Birmingham pales in comparison to Newcastle. By the end of this tour I will have been to every major city in the United Kingdom this year. Leeds, Bristol, Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Plymouth, Norwich, Birmingham, Newcastle, Bournemouth, you name it and we've been there. Dave and I went for a walk yesterday to the river Tyne and were very impressed not only with the sunny fall weather, which did hold over until today, but with the architecture and historical value of Newcastle.
Today we are off. I managed to get the best of both worlds today, group walk to breakfast, then dinner plans for 6:30 which gave me time to get on with my own bit for the afternoon. I picked up the new The Thrills disc and some stationary and pens from a Japanese paper store. Its hard to not get wrapped up in the herd mentality on these days off. Usually we're all hungover and then stumble around all day together not really getting anything accomplished, and then all of a sudden the day is over and we have to get up and go back to work. You always end up spending all of your time making plans to make plans, a very frustrating feeling. We're meeting at 6:30 for curry which is my jam. Why does every English city claim to be the curry capital of the world? Would India not be the curry capital of the world? It seems that because England briefly colonized India for a few hundred years they now claim ownership of curry. All I can conclude from this is a certain amount of typical British snobbery built into titling and alleged ownership. Its nearly 5 and this leaves me enough time to read for a little bit, maybe take a bath, and then wander down to the lobby of our posh hotel.
Our last day off was tough. After closing down an old pub in Dublin we stumbled into bed around 3 in the morning only to be awoken at 7 for the ferry crossing to Scotland. We all deliriously tried to enjoy the trip across the Irish Sea. I took some photographs and some video but when we hit land we all threw ourselves into our bunks for another two hours of shut eye before reaching Glasgow. Dave and I claim that this schedule and lack of sleep led us to be hallucinating when we finally checked into our hotel. Most of that day off was lost to some wandering around with Dan and Joel before meeting up (well technically running into) Ben Hales on the streets of Glasgow. What an unusual but great city full of drunks and blue collar history. Just the type of place that I can agree with.
When I pictured England in the fall I thought of John Steinbeck describing the sky as "wet gray aluminum" and I liked that too. I'll take the sun these past few days. But I'll take the autumn as well.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
something old and something new
I found this photograph on my computer and remembered our three wonderful days off in Portland Oregon this summer. Jeff took this in a hotel room there and because there's a chance she's reading this, this is Kari, this rad girl we met there.
Jeff also took this photograph of a potted plant out front of the same hotel. What a great image.
I'm working on a TV show right now, a STARZ concert series, right now 6 episodes, maybe turning into 12. I'm helping create it, shoot it, and edit it. My creative partner in crime, Kelly, captured these photographs from some of the HD footage we've shot at our past two shows. The first is of two members of the Kaiser Chiefs in the subway system of NYC and the second is Sam of the Bravery at an acoustic performance we went to in Los Angeles. The images are so powerful and seeing that they are screen captures from video blows my mind.
Jeff also took this photograph of a potted plant out front of the same hotel. What a great image.
I'm working on a TV show right now, a STARZ concert series, right now 6 episodes, maybe turning into 12. I'm helping create it, shoot it, and edit it. My creative partner in crime, Kelly, captured these photographs from some of the HD footage we've shot at our past two shows. The first is of two members of the Kaiser Chiefs in the subway system of NYC and the second is Sam of the Bravery at an acoustic performance we went to in Los Angeles. The images are so powerful and seeing that they are screen captures from video blows my mind.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
two new photographs
from our weekend trip to NYC to film the kaiser chiefs at the beacon theatre.
early morning driving down the west side highway.
nyc subway. it'll always smell the way i'll always remember.
early morning driving down the west side highway.
nyc subway. it'll always smell the way i'll always remember.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Los Angeles in early September.
I wanted to write a witty blog about my recent cross country drive. North River, NY to North Hollywood, 5 days, three bags of beef jerky (3 different brands, I did some rather unofficial taste testing to pass the time), a dozen assorted apples, a case of water, 4 vitamin waters, 3 ClifBars, 1 bag of pita chips, four diet cokes (both DC Plus and Coke Zero), one Motel 6, one Holiday Inn Express, two friend's houses, breakfast at Perkins in Kearney Nebraska, one dinner at Delice in downtown Omaha, four CDs purchased at Homers in Omaha (Eisley, The National, Okkervil River, and Earlimart), one Panera Bread breakfast, two Starbucks coffees, one Chipolte burrito bowl, one big breakfast with friends at Watercourse in Denver, and a lunch at Thai Basil in Denver with Brian and Jeff.
Maybe this is a good place to start with the photographs. My brain is tired, its growing late here. I've been hoarding some candids from the past few months that I should like to share. See, I have hundreds of photos that not a soul has seen from the past eight months of photo taking. These hundreds were narrowed down from thousands. I really need to put a website and portfolio together. There's never enough time. So in the lack of mean time (remember, no time at all) I'm going to put a couple up here.
Brian and Jeff.
In late May we spent two weeks in Europe, ten countries in fourteen days. I woke up one morning in Hamburg and went to a grocery store where I acquired the strawberries, museli, and bottle of water. It was everything I wanted and then I made still life with a book I purchased at an old print shop. While I don't read German I've concluded that the book is a small retrospective of a printmaker's cartoons and engravings. I'm going to tear the images out and make prints for my wall.
Toronto Summer 2007. I played a lot of air guitar guitar hero on stage this summer. Benji took this photo of the mayhem from the back corner. I'm suspended in mid air.
These four men were responsible for feeding us this summer. And they did a damn good job at it. Plus they were maniacs in tuxedos.
Just because someone needs to see this. Messina and Lavery.
Steve was known to make appearances on stage to booty quake while the "Milkshake Song" pumped through the PA. At the end of every show Isaac would trigger the post show mix through a CD player attached under the keyboard of his piano. Joel W suck a CD of the "Milkshake Song" into the player in Seattle and right as the song started, with the band still saying bye, Steve booty quaked his way across stage. He's such a player.
That's it. I have to go get my laundry out of the dryer in the apartment complex before someone throws it on top of the dryer (Pet Peeve #43).
Are you well?
Maybe this is a good place to start with the photographs. My brain is tired, its growing late here. I've been hoarding some candids from the past few months that I should like to share. See, I have hundreds of photos that not a soul has seen from the past eight months of photo taking. These hundreds were narrowed down from thousands. I really need to put a website and portfolio together. There's never enough time. So in the lack of mean time (remember, no time at all) I'm going to put a couple up here.
Brian and Jeff.
In late May we spent two weeks in Europe, ten countries in fourteen days. I woke up one morning in Hamburg and went to a grocery store where I acquired the strawberries, museli, and bottle of water. It was everything I wanted and then I made still life with a book I purchased at an old print shop. While I don't read German I've concluded that the book is a small retrospective of a printmaker's cartoons and engravings. I'm going to tear the images out and make prints for my wall.
Toronto Summer 2007. I played a lot of air guitar guitar hero on stage this summer. Benji took this photo of the mayhem from the back corner. I'm suspended in mid air.
These four men were responsible for feeding us this summer. And they did a damn good job at it. Plus they were maniacs in tuxedos.
Just because someone needs to see this. Messina and Lavery.
Steve was known to make appearances on stage to booty quake while the "Milkshake Song" pumped through the PA. At the end of every show Isaac would trigger the post show mix through a CD player attached under the keyboard of his piano. Joel W suck a CD of the "Milkshake Song" into the player in Seattle and right as the song started, with the band still saying bye, Steve booty quaked his way across stage. He's such a player.
That's it. I have to go get my laundry out of the dryer in the apartment complex before someone throws it on top of the dryer (Pet Peeve #43).
Are you well?
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Planes, Burscough, and Beyond
Planes, Burscough, and Beyond
Yesterday I flew back to the states. I put my iPod on shuffle. I never do this but my friend Ben told me once that if I can't put my iPod on shuffle and listen to anything that comes on then I should delete that artist/band out of the Pod. So I tried it. This is what I listened to:
1. Stars - On Peak Hill
2. Neutral Milk Hotel - Ghost
3. Ryan Adams - Rock N Roll
4. Bloc Party - Uniform
5. Nada Surf - What is Your Secret
6. The Faint - Posed to Death
7. Yann Tiersan - La Vase D'Amelie
8. Andrew Bird - Scythian Empires
9. Edit Piaf - Toujours Aimer
10. Mason Jennings - Be Here Now
11. The Decemberists - Los Angeles, I'm Yours
12. Iron & Wine - Fever Dream
13. Figurine - Let's Make Our Love Song
14. Bloc Party - Song for Clay
15. Kiss Me Deadly - Ballads
16. Joseph Arthur - Tattoo
17. Kiss Me Deadly - Distress Call
18. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals - Friends
19. Dinosaur Jr. - Gettin Rough
20. Jason Collett - I'll Bring The Sun
Now I'm not one to read into tea leaves pooled in the bottom of a cup or to look for planetary alignments but what does this mean. Two songs by both Bloc Party, Kiss Me Deadly, and Ryan Adams, two songs by fiercely French artists, a blast from the past, with a taste of romance and a little bit of storytelling from this past week in England. Taking the cake might be the Decemberists song though. What does this mean?
If you'd be the air in my lungs I'd smoke a lot.
Yesterday I flew back to the states. I put my iPod on shuffle. I never do this but my friend Ben told me once that if I can't put my iPod on shuffle and listen to anything that comes on then I should delete that artist/band out of the Pod. So I tried it. This is what I listened to:
1. Stars - On Peak Hill
2. Neutral Milk Hotel - Ghost
3. Ryan Adams - Rock N Roll
4. Bloc Party - Uniform
5. Nada Surf - What is Your Secret
6. The Faint - Posed to Death
7. Yann Tiersan - La Vase D'Amelie
8. Andrew Bird - Scythian Empires
9. Edit Piaf - Toujours Aimer
10. Mason Jennings - Be Here Now
11. The Decemberists - Los Angeles, I'm Yours
12. Iron & Wine - Fever Dream
13. Figurine - Let's Make Our Love Song
14. Bloc Party - Song for Clay
15. Kiss Me Deadly - Ballads
16. Joseph Arthur - Tattoo
17. Kiss Me Deadly - Distress Call
18. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals - Friends
19. Dinosaur Jr. - Gettin Rough
20. Jason Collett - I'll Bring The Sun
Now I'm not one to read into tea leaves pooled in the bottom of a cup or to look for planetary alignments but what does this mean. Two songs by both Bloc Party, Kiss Me Deadly, and Ryan Adams, two songs by fiercely French artists, a blast from the past, with a taste of romance and a little bit of storytelling from this past week in England. Taking the cake might be the Decemberists song though. What does this mean?
If you'd be the air in my lungs I'd smoke a lot.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Cross Country: Making Jack Proud
Little League was just a ruse to mask my addiction to Big League Chew. When it came time for the annual little league lottery I was selected by the Sodom Tigers, an expansion team in a small town nearly twenty-five miles from my house. The Rotary and Gore teams held down a yearly rotating monopoly on the Adirondack Division Championship and in an unsuccessful antitrust adventure the Division created two other teams in the town of Johnsburg, The Tigers and The Wildcats. Our teams shared a brand new diamond in the town of Sodom while the champs split time at the field in North Creek. The draft was a setup from the beginning, coaches had been scouting talent from the days of t-ball and even though it was noted in the Enterprise, the small circulation free weekly paper, that the draft was based purely on pulls of numbers from a hat, each team in order, four players at a time, followed by four players at a time, Gore and Rotary always ended up with the future superstars of the Johnsburg Jaguars baseball team. I was drafted out of pity. My scouting report detailed my fascination with random wildflowers and dandelions that grew in the right field of the t-ball track. Perhaps it touched on my all-consuming passion for the small one scoop free ice cream cones that we enjoyed after every game at Stewarts. Or, maybe it talked about how I would sneak my way out of the dugout mid-inning, I was always warming the pine, to buy some penny candy at the parking lot concession stand.
With my advancement to the bush leagues came a new found love of Big League Chew, the plain flavored shredded gum, that came in the foil, resealable pouch decorated with a juiced up Mark McGwire look-a-like cartoon character. After a thorough trouncing from the Dunkley family clan, who fielded generations of Rotary team players, I asked coach if Kyle had been dipping the entire game. During a trip to pick up some Kit Kat bars in the fifth I thought I spied Kyle picking tobacco out of a pouch, placing a wad in his cheek. Maybe that was how he hit all those home runs I thought. Coach said he wasn’t dipping, that was just Big League Chew. I just had to have some. Everyone wanted to be like Kyle.
Stores these days just aren’t the same. Coca Cola has a new soft drink product that hits the market every time I made a pit stop on my recent drive from Los Angeles to upstate NY, but I couldn’t find a pouch of the Chew anywhere. 2,876 miles coast to coast. Thirty six hours. One shattered moon roof. Two moments of panic when I thought I had run out of gas. Three blinding rainstorms. Ten green apples and a few hundred roasted almonds. Eleven diet cokes (new flavor Coke Plus included) and no pouches of Big League Chew.
I stuck Little League out through three years of a .078 batting average and numerous fielding errors. After playing one year of modified baseball in the seventh grade I promptly switched to tennis the following year. Maybe this was Big League Chew’s revenge.
************************************************************************************
They call Montana big sky country. I think Texas deserves the title. Out the driver side window at 75 miles per hour.
Somewhere in New Mexico. A train on a fast moving horizon.
Delmar - The water is fine! C'mon in.
I was tired and so I stopped for some rest and relaxation.
That is my car on an empty strech of the real Route 66 somewhere in eastern California. I stopped to take a photograph of the trailer below.
I couldn't figure out the last time this had been used although there were piles of rotting clothes inside. I didn't see another living soul for sixty miles in either direction.
With my advancement to the bush leagues came a new found love of Big League Chew, the plain flavored shredded gum, that came in the foil, resealable pouch decorated with a juiced up Mark McGwire look-a-like cartoon character. After a thorough trouncing from the Dunkley family clan, who fielded generations of Rotary team players, I asked coach if Kyle had been dipping the entire game. During a trip to pick up some Kit Kat bars in the fifth I thought I spied Kyle picking tobacco out of a pouch, placing a wad in his cheek. Maybe that was how he hit all those home runs I thought. Coach said he wasn’t dipping, that was just Big League Chew. I just had to have some. Everyone wanted to be like Kyle.
Stores these days just aren’t the same. Coca Cola has a new soft drink product that hits the market every time I made a pit stop on my recent drive from Los Angeles to upstate NY, but I couldn’t find a pouch of the Chew anywhere. 2,876 miles coast to coast. Thirty six hours. One shattered moon roof. Two moments of panic when I thought I had run out of gas. Three blinding rainstorms. Ten green apples and a few hundred roasted almonds. Eleven diet cokes (new flavor Coke Plus included) and no pouches of Big League Chew.
I stuck Little League out through three years of a .078 batting average and numerous fielding errors. After playing one year of modified baseball in the seventh grade I promptly switched to tennis the following year. Maybe this was Big League Chew’s revenge.
************************************************************************************
They call Montana big sky country. I think Texas deserves the title. Out the driver side window at 75 miles per hour.
Somewhere in New Mexico. A train on a fast moving horizon.
Delmar - The water is fine! C'mon in.
I was tired and so I stopped for some rest and relaxation.
That is my car on an empty strech of the real Route 66 somewhere in eastern California. I stopped to take a photograph of the trailer below.
I couldn't figure out the last time this had been used although there were piles of rotting clothes inside. I didn't see another living soul for sixty miles in either direction.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
you are the air in my lungs and i smoke a lot
Whole Foods should be called Whole Paycheck, aptly. As wives wandered the isles filling their shopping carts with vegan treats and soy alternatives, whilst sipping on their non-fat mocha soy chai lattes I checked prices and cost per ounces. An entire cart would be worth $150 based on my advanced calculations so I stuck to the hand basket.
“How are you today?”
“Good, just out spending my husband’s hard earned money?”
“Oh!?! Sounds good!”
“Sure is! Oh and did I tell you I’m working on a script right now with my free time!”
Somehow Whole Foods has regulars, people who can consistently afford $150 carts of overpriced organic food. Don’t get me wrong, I like naturally produced and procured foods, but I can’t afford it. I managed to get away today with three bags (paper, never plastic) of sundries today.
The list included:
1.51lb package of baby carrots
2.5lb large white peaches
1lb organic spring mix (with rocket!)
2.37lb red grapefruit
tofurkey sausage
1 dozen organic free-range eggs
jalapeño garlic hummus
roasted almonds (7.99 for the smallest amount of almonds ever)
5 boxes of organic 365 alfredo mac and cheese
1 can black eye peas
2 cans organic black beans
pita chips
pirates booty, cheddar flavored
frozen veggie okra patties
frozen okra
This cost $50.55. Had I shopped with the same reckless abandon applied at normal supermarkets I could have easily melted my credit card on swipe.
Pretty soon the clock will start running forward. Seconds will pass in half the time it would take normally and the world will begin blurring by in wide aperture settings. The light will soften and the days will grow longer, evenings drawing out while crowds fill thousands of empty seats that the day before were home to thousands of others who drank beer, spilled popcorn and combined their voices in song. Their sound will remind us that we are all human and that we all want to be remembered and loved. And I’ll listen to it and wonder how I fit in.
The reality is that I don’t know any reality anymore. I’m a wandering soul. The euphemism goes that while you may not be lost, it’s just that you aren’t found. I’m lost and I’m not found. But, I am open to both of those things happening. Any time. Any time now.
“How are you today?”
“Good, just out spending my husband’s hard earned money?”
“Oh!?! Sounds good!”
“Sure is! Oh and did I tell you I’m working on a script right now with my free time!”
Somehow Whole Foods has regulars, people who can consistently afford $150 carts of overpriced organic food. Don’t get me wrong, I like naturally produced and procured foods, but I can’t afford it. I managed to get away today with three bags (paper, never plastic) of sundries today.
The list included:
1.51lb package of baby carrots
2.5lb large white peaches
1lb organic spring mix (with rocket!)
2.37lb red grapefruit
tofurkey sausage
1 dozen organic free-range eggs
jalapeño garlic hummus
roasted almonds (7.99 for the smallest amount of almonds ever)
5 boxes of organic 365 alfredo mac and cheese
1 can black eye peas
2 cans organic black beans
pita chips
pirates booty, cheddar flavored
frozen veggie okra patties
frozen okra
This cost $50.55. Had I shopped with the same reckless abandon applied at normal supermarkets I could have easily melted my credit card on swipe.
Pretty soon the clock will start running forward. Seconds will pass in half the time it would take normally and the world will begin blurring by in wide aperture settings. The light will soften and the days will grow longer, evenings drawing out while crowds fill thousands of empty seats that the day before were home to thousands of others who drank beer, spilled popcorn and combined their voices in song. Their sound will remind us that we are all human and that we all want to be remembered and loved. And I’ll listen to it and wonder how I fit in.
The reality is that I don’t know any reality anymore. I’m a wandering soul. The euphemism goes that while you may not be lost, it’s just that you aren’t found. I’m lost and I’m not found. But, I am open to both of those things happening. Any time. Any time now.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
all around Europe in two weeks. again.
“Well Dan, I guess I’ll see you in Alabama.”
Tell me the last time you imagined yourself saying that. Hell, the last time I woke up in Alabama was after a battle with a gentleman named Jack at a watering hole on the south side of Chicago. But that is another story for another time. The point here is that there won’t be, and shouldn’t be too many times in your life when you plan on waking up in Alabama.
The past few weeks have been long. Some time off which results in me being busy for the first week or so and then going stir crazy. I’ve got to get out of LA. Took a trip to San Francisco and a trip to the Phoenix Film Festival in Scottsdale. Huh? Yes, the Phoenix Film Festival isn’t in Phoenix it is in Scottsdale. Marketing.
This two-week jaunt started Thursday in Orlando at Walt Disney World. What an awful place. The pool was full of little children and I’m positive that I saw a filmy layer of urine floating on the surface. We had these super top secret, plaid clad tour guides to the Magic Kingdom. They were in possession of key cards which allowed us top priority access to all the rides. We cut the line. Budged in front of little children whose families had paid top dollar to enter the park. Our admission fee was waived, of course. A bizarre experience getting to see the underbelly of Disney World, we walked through the tunnels underground, the city beneath the city as they call it, from ride to ride, location to location. I wrote my mother and father an e mail the other day thanking them for having never taken us on a “vacation” to Orlando. I am glad that they spent money instead on summer enrichment schools and camps.
Our summer tour is shaping up to be a banger. It appears that I will be involved in the creation of the video content for the live show. Art. Art. Art.
Just found out that on May 14th I’ll be flying to NYC, playing Good Morning America on the 15th, then flying to the Netherlands arriving on the 16th. On the 17th we fly to London for two days where the band will take part in a BBC documentary for the anniversary recording of the Beatle’s Sgt. Pepper’s album. The band is one of 12 bands chosen to rerecord tracks from the album with the original engineer on the original equipment. Wow. On Sunday we will fly to Hamburg Germany and then go to Zurich on Tuesday, London on Wednesday, Madrid on Thursday, Blogona on Friday and Milan on Saturday, and then back to the states on Sunday. I am going around the world, again.
Did I mention that our next five shows are with Aqualung? Great people. Good to be out here with them.
Tell me the last time you imagined yourself saying that. Hell, the last time I woke up in Alabama was after a battle with a gentleman named Jack at a watering hole on the south side of Chicago. But that is another story for another time. The point here is that there won’t be, and shouldn’t be too many times in your life when you plan on waking up in Alabama.
The past few weeks have been long. Some time off which results in me being busy for the first week or so and then going stir crazy. I’ve got to get out of LA. Took a trip to San Francisco and a trip to the Phoenix Film Festival in Scottsdale. Huh? Yes, the Phoenix Film Festival isn’t in Phoenix it is in Scottsdale. Marketing.
This two-week jaunt started Thursday in Orlando at Walt Disney World. What an awful place. The pool was full of little children and I’m positive that I saw a filmy layer of urine floating on the surface. We had these super top secret, plaid clad tour guides to the Magic Kingdom. They were in possession of key cards which allowed us top priority access to all the rides. We cut the line. Budged in front of little children whose families had paid top dollar to enter the park. Our admission fee was waived, of course. A bizarre experience getting to see the underbelly of Disney World, we walked through the tunnels underground, the city beneath the city as they call it, from ride to ride, location to location. I wrote my mother and father an e mail the other day thanking them for having never taken us on a “vacation” to Orlando. I am glad that they spent money instead on summer enrichment schools and camps.
Our summer tour is shaping up to be a banger. It appears that I will be involved in the creation of the video content for the live show. Art. Art. Art.
Just found out that on May 14th I’ll be flying to NYC, playing Good Morning America on the 15th, then flying to the Netherlands arriving on the 16th. On the 17th we fly to London for two days where the band will take part in a BBC documentary for the anniversary recording of the Beatle’s Sgt. Pepper’s album. The band is one of 12 bands chosen to rerecord tracks from the album with the original engineer on the original equipment. Wow. On Sunday we will fly to Hamburg Germany and then go to Zurich on Tuesday, London on Wednesday, Madrid on Thursday, Blogona on Friday and Milan on Saturday, and then back to the states on Sunday. I am going around the world, again.
Did I mention that our next five shows are with Aqualung? Great people. Good to be out here with them.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Any day I'm here could be the day I die.
I was going to write something about purchasing only white v neck t shirts so that I never have to choose what to wear, or write about how one of my roommate's cats is mentally retarded, a fact they can't seem to accept, or post the eharmony.com personal profile I've been working on, until I read an April 7th, 2007 issue of Newsweek that my friend Alex let me borrow today.
It is a special issue called Voices of the Fallen: Every day I'm here could be the day I die
It contains writings to family members, loved ones, and friends made by US soldiers serving in Iraq. I cried my way through the issue. All the words reprinted in there belong to soliders who have been killed in the line of duty. Alex had warned me that it would be tough to read but I was not prepared for the sadness that I felt when done.
I have typed up a letter from Lance CPL. Lance Graham that was left behind whey he was killed on May 7th, 2005.
"Well if your reading this I guess this deployment was a one way trip. I just have a few things to ask. Please don't be made at the Marine Corps. It was my choice to join and come here. I honestly believe this is what I was meant to do. I don't care what the media says we are making a difference here. Know that I did not die in vain or for some worthless cause. I died in memory of all those who gave their lives before me. We are fighting for those who can't fight for themselves and I think that is the right thing to do. Not all the people here are bad, so please don't fill your hearts with anger and hate. When I was a kid my dad gave me a Louis Lamour book and in the back of the book was a quote from all his books. One that really suck in head and I tried to live by sinnce the day I read it was on courage - "When ever there was trouble you never had to look back to see if he was there, you knew damn well he was". I hope I lived up to the that. Another thing I ask is that at my funeral the Marine Corps Hymn and Amazing Grace is played with the bag pipes. Nothing sounds better than the bag pipes playing Amazing Grace. I know that I haven't been the best son, brother, friend or boyfriend and I'm sorry if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Ashley can keep my H5 if she wants. Another thing I ask is at least one of you travel see the world and do the things I never got to do. This is really hard writing this. Theres so much I want to say and I'm at a loss of words. Just know that I have a god in my life and I'm in a better place. Marines guard the streets in heaven. Who else would god trust? Tell Ashley, Nathan, Kevin, Jason, David, Denis that I could not have had better friends. Tell Ashley that I was sorry and I'm stuipd and I really did love her. To my Family I love you all.
Semper Fi,
Love Lance."
We are fighting an unpopular war, orchestrated by a President who the majority of Americans did not elect to office. We have no exit strategy and every day innocent Iraqi men women and children die. The US military is responsible for the deaths of nearly 10,000 innocent Iraqis. Everyday US soldiers are dying and still we fight a way started for reasons that have sinced been revealed to have been falsified reports and documents about alleged weapons of mass destruction. I'm saddened by the state of our world.
My friend Brian is currently serving in Iraq, his second tour of duty. He doesn't know when he is coming home. My friend Kevin Kimmerly was killed in Iraq in the fall of 2003.
It is a special issue called Voices of the Fallen: Every day I'm here could be the day I die
It contains writings to family members, loved ones, and friends made by US soldiers serving in Iraq. I cried my way through the issue. All the words reprinted in there belong to soliders who have been killed in the line of duty. Alex had warned me that it would be tough to read but I was not prepared for the sadness that I felt when done.
I have typed up a letter from Lance CPL. Lance Graham that was left behind whey he was killed on May 7th, 2005.
"Well if your reading this I guess this deployment was a one way trip. I just have a few things to ask. Please don't be made at the Marine Corps. It was my choice to join and come here. I honestly believe this is what I was meant to do. I don't care what the media says we are making a difference here. Know that I did not die in vain or for some worthless cause. I died in memory of all those who gave their lives before me. We are fighting for those who can't fight for themselves and I think that is the right thing to do. Not all the people here are bad, so please don't fill your hearts with anger and hate. When I was a kid my dad gave me a Louis Lamour book and in the back of the book was a quote from all his books. One that really suck in head and I tried to live by sinnce the day I read it was on courage - "When ever there was trouble you never had to look back to see if he was there, you knew damn well he was". I hope I lived up to the that. Another thing I ask is that at my funeral the Marine Corps Hymn and Amazing Grace is played with the bag pipes. Nothing sounds better than the bag pipes playing Amazing Grace. I know that I haven't been the best son, brother, friend or boyfriend and I'm sorry if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Ashley can keep my H5 if she wants. Another thing I ask is at least one of you travel see the world and do the things I never got to do. This is really hard writing this. Theres so much I want to say and I'm at a loss of words. Just know that I have a god in my life and I'm in a better place. Marines guard the streets in heaven. Who else would god trust? Tell Ashley, Nathan, Kevin, Jason, David, Denis that I could not have had better friends. Tell Ashley that I was sorry and I'm stuipd and I really did love her. To my Family I love you all.
Semper Fi,
Love Lance."
We are fighting an unpopular war, orchestrated by a President who the majority of Americans did not elect to office. We have no exit strategy and every day innocent Iraqi men women and children die. The US military is responsible for the deaths of nearly 10,000 innocent Iraqis. Everyday US soldiers are dying and still we fight a way started for reasons that have sinced been revealed to have been falsified reports and documents about alleged weapons of mass destruction. I'm saddened by the state of our world.
My friend Brian is currently serving in Iraq, his second tour of duty. He doesn't know when he is coming home. My friend Kevin Kimmerly was killed in Iraq in the fall of 2003.
Friday, April 13, 2007
A letter to Paul Auster
Dear Mr. Auster,
I first read Leviathan as a student living and studying in Dijon, France. My mother was a French teacher at a small rural public school in upstate NY, and having grown up speaking the language it seemed a fitting course of study given my general lack of early twenty-something direction. At the time, I was boarding with a dysfunctional French family, the Bresseau’s, who were each on their second marriage. They had a rambunctious young demon son between the two of them and an older introverted son, with an all-consuming passion for comic books and mid-90’s rock music, from Madame Bresseau’s previous marriage. Dinners were always interesting, a breeding ground for awkwardly priceless moments. To avoid prolonged contact with this cast of characters, whose idiosyncrasies I scribbled furiously into my journal, I spent the evenings locked in my bedroom. Having grown tired of the bread and butter staples of French literature that I had been assigned to read, I rescued three English books from the Bresseau’s bookshelf and read them back to back to back as quickly as possible. I read your novel first and then moved on to the first two Harry Potter books. Madame was an English ex patriot, Leviathan happened to be one of her favorites.
I’ve read most of your novels, having enjoyed every word of each of them.
But it wasn’t until this past year, when I picked up Hand to Mouth that I felt the need to write you. My father is a small town jack-of-all-trades. He does snow removal in the winter and builds furniture in the summer. He doesn’t like people and recently began playing the banjo during what I’d like to call his third mid-life crisis. The first was forgetting that my mother and my two younger siblings existed once I moved away from home, and the second was trying to play the upright bass. He plays the banjo every Sunday afternoon at the deli in town with Tom “Buckshot” Butler on bass and the cross-dressing Steve Sverchek on fiddle. Steve is the father of the girl I thought was my first real girlfriend. She eventually informed me that we weren’t dating at all.
My mother is a prim and proper, pessimistic, tiny conservative woman from
Anderson, South Carolina. She became a French teacher to escape the grips of the poor rural south. If she couldn’t physically leave, this was second best. We didn’t own a television so instead I was raised on NPR and trips to the book mobile.
I’ve always enjoyed telling stories and feel confident telling you that I’m a filmmaker working on creating my first narrative short. I have worked on documentary shorts and features for the past few years. Your ability to describe characters, places, and situations is truly inspiring. It was while reading the Brooklyn Follies that I discovered the urgent desire and need to begin remembering the people and places of my youth, a place and time that I once long ago swore to forget.
There is no doubt in my mind that you will continue to write, so I don’t have to implore you to do so. I look forward to reading more of your work in the future. You have inspired me, and for that I should like to say thank you.
Sincerely,
Rod Blackhurst
I first read Leviathan as a student living and studying in Dijon, France. My mother was a French teacher at a small rural public school in upstate NY, and having grown up speaking the language it seemed a fitting course of study given my general lack of early twenty-something direction. At the time, I was boarding with a dysfunctional French family, the Bresseau’s, who were each on their second marriage. They had a rambunctious young demon son between the two of them and an older introverted son, with an all-consuming passion for comic books and mid-90’s rock music, from Madame Bresseau’s previous marriage. Dinners were always interesting, a breeding ground for awkwardly priceless moments. To avoid prolonged contact with this cast of characters, whose idiosyncrasies I scribbled furiously into my journal, I spent the evenings locked in my bedroom. Having grown tired of the bread and butter staples of French literature that I had been assigned to read, I rescued three English books from the Bresseau’s bookshelf and read them back to back to back as quickly as possible. I read your novel first and then moved on to the first two Harry Potter books. Madame was an English ex patriot, Leviathan happened to be one of her favorites.
I’ve read most of your novels, having enjoyed every word of each of them.
But it wasn’t until this past year, when I picked up Hand to Mouth that I felt the need to write you. My father is a small town jack-of-all-trades. He does snow removal in the winter and builds furniture in the summer. He doesn’t like people and recently began playing the banjo during what I’d like to call his third mid-life crisis. The first was forgetting that my mother and my two younger siblings existed once I moved away from home, and the second was trying to play the upright bass. He plays the banjo every Sunday afternoon at the deli in town with Tom “Buckshot” Butler on bass and the cross-dressing Steve Sverchek on fiddle. Steve is the father of the girl I thought was my first real girlfriend. She eventually informed me that we weren’t dating at all.
My mother is a prim and proper, pessimistic, tiny conservative woman from
Anderson, South Carolina. She became a French teacher to escape the grips of the poor rural south. If she couldn’t physically leave, this was second best. We didn’t own a television so instead I was raised on NPR and trips to the book mobile.
I’ve always enjoyed telling stories and feel confident telling you that I’m a filmmaker working on creating my first narrative short. I have worked on documentary shorts and features for the past few years. Your ability to describe characters, places, and situations is truly inspiring. It was while reading the Brooklyn Follies that I discovered the urgent desire and need to begin remembering the people and places of my youth, a place and time that I once long ago swore to forget.
There is no doubt in my mind that you will continue to write, so I don’t have to implore you to do so. I look forward to reading more of your work in the future. You have inspired me, and for that I should like to say thank you.
Sincerely,
Rod Blackhurst
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Carson Daly Show & Advertising
The homeless men are practicing advertising. They twirl the corrugated, laminated signs with pomp and circumstance.
“We Buy Ugly Homes For Cash!”
“Shaw’s Going Out of Business Sale! All Wigs 75% Off!”
Advertising pays minimum wage, and so does seat filling at NBC. As I sat with my roommate in the North Hollywood park, killing time for two hours, I wondered if the same people who were offering “Free Yum Yum Donuts with Every 12oz Coffee Purchased”, were sitting next to me at Carson Daly yesterday. I don’t know why I went to the taping of the show. Wait, I do know, it paid $7.50 an hour and when you’re suffering from workers block (that is mental blockage from doing any sort of work), you’ll do just about anything to get out of the house. The ad I responded to asked that we wear casual business attire, polo shirts, button ups, no ripped jeans, and defiantly no sandals. Based upon my advanced mathematical calculations, mainly some cheap addition, I was able to determine that 10% of the seat fillers lined up at Soundstage 9 on the northwest corner of Bob Hope and Warner, were wearing sandals. Additionally 18% of the line were wearing shirts with logos, 7% were wearing ripped jeans, 22% of them smelled awful and 36% of them were not sane. Waiting in line, inside a security area, having gone through a metal detector, would normally not be the place to sell drugs, drink beer, and shout at the scantily dressed woman at the head of the line (they had obviously been there for a few hours, waiting for those precious front row seats, in hopes that they would be noticed by Carson or one of the 15 people who watch the show).
But they were all crazy. And they smelled. One woman was toting six plastic bags full of clothes. Her hair was dreaded up and she was wearing a black windbreaker. It was 85 degrees outside. Several people were missing teeth and had random shaved patches on the sides of their heads. I didn’t ask questions. I was there to collect my $7.50 an hour and get the hell out of dodge. I clapped like a madman, cheered when prompted, and laughed when prodded with the branding iron.
The MC shouted, “This is late night television. The jokes are always funny.”
And I laughed.
The past few days have been tedious. Los Angeles has me spinning my wheels. Too much stimulation. Did I really just say that? You can’t take time off. This city moves, not in the way that New York moves, at a breakneck speed, but rather with a slow deliberate pace. Everyone says they are busy all the time. What are they actually doing? Everywhere I look the coffee shops are full of young people talking away, sipping mocha crappa lattes, reading scripts behind sunglasses that look like they were stolen from the U2 Zoo Tour of ’95. People say that to provide the illusion that they are actually important, that they are actually in a meeting, busy making deals, authorizing mergers, writing scripts. Everyone is working on a script. Everyone.
I’m leaving for tour on Monday. Flying LAX to Edmonton, then Edmonton to Calgary, then Calgary to Vancouver, then Vancouver to Las Vegas, then Las Vegas to London, then London to Paris, Paris to London, London to LAX, LAX to Phoenix, and then finally Phoenix to LAX, arriving back home two weeks later. I’m packing a vial of Vicodin. That should do it. One night in Paris, c’mon?
Yeah, I know.
“We Buy Ugly Homes For Cash!”
“Shaw’s Going Out of Business Sale! All Wigs 75% Off!”
Advertising pays minimum wage, and so does seat filling at NBC. As I sat with my roommate in the North Hollywood park, killing time for two hours, I wondered if the same people who were offering “Free Yum Yum Donuts with Every 12oz Coffee Purchased”, were sitting next to me at Carson Daly yesterday. I don’t know why I went to the taping of the show. Wait, I do know, it paid $7.50 an hour and when you’re suffering from workers block (that is mental blockage from doing any sort of work), you’ll do just about anything to get out of the house. The ad I responded to asked that we wear casual business attire, polo shirts, button ups, no ripped jeans, and defiantly no sandals. Based upon my advanced mathematical calculations, mainly some cheap addition, I was able to determine that 10% of the seat fillers lined up at Soundstage 9 on the northwest corner of Bob Hope and Warner, were wearing sandals. Additionally 18% of the line were wearing shirts with logos, 7% were wearing ripped jeans, 22% of them smelled awful and 36% of them were not sane. Waiting in line, inside a security area, having gone through a metal detector, would normally not be the place to sell drugs, drink beer, and shout at the scantily dressed woman at the head of the line (they had obviously been there for a few hours, waiting for those precious front row seats, in hopes that they would be noticed by Carson or one of the 15 people who watch the show).
But they were all crazy. And they smelled. One woman was toting six plastic bags full of clothes. Her hair was dreaded up and she was wearing a black windbreaker. It was 85 degrees outside. Several people were missing teeth and had random shaved patches on the sides of their heads. I didn’t ask questions. I was there to collect my $7.50 an hour and get the hell out of dodge. I clapped like a madman, cheered when prompted, and laughed when prodded with the branding iron.
The MC shouted, “This is late night television. The jokes are always funny.”
And I laughed.
The past few days have been tedious. Los Angeles has me spinning my wheels. Too much stimulation. Did I really just say that? You can’t take time off. This city moves, not in the way that New York moves, at a breakneck speed, but rather with a slow deliberate pace. Everyone says they are busy all the time. What are they actually doing? Everywhere I look the coffee shops are full of young people talking away, sipping mocha crappa lattes, reading scripts behind sunglasses that look like they were stolen from the U2 Zoo Tour of ’95. People say that to provide the illusion that they are actually important, that they are actually in a meeting, busy making deals, authorizing mergers, writing scripts. Everyone is working on a script. Everyone.
I’m leaving for tour on Monday. Flying LAX to Edmonton, then Edmonton to Calgary, then Calgary to Vancouver, then Vancouver to Las Vegas, then Las Vegas to London, then London to Paris, Paris to London, London to LAX, LAX to Phoenix, and then finally Phoenix to LAX, arriving back home two weeks later. I’m packing a vial of Vicodin. That should do it. One night in Paris, c’mon?
Yeah, I know.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
photos in the valley
I met my friend Alex for lunch at Canter’s yesterday. We talked about bands, music, films, people, and Los Angeles. I’d been thinking about making a trip out to the Salton Sea. Having recently come into the possession of a Polaroid Spectra AF via eBay, for the sweet ass low price of $38, I found myself itching to use it. The Sea seemed like the best bet. An abandoned city on the edge of a dead man made lake, 125 feet below sea level. But then I started thinking about the vagabonds and meth labs that are scattered throughout the area and decided that I shouldn’t go alone.
But I have this camera. And I told him I'd go take some photos and show him. My friend Brian was in town last night and he said I should go, if it felt safe. I'll make it up to you both.
So today I walked around for an hour, and took some photographs.
This is a montage of the Polaroids, laid out in no particular order on my living room floor. I don’t have a scanner so this is a digital photograph (you can see the flash and the light glare from the lamp).
A digital still of the same area in one of the Polaroids.
My hand holding a photo of a Laundromat.
But I have this camera. And I told him I'd go take some photos and show him. My friend Brian was in town last night and he said I should go, if it felt safe. I'll make it up to you both.
So today I walked around for an hour, and took some photographs.
This is a montage of the Polaroids, laid out in no particular order on my living room floor. I don’t have a scanner so this is a digital photograph (you can see the flash and the light glare from the lamp).
A digital still of the same area in one of the Polaroids.
My hand holding a photo of a Laundromat.
Friday, March 09, 2007
return to LA (so this is normal)
The paper in the copy machines at Kinko's is already pre hole punched. Ready for one inch brass brads to hold together the weight of somewhere between seventy five and one hundred and ten pages of size twelve courier new font screen direction and play. I didn't want paper that was pre punched and so I investigated each of the nine machines only to find that every single one of them held the same three holes. Granted I was there to make copies of my writing, but it was rather depressing to watch as each of the other eight machines made copies of screenplays. Can't these people punch their own holes? I did. Who were those people? What is their story, where do they come from? The young man at the machine behind me wore his frost tipped hair perfectly and his clothing reeked of mass produced, but still slightly cool, the because-i-bought-it-at-urban-outfitters, feel. The stubble on his face was an industry standard suggested three days old. I imagined him shaving tonight and then having to hide out for two days before making appearances on the third when his look would be back up to par.
So I made four copies of the short film and headed to the grocery store. Having not been to a grocery store in well over two months, maybe even almost three, I found myself lost. I couldn't remember what I liked to eat. Well I could remember, I just couldn't remember what would go into each meal. I ended up with breakfast burritos for breakfast and some combinations of salad and pasta for dinner. Depressing right? I still can't remember what I really like to eat. I went to Whole Foods (i.e., Whole Paycheck) yesterday and purchased two paper bags of assorted lunch and dinner items for $54.94. When the cashier announced the total I'm almost positive I saw a little toy gun extend out the side of the register, fire, and a flag with BANG written on it popped out.
My home has started to feel like home. I spent some paper at Ikea and worked a bookshelf into the room. It is tall, six shelves, and is painted a dark black stain. Being from Ikea, it is made of MDF. But the stain helps.
I've been working pretty religiously on some videos for the band. Going to spend today finishing up three of them before moving onto the final blog from the UK. Then comes the photo editing. I drove by the Burbank airport yesterday evening to try and shoot some super 8 of the plans taking off. Van Owen runs right perpendicular to the end of the north-south runway and so the plans take off right overhead. My super 8 camera looks like a small Uzi and I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to be standing at the end of the runway, pointing my black hand held item at the plans overhead, so I drove back home, shooting the setting sun against two miles of overhead power lines.
Had lunch yesterday with two friends and talked shop on the screenplay. Their advice and criticisms are going to be much appreciated. The story needs some reworking, some changes to direction and description and I feel up to the task.
So I made four copies of the short film and headed to the grocery store. Having not been to a grocery store in well over two months, maybe even almost three, I found myself lost. I couldn't remember what I liked to eat. Well I could remember, I just couldn't remember what would go into each meal. I ended up with breakfast burritos for breakfast and some combinations of salad and pasta for dinner. Depressing right? I still can't remember what I really like to eat. I went to Whole Foods (i.e., Whole Paycheck) yesterday and purchased two paper bags of assorted lunch and dinner items for $54.94. When the cashier announced the total I'm almost positive I saw a little toy gun extend out the side of the register, fire, and a flag with BANG written on it popped out.
My home has started to feel like home. I spent some paper at Ikea and worked a bookshelf into the room. It is tall, six shelves, and is painted a dark black stain. Being from Ikea, it is made of MDF. But the stain helps.
I've been working pretty religiously on some videos for the band. Going to spend today finishing up three of them before moving onto the final blog from the UK. Then comes the photo editing. I drove by the Burbank airport yesterday evening to try and shoot some super 8 of the plans taking off. Van Owen runs right perpendicular to the end of the north-south runway and so the plans take off right overhead. My super 8 camera looks like a small Uzi and I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to be standing at the end of the runway, pointing my black hand held item at the plans overhead, so I drove back home, shooting the setting sun against two miles of overhead power lines.
Had lunch yesterday with two friends and talked shop on the screenplay. Their advice and criticisms are going to be much appreciated. The story needs some reworking, some changes to direction and description and I feel up to the task.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
so this is the sound of nostalgia
Our trip is coming to an end. Twenty days. Four hundred eighty hours. Twenty eight thousand eight hundred minutes. Fifteen thousand six hundred twenty seven miles. As all tours wrap up I realize that maybe I will miss the road. Sometimes it is the feeling of relief that the end is in sight that overwhelms my senses. The same feeling that makes you think the last hour of a thirty seven hour work day isn't that bad, you're almost there. So maybe it is that feeling. Maybe I really do miss it when it's all done.
We've been in London for three days now, staying at the K West Hotel, which at this point feels like a home away from home, having stayed here so many times in the past few months. This is a rock n roll hotel, on par with the Riot House (Hyatt) on Sunset in Hollywood or the Roosevelt. Our first evening here, the lobby was home to too many wanna be rock stars dressed in tight black jeans and pointy shoes. With the NME awards taking place in town that night every band in the world was staying here, along with us. The lobby was littered with hipsters; the Kaiser Chiefs, Idlewild, The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, We are Scientists, the Arctic Monkeys, etc. Imagine a giant circle of people standing together, each turns to his left and then one at a time everyone tells the person on their left that they are cooler than that person, and so forth. Where does it end?
Too many pretentious assholes, not enough talent and so we retired. The morning brought a visit to Capital Radio for some interviews and then a walking trip through the major tourist attractions where I filmed a short piece for lastminute.com. Our tour ended with a ride on the London Eye, the giant eye sore (so appropriately titled) on the bank of the Thames. The view was beautiful and while I can't vouch for the discount airfare that the website offers (I'm a Travelocity man), the piece will look good. I know it.
My work is almost done here. I've shot three video blogs, five summer tour announcement videos, one lastminute.com piece, and three webisodes for some online TV network. Yes, the brain needs a rest. Not a rest, maybe just a break from what has become the usual over the course of the past three weeks.
I'm going back to Los Angeles and for the first time, calling it home. I'll be there for two weeks. I've got lots of ideas, plans. Need to decorate my room, need to purchase a bookshelf. The walls are bare, off white, stained with marks from previous tenants moving furniture. Trying to think about a trip to San Francisco to see a show, but I don't feel like traveling that much. Hoping to have some meetings, rendezvous, get-togethers, a power lunch or three. I will stock up on energy and I will work on the band's video projects. I will write and gain ground. I will ride my bike along Mulholland Drive and watch the sun get dirty over downtown. I will grocery shop for the first time. And I will spend time with people that make me happy. This much I hope to be true.
We've been in London for three days now, staying at the K West Hotel, which at this point feels like a home away from home, having stayed here so many times in the past few months. This is a rock n roll hotel, on par with the Riot House (Hyatt) on Sunset in Hollywood or the Roosevelt. Our first evening here, the lobby was home to too many wanna be rock stars dressed in tight black jeans and pointy shoes. With the NME awards taking place in town that night every band in the world was staying here, along with us. The lobby was littered with hipsters; the Kaiser Chiefs, Idlewild, The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, We are Scientists, the Arctic Monkeys, etc. Imagine a giant circle of people standing together, each turns to his left and then one at a time everyone tells the person on their left that they are cooler than that person, and so forth. Where does it end?
Too many pretentious assholes, not enough talent and so we retired. The morning brought a visit to Capital Radio for some interviews and then a walking trip through the major tourist attractions where I filmed a short piece for lastminute.com. Our tour ended with a ride on the London Eye, the giant eye sore (so appropriately titled) on the bank of the Thames. The view was beautiful and while I can't vouch for the discount airfare that the website offers (I'm a Travelocity man), the piece will look good. I know it.
My work is almost done here. I've shot three video blogs, five summer tour announcement videos, one lastminute.com piece, and three webisodes for some online TV network. Yes, the brain needs a rest. Not a rest, maybe just a break from what has become the usual over the course of the past three weeks.
I'm going back to Los Angeles and for the first time, calling it home. I'll be there for two weeks. I've got lots of ideas, plans. Need to decorate my room, need to purchase a bookshelf. The walls are bare, off white, stained with marks from previous tenants moving furniture. Trying to think about a trip to San Francisco to see a show, but I don't feel like traveling that much. Hoping to have some meetings, rendezvous, get-togethers, a power lunch or three. I will stock up on energy and I will work on the band's video projects. I will write and gain ground. I will ride my bike along Mulholland Drive and watch the sun get dirty over downtown. I will grocery shop for the first time. And I will spend time with people that make me happy. This much I hope to be true.
Monday, February 26, 2007
having to go a short ways, having it take a long time
having to go a short ways, having it take a long time
Current mood: 
I cried twice in the past week, once on the beach in Bournemouth, late at night, then again last night in a crowded theatre.
I'm tired of stubborn advice. The kind your mother would give you. "It's going to be alright honey, everything will work out." "How about you just keep trying?" or "Don't worry, things will get better." Advice like that is cheap, easy. Small talk.
I'm tired of adages and euphemisms. For the first time in my life I'm starting to feel like I'm doing it just for the money. And I've never had the money to do anything for.
We are driving through the countryside, from Sheffield to Derby. Almost the end of February but the grass is green and the sky is littered with sun lit cotton balls. Last night, my friend Glen told me that the island of England has this dark, black force that drags you down, makes you feel weary, uninspired, uncomfortable. I've been feeling that for a week, just didn't know how to put my finger on it. But this morning, with weather typical of a early spring day in New England, somehow my mind doesn't hurt per the usual.
Yesterday Isaac and I talked about what we want, if wishes were being granted. A year ago he wanted a wife and a career in music. Now he has both and said he doesn't need anything else. I want to be happy and I want to find a place to live. Moving around is taking its toll. Finding a community, a small town, with brick buildings and old storefronts habited by mom and pop breakfast joints, book stores, a river, characters.
Sometimes I just need a change of pace.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Bournemouth: Lost in Translation
Even though we all speak the same language, I'm lost in translation. Simple conversations often take a few "Pardon me"'s before I can decipher what we're actually trying to discuss. Bournemouth is on the ocean, or maybe the channel. I still have no idea where we are. But I see water. And gulls. I guess that makes me feel a little better. If I need an escape route I know where to go.
The Feeling may not be my type of band but they are great performers and musicians. They outperformed the Fray in the states this past fall and they are 100% outperforming them here. This is exactly what needed to happen. The Feeling rehearsed before their tour even began. What a novel concept. There is a lot to be said for professionalism. Most people in life don't expect anything to just happen to them or to come their way. I've seen it work the other way and it is nice to realize again that we are all just as good as we actually are, and no better until we make it that way ourselves.
My creative juices have stopped flowing. Imagine being on point all day long, every day, using every synapse in your mind to make things look intriguing and fascinating, no matter your subject matter. I wish people would respond to the camera, use it, interact with it. You can't tell a story with no words and no actions. Well, maybe no words, but the actions have to be pretty powerful and they just aren't.
Where are you? What are you doing?
The Feeling may not be my type of band but they are great performers and musicians. They outperformed the Fray in the states this past fall and they are 100% outperforming them here. This is exactly what needed to happen. The Feeling rehearsed before their tour even began. What a novel concept. There is a lot to be said for professionalism. Most people in life don't expect anything to just happen to them or to come their way. I've seen it work the other way and it is nice to realize again that we are all just as good as we actually are, and no better until we make it that way ourselves.
My creative juices have stopped flowing. Imagine being on point all day long, every day, using every synapse in your mind to make things look intriguing and fascinating, no matter your subject matter. I wish people would respond to the camera, use it, interact with it. You can't tell a story with no words and no actions. Well, maybe no words, but the actions have to be pretty powerful and they just aren't.
Where are you? What are you doing?
Sunday, February 18, 2007
a record review from the UK
“They’ve sold more than one million albums in America, and it isn’t hard to see why: the Denver band make music that would struggle to wake the horses, never mind frighten them. They are co-managed by the son of a former Sony BMG bigwig, and you might conclude that they’d have to be spectacularly bad not to go platinum with a leg-up like that. What’s truly offensive about the Fray is the complacency and lack of invention in the music: song after song rolls by, with Isaac Slade pounding his piano and emoting emptily in his Curtis Stigers whine, and each is as crease-free, as people-pleasing, as the last. These are songs for the shopping mall and the elevator; life and nature observed from an air-conditioned automobile. Sadly, they’re going to be huge.”
Saturday, February 17, 2007
pounds for pounds
“It’s a giant sausage party in here”, said one security guard to another.
Touched down in Norwich on Thursday afternoon. Everything looked sunny and I wore just a sweatshirt comfortably. Found Brian and Jimmy in a Public House (Pub to you blokes), saddled up to a pint or three of beer and I joined them. We wandered back to the Maid’s Head hotel in the early afternoon to catch a few winks of sleep before dinner with the rest of the wild bunch. The Maid’s Head was a hotel put together of several buildings dated pre 1850 and it was as if the architect of the place had completely disregarded the fact that none of these structures had been built on the same levels, heights, and dimensions. At points you’d cross through a crouched doorway and stumble upon another hall of rooms, with a floor that was either a few steps up or a few steps down.
“Here! Knock a hole through this wall chap, we’ll put more rooms here. The floors don’t match up. Don’t worry about it mate. Pint?”
We tasted sweet Indian food that evening. Curry was originally introduced to the British as a way to disguise the nasty rotted meat that the colonials were eating; disguising the maggots and other various animals living in a block of salt pork. I ate red curry with vigor.
Woke up in the morning to the arrival of the rest of my friends who needed a shower and thus our day had begun. Taxi rides on the other side of the road and hello Norwich University.
Fioana knows how to cook. Just follow your nose to Taste Buds Catering from Glasgow whenever you are in this neck of the international woods. They travel with the headlining band and prepare up fresh, new meals daily. Every day a new run to the grocery store or market to conjure up a menu that you wouldn’t even cook at your own home (unless you have a cook who cooks at your own home). I enjoyed cups of tea and assorted nibbles from the dining room all day while we set about getting the show in order. There were t-shirts to count, e-mails to write, cups of tea to brew, gear to unpack, camera batteries to charge, cups of tea to drink (that’s been about a five minute seep right?).
The evening was less inspired than I might have imagined given all of the professional circumstances and experience collected over the past year but folks were generally tired and overwhelmed from a day spent figuring out this new country to be home for the next three weeks. Afterwards I shared a drink with Dave, Jimmy, and Steve. We drank to something witty, which I can’t recall, and then Jimmy chimed in “To being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple.”
It was then fitting that we walked back to the bus alone, a double decker bus with fourteen beds, two lounges, one up, one down, three flat screen TVs, a full kitchen, and no heating system that my slumbering body could remember how to turn on.
I awoke but fifteen minutes ago and the tile of the kitchen floor gave me an ice cream headache. We’re in Wolverhampton. Wherever that might be. It is rainy outside, foggy, and I’m drinking proper tea.
Touched down in Norwich on Thursday afternoon. Everything looked sunny and I wore just a sweatshirt comfortably. Found Brian and Jimmy in a Public House (Pub to you blokes), saddled up to a pint or three of beer and I joined them. We wandered back to the Maid’s Head hotel in the early afternoon to catch a few winks of sleep before dinner with the rest of the wild bunch. The Maid’s Head was a hotel put together of several buildings dated pre 1850 and it was as if the architect of the place had completely disregarded the fact that none of these structures had been built on the same levels, heights, and dimensions. At points you’d cross through a crouched doorway and stumble upon another hall of rooms, with a floor that was either a few steps up or a few steps down.
“Here! Knock a hole through this wall chap, we’ll put more rooms here. The floors don’t match up. Don’t worry about it mate. Pint?”
We tasted sweet Indian food that evening. Curry was originally introduced to the British as a way to disguise the nasty rotted meat that the colonials were eating; disguising the maggots and other various animals living in a block of salt pork. I ate red curry with vigor.
Woke up in the morning to the arrival of the rest of my friends who needed a shower and thus our day had begun. Taxi rides on the other side of the road and hello Norwich University.
Fioana knows how to cook. Just follow your nose to Taste Buds Catering from Glasgow whenever you are in this neck of the international woods. They travel with the headlining band and prepare up fresh, new meals daily. Every day a new run to the grocery store or market to conjure up a menu that you wouldn’t even cook at your own home (unless you have a cook who cooks at your own home). I enjoyed cups of tea and assorted nibbles from the dining room all day while we set about getting the show in order. There were t-shirts to count, e-mails to write, cups of tea to brew, gear to unpack, camera batteries to charge, cups of tea to drink (that’s been about a five minute seep right?).
The evening was less inspired than I might have imagined given all of the professional circumstances and experience collected over the past year but folks were generally tired and overwhelmed from a day spent figuring out this new country to be home for the next three weeks. Afterwards I shared a drink with Dave, Jimmy, and Steve. We drank to something witty, which I can’t recall, and then Jimmy chimed in “To being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple.”
It was then fitting that we walked back to the bus alone, a double decker bus with fourteen beds, two lounges, one up, one down, three flat screen TVs, a full kitchen, and no heating system that my slumbering body could remember how to turn on.
I awoke but fifteen minutes ago and the tile of the kitchen floor gave me an ice cream headache. We’re in Wolverhampton. Wherever that might be. It is rainy outside, foggy, and I’m drinking proper tea.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
austin to starkville to atlanta to utah to denver
i'm tired. said goodbye to mute math last night. i have this to remember.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
on a back road in East Texas
Corrigan Texas. Sounds like East Texas, but I'm not sure. We've been driving since 1:30 this morning. Took the back roads, just to look at the stars. Decided that the main roads and highways were just, well, too main. The last city I remember was Shreveport. We're headed to Houston. I've been a lot of places lately. Savanannah was nice. As I imagined. Coffee shops and French heritage. You can't go wrong there.
The sun is already low in the horizon, probably going to be dark within the hour. Remember the summers when it gets dark at 9:30? Those are my favorite hours, the ones between 5 and 9, when the shadows get long but everything still stays warm. A soft glow, magic hour we call it. I like magic hour.
I'm trying to get in the mood to work out some characters on my latest piece of writing. I'm an awful writer due to a lack of discipline. I wouldn't even call myself a writer. I've been writing only because I can't ever find the story to read the way I want it to. And sometimes I just can't find the time to write my mind the way I want it to read. This is called getting in the way of one's self. I do it all the time, try not to, but can't help it.
The road is lonely sometimes. I don't want this forever. Once in a lifetime story this one right now. Detachment. That's what it is. You aren't connected to any true sense of reality. Again I flip through my phone and look for someone to call. Someone who might understand, but then there's nobody there. So I write blogs and hope that someone somewhere is reading them. And that makes me feel wanted. I want to be wanted. Everyone wants to be wanted. To be held. To be kissed. To be felt. To be dreamt about. To be longed for. To be thought of. And to be remembered.
Lake Livingston is on the right and Sufjan is on my headphoens. Lots of weeded concrete parking lots and old drive thru burger or donut stands round here. Again I shouldn't be surprised.
The sun is already low in the horizon, probably going to be dark within the hour. Remember the summers when it gets dark at 9:30? Those are my favorite hours, the ones between 5 and 9, when the shadows get long but everything still stays warm. A soft glow, magic hour we call it. I like magic hour.
I'm trying to get in the mood to work out some characters on my latest piece of writing. I'm an awful writer due to a lack of discipline. I wouldn't even call myself a writer. I've been writing only because I can't ever find the story to read the way I want it to. And sometimes I just can't find the time to write my mind the way I want it to read. This is called getting in the way of one's self. I do it all the time, try not to, but can't help it.
The road is lonely sometimes. I don't want this forever. Once in a lifetime story this one right now. Detachment. That's what it is. You aren't connected to any true sense of reality. Again I flip through my phone and look for someone to call. Someone who might understand, but then there's nobody there. So I write blogs and hope that someone somewhere is reading them. And that makes me feel wanted. I want to be wanted. Everyone wants to be wanted. To be held. To be kissed. To be felt. To be dreamt about. To be longed for. To be thought of. And to be remembered.
Lake Livingston is on the right and Sufjan is on my headphoens. Lots of weeded concrete parking lots and old drive thru burger or donut stands round here. Again I shouldn't be surprised.
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