Hello Fall, or Did I Miss the Party Again?

Observation: Today, I spent a little time cleaning leaves up out of the yard. Honestly, I'm not ashamed to admit the lady of the manor did most of the work, but I did end up having to entertain the baby. In all fairness, my better half was far more motivated than I, which resulted in a much better finished product. We're a team right?

As I was raking up the piles of dried up leaves, it kinda felt like cleaning up after a really epic party. Nobody really wants to do the cleanup, but you try to get through it as quickly as possible. But as you comb through all the debris, you notice leftovers of the good times. In my case, there were (thankfully) no piles of beer cans, or mysterious wet spots to deal with, but other reminders of the summer that once was. There, that's the ball the kids threw over the house to each other. Ah yes, the popsicle stick from the summer treat they spent hours begging for, promising to dispose of the garbage "right away". A shard of sidewalk chalk here, candy wrapper over there. Even the leaves themselves are a reminder of the fun had by all. As the leaves get scooped up into bags, I make a mental note to enjoy the summer party a little more next time, and maybe find someone else to clean up afterwards too.

Comment: When a casting director makes the statement: "Hey, let's see if Steven Seagal is available!", he or she should be shot immediately.

Find: If you are a musician, music geek, or a genuine lover of really good musicians, you really need to check out From The Basement TV. It's produced by Nigel Godrich, and is basically really cool performances from his studio of great bands/artists like Beck, Andrew Bird, Radiohead, The White Stripes, etc. The concept is that you get to see artists performing in a way where they are really connected to the music, rather than TV cameras or audiences. No doubt, an audience provides a certain energy that is indispensable, but watching Thom Yorke disappear into his music is really really cool.

I need to be up in a few hours and I'm not the least bit tired. Saturday is going to be rough.

peace.

Tuesday

Sometime during the winter of 1982, the combined 1st grade classes of Ridgeview Elementary put on the annual music program. You know the drill on these: silly songs, poetry readings, short dramas, sweet hand motions that were practiced for hours and hours. At the time it always seemed we were preparing for a massive Broadway Production of eternal importance. If you've ever attended on of these as a parent, you'll admit the truth: these programs are basically a herd of 60+ kids making noise. Period.

"That's mean man. They're just kids."

Kids that can't sing. There. I said it.

Ours was different of course. We're talking serious music production put on by serious professionals. The show culminated with each student grabbing a hand percussion instrument, leaving the risers to line up on the stage, and boogie down to a rousing recording of Buckner & Garcia's "Pac-Man Fever". Check out the tune here and really give yourself a moment to create the mental picture. This was the big time grand finale, and I was appropriately pumped for the rock-star event, but it wasn't to be.

"What happened?"

It was Ryan, whose job it was to walk down behind the risers and hand each kid their assigned instrument. It was Ryan who missed an instrument somewhere down the line, which meant he was one short. It was Ryan who decided the proper course of action would be to take my instrument and leave me hanging empty-handed for the spotlight moment. And so it happened that as the Pac-Man theme echoed through Ridgeveiw's gymnasium, and the phat 80's beats brought the eagerly awaiting audience to their feet, I was left on the riser alone with no perc. Total humiliation.

For almost 4 minutes I stood there, hands outstretched, lower lip trembling, as the rest of the class completely killed the performance. I still remember the horror on music teacher Mrs. Sargent's face as she tried in vain to direct me up to the stage to at least fake it. It was all the way awful. To make matters worse, I was able to re-live the entire trauma a few weeks later when the tape of this fiasco hit the cable access station. My family only laughed at me for about 45 minutes.

"Didn't you have that messed up lopsided afro back then too? Hilarious!"

Since I know you're dying to know: my instrument was the tambourine.

"Sweet."

I know, right? How cool would that have been?

This past Sunday, one of the churches where I play keyboards, New Hope Church was blessed with guest worship leader Sara Renner. She's pretty well-known around the area as a singer, recording artist, and worship leader. Check out her stuff here. For the offertory, she sang an original song called "Forgive", which has a great story behind it, but the long and short of it is: lack of forgiveness completely binds your life. As I sat there behind the Hammond playing this beautiful song, I began to realize how proud I've become of my ability to hold a grudge for the duration. Every slight, rejection, tease, offense, and injustice is logged somewhere in my mental storehouse, filed away for easy recall. I can even remember at times, purposefully willing myself to remember an event where I felt someone had mistreated me, just so I wouldn't forget to hate them for it.

"Uh... seriously, dude?"

Just like anyone else, I have good enough reasons to be upset with people who have played a part in the drama of my life. The kid who laughed at my hair and glasses. The boy who punched me in the stomach for looking at him too long. The endless harassment for being too tall, too black, too awkward, too poorly dressed, and too socially inept. Being called "uncoordinated bastard" daily in high school (Honestly though, I really was a clumsy fool). Ignore Irmiter days, busted glasses, lost jobs, being lied to, getting screwed, being disrespected, and being publicly blamed for other's blunders. I remember them all. Even more, I'm still angry about all of them.

"Really dude, ALL of them??"

All.

As I sit here pondering whether or not the next unemployment check will cover the mortgage, and scour the interwebs for a new career, it dawned on me, that I'm still trying to define my life by proving to all these that offended me, that I am going to find and do something in life that is really gonna make them pay. (seriously?) Unfortunately success hasn't been found in shaking my fist at the world and screaming "YOU"LL BE SORRY!"

"Dude, you need help..."

I want to say I forgive people. Heck, it's pretty much a fundamental part of my faith to believe that forgiveness is available, attainable, and required of me if I'm to expect it from God. It gets really old to always feel the exact same emotions I felt when an offense occurred. It gets really tiring to be carrying all of these grudges around day after day. It's embarrassing to admit my main goal in life is to exact a little revenge on hundreds of people I'll probably never see again. It's time to clear the storehouse and put these memories to bed. Each day, as these different events come to mind, I guess I just have to choose to let it go. Seems simple, but obviously its super difficult since it's taken me 32 years to figure it out.

*sigh*

I'll start with Ryan. Dude, that was my tambo and you know it, but... I forgive you.

One down...

Tuesday

Happy Tuesday. Well, it's Tuesday right now, but by the time I muddle through this post it's more likely be Wednesday, but who cares? It's my blog.

I thought I had some important things to say, but as I sit here watching watching Cobra Starship poop all over Conan's stage, my mind has gone absolutely blank. Where do I start? I want to fly into a rage about the ridiculous skin tight pants, but I'm gonna pass. No, I don't really care if I offend all the people I know who are really into the skin tight pants right now, because in my mind, they are indefensible. Honestly, it's all jealousy. I just wish I could wear them ok?

Here's my problem: If you're going to go through all the trouble to program loops, synth parts, and vocal effects, how about taking another couple of hours to actually rehearse the song so you can sing it? I know, if I'm so smart why aren't I rich?

If you're at all wondering, I am grumpy. Not just a little bit of: "Man I am really bummed I spilled my soda" grumpy. I'm talking some all the way: "I'd like to punch myself in the left kidney." kind of grumpy. There's no excuse for my sorry mood. I was treated to a nice free lunch today, finally completed my shelf hanging and book displaying project, AND had some pie. Lame, right?

I don't apologize, because I own my moods. Time to head upstairs for a glass of get-over-it.

11:59 suckas...

Yeah... Again.

It seems like it's been a year or so since I've bothered to toss a few words up here, and I'm probably right. In that time, we had a baby, I got a job, we bought a house, moved, enjoyed a pleasantly cool summer, irritated our neighbors, I lost the job, and now we are beginning to dread an early winter.

Congratulations to us.

This is the third time I'm attempting to resurrect my public writing skills since last summer. If I'm honest with myself, writing this time around has more to do with the sad reality that I've run out of things to occupy my time at 1:45 AM. Seriously folks, I just watched a half hour TV show on how to brew a perfect cup of coffee. While I live a good brew as much as the next java fiend, this is just embarrassing. No more embarrassing, mind you, than checking my email for the 30 billionth time this hour, insulting people on Facebook, and scrolling through pages of Craigslist ads for used crap. I'm nothing if not efficient when it comes to being unproductive.

I have no great wisdom to share here - sorry to disappoint the masses. Life is doing it's best to teach me some humility, and I may actually be catching on. Life is also completely full of frustration lately, yet I'm learning by way of some wise people that it's a complete waste of time and energy to complain. Oh no, I'm not going to stop doing it, I just understand why I should.

Always sticking to what I'm good at.

Here's the deal: My brain seems unable to rest until it can come to terms with the day and arrive at some sort achievement that renders my daily existence as worthwhile. Who cares about making sense?? It would appear that some aspects of life just aren't going to make sense for a while, an I just can't survive on 3 hours of sleep per night.

aaaaannnd achievement. Zzzzzzzzz....