single fucking day. So why do I do it? I don't know. Compulsion? Perhaps. Crashing by design? Most definitely.
So I've promised my wife that I wouldn't delete anything anymore. Hopefully, I'll come out with something cohesive and serviceable, but even if I don't, at least I'm trying.
And isn't that really what you can do? Try? It's all I've got left, and who knows, maybe I'll actually be successful.
More to come.
Oh, why is the world smaller than I previously thought? The editor of the book by Aaron Goldfarb is a girl named Amy whom used to be a waitress at a lunch place I used to go to back when I was an 'important person.' It was good to see her again, and I'm glad she seems to be heading in her dream direction.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
3:00 A.M. Redux.
Upon further review, I've decided my opening song in my dream would be:
Can't You Hear Me Knockin' by The Rolling Stones.
Holy Mother of God, this song is unbelievable. I just busted out Sticky Fingers and once again have to bow to the genius that is the guitar playing of Mick Taylor and Keith Richards. They dance around one another like a couple of belly dancers and it's hypnotic and beautiful.
Yup. This is the one.
That's all.
Can't You Hear Me Knockin' by The Rolling Stones.
Holy Mother of God, this song is unbelievable. I just busted out Sticky Fingers and once again have to bow to the genius that is the guitar playing of Mick Taylor and Keith Richards. They dance around one another like a couple of belly dancers and it's hypnotic and beautiful.
Yup. This is the one.
That's all.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Takin' What They're Givin...
...Because I'm Working for a Living. ~ Huey Lewis and the News, "Working for a Living"
I'm pissed off. Yes, yes, I'm sure you're shocked. So I'm contemplating sending the following e-mail to the City of Philadelphia, budget crises be damned.
Dear City of Philadelphia,
While I'm cognizant that you're currently facing a massive budget shortfall, despite the fact that you manage to tax everything, and I mean everything, to such a draconian amount that Satan wonders how the fuck he can blow all that money on hookers and coke. However, I have enclosed an invoice for services rendered and I do expect that I should get paid. You may be asking yourselves 'who the fuck is this guy?' It's a fair question, so I'll deign to give you as thorough a response as possible.
I'm the guy that stands on Second Street, having a cigarette. Now I understand cigarette breaks are normally noncompensible, however, while I'm taking these breaks, I have to endure the following:
-Someone, usually staying at the Hostel located nearby, will stop and ask me questions. I understand that I'm incredibly sexy and intelligent looking, but despite this, I do not speak Dutch, German, Swahili or whatever the fuck language these people speak from a country I couldn't find on a map with a GPS, both my hands and a fucking flashlight. I do not understand you, this is why I tilt my head to the side like my dog does when I ask her to complete a math problem. No, I don't know why the United States hates you, but I do know why I hate you. While I appreciate the fact that your country's history probably includes goat rape, all we have here in Philadelphia is the birthplace of Democracy. So fucking shove it, and we can even vote on the foregoing should you so choose.
- I don't know if you can park there. I'm sorry, have you ever seen 'Parking Wars?' Yeah, it's about the Philadelphia Parking Authority. From what I can tell, they are the most powerful agency in the city, surpassing even the Mayor's office. Yes, I know parking is a bitch. Yes, I know you're from Jersey. Yes, I may even feel a little (and I do mean little) sympathy for you. That being said, I do not control the parking authority. I've even got tickets from them, and I'm a fucking douchebag when it comes to signs. Let me make this clear, I went down to parking court with my wife (my attorney as well) and yelled at people. This is what I like to do and this is what makes me feel that my life is worthwhile. So while I do commiserate with you, I do not like being yelled at, so fuck yourselves. Your parking, despite your commitment to the contrary ideal, is not my fucking problem. Figure it the fuck out.
- Yes, I did probably hit on you ten years ago. While I understand you're now married, have three kids, and unhappy about it all, it's not my fault. I assure you, you were only one of a million I hit on, and extremely unsuccessfully I might add. Again, it bears repeating, it's not my fault. And to further make you feel shitty about this, I will affirmatively state that when I was younger, I fished in the 'dumb, drunk, and slutty pool.' Of which you were an inhabitant. If you actually did sleep with me (which is highly unlikely) then you have something to bitch about. Just ask my wife.
- Yes, I do understand you're homeless. No, I don't want to buy the shit you just took out of the dumpster behind Pharmacia. While I appreciate a good deal as much as the next guy, a half drank bottle of Miller Lite at $1 seems just a bit too risky, considering the cap is off and the bottle appears to be steaming. While I also appreciate the fact that your urine has a higher alcohol content than Everclear, and it is well known that I'm such a huge risk taker, some risks are just not worth the payoff.
- Do not look so fucking helpless and clueless when you wear a Nazi SS Uniform at the Khyber Pass because 'you're making a statement' and you get your brains beat in on Second Street. I do love the law, and yes, I will agree that assault is illegal, I will also have to state that some people have it coming to them. And you're one of them. Oh, and stop bleeding on the sidewalk, show some fucking courtesy.
- I apologize, I'm not in the business of giving you a credible alibi in case you committed a crime. If you steal a purse, I'm going to yell and point. At you. I once had my wallet stolen, and let me tell you, replacing the money is easy. The ID's and credit cards are hellish. I contemplated changing my name to Juan Valdez so I could get free coffee, but the DMV didn't seem to have a sense of humor. Oh, and fuck them.
- I am not the Cruise Director for Old City. I know, I know, this may come as a shock to many of you. In an effort to continue to be helpful, I've decided I'm going to answer all requests with 'On my cock.' Hopefully this will let the person know just how much contempt I have for them, as I do not like to veil my sarcasm and distaste, as like whiskey, they are much better straight.
"Where can we go dancing?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where can we eat around here?" - 'On my cock.'
"Do you have a cigarette?" - 'On my cock.'
"Do you have any change?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where can I park?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where is Independence Hall?" - 'On my cock.'
So, City of Philadelphia, as you can see, my newest 'On my cock' policy will yield the appropriate response to pretty much any question. If this policy does not meet with your approval, feel free to suck my cock.
Taking all the foregoing into consideration, including time, labor and materials, I estimate the following outstanding balance for services rendered:
$1,432,567.50
I will not accept any checks, especially third party out of state checks as you are hobo ass broke. I prefer cash, although I will accept the deed to City Hall in lieu of cash.
Please deliver to Night and Day, P.O. Box 666, First Bank of America, Philadelphia, PA, 19106.
NOTE: If people comment that they want me to send the above e-mail, and come up with an amusing reason to do so, I will consider creating a new e-mail address and invoice the city for my time. Let me know, it could be funny if they actually respond. It could be even funnier if they actually pay me. Hey, fuck it, if the head of the Philadelphia Housing Authority can get a pension after running up millions in sexual harassment settlements, I can certainly get paid for 'helping tourism flourish.'
I'm pissed off. Yes, yes, I'm sure you're shocked. So I'm contemplating sending the following e-mail to the City of Philadelphia, budget crises be damned.
Dear City of Philadelphia,
While I'm cognizant that you're currently facing a massive budget shortfall, despite the fact that you manage to tax everything, and I mean everything, to such a draconian amount that Satan wonders how the fuck he can blow all that money on hookers and coke. However, I have enclosed an invoice for services rendered and I do expect that I should get paid. You may be asking yourselves 'who the fuck is this guy?' It's a fair question, so I'll deign to give you as thorough a response as possible.
I'm the guy that stands on Second Street, having a cigarette. Now I understand cigarette breaks are normally noncompensible, however, while I'm taking these breaks, I have to endure the following:
-Someone, usually staying at the Hostel located nearby, will stop and ask me questions. I understand that I'm incredibly sexy and intelligent looking, but despite this, I do not speak Dutch, German, Swahili or whatever the fuck language these people speak from a country I couldn't find on a map with a GPS, both my hands and a fucking flashlight. I do not understand you, this is why I tilt my head to the side like my dog does when I ask her to complete a math problem. No, I don't know why the United States hates you, but I do know why I hate you. While I appreciate the fact that your country's history probably includes goat rape, all we have here in Philadelphia is the birthplace of Democracy. So fucking shove it, and we can even vote on the foregoing should you so choose.
- I don't know if you can park there. I'm sorry, have you ever seen 'Parking Wars?' Yeah, it's about the Philadelphia Parking Authority. From what I can tell, they are the most powerful agency in the city, surpassing even the Mayor's office. Yes, I know parking is a bitch. Yes, I know you're from Jersey. Yes, I may even feel a little (and I do mean little) sympathy for you. That being said, I do not control the parking authority. I've even got tickets from them, and I'm a fucking douchebag when it comes to signs. Let me make this clear, I went down to parking court with my wife (my attorney as well) and yelled at people. This is what I like to do and this is what makes me feel that my life is worthwhile. So while I do commiserate with you, I do not like being yelled at, so fuck yourselves. Your parking, despite your commitment to the contrary ideal, is not my fucking problem. Figure it the fuck out.
- Yes, I did probably hit on you ten years ago. While I understand you're now married, have three kids, and unhappy about it all, it's not my fault. I assure you, you were only one of a million I hit on, and extremely unsuccessfully I might add. Again, it bears repeating, it's not my fault. And to further make you feel shitty about this, I will affirmatively state that when I was younger, I fished in the 'dumb, drunk, and slutty pool.' Of which you were an inhabitant. If you actually did sleep with me (which is highly unlikely) then you have something to bitch about. Just ask my wife.
- Yes, I do understand you're homeless. No, I don't want to buy the shit you just took out of the dumpster behind Pharmacia. While I appreciate a good deal as much as the next guy, a half drank bottle of Miller Lite at $1 seems just a bit too risky, considering the cap is off and the bottle appears to be steaming. While I also appreciate the fact that your urine has a higher alcohol content than Everclear, and it is well known that I'm such a huge risk taker, some risks are just not worth the payoff.
- Do not look so fucking helpless and clueless when you wear a Nazi SS Uniform at the Khyber Pass because 'you're making a statement' and you get your brains beat in on Second Street. I do love the law, and yes, I will agree that assault is illegal, I will also have to state that some people have it coming to them. And you're one of them. Oh, and stop bleeding on the sidewalk, show some fucking courtesy.
- I apologize, I'm not in the business of giving you a credible alibi in case you committed a crime. If you steal a purse, I'm going to yell and point. At you. I once had my wallet stolen, and let me tell you, replacing the money is easy. The ID's and credit cards are hellish. I contemplated changing my name to Juan Valdez so I could get free coffee, but the DMV didn't seem to have a sense of humor. Oh, and fuck them.
- I am not the Cruise Director for Old City. I know, I know, this may come as a shock to many of you. In an effort to continue to be helpful, I've decided I'm going to answer all requests with 'On my cock.' Hopefully this will let the person know just how much contempt I have for them, as I do not like to veil my sarcasm and distaste, as like whiskey, they are much better straight.
"Where can we go dancing?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where can we eat around here?" - 'On my cock.'
"Do you have a cigarette?" - 'On my cock.'
"Do you have any change?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where can I park?" - 'On my cock.'
"Where is Independence Hall?" - 'On my cock.'
So, City of Philadelphia, as you can see, my newest 'On my cock' policy will yield the appropriate response to pretty much any question. If this policy does not meet with your approval, feel free to suck my cock.
Taking all the foregoing into consideration, including time, labor and materials, I estimate the following outstanding balance for services rendered:
$1,432,567.50
I will not accept any checks, especially third party out of state checks as you are hobo ass broke. I prefer cash, although I will accept the deed to City Hall in lieu of cash.
Please deliver to Night and Day, P.O. Box 666, First Bank of America, Philadelphia, PA, 19106.
NOTE: If people comment that they want me to send the above e-mail, and come up with an amusing reason to do so, I will consider creating a new e-mail address and invoice the city for my time. Let me know, it could be funny if they actually respond. It could be even funnier if they actually pay me. Hey, fuck it, if the head of the Philadelphia Housing Authority can get a pension after running up millions in sexual harassment settlements, I can certainly get paid for 'helping tourism flourish.'
Friday, October 1, 2010
3:00 A.M.
"Children we have it right here,
It's the light in my eyes,
It's perfection and grace,
It's the smile on my face.
Tonight when I chase the dragon,
The water will change to cherry wine,
And the silver will turn to gold
Time out of mind." ~ Steely Dan, "Time Out of Mind"
I'm in a dressing room. I feel the weight of my 1972 Fender Telecaster Custom Reissue, the first real guitar I ever bought, tugging at my neck. It feels like a comforting hand on my shoulder, letting me know that despite myself, everything's going to be all right. Sometimes, even in my dream, I wonder, 'why this one?' It makes no sense to me, I've always been terrified of the spotlight. Yet, in possibly the most glaringly inconsistent manner, I seek out that which frightens me.
I stare around the dressing room. The other band members are going through their own rituals, facing their own demons, coming to terms with the unreality of it all. I stare straight ahead at the mirror and look at the man-boy staring back at me. Beat up baseball cap, nondescript t-shirt, jeans a couple of sizes too big. A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, and the eyes narrow. I've never gotten too far beyond that 16 year old self.
This is where things start to get scary. I'm about to go where I never want to go. I don't understand it, I've played hundreds of shows (once in front of 12,000 people) and yet I can't seem to just walk away. It is infuriating in its hypocrisy. Why do it if it drives me this nuts.
The dream continues. At a certain point, I dash to the bathroom and the contents of my stomach end up exiting.
"5 minutes" yells the road manager.
Oh boy, this is the worst. The heightened sense of impending doom. Why on earth would I dream of something so anxiety laden?
In the dream I return to the dressing room. The looks on the faces of my bandmates vary from serene to panic stricken as we make our final peace with our 'before' selves. I take a deep breath and grab Sascha, my '72 Tele, take a drag from my cigarette, and take a swig of Powers.
"Showtime."
I follow behind the band, I'm going to be the last one on stage. Suddenly, I panic. What is the first song? The first chord? Do I start it? Holy fuck, this is bad. Though this part of my dream has always remained constant, the first song changes depending on my mood. It has varied from "Custard Pie," a down and dirty blues romp, to "Running with the Devil," through "Live Wire," the ultimate opener by AC/DC, or sometimes the haunting "Gimme Shelter," a song of doom and post apocalyptic gloom.
We wind through the bowels of the arena, the footsteps of my bandmates echoing back and forth over the halls and floors. In the distance, I hear a storm coming, just on the verge of breaking. I can even smell sulpher, a used match backlights the head of the singer in front of me. It's coming.
We climb a stairwell, ascending to the stage. I can feel the breeze, indiscriminately carrying with it the smells of thousands of people. The storm is growing closer, the temperature is rising right along with my panic. Only an ego such as mine could compare this to the way the Christians must have felt on their last walk to the arena for the amusement of others. I'm sure there's some comment on the human condition here somewhere, about misery providing amusement. I'm just not in a place to make the connection.
We wind around to the main stage, noise growing louder, and I can see the smoke. There are flashes of light through a sliver of curtain. It's time.
In my dream, there is no introduction, no fanfare, no announcer. Just five guys, their instruments and a desire to never lose that fire. The one within, the one that takes sheer unadulterated joy in submitting to the music that is the child of us all. I walk out on the stage, still darkened, waiting for that one perfect chord that will ring out forever.
I am home.
...
It's 3 a.m. and I'm awake. This is not an uncommon thing for me. I sit on my couch and listen to the world in its stillness, and I wish I could join it.
But no rest for the wicked.
They file in, one by one, wordlessly, staring. Every mistake and decision I've ever made. They line up, and their very presence underscores the agenda. Reflection. When Benjamin Franklin and Dr. Rush decided to create a new prison model, they created Eastern State Penitentiary. The idea was to isolate the prisoner, because it would force them to turn inward and reflect, and hopefully become 'penitent.'
At 3:00 a.m., the defenses you need to deal with the day are gone, because there is nothing left to defend against, other than yourself. The parade down the road untaken isn't always painful, and isn't always futile. It just makes you wonder 'what if?'
At 3:00 a.m., whether it be dreaming or reflecting, you are probably as true to yourself as you can ever be.
I don't think it's coincidence that our capacity to dream and regret wreak their havoc upon us at the same time, they are sisters, one the potentiality of us all and the other the reality. The one sister is your companion, and the other is what you want to possess, but never will.
If the last year has taught me anything, it's that you never really know what's around the corner. Obviously, I'm logical enough to know that, but to really feel it and experience a major change in your life is a different thing altogether. For the past ten years, my life was fairly straightforward, I had a career, I got up everyday, went to do my job, went home. Rinse and repeat. It didn't leave too much time to think about shit, and let's face it, you get complacent and don't really have the motivation to think about the bigger things.
Maybe we avoid thinking about the bigger things because of the regrets that we all know lie just beneath the surface. The bitch of it is that's where the dreams are too, so when you dredge those waters you have to accept the fact that you'll end up finding a few bodies in your hunt for buried treasure.
So now what? At 38, I never saw myself in this position, wondering what type of work I would do when I had it figured out cold at 26. But life throws you curves sometimes and you have to adjust.
Ultimately, I guess since I'm here now, maybe I'll go out to the garage, dust off the saddle, and giddy up and just see if I can catch a dragon or two. I'm a bit out of practice, but who knows, I might just catch one. And if you circle around enough, it becomes harder to determine who is chasing whom.
And sometimes the odd number wins.
It's the light in my eyes,
It's perfection and grace,
It's the smile on my face.
Tonight when I chase the dragon,
The water will change to cherry wine,
And the silver will turn to gold
Time out of mind." ~ Steely Dan, "Time Out of Mind"
I'm in a dressing room. I feel the weight of my 1972 Fender Telecaster Custom Reissue, the first real guitar I ever bought, tugging at my neck. It feels like a comforting hand on my shoulder, letting me know that despite myself, everything's going to be all right. Sometimes, even in my dream, I wonder, 'why this one?' It makes no sense to me, I've always been terrified of the spotlight. Yet, in possibly the most glaringly inconsistent manner, I seek out that which frightens me.
I stare around the dressing room. The other band members are going through their own rituals, facing their own demons, coming to terms with the unreality of it all. I stare straight ahead at the mirror and look at the man-boy staring back at me. Beat up baseball cap, nondescript t-shirt, jeans a couple of sizes too big. A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, and the eyes narrow. I've never gotten too far beyond that 16 year old self.
This is where things start to get scary. I'm about to go where I never want to go. I don't understand it, I've played hundreds of shows (once in front of 12,000 people) and yet I can't seem to just walk away. It is infuriating in its hypocrisy. Why do it if it drives me this nuts.
The dream continues. At a certain point, I dash to the bathroom and the contents of my stomach end up exiting.
"5 minutes" yells the road manager.
Oh boy, this is the worst. The heightened sense of impending doom. Why on earth would I dream of something so anxiety laden?
In the dream I return to the dressing room. The looks on the faces of my bandmates vary from serene to panic stricken as we make our final peace with our 'before' selves. I take a deep breath and grab Sascha, my '72 Tele, take a drag from my cigarette, and take a swig of Powers.
"Showtime."
I follow behind the band, I'm going to be the last one on stage. Suddenly, I panic. What is the first song? The first chord? Do I start it? Holy fuck, this is bad. Though this part of my dream has always remained constant, the first song changes depending on my mood. It has varied from "Custard Pie," a down and dirty blues romp, to "Running with the Devil," through "Live Wire," the ultimate opener by AC/DC, or sometimes the haunting "Gimme Shelter," a song of doom and post apocalyptic gloom.
We wind through the bowels of the arena, the footsteps of my bandmates echoing back and forth over the halls and floors. In the distance, I hear a storm coming, just on the verge of breaking. I can even smell sulpher, a used match backlights the head of the singer in front of me. It's coming.
We climb a stairwell, ascending to the stage. I can feel the breeze, indiscriminately carrying with it the smells of thousands of people. The storm is growing closer, the temperature is rising right along with my panic. Only an ego such as mine could compare this to the way the Christians must have felt on their last walk to the arena for the amusement of others. I'm sure there's some comment on the human condition here somewhere, about misery providing amusement. I'm just not in a place to make the connection.
We wind around to the main stage, noise growing louder, and I can see the smoke. There are flashes of light through a sliver of curtain. It's time.
In my dream, there is no introduction, no fanfare, no announcer. Just five guys, their instruments and a desire to never lose that fire. The one within, the one that takes sheer unadulterated joy in submitting to the music that is the child of us all. I walk out on the stage, still darkened, waiting for that one perfect chord that will ring out forever.
I am home.
...
It's 3 a.m. and I'm awake. This is not an uncommon thing for me. I sit on my couch and listen to the world in its stillness, and I wish I could join it.
But no rest for the wicked.
They file in, one by one, wordlessly, staring. Every mistake and decision I've ever made. They line up, and their very presence underscores the agenda. Reflection. When Benjamin Franklin and Dr. Rush decided to create a new prison model, they created Eastern State Penitentiary. The idea was to isolate the prisoner, because it would force them to turn inward and reflect, and hopefully become 'penitent.'
At 3:00 a.m., the defenses you need to deal with the day are gone, because there is nothing left to defend against, other than yourself. The parade down the road untaken isn't always painful, and isn't always futile. It just makes you wonder 'what if?'
At 3:00 a.m., whether it be dreaming or reflecting, you are probably as true to yourself as you can ever be.
I don't think it's coincidence that our capacity to dream and regret wreak their havoc upon us at the same time, they are sisters, one the potentiality of us all and the other the reality. The one sister is your companion, and the other is what you want to possess, but never will.
If the last year has taught me anything, it's that you never really know what's around the corner. Obviously, I'm logical enough to know that, but to really feel it and experience a major change in your life is a different thing altogether. For the past ten years, my life was fairly straightforward, I had a career, I got up everyday, went to do my job, went home. Rinse and repeat. It didn't leave too much time to think about shit, and let's face it, you get complacent and don't really have the motivation to think about the bigger things.
Maybe we avoid thinking about the bigger things because of the regrets that we all know lie just beneath the surface. The bitch of it is that's where the dreams are too, so when you dredge those waters you have to accept the fact that you'll end up finding a few bodies in your hunt for buried treasure.
So now what? At 38, I never saw myself in this position, wondering what type of work I would do when I had it figured out cold at 26. But life throws you curves sometimes and you have to adjust.
Ultimately, I guess since I'm here now, maybe I'll go out to the garage, dust off the saddle, and giddy up and just see if I can catch a dragon or two. I'm a bit out of practice, but who knows, I might just catch one. And if you circle around enough, it becomes harder to determine who is chasing whom.
And sometimes the odd number wins.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Underrated Guitar Solos
I've been a musician most of my life. There is something that is absolutely enchanting about music, it guides, cajoles, and lives in our memories, setting off good thoughts about a time and place.
For me, the pinnacle of music is the guitar solo. Probably because I'm a guitar player, but there is something so American about a guitar. Yes, I know it was invented elsewhere, but rock music is uniquely American and the ultimate expression of guitar is the solo.
I've played hundreds, if not thousands, of guitar solos. My wife will forever hate 'Sympathy for the Devil' because of a ten minute solo I once did on that song.
Anyway, I talk to a lot of guitar players, and every time I mention the following solos, they say 'oh, shit, totally forgot about that, it's fucking awesome.' So that's the requirement for an underrated solo. Solos like 'Stairway to Heaven,' 'All Along the Watchtower,' and 'Hotel California' are iconic. As such, they will not be included. So without any further ado, and in no particular order, here is my list of the ten most underrated guitar solos.
In the Evening, Led Zeppelin, In Through the Out Door, by Jimmy Page. Yes, he's sloppy. And his technique isn't the greatest. But this solo stands out. If you listen closely, you can hear the springs of the tremelo system as they expand at the beginning of this solo. The first time I heard it, I stopped what I was doing, slack jawed and siad 'what the fuck was THAT?'
Mean Street, Van Halen, Fair Warning, Eddie Van Halen. It's difficult to imagine that there is an underrated Van Halen solo, but this one might be the penultimate one. First of all, you have David Lee Roth saying 'Dance, baby' and this wonderful rhythm part underneath it, all glistening and shiny. Then BAM. He tears into a vintage solo that would would give Satan a hard on. It's one of the few solos that I took the time to learn note for note, and it still fucking floors me even though I can play it. Typically, I don't think much of my guitar playing, so if I can play it, I figure it must suck. This one? Yeah, it retains the magic behind the curtain.
No More, No More, Aerosmith, Toys in the Attic, Joe Perry. I never got Aerosmith when I was younger. I liked the hits, but I could never understand why Joe Perry was so highly rated. Then I heard this solo and I never questioned the greatness that is Joe Perry. The outro is unreal. Turn the stereo up, put the car in fifth gear and hit the gas. Make sure to do it on a warm fall day and you too will get this religion. There's a road in Marlton, New Jersey where the trees overgrow the road. You run down this path and stare at the dimpled sunlight through the leaves. If you have this song on while you do it, you will forever be thankful.
Driven to Tears, The Police, Zenyatta Mandatta, Andy Summers. This guy basically takes 16 bars to break into your house, fuck your wife, kick your dog, drink your whiskey, steal your tv and is out the door. You can't even get mad, you just nod in amazement and repeat Will Farrel's line from Anchorman: 'I'm not even mad, I'm just impressed.' It's that fucking good.
In the Mood, Robert Plant, Isle of Wight. There's a version of this song out there and the dude does an 8 minute solo that makes you hang on every note. It starts off a bit slow, just dripping with feel and then explodes into an extravaganza for the ears. If anyone ever asked me: 'how do I know when I'm a good guitar player?' my response would be 'when you can get this solo. Not playing it, just get it.'
Miss You, Eric Clapton, August, Eric Clapton. Yes, this album is totally commercial. The backstory on this solo is Clapton had a very heated argument with the producer, a gentleman by the name of Phil Collins, and he went in to the studio scowling and busted this one out. Clapton is a God, and has many highly regarded solos, but this one is never brought up, and it should be, because you can feel the animosity coming out of the speakers. I've been to three Clapton concerts, and at the first two I fell asleep. I'm not kidding, I was that bored. The third one? I was in the 14th row at the Spectrum and I now understand why there is a God and he is Clapton.
Planet of New Orleans, Dire Straits, On Every Street, Mark Knopfler. If I could be any guitar player, it'd either be Clapton, Van Halen or Mark Knopfler. What he does all over this album is nothing short of kick you in the balls in such a way that you say 'thank you sir, may I have another.' This album, which in my opinion might be Dire Strait's best, is much maligned because of its commercial value. But good is good. And this solo, or series of solos, makes you understand that if Jesus came back today, he'd be sporting a Stratocaster and playing this solo.
Let Me Put My Love Into You, AC/DC, Back in Black, Angus Young. A guitar player once said to me when I told him that I loved Angus 'really? No One Loves Angus.' I just stared at him. This guy does things with a guitar that makes me question if I even exist. To be able to play that way is just unsettling on a fundamental level. As noted in previous posts, my AC/DC shirt, which my wife regrets buying me, is a fundamental part of my existence. And this solo is the reason.
Estranged, Guns and Roses, Use Your Illusion 2, Slash. I was definitely a latecomer to the Guns and Roses Bandwagon, but this album? Holy Mother of Fuck, it was stupendous. Generally regarded by critics as the better of the duo, this one is a late night drive by shooting in the making. The second solo, the one that begins with the volume fade ins, is like an ill wind blowing through your screen door at 5 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. Unexpected, unwanted, and totally addictive.
My Morning Song, Black Crowes, Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, Rich Robinson/Ford. If you don't have this album, go out and buy it. Right now. It is the most important album in the past 20 years. Hyperbole? Maybe. But I'm telling you, from the opening strains of 'Sting Me' through the sheer slide and sex that is 'My Morning Song' you will not be disappointed. If you like rock music, you'll like this album. And if you don't like this album, you have no soul. Exaggeration? Not a bit.
Bonus 11th Track:
Join Together,The Who, Lifehouse Project, Pete Townshend. This one takes a while to get moving, but like a runaway train, it just picks up speed, bowls you over, and leaves you looking at its tail end wondering what the hell just happened. Both solos in this one are worthy of emulation. The first one is about 4 bars in E, but it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard. The second one sounds like a desperate lover on a three day binge begging for one more go.
As noted in my last post, Music, Art, and Beauty are the things that make it worth being human. If you don't think so, well, go fuck yourself. This one is my line in the sand.
For me, the pinnacle of music is the guitar solo. Probably because I'm a guitar player, but there is something so American about a guitar. Yes, I know it was invented elsewhere, but rock music is uniquely American and the ultimate expression of guitar is the solo.
I've played hundreds, if not thousands, of guitar solos. My wife will forever hate 'Sympathy for the Devil' because of a ten minute solo I once did on that song.
Anyway, I talk to a lot of guitar players, and every time I mention the following solos, they say 'oh, shit, totally forgot about that, it's fucking awesome.' So that's the requirement for an underrated solo. Solos like 'Stairway to Heaven,' 'All Along the Watchtower,' and 'Hotel California' are iconic. As such, they will not be included. So without any further ado, and in no particular order, here is my list of the ten most underrated guitar solos.
In the Evening, Led Zeppelin, In Through the Out Door, by Jimmy Page. Yes, he's sloppy. And his technique isn't the greatest. But this solo stands out. If you listen closely, you can hear the springs of the tremelo system as they expand at the beginning of this solo. The first time I heard it, I stopped what I was doing, slack jawed and siad 'what the fuck was THAT?'
Mean Street, Van Halen, Fair Warning, Eddie Van Halen. It's difficult to imagine that there is an underrated Van Halen solo, but this one might be the penultimate one. First of all, you have David Lee Roth saying 'Dance, baby' and this wonderful rhythm part underneath it, all glistening and shiny. Then BAM. He tears into a vintage solo that would would give Satan a hard on. It's one of the few solos that I took the time to learn note for note, and it still fucking floors me even though I can play it. Typically, I don't think much of my guitar playing, so if I can play it, I figure it must suck. This one? Yeah, it retains the magic behind the curtain.
No More, No More, Aerosmith, Toys in the Attic, Joe Perry. I never got Aerosmith when I was younger. I liked the hits, but I could never understand why Joe Perry was so highly rated. Then I heard this solo and I never questioned the greatness that is Joe Perry. The outro is unreal. Turn the stereo up, put the car in fifth gear and hit the gas. Make sure to do it on a warm fall day and you too will get this religion. There's a road in Marlton, New Jersey where the trees overgrow the road. You run down this path and stare at the dimpled sunlight through the leaves. If you have this song on while you do it, you will forever be thankful.
Driven to Tears, The Police, Zenyatta Mandatta, Andy Summers. This guy basically takes 16 bars to break into your house, fuck your wife, kick your dog, drink your whiskey, steal your tv and is out the door. You can't even get mad, you just nod in amazement and repeat Will Farrel's line from Anchorman: 'I'm not even mad, I'm just impressed.' It's that fucking good.
In the Mood, Robert Plant, Isle of Wight. There's a version of this song out there and the dude does an 8 minute solo that makes you hang on every note. It starts off a bit slow, just dripping with feel and then explodes into an extravaganza for the ears. If anyone ever asked me: 'how do I know when I'm a good guitar player?' my response would be 'when you can get this solo. Not playing it, just get it.'
Miss You, Eric Clapton, August, Eric Clapton. Yes, this album is totally commercial. The backstory on this solo is Clapton had a very heated argument with the producer, a gentleman by the name of Phil Collins, and he went in to the studio scowling and busted this one out. Clapton is a God, and has many highly regarded solos, but this one is never brought up, and it should be, because you can feel the animosity coming out of the speakers. I've been to three Clapton concerts, and at the first two I fell asleep. I'm not kidding, I was that bored. The third one? I was in the 14th row at the Spectrum and I now understand why there is a God and he is Clapton.
Planet of New Orleans, Dire Straits, On Every Street, Mark Knopfler. If I could be any guitar player, it'd either be Clapton, Van Halen or Mark Knopfler. What he does all over this album is nothing short of kick you in the balls in such a way that you say 'thank you sir, may I have another.' This album, which in my opinion might be Dire Strait's best, is much maligned because of its commercial value. But good is good. And this solo, or series of solos, makes you understand that if Jesus came back today, he'd be sporting a Stratocaster and playing this solo.
Let Me Put My Love Into You, AC/DC, Back in Black, Angus Young. A guitar player once said to me when I told him that I loved Angus 'really? No One Loves Angus.' I just stared at him. This guy does things with a guitar that makes me question if I even exist. To be able to play that way is just unsettling on a fundamental level. As noted in previous posts, my AC/DC shirt, which my wife regrets buying me, is a fundamental part of my existence. And this solo is the reason.
Estranged, Guns and Roses, Use Your Illusion 2, Slash. I was definitely a latecomer to the Guns and Roses Bandwagon, but this album? Holy Mother of Fuck, it was stupendous. Generally regarded by critics as the better of the duo, this one is a late night drive by shooting in the making. The second solo, the one that begins with the volume fade ins, is like an ill wind blowing through your screen door at 5 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. Unexpected, unwanted, and totally addictive.
My Morning Song, Black Crowes, Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, Rich Robinson/Ford. If you don't have this album, go out and buy it. Right now. It is the most important album in the past 20 years. Hyperbole? Maybe. But I'm telling you, from the opening strains of 'Sting Me' through the sheer slide and sex that is 'My Morning Song' you will not be disappointed. If you like rock music, you'll like this album. And if you don't like this album, you have no soul. Exaggeration? Not a bit.
Bonus 11th Track:
Join Together,The Who, Lifehouse Project, Pete Townshend. This one takes a while to get moving, but like a runaway train, it just picks up speed, bowls you over, and leaves you looking at its tail end wondering what the hell just happened. Both solos in this one are worthy of emulation. The first one is about 4 bars in E, but it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard. The second one sounds like a desperate lover on a three day binge begging for one more go.
As noted in my last post, Music, Art, and Beauty are the things that make it worth being human. If you don't think so, well, go fuck yourself. This one is my line in the sand.
Some Rules to Try to Live By...
I posted this on a board I frequent. Upon further review, I actually like it, which is very rare for me. So without gilding the Lily further....
I'm 38 and the last five years have been difficult. I may sound sanctimonious, but please don't take it that way, the following advice isn't offered because 'I did it right' but because I did it wrong and I regret it and wish I could go back and do it over.
Leave People Better Than You Find Them. It shames me to admit it, but when I was younger, I really was a shitty guy. As Kant opined, people are ends unto themselves, not means, treat them as such. If you're going to spend any significant amount of time with someone, they are gracing you with their presence, and probably their affection. Be worthy of it, and return it. Do what you can to make their life better for having invested in you.
Repair the Relationships That Are Broken, and Be Sure Of Ending The Ones That Can't Be Repaired. I waited til the eleventh hour to 'fix' the relationship with my father. I can't tell you how lucky I am that I knew my father was passing, and I got this opportunity. Don't be an asshole like me and wait, you may be too late. In the same vein, if a relationship is toxic, and you're sure it is, politely extricate yourself and move on. It is a blessing to both of you, whether you know it or not.
Art, Music, Literature and Beauty Are Important. I contend the only thing that separates us from the other species is Art. The expression of our collective predicament, the commentary on our knowledge that we too will pass. I can't give you a well articulated reason as to why these things are important, I can only say they are. As to beauty, it can be found all around you.
Courtesy and Class Never Go Out of Style. I am a very salty individual. I probably tell my wife to 'fuck off' at least 5 times a day. I do it out of love and humor (and she knows it, and actually invites it because she just laughs at me), but in public, she's my Queen. As to the public at large, they are people whom are just like you. You walk in their shoes. Remember that.
Dare to Follow Your Dreams. Most of you, like it or not, are going to end up an old fuck like me. Doing something you dislike makes life an eternity. I would urge you, to the degree possible, to find something you really like to do when you're younger and adjust your lifestyle accordingly. Maybe it means you have less things, maybe it means you won't have the huge house. I recently eschewed my 'big job' for one that is paying far less. As I said, I'm 38, and have been carded in the past month 3 times because the stress is gone. That said:
Financial Smarts Are Important. As others said, get a budget and adjust your lifestyle. It took me waaaaaaay too long to figure this one out.
Don't Wait To Stand Up For Yourself. I used to think that standing up for yourself meant getting angry. I was wrong. As others have said, don't be afraid of telling someone, in a nice way, that you don't like the way they are treating you. They may change, and if they don't, you know to walk away.
Perfectionism Is A Hollow Mistress. You are going to make mistakes. I recently deleted 90 pages of a book I'm working on because I couldn't stand it. It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever will be, we live in a world of imperfection, don't let the flaws stop you. Again, this was hard earned experience.
Always Be You. Maybe you're inconsistent. Maybe you're not. But whatever you are, try to be true to that. Unless you're an asshole like me, but I believe everyone is capable of change and being a better person. I also believe that the better you is the real you. Find him. Be him. Or her.
Don't Be Afraid to Ask For Help. I've tried to tough many things out on my own, not being willing to admit that whatever task I was undertaking was beyond my abilities. Learn a bit of humility and don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. Life is tough, we're in this mess together.
Always Leave the Other Guy An Out With Honor. Never corner someone into a position that they can't potentially leave the situation with grace or dignity. If they choose not to, that's on them.
Finally:
Everyone Gets Low, Try to Help Them Up. Be that guy. Everyone needs a lift, they're having a rough day, they're dog died, whatever, we've all been there. Be the person to look at that person on the ground and say 'hey, here's a hand up.'
I'm 38 and the last five years have been difficult. I may sound sanctimonious, but please don't take it that way, the following advice isn't offered because 'I did it right' but because I did it wrong and I regret it and wish I could go back and do it over.
Leave People Better Than You Find Them. It shames me to admit it, but when I was younger, I really was a shitty guy. As Kant opined, people are ends unto themselves, not means, treat them as such. If you're going to spend any significant amount of time with someone, they are gracing you with their presence, and probably their affection. Be worthy of it, and return it. Do what you can to make their life better for having invested in you.
Repair the Relationships That Are Broken, and Be Sure Of Ending The Ones That Can't Be Repaired. I waited til the eleventh hour to 'fix' the relationship with my father. I can't tell you how lucky I am that I knew my father was passing, and I got this opportunity. Don't be an asshole like me and wait, you may be too late. In the same vein, if a relationship is toxic, and you're sure it is, politely extricate yourself and move on. It is a blessing to both of you, whether you know it or not.
Art, Music, Literature and Beauty Are Important. I contend the only thing that separates us from the other species is Art. The expression of our collective predicament, the commentary on our knowledge that we too will pass. I can't give you a well articulated reason as to why these things are important, I can only say they are. As to beauty, it can be found all around you.
Courtesy and Class Never Go Out of Style. I am a very salty individual. I probably tell my wife to 'fuck off' at least 5 times a day. I do it out of love and humor (and she knows it, and actually invites it because she just laughs at me), but in public, she's my Queen. As to the public at large, they are people whom are just like you. You walk in their shoes. Remember that.
Dare to Follow Your Dreams. Most of you, like it or not, are going to end up an old fuck like me. Doing something you dislike makes life an eternity. I would urge you, to the degree possible, to find something you really like to do when you're younger and adjust your lifestyle accordingly. Maybe it means you have less things, maybe it means you won't have the huge house. I recently eschewed my 'big job' for one that is paying far less. As I said, I'm 38, and have been carded in the past month 3 times because the stress is gone. That said:
Financial Smarts Are Important. As others said, get a budget and adjust your lifestyle. It took me waaaaaaay too long to figure this one out.
Don't Wait To Stand Up For Yourself. I used to think that standing up for yourself meant getting angry. I was wrong. As others have said, don't be afraid of telling someone, in a nice way, that you don't like the way they are treating you. They may change, and if they don't, you know to walk away.
Perfectionism Is A Hollow Mistress. You are going to make mistakes. I recently deleted 90 pages of a book I'm working on because I couldn't stand it. It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever will be, we live in a world of imperfection, don't let the flaws stop you. Again, this was hard earned experience.
Always Be You. Maybe you're inconsistent. Maybe you're not. But whatever you are, try to be true to that. Unless you're an asshole like me, but I believe everyone is capable of change and being a better person. I also believe that the better you is the real you. Find him. Be him. Or her.
Don't Be Afraid to Ask For Help. I've tried to tough many things out on my own, not being willing to admit that whatever task I was undertaking was beyond my abilities. Learn a bit of humility and don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. Life is tough, we're in this mess together.
Always Leave the Other Guy An Out With Honor. Never corner someone into a position that they can't potentially leave the situation with grace or dignity. If they choose not to, that's on them.
Finally:
Everyone Gets Low, Try to Help Them Up. Be that guy. Everyone needs a lift, they're having a rough day, they're dog died, whatever, we've all been there. Be the person to look at that person on the ground and say 'hey, here's a hand up.'
Friday, August 20, 2010
Random Thoughts from Mr. Mom
I'm about six hair follicles and living with my parents away from being George Costanza." Me, to my wife the other day.
I am currently unemployed. Yes, I have gotten messages and texts from some of you over the past several months about how hard it was for me to land that job and then I just up and quit.
Maybe it's because at 38 years of age, I've decided getting yelled at by people that don't touch my fun stuff is not as appealing as it once was. I'll get into more about that at some other time, but suffice it to say that it was a wake up call about what I do, or rather did, for a living.
Since law school, I've worked the typical 8-6 routine. I rarely took vacations. Yes, I'm going somewhere with this. Anyway, it's absolutely amazing to me how life goes on between 9-5. I guess I figured when I hopped in my car every morning and headed to work with visions of 'how can I murder my boss and some of my co-workers and get away with it' I just assumed life just kind of stopped.
Boy, was I wrong. So now I'm Mr. Mom. I vacuum, cook, clean the bathroom and take care of a whole host of things that you never get around to when you're working 'full time.' The sad part of it is I find it far more fulfilling than anything I ever did in 'my important lawyer job.' Taking a step back from it all has been an amazing experience. And a very good one for me. So here are a bunch of random thoughts I've had over the past couple of months, and I won't pretend there's any connection between them other than they're thoughts I had:
1. Adding the word 'consultant' to your job title increases your pay by about 50% and decreases your hours worked by about 70%. I have a friend that does this, and it floors me. He makes his own hours, generally puts up with some aggravation, and is well compensated. This has totally changed how I view work and I am exceedingly jealous of this friend. I see him as a modern day Jesus, and well, at some point, someone is going to have to bust out some nails and find some wood because his nature threatens the status quo of the current worklife existence and we can't have that type of guy running around, can we?
2. The amount of public urination that goes on is astounding. It's like a goddamned epidemic. I live next to an empty lot and I'll often stand on the roof and have a smoke. In any given week, I'll see at least 5-8 people urinating in this lot. Including chicks. Assuming that the amount of public urination is a constant, extrapolating how long I'm outside to witness it, I'd say there's at least 50-80 people peeing in the fucking alley. I used to think that those public urination tickets that got doled out were such bullshit. Now, not so much. Seriously, I'm so grossed out I'm tempted to wrap my dog in Saranwrap before she goes out. It's fucking disgusting. To fight this, in my own small way, when I see people doing this I begin yelling 'Hey everybody, look at Mr. Small Bladder. Apparently, indoor plumbing is not good enough for piss-boy' or some variation of that. It helps that I'm forty five feet up and behind locked doors. Man, people sure do get pissed when you point out they're pissing.
3. I'm a bigger asshole than I previously thought. That's saying something.
4. Fuck Mark Twain. I was far smarter at 18 than I am now. I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the way I stopped listening to my gut, or 'that little voice' that Magnum used to talk about. Speaking of which, Magnum was fucking awesome. Anyway, I used to trust myself a lot more than I do now, and when I look back at many of the mistakes I've made, I knew they were coming, but let them happen anyway. It reminds me of this class I took many years ago, we were discussing probable cause. There was a cop in our class, and he was a real good guy. "You have no idea what probable cause is when you're on patrol. All I can tell you is you see and take in things that you're not even aware of at the time. You can't articulate it, but you know." Normally, this type of talk from a cop would scare the bejesus out of me, but I know what he meant.
So back to trusting my gut and we'll see how that goes.
5. I must be a good lay, because the world never seems to pass up an opportunity to fuck me. So now that I'm unemployed, I figured that I would end up watching ESPN a lot. It figures that when I get the chance to, the only fucking thing ESPN runs is World Cup Soccer. Soccer is one of the most poorly designed sports ever. The first day of this worldwide extravaganza had two games that ended in a tie. A fucking tie? No sport should ever end in a tie, it's wholly unsatisfying, and indicates the designers of the sport did a poor job. I fell asleep and a soccer game came on, woke up, saw the score was 0-0, fell back to sleep and woke up an hour later. What was the score? 0-0. And the announcers were going on about what a great game it was. Bullshit. Nothing happened. Dumbass sport.
Like it couldn't have been wet t shirt week? Man, I love boobs.
6. Most people think their jobs are important. Little do they realize that most work is no different than those stupid workbooks we had when we were in grade school. And the funny thing is you knew at age 8 that this was bullshit, but somehow doing the same bullshit at age 28 makes you Bill Gates. I assure you, it doesn't. You were right at 8 and now you're just lying to yourself. You can thank me later.
7. People are largely unable to walk correctly. This fucking baffles me. For most folks, you've theoretically been walking for the majority of your life. Yet you still suck at it. Sadly, and I hate to throw anyone under the bus here, my wife is one of the offenders. My wife's method of walking is picking a spot 100 yards ahead, and walking in a straight line. I mean really fucking straight, like you could make a ruler out of that line. Now, this sounds like a good idea, because that's how many people learn to drive (i.e. you pick a spot in the distance, not look right in front of you), but falls apart quickly in practice. Where my wife's method falls apart is that she does not seem to account for any structures, people, or anything that is on the imaginary line. She just bowls ahead. Invariably, something is in 'the line' and this drives my wife nuts. I won't lie. I find it funny, because she will inevitably bust out the 'can you believe these clown-asses?' I just nod and smile.
8. Never, under any circumstances, allow your significant other or spouse anywhere near you with a pointy object. I've always known this, but for some reason I fail to listen to my own advice. Recently I had what can only be described as Mount Vesuvius on the back of my leg. So, being me, I freaked. I told my wife to look at it, and the next thing I know I'm getting stabbed to death in the leg. I barely survived. I also had gas the other day and thought it was a hernia, so I could be exaggerating. Maybe.
And finally, random quotes I've become attached to:
If I had a good rack, I'd rule the world. - Me, at lunch last week with a friend.
If our dogs were people, Sam would have been an accountant, and Dahlia a coked out stripper. Me, with my wife.
Believe me, if I didn't love tits and ass so much, I wouldn't put up with the crazy either. Me, to my friend (who happens to be gay).
All women are crazy. Yes, they are. And all men are assholes. So for women it's about finding an asshole you can tolerate and for men it's about finding a crazy you can deal with. Me, at lunch. I'm not 100% sure I came up with this quote, so if someone else did please let me know via e-mail or comment.
I like being married fine. Why did I get married? I'd like to tell you that I did it because we saw each other from across a windswept meadow and "Crazy for You" was playing in the background while an audience cheered and we moved in slow motion towards the center of the meadow to passionately embrace. Unfortunately, that couldn't be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is you get tired of dating because you just know at some point, the odds are going to catch up to you and you're going to wake up bound and gagged in a basement sitting on a kiddie chair having a tea party with some bitch saying 'Now you can never leave me like all the others' and you figure 'fuck it, the crazy I know is better than the crazy I don't know.' And thus you stop dating and get married. Romantic, ain't it? Me, to an unmarried friend.
Uh, were you the drunk guy? - A friend of mine, upon entering his bar at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday to find the bartender passed out in a booth, and whom upon waking said that some drunk guy came in around one a.m., knocked over a bunch of glasses and left so the bartender locked up and passed out in the booth.
It's not that I dislike the homeless per se, but they could dress a little better, don't you think? Me, showing my sensitive side.
I am currently unemployed. Yes, I have gotten messages and texts from some of you over the past several months about how hard it was for me to land that job and then I just up and quit.
Maybe it's because at 38 years of age, I've decided getting yelled at by people that don't touch my fun stuff is not as appealing as it once was. I'll get into more about that at some other time, but suffice it to say that it was a wake up call about what I do, or rather did, for a living.
Since law school, I've worked the typical 8-6 routine. I rarely took vacations. Yes, I'm going somewhere with this. Anyway, it's absolutely amazing to me how life goes on between 9-5. I guess I figured when I hopped in my car every morning and headed to work with visions of 'how can I murder my boss and some of my co-workers and get away with it' I just assumed life just kind of stopped.
Boy, was I wrong. So now I'm Mr. Mom. I vacuum, cook, clean the bathroom and take care of a whole host of things that you never get around to when you're working 'full time.' The sad part of it is I find it far more fulfilling than anything I ever did in 'my important lawyer job.' Taking a step back from it all has been an amazing experience. And a very good one for me. So here are a bunch of random thoughts I've had over the past couple of months, and I won't pretend there's any connection between them other than they're thoughts I had:
1. Adding the word 'consultant' to your job title increases your pay by about 50% and decreases your hours worked by about 70%. I have a friend that does this, and it floors me. He makes his own hours, generally puts up with some aggravation, and is well compensated. This has totally changed how I view work and I am exceedingly jealous of this friend. I see him as a modern day Jesus, and well, at some point, someone is going to have to bust out some nails and find some wood because his nature threatens the status quo of the current worklife existence and we can't have that type of guy running around, can we?
2. The amount of public urination that goes on is astounding. It's like a goddamned epidemic. I live next to an empty lot and I'll often stand on the roof and have a smoke. In any given week, I'll see at least 5-8 people urinating in this lot. Including chicks. Assuming that the amount of public urination is a constant, extrapolating how long I'm outside to witness it, I'd say there's at least 50-80 people peeing in the fucking alley. I used to think that those public urination tickets that got doled out were such bullshit. Now, not so much. Seriously, I'm so grossed out I'm tempted to wrap my dog in Saranwrap before she goes out. It's fucking disgusting. To fight this, in my own small way, when I see people doing this I begin yelling 'Hey everybody, look at Mr. Small Bladder. Apparently, indoor plumbing is not good enough for piss-boy' or some variation of that. It helps that I'm forty five feet up and behind locked doors. Man, people sure do get pissed when you point out they're pissing.
3. I'm a bigger asshole than I previously thought. That's saying something.
4. Fuck Mark Twain. I was far smarter at 18 than I am now. I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the way I stopped listening to my gut, or 'that little voice' that Magnum used to talk about. Speaking of which, Magnum was fucking awesome. Anyway, I used to trust myself a lot more than I do now, and when I look back at many of the mistakes I've made, I knew they were coming, but let them happen anyway. It reminds me of this class I took many years ago, we were discussing probable cause. There was a cop in our class, and he was a real good guy. "You have no idea what probable cause is when you're on patrol. All I can tell you is you see and take in things that you're not even aware of at the time. You can't articulate it, but you know." Normally, this type of talk from a cop would scare the bejesus out of me, but I know what he meant.
So back to trusting my gut and we'll see how that goes.
5. I must be a good lay, because the world never seems to pass up an opportunity to fuck me. So now that I'm unemployed, I figured that I would end up watching ESPN a lot. It figures that when I get the chance to, the only fucking thing ESPN runs is World Cup Soccer. Soccer is one of the most poorly designed sports ever. The first day of this worldwide extravaganza had two games that ended in a tie. A fucking tie? No sport should ever end in a tie, it's wholly unsatisfying, and indicates the designers of the sport did a poor job. I fell asleep and a soccer game came on, woke up, saw the score was 0-0, fell back to sleep and woke up an hour later. What was the score? 0-0. And the announcers were going on about what a great game it was. Bullshit. Nothing happened. Dumbass sport.
Like it couldn't have been wet t shirt week? Man, I love boobs.
6. Most people think their jobs are important. Little do they realize that most work is no different than those stupid workbooks we had when we were in grade school. And the funny thing is you knew at age 8 that this was bullshit, but somehow doing the same bullshit at age 28 makes you Bill Gates. I assure you, it doesn't. You were right at 8 and now you're just lying to yourself. You can thank me later.
7. People are largely unable to walk correctly. This fucking baffles me. For most folks, you've theoretically been walking for the majority of your life. Yet you still suck at it. Sadly, and I hate to throw anyone under the bus here, my wife is one of the offenders. My wife's method of walking is picking a spot 100 yards ahead, and walking in a straight line. I mean really fucking straight, like you could make a ruler out of that line. Now, this sounds like a good idea, because that's how many people learn to drive (i.e. you pick a spot in the distance, not look right in front of you), but falls apart quickly in practice. Where my wife's method falls apart is that she does not seem to account for any structures, people, or anything that is on the imaginary line. She just bowls ahead. Invariably, something is in 'the line' and this drives my wife nuts. I won't lie. I find it funny, because she will inevitably bust out the 'can you believe these clown-asses?' I just nod and smile.
8. Never, under any circumstances, allow your significant other or spouse anywhere near you with a pointy object. I've always known this, but for some reason I fail to listen to my own advice. Recently I had what can only be described as Mount Vesuvius on the back of my leg. So, being me, I freaked. I told my wife to look at it, and the next thing I know I'm getting stabbed to death in the leg. I barely survived. I also had gas the other day and thought it was a hernia, so I could be exaggerating. Maybe.
And finally, random quotes I've become attached to:
If I had a good rack, I'd rule the world. - Me, at lunch last week with a friend.
If our dogs were people, Sam would have been an accountant, and Dahlia a coked out stripper. Me, with my wife.
Believe me, if I didn't love tits and ass so much, I wouldn't put up with the crazy either. Me, to my friend (who happens to be gay).
All women are crazy. Yes, they are. And all men are assholes. So for women it's about finding an asshole you can tolerate and for men it's about finding a crazy you can deal with. Me, at lunch. I'm not 100% sure I came up with this quote, so if someone else did please let me know via e-mail or comment.
I like being married fine. Why did I get married? I'd like to tell you that I did it because we saw each other from across a windswept meadow and "Crazy for You" was playing in the background while an audience cheered and we moved in slow motion towards the center of the meadow to passionately embrace. Unfortunately, that couldn't be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is you get tired of dating because you just know at some point, the odds are going to catch up to you and you're going to wake up bound and gagged in a basement sitting on a kiddie chair having a tea party with some bitch saying 'Now you can never leave me like all the others' and you figure 'fuck it, the crazy I know is better than the crazy I don't know.' And thus you stop dating and get married. Romantic, ain't it? Me, to an unmarried friend.
Uh, were you the drunk guy? - A friend of mine, upon entering his bar at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday to find the bartender passed out in a booth, and whom upon waking said that some drunk guy came in around one a.m., knocked over a bunch of glasses and left so the bartender locked up and passed out in the booth.
It's not that I dislike the homeless per se, but they could dress a little better, don't you think? Me, showing my sensitive side.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Contest 2 - Shitty Bosses
Ok, here's contest number two. I have some good stories regarding my newest boss. So, in the spirit of giving and whatnot (I'm such a giver) I offer the following contest:
If you send me a good boss story, I'll post it (without identifying characteristics) AND, wait for it:
I'll answer any questions you may have on how to deal with an unruly and uppity boss.
Yup, you could not only get your e-mail published, but get your problem solved.
Is there any better contest in the world?
I think not.
E-mail's on the left hand side, under the links. I mention this because one of my retarded friends said 'hey, you didn't include your e-mail in your last contest.'
Yeah, that's the type of friends I have.
If you send me a good boss story, I'll post it (without identifying characteristics) AND, wait for it:
I'll answer any questions you may have on how to deal with an unruly and uppity boss.
Yup, you could not only get your e-mail published, but get your problem solved.
Is there any better contest in the world?
I think not.
E-mail's on the left hand side, under the links. I mention this because one of my retarded friends said 'hey, you didn't include your e-mail in your last contest.'
Yeah, that's the type of friends I have.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Contest
I'm in the process of writing my last Will and Testament. So I decided that I would have a contest. The rules are simple. E-mail me as to why you think you should be in my Will, which I assure you is an honor of the highest magnitude. If I like your reasoning, I might, maybe, leave you something when I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Oh, don't ask for money. Well, you can ask, but I doubt highly you'll like what I leave you.
So hit me up, I'll accept submissions through Sunday. The Will goes up on Monday, April 19.
Oh, don't ask for money. Well, you can ask, but I doubt highly you'll like what I leave you.
So hit me up, I'll accept submissions through Sunday. The Will goes up on Monday, April 19.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Just Another Rat Looking for Some Cheese
Fire falls, winds blow
There's trouble and it won't go
I'd really like to help you but you know
Truth twists, lies dance
Money money greed chant
Let's take a little more before we go
Cause we won't be back again
No, we won't be back again
~Liars Dance, Robert Plant
I received an offer from the firm I interviewed with over the past few weeks. I'm still a little stunned by it all. I heard nothing, absolutely nothing, for 6 months, since my hours got cut and I took the detour down the 'would you like fries with that' road.
Now, of course, I had to fuck with the wife a bit. I wouldn't be me if I didn't. And before you get too critical, my wife knew exactly what she was getting when she took me down off that shelf in the great grocery store of dating and had me scanned, bagged and tossed in her trunk. I can only presume my wife feels that she has committed some great sin that I am unaware of and I am penance for that sin. Whatever, her problem, not mine.
Anyway. I had my last interview. It was really short. I walked out of there pretty unsure of whether or not I was going to get an offer. I immediately called my wife and gave her the rundown. I told her I didn't think I was getting an offer.
As we chatted back and forth all day, I told her I was taking a philosophical view of the whole thing. I got interviewing experience, put myself out there, and hey, it didn't pan out.
Until 4:15 that afternoon when I received the offer.
I went home, and the amount of relief I felt was overwhelming. My wife gets home from work just after I returned from the dog park with my insane puppy. That is not a sexual reference by the way.
"Ok, I have a nice speech all worked out, I don't want you to say anything, I want you to just listen because I know how you are."
Now, to be fair, I had already decided that I was going to fuck with her a bit. But this just sealed the deal.
"Ok." And I did play up the 'stern, pensive, stoic, 'I'm really hurting on the inside but trying hard not to show it' look.' Yeah, I'm a dick, I know. So we went out to dinner (because I was too upset to cook, again, see previous line). My wife did a great job with her speech in trying to lift my spirits. It's not her fault that they didn't need lifting.
To my credit, I kept a straight face. For about an hour. She then says 'Don't forget to get your thank you notes out.'
"Yeah, you're right, but first I should probably get out my counter-offer to the offer they made me today."
And the look on her face was worth it. She followed up with a few 'you're such a prick's and 'what an asshole's. But she was happy.
Now here's where it gets weird. And I'm still not 100% sure why it got this way.
Yesterday, I started feeling sentimental, nostalgic even. As I've previously written, I did get blindsided by my boss last July - right before my birthday and vacation to boot - but I couldn't shake the feeling.
I actually started to remotely entertain the idea that I might not leave. Maybe it was nothing more than the remnants of misplaced loyalty.
I also had a conversation with another lawyer I'm friendly with yesterday morning. And she said 'oh, you're going back to the grind of firm life?' And I thought about that.
On the one hand, this place has quite a few memories for me. I was standing out front when I listened to the voice mail from the doctor that my dad had died. I was sitting in this office when my wife and I first started talking. I learned how to be a lawyer in this very seat. And like it or not, I do identify myself, to an extent, as a lawyer. Yeah, part of me was born here.
But it went deeper than that. I figured out what it was.
Fear. I'm scared. My whole professional life has been spent in the same place. You get used to things, you know? Those things may not be great objectively, but you find a way to make it work in your day to day life. You get comfortable. Granted, you may be comfortable in a 'I'm on a couch in a double wide' comfortable, but it is a measure of comfort nonetheless.
And fear is a funny thing, once it starts to get a hold of you.
Am I good enough for this new job?
Do I deserve this opportunity?
Am I going to do well?
And that part of me whispers 'No, no you're not, and you know it.' And there it is. Your worst fears realized. At least in your mind.
You're not good enough.
It's going to be daunting. New work, new workplace, new people, new boss. Bosses, plural, actually.
But as I mentioned in a previous post, it's like Babe and Bill said, 'everyone is scared.' Are you scared? What are you afraid of? Go ahead, look inside. What do you see? What keeps you up at night? Makes you sweat, makes you shake? Makes you doubt?
Over seven years. I once had a loaded gun pointed at me. I would like to tell you that in that moment everything flashed before my eyes. It didn't.
Which is what makes this more difficult in some ways. Everything comes back to you.
The victories.
The defeats.
The hopes.
The dreams.
The disappointments.
All right there for my viewing pleasure. I'm actually amazed at all the things I've done.
But alas, I know I'm returning to the grind. Living my professional life six minutes at a time. The stress, the desire to excel. At my age, I thought I'd be done paying my dues. And yes, that's a bit of an entitlement complex on my part, one I've had to get over in the past six months.
And letting go can be one of the most difficult things. When I took the job I have currently, I wanted to succeed. I wanted to make it work. And for a while, it did. But ultimately, you reach dead ends in that maze called life. And this is certainly a dead end. Not because my boss is a jerk, which for the most part he isn't, but because the industry is dying.
My time is running out.
And I can only bang my head against a dead end so many times. The scrapes, bruises and blood a testament to my fear. My fear of leaving that which I've known. People fall into one of two categories: people who love change, and those who hate it. I think you can guess what category I'm in.
So time to turn around, and head back to the start of this path in my maze. Now that I stand at that crossroads, there's not really too many paths to choose from. But that elusive scent of cheese is on the air.
And I'm just another hungry rat looking for his next meal.
Who claims no man is an island
While I land up in jeopardy
More distant from you by degrees
I walk this shore in isolation
And at my feet, eternity
draws ever sweeter plans for me
I know why, I know why
Crazy, on a ship of fools, ah, crazy on a ship of fools
turn this boat around, back to my loving ground
Ship of fools
~Robert Plant, 'Ship of Fools*'
Plus, there's one major change I need to make before my next job. And it is a daunting one. One that will be the subject of my next blog.
*I can't tell you why, but whenever I knowingly face change, I pull out Robert Plant/Led Zeppelin albums. Maybe because it's the soundtrack of my misspent youth and there's great comfort in the familiarity of it. Plus it's just great music.
There's trouble and it won't go
I'd really like to help you but you know
Truth twists, lies dance
Money money greed chant
Let's take a little more before we go
Cause we won't be back again
No, we won't be back again
~Liars Dance, Robert Plant
I received an offer from the firm I interviewed with over the past few weeks. I'm still a little stunned by it all. I heard nothing, absolutely nothing, for 6 months, since my hours got cut and I took the detour down the 'would you like fries with that' road.
Now, of course, I had to fuck with the wife a bit. I wouldn't be me if I didn't. And before you get too critical, my wife knew exactly what she was getting when she took me down off that shelf in the great grocery store of dating and had me scanned, bagged and tossed in her trunk. I can only presume my wife feels that she has committed some great sin that I am unaware of and I am penance for that sin. Whatever, her problem, not mine.
Anyway. I had my last interview. It was really short. I walked out of there pretty unsure of whether or not I was going to get an offer. I immediately called my wife and gave her the rundown. I told her I didn't think I was getting an offer.
As we chatted back and forth all day, I told her I was taking a philosophical view of the whole thing. I got interviewing experience, put myself out there, and hey, it didn't pan out.
Until 4:15 that afternoon when I received the offer.
I went home, and the amount of relief I felt was overwhelming. My wife gets home from work just after I returned from the dog park with my insane puppy. That is not a sexual reference by the way.
"Ok, I have a nice speech all worked out, I don't want you to say anything, I want you to just listen because I know how you are."
Now, to be fair, I had already decided that I was going to fuck with her a bit. But this just sealed the deal.
"Ok." And I did play up the 'stern, pensive, stoic, 'I'm really hurting on the inside but trying hard not to show it' look.' Yeah, I'm a dick, I know. So we went out to dinner (because I was too upset to cook, again, see previous line). My wife did a great job with her speech in trying to lift my spirits. It's not her fault that they didn't need lifting.
To my credit, I kept a straight face. For about an hour. She then says 'Don't forget to get your thank you notes out.'
"Yeah, you're right, but first I should probably get out my counter-offer to the offer they made me today."
And the look on her face was worth it. She followed up with a few 'you're such a prick's and 'what an asshole's. But she was happy.
Now here's where it gets weird. And I'm still not 100% sure why it got this way.
Yesterday, I started feeling sentimental, nostalgic even. As I've previously written, I did get blindsided by my boss last July - right before my birthday and vacation to boot - but I couldn't shake the feeling.
I actually started to remotely entertain the idea that I might not leave. Maybe it was nothing more than the remnants of misplaced loyalty.
I also had a conversation with another lawyer I'm friendly with yesterday morning. And she said 'oh, you're going back to the grind of firm life?' And I thought about that.
On the one hand, this place has quite a few memories for me. I was standing out front when I listened to the voice mail from the doctor that my dad had died. I was sitting in this office when my wife and I first started talking. I learned how to be a lawyer in this very seat. And like it or not, I do identify myself, to an extent, as a lawyer. Yeah, part of me was born here.
But it went deeper than that. I figured out what it was.
Fear. I'm scared. My whole professional life has been spent in the same place. You get used to things, you know? Those things may not be great objectively, but you find a way to make it work in your day to day life. You get comfortable. Granted, you may be comfortable in a 'I'm on a couch in a double wide' comfortable, but it is a measure of comfort nonetheless.
And fear is a funny thing, once it starts to get a hold of you.
Am I good enough for this new job?
Do I deserve this opportunity?
Am I going to do well?
And that part of me whispers 'No, no you're not, and you know it.' And there it is. Your worst fears realized. At least in your mind.
You're not good enough.
It's going to be daunting. New work, new workplace, new people, new boss. Bosses, plural, actually.
But as I mentioned in a previous post, it's like Babe and Bill said, 'everyone is scared.' Are you scared? What are you afraid of? Go ahead, look inside. What do you see? What keeps you up at night? Makes you sweat, makes you shake? Makes you doubt?
Over seven years. I once had a loaded gun pointed at me. I would like to tell you that in that moment everything flashed before my eyes. It didn't.
Which is what makes this more difficult in some ways. Everything comes back to you.
The victories.
The defeats.
The hopes.
The dreams.
The disappointments.
All right there for my viewing pleasure. I'm actually amazed at all the things I've done.
But alas, I know I'm returning to the grind. Living my professional life six minutes at a time. The stress, the desire to excel. At my age, I thought I'd be done paying my dues. And yes, that's a bit of an entitlement complex on my part, one I've had to get over in the past six months.
And letting go can be one of the most difficult things. When I took the job I have currently, I wanted to succeed. I wanted to make it work. And for a while, it did. But ultimately, you reach dead ends in that maze called life. And this is certainly a dead end. Not because my boss is a jerk, which for the most part he isn't, but because the industry is dying.
My time is running out.
And I can only bang my head against a dead end so many times. The scrapes, bruises and blood a testament to my fear. My fear of leaving that which I've known. People fall into one of two categories: people who love change, and those who hate it. I think you can guess what category I'm in.
So time to turn around, and head back to the start of this path in my maze. Now that I stand at that crossroads, there's not really too many paths to choose from. But that elusive scent of cheese is on the air.
And I'm just another hungry rat looking for his next meal.
Who claims no man is an island
While I land up in jeopardy
More distant from you by degrees
I walk this shore in isolation
And at my feet, eternity
draws ever sweeter plans for me
I know why, I know why
Crazy, on a ship of fools, ah, crazy on a ship of fools
turn this boat around, back to my loving ground
Ship of fools
~Robert Plant, 'Ship of Fools*'
Plus, there's one major change I need to make before my next job. And it is a daunting one. One that will be the subject of my next blog.
*I can't tell you why, but whenever I knowingly face change, I pull out Robert Plant/Led Zeppelin albums. Maybe because it's the soundtrack of my misspent youth and there's great comfort in the familiarity of it. Plus it's just great music.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Opportunity Knocks, Part Two
Oh boy. Had my second and third interviews this morning. Managed to come across as only functionally retarded. The last interviewer said that she was going to walk into the partner's office and recommend hiring me. They would then speak with the partner I interviewed with last week. They 'wanted to move quickly on this.'
So, yeah, I guess it went pretty well. Now the hard part. The waiting.
Yikes.
Could this be the return of the Last Emperor? Perhaps. I've never been a fan of suspense. Today is merely reconfirming that position.
Think good thoughts. Or just refrain from thinking evil ones in my general direction. Perhaps just for a couple of days.
So, yeah, I guess it went pretty well. Now the hard part. The waiting.
Yikes.
Could this be the return of the Last Emperor? Perhaps. I've never been a fan of suspense. Today is merely reconfirming that position.
Think good thoughts. Or just refrain from thinking evil ones in my general direction. Perhaps just for a couple of days.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Opportunity Knocks...
So, after six months I had an interview for a law job. Like a full time one. I think it went pretty well, the partner that interviewed me said they would be setting up a second interview with a second partner in the office I am applying to work out of.
I was asked to interview the day after my previous post. Coincidence?
I think so.
Here's to hoping something breaks my way, I'll keep you up to date.
Now, you may be asking yourself, 'why does Night and Day' even need a job?
A fair question. No doubt the millions have been rolling in since I started this blog. Think of me like one of those idiots that wins the lottery but keeps working anyway. I need something to do. Yeah, that's it.
I was asked to interview the day after my previous post. Coincidence?
I think so.
Here's to hoping something breaks my way, I'll keep you up to date.
Now, you may be asking yourself, 'why does Night and Day' even need a job?
A fair question. No doubt the millions have been rolling in since I started this blog. Think of me like one of those idiots that wins the lottery but keeps working anyway. I need something to do. Yeah, that's it.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Night and Day, Too
Since I first conceived doing this particular blog, the idea was to outline the differences and similarities between the two current jobs I hold. I think they tend to be on opposite sides of the spectrum, so I figured there would be some interesting insights to be gained from one versus the other.
And maybe some universals. Who knows? I do notice that some of my posts are personal in nature and beyond the scope of my job, and in addition, I have quite a few stories of fiction that I work on from time to time. So, in order to keep this blog more in focus to its original version, I have started Night and Day, Too.
That blog will have the fiction and personal stuff, whereas I'll continue to post work related views here, such as 'Do Unto Others...'
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the new blog, and continue to enjoy this one.
Regards,
Night and Day
And maybe some universals. Who knows? I do notice that some of my posts are personal in nature and beyond the scope of my job, and in addition, I have quite a few stories of fiction that I work on from time to time. So, in order to keep this blog more in focus to its original version, I have started Night and Day, Too.
That blog will have the fiction and personal stuff, whereas I'll continue to post work related views here, such as 'Do Unto Others...'
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the new blog, and continue to enjoy this one.
Regards,
Night and Day
Do Unto Others...Before They Do Unto You.
The above title is an actual response I made to a question on a board I post on. The question was 'Sum up in one line what you learned in 2009.'
And I posted 'Do Unto Others...Before They Do Unto You.'
An hour or so later, I looked at it and though 'wow, that's really snarky, even coming from you.'
So where did it come from?
I've worked for the same firm pretty much since I finished up a clerkship. It's been 8 long years. During 7 of those 8 years, we were a very busy firm. There were a couple of cases that kept things moving along.
One of the things about practicing law that you find out pretty quickly is your time is never really your own. Sure, you can make plans, look forward to vacations, and anticipate holidays with friends and families. But there is always the potential for something to come along and ruin your best laid plans.
The flip side of this, at least, what you're told when you have to cancel yet another evening out, is that you're paying your dues. Since time immemorial, this is how the legal business worked. The new guys get shit on while the old guys enjoy the fruits of their labors. What many people don't realize is that for a lot of years, Law was nothing more than a Ponzi scheme. The idea being that the partners brought in the business and the lower level associates did all the grunt work, cranking out the billable hours til they would one day be elevated to partner.
Starting in the 80's, this whole paradigm that ran the heart of the legal community changed. It became more and more of a business. This is not to say it hasn't happened in other industries, I would suspect that it has, but it outlined what has become a glaringly flaw in the law. Or at least, so I thought. And that flaw?
No loyalty. Now many will say that 'Honor Among Thieves' is always skitchy at best, non-existent at worst.
Last year, at around this time, we were wrapping up our largest case. Waiting in line were a bunch of cases that I had kept alive pending the time to wrap those up. So for the next two months, I was pretty busy finishing up a lot of cases that I hadn't had the time to finish. Then May and June hit, and I started saying things to my wife like 'honey, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do this week.' Keep in mind, this was six months into the recession. Lawyers were losing their jobs, summer associates were actually being paid NOT to work, and firms were starting to go under.
It all came to a head in late July. My boss comes in my office and tells me 'I'm cutting your hours, I'm switching you to an hourly pay, no vacation, no sick time.'
Bam. For the first five years of my work here, I missed numerous holidays and didn't take a proper vacation. In fact, the first vacation I took as an employee was when I got married the year before. All that paying dues, down the drain. And the really insidious side of it is such a move wouldn't be necessary if we had the work. So by switching me to hourly, it was a double whammy. Not enough work to justify a salary means probably not enough work on an hourly basis to make up the difference. I figured it out the other day and I make 66% of what I made a year ago. A lot of people would think that's a good thing, because I'm a lawyer, but what people don't realize is how shitty the pay is for most lawyers. And ultimately, I'm lucky to have a job. I've sent countless resumes and not received one call. I've heard stories that for each job listing, hundreds of resumes are received within minutes. That's how bad things are.
Hence, I couldn't find anything to supplement my income and went back to the only other skill I have, cooking. Cranking it out at $8 an hour. Long weekends. I work more now than I did at the height of practicing law and make far less.
Loyalty. Where did it go? I don't know, but ultimately, I guess I learned the hard way what so many have learned by my age: you have to be careful whom you are loyal to. And I find this carries over into my other job too. So I am going to guess that this is a universal workplace thing. Loyalty. To whom and how much?
I almost gave notice at my cooking job last week.
Generally, there were three of us working on Friday and Saturday nights. The typical Friday, I was 'long relief' - I stay until the closer cuts me, usually between 10 and 11. I close Saturdays. Anyway, that was the way it was supposed to go. At least four weekends in a row, I would walk in for what I thought was a short shift, only to find out, whoops, you're here til the end.
The 'final straw' was New Years Eve. I offered to work the short part of the shift (as opposed to being off) because I didn't want to strand any of the guys I work with. I was supposed to come in, work about a 5-8, and be out of there. A third guy was supposed to be in.
Well, I show up and of course, no third guy, and it's just me and the closer. Meaning, I was stuck there til around 10:45, and the wife was too tired to come out at that point. The very next night I walk in to find I was closing. I also received a call that Wednesday to come in (at the last minute) and help out. And I did. I'm a loyal guy, I don't like to see any of my coworkers get screwed.
But New Year's came and I realized: why am I being loyal? I'm being told one thing, then ending up doing another, one requiring far more effort.
And so I'm forced to change my approach. I think that's the toughest thing we sometimes have to do, is change what we are in order to survive. Sure, I could go on being loyal, waiting for some imaginary time when it would all pay off. When I would be recognized for all the sacrifices.
When my father, despite my urgings to the contrary, didn't have health insurance, or a plan for my mom's care when he died, I said I would step up. I did, and it has been the ruin of my financially. But at least I was loyal.
When my law job needed me there, weekends, nights, holidays, and I had to beg off plans, I did. And it has been to my detriment. I even turned down several opportunities to go elsewhere because I wanted to finish what I started and I didn't want to leave my firm in a lurch during the biggest case we had at the time, but now those opportunities are no where to be found. But at least I was loyal.
When my cook job needed me there, weekends, nights, holidays, and I had to beg off plans, I did. And it was to my detriment. But at least I was loyal.
The funny thing about it is 'I.' I was loyal, yet none of the foregoing were very loyal to me in hindsight. So this year, I've decided if I'm fortunate enough to get an opportunity to move elsewhere, I'm taking it, and not looking back. I have no doubt if any of the foregoing needed me gone, they wouldn't hesitate.
So imagine my surprise when my wife mentioned to me last week how the office manager and partner met because they were worried if there was going to be enough work for the attorneys at her firm.
Loyalty indeed. It's a rare, yet dangerous, commodity.
If I have one resolution this year, it is to be loyal to those who deserve that loyalty, because misplaced loyalty can turn out horribly, and often does.
So this year, do unto others before they do unto me. A bit snarky, perhaps, but apparently the other way isn't working. And we grow during times of hardship. I just wish this was one way in which I didn't need to 'grow,' but I guess such comforts are beyond my reach right now.
And I posted 'Do Unto Others...Before They Do Unto You.'
An hour or so later, I looked at it and though 'wow, that's really snarky, even coming from you.'
So where did it come from?
I've worked for the same firm pretty much since I finished up a clerkship. It's been 8 long years. During 7 of those 8 years, we were a very busy firm. There were a couple of cases that kept things moving along.
One of the things about practicing law that you find out pretty quickly is your time is never really your own. Sure, you can make plans, look forward to vacations, and anticipate holidays with friends and families. But there is always the potential for something to come along and ruin your best laid plans.
The flip side of this, at least, what you're told when you have to cancel yet another evening out, is that you're paying your dues. Since time immemorial, this is how the legal business worked. The new guys get shit on while the old guys enjoy the fruits of their labors. What many people don't realize is that for a lot of years, Law was nothing more than a Ponzi scheme. The idea being that the partners brought in the business and the lower level associates did all the grunt work, cranking out the billable hours til they would one day be elevated to partner.
Starting in the 80's, this whole paradigm that ran the heart of the legal community changed. It became more and more of a business. This is not to say it hasn't happened in other industries, I would suspect that it has, but it outlined what has become a glaringly flaw in the law. Or at least, so I thought. And that flaw?
No loyalty. Now many will say that 'Honor Among Thieves' is always skitchy at best, non-existent at worst.
Last year, at around this time, we were wrapping up our largest case. Waiting in line were a bunch of cases that I had kept alive pending the time to wrap those up. So for the next two months, I was pretty busy finishing up a lot of cases that I hadn't had the time to finish. Then May and June hit, and I started saying things to my wife like 'honey, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do this week.' Keep in mind, this was six months into the recession. Lawyers were losing their jobs, summer associates were actually being paid NOT to work, and firms were starting to go under.
It all came to a head in late July. My boss comes in my office and tells me 'I'm cutting your hours, I'm switching you to an hourly pay, no vacation, no sick time.'
Bam. For the first five years of my work here, I missed numerous holidays and didn't take a proper vacation. In fact, the first vacation I took as an employee was when I got married the year before. All that paying dues, down the drain. And the really insidious side of it is such a move wouldn't be necessary if we had the work. So by switching me to hourly, it was a double whammy. Not enough work to justify a salary means probably not enough work on an hourly basis to make up the difference. I figured it out the other day and I make 66% of what I made a year ago. A lot of people would think that's a good thing, because I'm a lawyer, but what people don't realize is how shitty the pay is for most lawyers. And ultimately, I'm lucky to have a job. I've sent countless resumes and not received one call. I've heard stories that for each job listing, hundreds of resumes are received within minutes. That's how bad things are.
Hence, I couldn't find anything to supplement my income and went back to the only other skill I have, cooking. Cranking it out at $8 an hour. Long weekends. I work more now than I did at the height of practicing law and make far less.
Loyalty. Where did it go? I don't know, but ultimately, I guess I learned the hard way what so many have learned by my age: you have to be careful whom you are loyal to. And I find this carries over into my other job too. So I am going to guess that this is a universal workplace thing. Loyalty. To whom and how much?
I almost gave notice at my cooking job last week.
Generally, there were three of us working on Friday and Saturday nights. The typical Friday, I was 'long relief' - I stay until the closer cuts me, usually between 10 and 11. I close Saturdays. Anyway, that was the way it was supposed to go. At least four weekends in a row, I would walk in for what I thought was a short shift, only to find out, whoops, you're here til the end.
The 'final straw' was New Years Eve. I offered to work the short part of the shift (as opposed to being off) because I didn't want to strand any of the guys I work with. I was supposed to come in, work about a 5-8, and be out of there. A third guy was supposed to be in.
Well, I show up and of course, no third guy, and it's just me and the closer. Meaning, I was stuck there til around 10:45, and the wife was too tired to come out at that point. The very next night I walk in to find I was closing. I also received a call that Wednesday to come in (at the last minute) and help out. And I did. I'm a loyal guy, I don't like to see any of my coworkers get screwed.
But New Year's came and I realized: why am I being loyal? I'm being told one thing, then ending up doing another, one requiring far more effort.
And so I'm forced to change my approach. I think that's the toughest thing we sometimes have to do, is change what we are in order to survive. Sure, I could go on being loyal, waiting for some imaginary time when it would all pay off. When I would be recognized for all the sacrifices.
When my father, despite my urgings to the contrary, didn't have health insurance, or a plan for my mom's care when he died, I said I would step up. I did, and it has been the ruin of my financially. But at least I was loyal.
When my law job needed me there, weekends, nights, holidays, and I had to beg off plans, I did. And it has been to my detriment. I even turned down several opportunities to go elsewhere because I wanted to finish what I started and I didn't want to leave my firm in a lurch during the biggest case we had at the time, but now those opportunities are no where to be found. But at least I was loyal.
When my cook job needed me there, weekends, nights, holidays, and I had to beg off plans, I did. And it was to my detriment. But at least I was loyal.
The funny thing about it is 'I.' I was loyal, yet none of the foregoing were very loyal to me in hindsight. So this year, I've decided if I'm fortunate enough to get an opportunity to move elsewhere, I'm taking it, and not looking back. I have no doubt if any of the foregoing needed me gone, they wouldn't hesitate.
So imagine my surprise when my wife mentioned to me last week how the office manager and partner met because they were worried if there was going to be enough work for the attorneys at her firm.
Loyalty indeed. It's a rare, yet dangerous, commodity.
If I have one resolution this year, it is to be loyal to those who deserve that loyalty, because misplaced loyalty can turn out horribly, and often does.
So this year, do unto others before they do unto me. A bit snarky, perhaps, but apparently the other way isn't working. And we grow during times of hardship. I just wish this was one way in which I didn't need to 'grow,' but I guess such comforts are beyond my reach right now.
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