For The Love of the Biz

It's interesting to watch from inside, the acquisition of an entity by a significantly larger one. Made to look more like a swallowing up of one by the other. Whether it be business, or hate, or a home; at some point we all get consumed. Business is consumed by money, humans corrupted with greed. Our selfish nature is the only thing about us that seems boundless these days. The rain sounds beautiful tonight, and I'm glad to know that so many people are with me tonight listening to mother's nature most beautiful composition.
In looking for a job, I've begun to think about leaving my beloved city of Boston. I grew up in the country, and never wanted to be a city dweller. But it just so happened that once I moved in, I didn't want to move out. My family is here, my best friend, my boyfriend. And I know that if leaving Boston for a good job were important to me, the ones I love would support me. But could I really be happy displacing myself from the rocks and stones that make up my foundations? Could leaving this place really be a change for a better? A question only answered long after the decision is made.
For how much my life has changed in just the past few months, I'd hoped to have a little bit more faith in myself that I could make good of less preferable circumstances. Break back into the music industry, and work hard for the music I love. Everyday on my drive home from work, I turn up the volume just a few more delicate degrees and feel the bass drum pedal hit the taught cow hide down to the marrow. My skin is enveloped with crisp, clear harmonies. My hair stands on end with round, ringing resonance of a smooth voice, and a carefully constructed guitar riff. How music makes us feel is what sells music. Not marketing, or shelf placement, or ad space. Not the EPKs or the even the blogs. It is the moment, when you hear the line of the chorus that perfectly describes how you feel on your worst day, or at your highest of high. The pounding of your heart matched by the fingers strumming on steel strings and the slamming of a powerful hand on the drum. There is absolutely nothing like the way music makes us feel. It is an industry almost purely driven by the emotional connection that we feel to our artist. We use them almost, to feel like we're not alone, to connect and know that someone with the power to reach millions is sending out the message that we would send if we had that kind of power. All I have is my voice, but when I sing along with Florence and the Machine, pounding out the rhythm to "Drumming Song" on my battered steering wheel, wailing at the top of my lungs that there IS A DRUMMING SOUND INSIDE MY HEAD THAT STARTS WHEN YOU'RE AROUND, I SWEAR THAT YOU COULD HERE IT, IT MAKE SUCH AN ALMIGHTY SOUND! (you know who you are). And I sing it as loud as I can as if I were standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with you at the other side, and I need to tell you right now with all the urgency of a thousand tidal waves that this is it, this is what I feel when you are around. What else gives us that power?
Music sells itself. If you make good music, you touch one person, you have reached a thousand. There is no beat in the USA Today ad. No slide of the skin against the guitar string in the album review. No drum roll at the pit of your stomach in the poster plastered on the walls of your nearest retailer. Even my words are not enough, I'll have to find you a song to describe it. A good example "I Know What I Am" - Band Of Skulls.
And this is why I love the music business.

Time after Time

Today is Sunday May 9th 2010. You know this, because I'm sure this fancy program time stamps this blog post for me. I am sitting on a futon given to me by my dear friend Hisham, whom I had the deepest of pleasures knowing while he was here in the US for Graduate school. He since has moved back to Lebanon, in need of a job, and there are some days that I am just so sad that I can't call him up, or run over to Central and give him a hug and hear him tell a bad joke. I am thinking about change today. There is so much happening, constantly. At every moment of everyday. As the saying goes "the only thing constant is change" and they sure do know how to say it just right. There are things that I miss. I am so young, yet there are periods of time that have passed that took with them some of the most wonderful experiences a person can have. Also, some of the worst. Some memories I have now feel like only dreams. I miss music. I miss the pure over abundance of music that just surrounded and enveloped me while in school. The instantaneous moments of jazz and blues, bursting out in song with the beat just filling my body. I miss getting in my car at all hours of the night and driving to anywhere I wanted to go without any regard to sleep, or where I had to be in the morning.
I hate this feeling. This feeling as though I've dug myself into something so deep and I'm still completely confused as to whether or not I was ready to begin at all. As though I bought the new goldfish before I was done mourning the last. Why are there just somethings that my heart will not let me move past. I look at people and wonder how I spend so many years connected and suddenly, a screeching halt.
Change is a beautiful thing. It hurts sometimes, so much that it makes us do all those crazy things that people talk about around the watering hole on Friday nights, drowning our sorrows in Miller Lite, or a vodka tonic. Crazy things that make men call women "bat shit crazy" and women refer to men as "pigs", "dogs", "assholes", and whatever else there is. We don't understand each other because we don't understand ourselves.
In losing my job and thus, looking for new employment, worrying about grad school, supporting my family and friends, and toying with the idea of falling in love; I suppose some of my mind can feel a little twisted upon itself from time to time. Granted, I am lucky to have these people in my life. And I get upset sometimes and how ungrateful I can feel. Unappreciative of the love and grace that so many bring into my life. But again, change can be beautiful. If all falls into place, I could get a great job that pays well and close to home, be able to afford grad school at night, but still get out and paint the town red, while smiling and laughing with the unimaginable power of love in my life. What a picture to paint. A difficult picture, when all your brushes are broken and your paint is dried out.
Suppose I'll just cross my fingers.

Tonight, I sat down to a microwaved Indian dinner from Trader Joe's and popped in a movie. A movie just like any other that I receive through my Netflix service and pop in on quiet nights to distract myself from those pesky life events. Job becomes more stressful, friends are having trouble, family is pressed. Everything swirls around and around itself and we forget what it is to slow down, almost to make it stop. We can't make it stop, no matter how much we try. It keeps going even as we make every attempt that we know to keep it in line and going according to plan. It never does. This movie, like some that I fall upon, stir something within me. It makes me sad and happy that it sometimes only takes something so trivial to bring about something so tidal. I just wanted to hug my family. Tell them that I'm scared to lose them, and remember how much I love them and how proud I am to be a part of wonderful family. I think about my friends, ones that I've lost, ones that are far away and those that are so close. The relationships that I have created and lost through years past. I worry about my perception of life, and how meaningless it can sometimes appear as opposed to how meaningful it really is, every single day. I pray that before it is too late that I can feel what that oneness that everyone keeps talking about.

Time

This morning while on my way to work, just like any other day, I came up to one of two rotaries that I go through in Cambridge, respectably yielding to the traffic. The person behind me apparently did not feel that my reaction time was adequate enough as he prompty honked his horn feverently, indicating that I needed to move my ass. Normally I guess the average person's reaction is to go on the defensive.
"Oh, shove it up your ass!"
right?
But I guess I felt as though whether or not I have really moved that much faster, thus allowing the other driver to get to their destination that much quicker, made really no difference at all.
I played out a few quiet scenarios in my head:
1) They're running late already to the big meeting/presentation of the year. This could mean their job, their bonus, the inground pool, or the new puppy! or it could mean they're fired. Is that really my fault? does that really require a brain rattling honk? based on the state of the vehicle, something tells me they weren't wearing a suit, nor prepared to stand before a powerpoint. But I'm judging.
2) The passenger is having a baby (there was no passenger, by the way) and they were rushing to the hospital (which I'm not aware of one around that area) and I held them up for that one second, causing the baby to be born right there in the broken down vehicle, thus spurring an ill-fated life of drugs and crime.
3) They needed to be somewhere. A place, to see a person, about a thing. Or just to get to train station or the grocery store, or really no where at all. who knows, but I was in their way.
Massachusetts drivers do have a well deserved reputation for being a tad bit more aggressive behind the wheel. It seems as though we've acquired for ourselves a busier lifestyle, overloaded with caffiene and fried foods. We drive fast, communicate through e-mails while traveling to avoid having that awkward personal connection, and we cherish every minute of it until we die.
What's the rush? I mean, I know so many philosophers and song writers and next door neighbors all say the same thing. Carpe Diem. Live like you were dying. Be thankful for you life and so on and so forth. I whole heartedly agree. But shouldn't we be doing things that we at least enjoy? just a little? don't get me wrong, nothing sounds more appealing than speeding down Storrow Drive, with my bluetooth flashing and my Dunkin' large hazelnut with skim and 2 splenda balancing effortlessly on my right knee while I try and read up on the daily news. But what's the rush? where's the fire? how is a 15min 37 sec ride to work that much better than a 16 min ride to work. or a 20 min ride.
I love having a busy life. Working two jobs and learning to balance my personal life manages to challenge me everyday. There are definitely times when people cut me off or I don't move fast enough and I'm the one shouting obscenties over the Local radio announcer. Everyday I ask someone "how are ya? how's it going? how's the family? no news is good new right?" and it always seems that someone comes back with "there is just not enough hours in the day, or days in the week".
A shame that the time we're given isn't enough. We are given so many precious moments, and still we can't learn to appreciate that much. Even if we were given more time, what the heck would we do with it? More crap! Spend it being angry about something else.
Our weekend consists of two and 1/2 days. This past weekend, I was able to see my Best friend, my family, My long-time college friend and neighbor, A co-worker turned friend and my boyfriend; and still managed to have a good healthy phone conversation with my other close friend. That was a lot of people for 2 1/2 days! This is an average of 2 people a day. I loved getting to see them all, absolutely loved it. And it made me feel like somehow I will learn to evenly distribute and manage my personal time so that I get to smile and laugh with the people I love most in the world all the time. The gas was worth it. The time was worth it. I didn't rush and I made even more wonderful memories as I try to do everyday. People always make living like you were dying into this overly dramatic situation. Go skydiving! Swim with sharks! Say yes more and No less! but what about maybe, and perhaps. What about, yeah I'll be there, but I might not have my make-up done just right. What about, I'll do my best. How did our time become so important to other people. Or how others spend their time, so imporant to the rest of us.
As my 4 year old nephew said to his Auntie Jessica: "Don't worry about me Auntie, worry about yourself".