Good? He's G-r-r-reat!*

Since I'm always on the lookout for new music, I "subscribe" to the iTunes Free Single Of the Week. Normally, it SUCKS. (I've left more than a few sarcastic, one-star reviews). BUT, once in a while they have something that's mildly interesting. Case in point - a few months ago they had some guy named Matthew Good, with a song called "Born Losers".

"Well", thought I, "for once their Single Of The Week doesn't suck, and it's free, so what the hell - I'll take it". Over time, I gradually found myself liking the song more and more - until I got to the point where I was thinking "Damn! I really, really like this! Time to check out the rest of the album!" Off to Rhapsody I go..... yup, there it is: "Hospital Music".

I was never so disappointed in my life. "How could a guy who writes stuff like Born Losers write stuff like this? This is awful". It was so slow and murky.

Still, I kept it in my playlist and re-visited it a few times, just to see if I was missing something. I didn't think I was, until one night, I had it playing in the background while I was surfing the web. I still don't know why, but for some reason, that night, that album just snapped into focus for me.

Intrigued, I went on the hunt for more info. Now Wikipedia isn't exactly the greatest source for info, but their Matt Good entry shed quite a bit of light on the genesis of Hospital music. It was written after a nasty divorce, a damned near fatal accidental overdose of Ativan and the resulting (voluntary) stay in the psych ward of a hospital, before he was finally diagnosed as being bipolar. (After years of misdiagnosis and incorrect treatment - some of which was actually making his illness WORSE).

...and it's all there on the record. Now it made even more sense.

I don't know why I'm so drawn to dark, moody music, but this album sucked me in and wouldn't let go. I began to explore some of the rest of his catalog. When "Vancouver" was released, I was ALL OVER it. "Silent Army In The Trees" hit me right between the eyes...and the rest of the album gradually pulled me in as well.

When I just happened to be on Matt's website one day and saw the concert listing for Water Street Music Hall in Rochester, there was no question: we were going!

By this time, I think I had Della Rose rolling her eyeballs every time I played Hospital Music or Vancouver. She just didn't "get it". I have to admit to being somewhat apprehensive about how Matt's dark, moody music was going to work in a live setting.

My initial misgivings were quickly cast aside. He opened with "Silent Army..." The show started with just him and an acoustic guitar, playing the slow opening to that song. No bombast, no flashpots. A very, very nontraditional opening to a show. Once the song kicked into gear, they segued into "Black Helicopters", quickly moved into and just kept going for four more songs, before they finally took a break.

It was then that I found out just how personable and funny he can be, as well - giving lie to his reputation for being rather prickly. He commented about the "decor" - an upright piano hung high on the wall, with angel wings and a giant eye in the middle of it.



(Yeah, I didn't understand it either).

The show went on, from one song to the next, with barely a pause to catch your breath...and then it was over.

Unlike most shows we've seen we spent the next week or so analyzing and re analyzing what it was that made the show so damned Good (pun intented), when, by all accounts, it should have been mediocre at best.

So the concert I was somewhat apprehensive about turned out to be one of the best shows I have ever seen. (And that's saying something; the only show I think I've ever seen that was better was Queen, front row, center).

(Oddly enough, probably the best part of the show was simply seeing Matt happy and healthy. And unlike many other artists, now that he's gotten himself straightened around, his music has actually gotten BETTER).

...and lo and behold Della Rose finally "got" Matt Good. (To the point now where she curses me for having Matt's music stuck in her head for two months now....)


*not sure if Tony the Tiger or Matt would be more pissed at me for that...

OK, So Sue Me - I Don't Like Cities

Went to Rochester to see Matt Good the other night (GREAT SHOW, by the way) and was reminded again how much I dislike cities.

There's a restless energy present, and for sure cities offer a cultural diversity unmatched in small towns. I also will be the first to acknowledge the irony in the fact that I had to drive to a city to see an artist I really like - and yet here I am throwing down on cities.

When I arrive in a city, the first thing I realize is that there is so little green. Yeah, I know cities have spectacular parks, but forcing nature into little pigeonholes (pun intended) is just all wrong. I suppose if I were a "glass half full" kinda' guy I would point to things like the resurgence of the Peregrine falcon in many cities as proof of the resiliency of nature and take hope and comfort in that. (Or, as Ian Anderson said in "Jack In The Green" "I saw some grass growing through the pavements today...")

The second thing that always strikes me about cities is that they're so cold and so impersonal. You can live and die in a city and no one will give a damn. You could, if you wanted to, spend your entire life without any meaningful contact with another human being. You could live in a little anonymous little box of an apartment, ride the bus by yourself to your anonymous little cube of an office in another nondescript tower of an office building and come home again. No one will even notice you when one of the myriad of ambulances come to haul you off after a Monday morning heart attack. You're not even a cog in a machine - at least in that case, one might feel like one had a role to play. To be sure, this could happen in a more rural setting, but it's much more difficult to go through life so impersonally when there are so many fewer people around you. Sounds counterintuitive, but when there are so many fewer people, and they're not on the move or as guarded, as they are in cities, it's easier to interact. It's almost inevitable.

The coldness is embodied in the buildings. As I stood looking out the window of our 21st floor hotel room, I reflected on the buildings around us. The inexorable, ruthless pace of change is evident in the physical structures. Older buildings, having outlived their usefulness are either forgotten and decaying, facade-ed over or torn down to be replaced with new concrete boxes. Many of them were built in the 19th century, built by men long since gone. I wondered about those men. What were they like? Did they anticipate the completion of the building as they neared the top? Did they celebrate the laying of the last brick and then pause to bask in the pride of the project they'd just completed? Did they bring their families to see the monument they'd just completed? Their hopes and dreams are there, in the bricks they laid one at a time, in good times and bad. The birth of a child, the death of a loved one, weddings and funerals are all there, in those simple clay blocks,entombed forever. Like a tapestry, the individual threads are lost in the big picture.

One thing that makes me wonder if it isn't getting worse is comparing the older buildings to the new ones. At least the older buildings have details in the brickwork, ornate cornices and flourishes, in places that are impossible to see from the ground. Why? A testament to craftsmanship because someone took pride, because someone cared? Even that level of the personal touch now seems gone - contrast that with the newer buildings: Soulless, cold glass and steel people boxes that look like they were molded somewhere and slapped down on the site, not built with pride.

In the city, it seems as if people are born in boxes, spend their whole lives in drab boxes and die in mundane boxes - be it a gray apartment, a beige office, or the metaphoric invisible box they build around themselves. It seems to me there is so much more color in life that they're missing.

It's sad.

Then again maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just a stick-in-the-mud hick.

WOW - been a while, huh?

Nothing like sitting here staring at a blank page and realizing that three months have passed with nothing noteworthy to post.

Intimidating and depressing all at once.

On the fitness front: I have none.

I was doing well with my marathon training - New Year's Day, I "celebrated" by running an unofficial half marathon. It actually went pretty well. I was tired but not really sore. even had enough left in the tank to do a short sprint at the end. Shortly after that, the weather went to hell - as I expected it to. No problem, right? I have a treadmill, I have skis, I have a trainer... That really didn't happen too much. I made a half-hearted effort a few times. Mostly I was just trying to tread water until the weather improved. I did get into the strength training a bit. I actually got outside a few times and ran....and suffered like a dog. Five K hurt more than a half marathon? WTH? Could my fitness really have tanked in eight weeks of spotty activity? Apparently. I ran seven last Sunday and almost couldn't walk Monday morning.

Back to square one.

Jobwise, I'm still in limbo. The "big layoff" turned out to be a bit of a farce. I also got a new uber-boss who's even MORE clueless about what we do than my immediate supervisor. Wonderful. We have no work, but they're convinced they really need us. On the one hand, I'm getting a lot of work done for myself, but it can get wearying to have to find stuff to do all the time.

I am on track to become a Kollidge Stewdent next fall, starting an AS degree in Physical Therapy Assistant. I get to be Torquemada! Kewl!

As spring gathers steam, I am determined NOT to get behind the eight ball with the garden again. I have all my seeds ordered and, once I get my plant stand (with grow lights and stuff) finished, I can get my tomatoes, melons, peppers and squash started. Broccoli and spinach went in yesterday, peas will be going in soon - however this means I'll be needing to build trellises. Once I get the plants started, I can start building more raised beds - hopefully having them done by the time the plants need to go in - Memorial Weekend.

I got the brain fart that, since I only turn 50 once, I'm going to throw my own party. Toward that goal, I brewed a batch of Belgian Golden Strong Ale.... but it won't be done in time. I was also planning on having my basement bar at least far along enough to use for the occasion, but I don't think that's going to happen. It'll be close. Not really mandatory, just incentive to keep me motivated.

I have YET to bike commute.

Got up to camp for an overnighter last weekend. WAY more snow up there than expected, it was barely warm enough to stay overnight, but too much snow to do anything. Still, there are a couple of trees down, just waiting for me to get the chainsaw and ATV and play.... BUT, there's also stuff that I need to do, too. The porch needs replacement, the camp itself needs a coat of paint and some improvements to make it more liveable....



Spring feels like there is just so much promise, like there's so much ABOUT to happen, but it also feels like I've got a TON of stuff on my plate.

Mixed blessings, I guess.

Strange Days Indeed...

Two weeks ago, we were informed by our employer that forecasted business conditions necessitated another layoff. They asked for volunteers and laid out the package available. They said that people considering it would be allowed two weeks to make their decision. Questions about how many people they were looking to reduce the work force by went unanswered.

Taking the voluntary layoff was extremely tempting, but the more I learned about what the severance package really offered - as opposed to what we were told in the meeting; they were two different things - the more I decided that, if I was going, they were going to have to get their hands dirty to do so.

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how they were going to spin things. My department has had little-to-no work for at least six months or so, and truth be told, they could do away with most of what we do, by outsourcing. If they went by seniority, I had one person below me. If they went by skill level, I have, arguably, three people who'd go ahead of me. On the other hand, if they went by "politics" - which has happened during previous layoffs - I figured I might as well put my head on the chopping block. Since I've never developed a taste for Kool-Aid and have never masked my distaste for my two immediate supervisors well, I figured I had a target on my back.

I got ready. I consolidated my stuff into my three tool boxes and emptied my drawers and locker. I was ready to go in a matter of minutes.

The two weeks ticked by. Rumors flew hot and heavy. I spent eight hours a day in a building full of people on "death watch". Anger, bitterness and fear hung in the air like a heavy fog. Even the gallows humor didn't help much.

When all was said and done, it ended with a whimper, not a bang. Fifteen people took the voluntary layoff, and, as far as I know, only two people on first shift got canned. (Not sure about the other shifts).

That's it? You put people through two weeks of hell, for that? I think the ulterior motive was to make people worry about their jobs so they'd work harder and be more willing to swallow whatever shit is shoveled their way. I suppose in a few cases, it worked, but amongst the people I spoke with, it backfired. Most of them are angry about it and, when they faced up to losing their job realized that it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Both of you regular readers already know that I'm already looking for the exit, but this pushed me even further toward really facing up to it. My preparations were mental, as well as physical.

I thought about my job, and what I'd miss about it. There are a few elements of it that I'd miss, but mostly it was "well, I doubt my next job will only be a fifteen minute commute..." After thirty years, I'm tired of doing what I do.

I thought about the people I work with - some of whom I've worked with for almost 20 years - and who I might miss enough to want contact information from. I came up pretty much empty. How sad is that?

Oddly enough, I realized the thing I'd miss most would be my tools. Yeah, they're my tools, so they'd be going with me, but I'm pretty sure once I leave there, I'll never really use them again. They'll get put on a shelf in the basement, where they'll sit until my estate auction. Tools that I'd used every day. It almost seemed like I'd be abandoning old friends - friends who'd been with me in good times and not-so-good times. I'd thought about this before, when looking at tools at antique shows but it was always in the context of someone else's tools.

Scary and sad at the same time.

Once again, life insists on teaching me things when and where I least expect it,

Ah, The Simple Life

Throughout history, people have been "leaving it all behind and living simply".

There are numerous monastic orders where they own almost nothing and lead very simple, devout lives. The idea of living a life of quiet contemplation - on bread, cheese and kick-ass beers- has it's charm.

...but there's that "celibacy" thing...

Shit.

Never mind.

Then, of course there was that whole "back-to-the-land" hippie movement of the Sixties. While I do try to incorporate some of that - like gardening, canning and preserving- into my life, I just can't see myself learning to say "Oh wow, man....far out!" or wearing patchouli and Birkenstocks. (And, in some cases, not much else!)

But recently, I've been thinking about one of our forum members who pretty much did leave it all behind, move just about as far away as she could (from Canada to Australia!) and is living off the grid.

I'm not talking about some paranoid, anti-government whack job holed up in Montana in a cabin full of guns, I'm talking about someone who pretty much wiped the slate (or whiteboard, if you wish) clean and started over.

As I read her web postings and looked at the pictures, I had mixed feelings - a toss-up between "That is so COOL!" and "I could never do that...." This made got me thinking about why I couldn't and what it says about me and what's important in my life.

As a mental exercise, I asked myself "Well, what's stopping you?"

The first thing I realized was that to do that, I'd pretty much have to leave all my "stuff" behind... and I could do that very easily. I'm not one to develop an attachment to inanimate objects, so, yeah, I could leave all this stuff behind and only replace about 1/3 of it. A bike, a computer, a camera and an iPod full of music, and I'd be pretty much good-to-go. Not much of a surprise there, I've known this about myself for a long time.

The next thing was the people around me. Aside from my son and my sister, I could walk away from everyone else forever and not really think twice about it. Huh.... interesting.

So if "people and things" aren't what's keeping me here, what is? For one thing, my camp. Not only has it been in the family for 150 years - and I feel a certain obligation to retain that legacy - but I feel rooted to the place. That place is the one thing I would truly hate to leave behind. I sort of knew this, but the depth of it was a little surprising.

The rest of the roadblock to my doing something rash is ...me. We pretty much live off-the-grid when we're at camp and after two or three days of that, I'm ready to come home to my slightly more swank house where I'm surrounded with "things to do". (That's a double-edged blade - that means both the ones I WANT to do and the ones I HAVE to do). (This also has me thinking about what it would take to make the camp more "user-friendly" without violating the spirit of the place. It also has me thinking about why I need "something to do" all the damn time, like an ADD teen).

I am also very, very much a creature of habit. I don't want to have to think about which drawer the bottle opener is in, I just want a beer. Yeah, I can adjust, but in the meantime, it stresses me out. I don't want to have to think about the little things as well as the big things. It's just how I am. (Anal?)

That also applies on a larger scale. Have you ever seen how a cat knows every single nook and cranny of it's environment ? That'd be me. Having lived in this immediate area for 43 years, I know it intimately. Having spent 20+ years trying to wear out motorcycles, I also know the vast majority of the rest of the state pretty well too. Again, this is a mixed blessing. While I don't have to think about how to get somewhere or exactly where to find such-and-such, and I know all the "secret" places, it also means stagnation. Yeah, I like to travel and see new places (although with the homogenization of America, that's getting harder and harder to do) but I like to come home, too.

If you roll the last three together, I guess you could distill it down to one word: "comfort".

Wow.

I'm going to have to cogitate on that. (And think about it a lot, too).

'Tis the season...and all that...

Since it’s the Christmas season, (and I happened to be awake at O’dark thirty again) I was pondering what it all meant to me….and decided to favor you, dear reader with this mistletoe missive. (That was bad, huh?)

As I sat down to write how I feel about Christmas, I realized – I don’t really know.

I suppose my perspective stems from my past experiences with Christmas. I’ve been told (by Hallmark, mostly) it’s supposed to be about the traditions and memories, but I don’t really have any of either.

I do remember once, when I was about 5, we spent Christmas at my grandparent’s home in Woodgate. We had snow, a fireplace - the works. What I remember most, though, is that, more than anything else in the world, I wanted a car carrier – you know, the truck that brings the cars to the car dealer? I got one, little cars and all. For a little while anyway, my little world was complete.

Year after year, I would study the pages of the Wish Book and pore over the details of all the new toys until the pages were almost blank. I knew I was never going to have any of them, but it didn’t dissuade me. My grades in school were pretty lousy, but if they had tested me on the contents of that catalog, I’d have aced it.

I don’t think there was too much money to spare in our household. We were never left wanting, but there was seldom money for “extras”. My friends got the Hot Wheels tracks and stuff, but I never did.

One Christmas, Dad must have gotten a bonus or something, because there were quite a few gifts that year – including a Cox airplane for me - but that was the exception, rather than the rule.

Christmas got the axe when I was about ten or so. I vaguely remember being told that, since I wasn’t a little kid anymore, they were kind of pulling the plug on Christmas. No tree, nothing.

For the next few years, I remember Christmas being just another day. Once in a while we would have something special to eat – lasagna or calamari come to mind.

At 17, I began spending Christmas with my girlfriend’s family. Boy was that a one-eighty from what I was used to…

In her family, it was all about the gifts.. Her mom starts shopping in, like, August. There were usually several trash bags full of presents – both at her house and then again at her grandmother’s. They meant well, but there was so much stuff, it was embarrassing, to say the least. In many cases, little-to-no thought was put into the selection: “Gee a Chia-Pet Elvis…how did you know?” Quantity was favored over quality. They completely and utterly bought into the whole Madison Avenue/Hollywood version of Christmas. They bought presents for people because they were supposed to, not because they wanted to. (My question “if you don’t know Uncle Mike well enough to know what he’d like, why are you buying him anything?” was met with mumbled excuses). They did things not because it meant anything but because they were too sheep-like to come up with anything original. Some sort of Pavlovian response ran through the family, only instead of the Salvation Army bell triggering drooling, they went into zombie-like “Must…..buy….” mode.

For the next 20 years, that was what Christmas was: a veritable orgy of gift giving. The only change was that, as her sister’s family grew, the Christmas “celebration” at her mom’s got louder, with more bickering. Fortunately, we lived next door, so when it got to be too much for me, I could just go home.

Let’s pile on top of that the amoral feeding frenzies in the stores, the ever-increasing desperation of retailers, the hypocrisy of those who preach “peace and joy and love” but practice anything but… and, since it’s Christmas, I’ll throw in a freebie: all those who go to the multimillion dollar mega churches….ostensibly to celebrate the birth of someone born in a stable – and the irony is completely lost on them.

Is it any wonder I view Christmas with a mixture of a strange mixture of ambivalence, disgust and bemused apathy?

I guess after all this time, I’ve come to terms with the holiday (who am I to turn down time off from work, huh?) and celebrate it in my own simple way: a few gifts carefully chosen for those who mean the most to me, and a special meal.

For the three people who actually read this (because they mistyped “middle aged porn” into Google) my gift is just a wish:

Peace

In Stasis

Yeah I live just around here

And I sleep just around here

And I wake up every day

And my feet hit the floor in exactly the same place

(Matt Good - "Empty's Theme Park")