Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Rust On The Beginning
With nothing to say, I'll keep typing away,
Nothing too clever, never say ever,
Everybody's rockin, key pushed the lock in,
Stevie wonders, looks for the covers,
The lights have been out at work the last few days, which brings a nice calming effect to the proceedings. I gotta say, though: I wish people would stop talking to me all the time at work. Don't they see I'm in the middle of something? They just come right up -- even if I am two inches from the screen and my headphones are one -- and ask me about that deli menu or the attendance policy.
I'm at 4900 for the songs in my iPod. There's probably room for another 100, but I'm getting skimpy with what should go on there now. It's real tight. At first, it was just a flood -- I was letting everybody through. All sorts of quality or lack thereof was getting let in the door. Now, I'm inspecting songs, looking for cracks, reading reviews. "Essential" is subjective at 100 to go.
I have to finally come out and say I think it's bullshit the way Neil Young marketed his Greendale album. He came out in some interviews and described himself as just some old hippy, singing about peace and environmentalism. Which is a bunch of shit. This "hippy" is the same guy who wrote a song lyric about how he "wasn't going back to Woodstock" again. This is also the guy who refused to be filmed at Woodstock, who, after the performance, stated that he didn't know what he was doing there, that there were all sorts of people there and that he didn't feel like he belonged.
The problem I have with a broken-up band called the Gear Daddies is that whenever I hear someone describe them, I hear the same thing: "They were some late-80s, early-90s band that came out of Minnesota. They had some great songs. They even played on Letterman. Then they broke up." That mention of playing on Letterman is like a badge of respectability. As if any non-Midwesterner who watched Letterman that night now remembers the Gear Daddies. As if they even played well that night. As if Letterman even knew who they were. That's the peak of their worth? That's a reason people speak proudly of them? If anything, it's a sour point: so you idiots broke up even after having an opportunity to earn national attention. What fools you are. What opportunity you pissed upon.
The house got reassessed this week. We went up almost $23,000. Nice. Thanks, city of Milwaukee. Thanks a fuckin lot. Guess that tax freeze doesn't mean a damn thing if you're willing to continue bending us over like this every year. Might as well just reassess us to the point where we can't rent the house out anymore. Better-- how about you just take the mortgage off our hands, and our monthly payment will just go straight to you? Given we're paying you more than the mortgage company, that seems to make the most sense.
Damn, the song I got on now sure isn't worth its place on the iPod.
Damnit, Nolan's getting big! 16 lbs, 15 oz. He's sitting up already too. Not long now, and we'll be able to strap him into the drum seat. I've already got the little-guy drum sticks. Wife's gonna love us.
I'm writing about a downward spiral now, and it would be easier if I didn't have to write so much character. But I do; I'm introducing two new characters, building up two old ones, and adding more to two others. It's a lot because it's all on a calendar, which would be easier if I actually plotted it out, but I'm too lazy for that. Plus, that'll be a bit too stale. Some of this is OK, simply because the characters are all quite different, but filtered through the same present tense, first-person narrator. But I look forward to the chapter when they will all go away and I can focus on the psyche, literature, and religion this book is about.
I've been doing an awful lot of "outside" writing for people lately, which I've got to stop. And if I am going to do any more of this sort of thing, I'm going to have to start getting paid for it.
It's all about to fall apart soon . . . we'll be in that definite "summer" portion of the year, which -- got to be honest -- I can't stand. I need to move to Maine. Or Canada. Just for May - August. It's just too hot here. I wonder how I'd do in a place like Louisiana. I'd probably just handcuff myself to an air conditioner.
"All we need is our lives in a suitcase..."
Nothing too clever, never say ever,
Everybody's rockin, key pushed the lock in,
Stevie wonders, looks for the covers,
The lights have been out at work the last few days, which brings a nice calming effect to the proceedings. I gotta say, though: I wish people would stop talking to me all the time at work. Don't they see I'm in the middle of something? They just come right up -- even if I am two inches from the screen and my headphones are one -- and ask me about that deli menu or the attendance policy.
I'm at 4900 for the songs in my iPod. There's probably room for another 100, but I'm getting skimpy with what should go on there now. It's real tight. At first, it was just a flood -- I was letting everybody through. All sorts of quality or lack thereof was getting let in the door. Now, I'm inspecting songs, looking for cracks, reading reviews. "Essential" is subjective at 100 to go.
I have to finally come out and say I think it's bullshit the way Neil Young marketed his Greendale album. He came out in some interviews and described himself as just some old hippy, singing about peace and environmentalism. Which is a bunch of shit. This "hippy" is the same guy who wrote a song lyric about how he "wasn't going back to Woodstock" again. This is also the guy who refused to be filmed at Woodstock, who, after the performance, stated that he didn't know what he was doing there, that there were all sorts of people there and that he didn't feel like he belonged.
The problem I have with a broken-up band called the Gear Daddies is that whenever I hear someone describe them, I hear the same thing: "They were some late-80s, early-90s band that came out of Minnesota. They had some great songs. They even played on Letterman. Then they broke up." That mention of playing on Letterman is like a badge of respectability. As if any non-Midwesterner who watched Letterman that night now remembers the Gear Daddies. As if they even played well that night. As if Letterman even knew who they were. That's the peak of their worth? That's a reason people speak proudly of them? If anything, it's a sour point: so you idiots broke up even after having an opportunity to earn national attention. What fools you are. What opportunity you pissed upon.
The house got reassessed this week. We went up almost $23,000. Nice. Thanks, city of Milwaukee. Thanks a fuckin lot. Guess that tax freeze doesn't mean a damn thing if you're willing to continue bending us over like this every year. Might as well just reassess us to the point where we can't rent the house out anymore. Better-- how about you just take the mortgage off our hands, and our monthly payment will just go straight to you? Given we're paying you more than the mortgage company, that seems to make the most sense.
Damn, the song I got on now sure isn't worth its place on the iPod.
Damnit, Nolan's getting big! 16 lbs, 15 oz. He's sitting up already too. Not long now, and we'll be able to strap him into the drum seat. I've already got the little-guy drum sticks. Wife's gonna love us.
I'm writing about a downward spiral now, and it would be easier if I didn't have to write so much character. But I do; I'm introducing two new characters, building up two old ones, and adding more to two others. It's a lot because it's all on a calendar, which would be easier if I actually plotted it out, but I'm too lazy for that. Plus, that'll be a bit too stale. Some of this is OK, simply because the characters are all quite different, but filtered through the same present tense, first-person narrator. But I look forward to the chapter when they will all go away and I can focus on the psyche, literature, and religion this book is about.
I've been doing an awful lot of "outside" writing for people lately, which I've got to stop. And if I am going to do any more of this sort of thing, I'm going to have to start getting paid for it.
It's all about to fall apart soon . . . we'll be in that definite "summer" portion of the year, which -- got to be honest -- I can't stand. I need to move to Maine. Or Canada. Just for May - August. It's just too hot here. I wonder how I'd do in a place like Louisiana. I'd probably just handcuff myself to an air conditioner.
"All we need is our lives in a suitcase..."
