music is my business

For The Love of the Biz

2010-05-13T10:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-06T07:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

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".

2009-12-31T11:03:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year.

I'm curious about this New Year, what is so happy about it? What was wrong with the last one? And what difference does it make if there is glitter and kissing involved?! I guess every blog today is probably taking a moment to pause and reflect on the year past. I suppose I could too, but there truthfully would not be much to tell. A year of travel, realization, growth, death, writing and a severe lack of sleep, too much wine, not enough cheese! I believe that 2009 was probably the least eventful year for me, and honestly I quite like it. It has been a year of work, and just a moderate level of play (have to work on that for 2010 I propose). I was unbelievably grateful to have my family home and safe from Iraq and to be able to have us all together for some much needed Cabot/Ritter tom foolery!

I am sitting, staring at the same computer screen I stared at this exact time 1 year ago. And all I can wonder about is how my thought process has changed. What occupied my mind then as opposed to now? I know what it is and unfortunately due to my lack of self discipline and probably a little respect for my mental health, it is the same thing. Why do we kiss the one we love when the ball drops? We could kiss them anytime we want, what is so special about this giant glowing ball and the fact that is it being, quite dangerously, lowered from the sky. Are we thanking them for sticking by as one year passes to another? An appreciation of having wonderful people in our wonderful lives? A good-bye to the past and hello to the future. But I'm starting to wonder about the desperation people feel. This deep burning need to just have that one kiss, just when the ball drops. Alright, alright, maybe I'm only talking about myself because I sure as hell haven't the felt the need for any kisses at any other point in time when there is not giant glowing glittery mechanical balls dropping in celebration of a new and prosperous year. Perhaps is the nostalgia, the overwhelming sense of warmth and positive energy of getting starting everything anew. Well, maybe not everything. Some old habits are seriously hard to break.

You are like the most bitter cup of black coffee
scalding hot and
steaming from my faded travel mug
curling the ends on my hair
my taste buds screeching
and my heart pounding in his cage.
My blood pressure takes off, straight to the moon.
You are like the Marlboro Red
I bummed from a stranger outside a bar
my breath cursed me and
my body beat me
the burning tornadoes tearing
at the corners of my heart.
And the race had begun in my chest.
You are like the tall glass of dark red wine
flushing my cheeks and warming my skin
my fingertips and toes seem to move like mud
and my body slows to a guiet lull
reminded of the movement of the sea.
For shame, I must pour myself another.

To my Best Friend

2009-12-28T10:46:00.001-08:00

What is it about these sneakers? It seems as though when I wear them I tend to feel some kind of unconscious spring in my step. It has been that way in the past, but today I feel heavy. Not even the extra dose of caffiene in this mornings coffee seems to help. The sticky notes look a bit more pink today and the lights, awfully bright. What I thought might be a mindful and productive day, has quickly turned itself downhill and I can smell the sting of the smoke trailing up from the crash landing. There is so much more I could be focused on. Things that are detrimental to the path my life may or may not take. Things that could alter what is to be my next move in what looks to be a horrific game of chess and chance.

In attempting to escape my life for a few days in the deep corners of a quaint wooded town in Massachusetts, it seems as though the dive back in has been fifty times harder than the climb out. A gentle reminder, there is no escaping, as much as I'd like to think so. Loved ones are still sick, family is still struggling, and friends are still shaking their heads in wonder. I'm still going to make stupid mistakes under the influence of alcohol, after which I will pour myself another drink and apologize profusely while continuing to make rude sarcastic comments and hiding myself behind slurred language and the deep green of empty wine bottles.

How do some people come to mean so much to someone. My best friend and I have known each other for about 15 years. Some of these years we didn't talk on a regular basis, what with me in college and her having children and getting married. I was still learning what it meant to have balance in your life. School, work, family, boyfriend, and my best friend. But we never let each other go. Still to this day our attachment to each other astounds me. Our support for each other has been boundless, even when we don't agree. There is not one subject we can truthfully agree upon and yet still I am over there almost every weekend. Bottle of wine, hand rolled cigarette and deep belly laughter. There is nothing better than freezing in the basement, watching QVC and crying out how heinously ugly all the jewelry is. Laugh about Friendly's in Fitchburg and times when our judgement proved us wrong. Building strong relationships has never been my strong suit, but it seems as though in the sense of having a great friend, she and I have found true love (just don't tell her husband).

In researching Humanism for a writing sample I am working on, I found something interesting, well it's all interesting I suppose, but this was an aspect of religion that was not something I had thought about previously. Humanists put a significant amont of emphasis on living in the here and now. Living life to the utmost and making make decisions that are not only conscious and aware of the human race, but also making yourself happy. In working towards a common goal as a species, this is to make the individual a happy and successful person. It is about fostering and encouraging creative thought processes to add to personal satisfaction. Humanism puts the responsiblity of creating a happy and successful home on each and every one of us. In letting go of the supernatural, we are dependant only upon ourselves to make this life worth living. A part of an article I read stated "Humans are social by nature and find meaning in relationships.... The joining of individuality with interdependence enriches our lives, encourages us to enrich the lives of others, and inspires hope of attaining peace, justice, and opportunity for all." (Human Manifesto III). Building strong relationships is something that therapists say, we are taught by our parents and by the positive/negative relationships we have when we are younger. Of course, this is open to interpretation as mostly everything is, but based on circumstantial evidence, I could aggree with the statement for the time being. So it can be said that based on the lessons I have learned in my past surrounding relationships and how to build and sustain them, I could be helping the human race. The pressure is unbelievable!
To my best friend of 15 years, thank you for helping me enrich my life while trying (perhaps fruitlessly) to enrich yours and thus adding to my personal satisfaction and encouraging me to create peace with the other people that I meet along the way, as I work through these mindless days. Who knew our laughter could affect so much!

Addiction

2009-12-22T07:57:00.001-08:00

It feels like such a flurry. Feelings that I had just about forgotten, right down to the gently lifting of a bleach blonde arm hair, preparing for the goose-bump. I should've written last night and I didn't. I forced myself to read and fully enjoy my novel, since it's due date back to the library is quickly approaching. All I wanted was to talk to him a little longer. Feel his fingers on my tattoo one more time. Tell him stories that I can't bring myself to admit to. But my opportunity has passed. Perhaps I never really had one, everything is always so cloudy. Why does he still hypnotize me? Why does his voice move deep and slow like molasses and hands haunt me? I had told him I didn't love him anymore. Perhaps I lied. I actually have to admit that I'm not entirely sure how to write about what it is that I am not entirely sure I'm feeling at this moment. I feel like I'm still in love, that I was always in love, that there was never a moment of doubt and all those other beautiful things that happy white-picket-fenced-in couples spew at the alter on their most holiest of days. But I don't particularly care to feel this way. I expected more from myself. More strength and endurance, more emotional freedom and capability. But I have fooled myself once again. The overwhelming sense of need has taken over my morning cup of coffee and drab excel reports.

I smoke my last cigarette this year, I hope, and stub out the remains in the left over snow that the plow didn't manage to pick up. I feel a subtle wave of self doubt, as though I am perfectly in control here and have sabotaged myself to settle here. Right here. In the half empty parking lot at Midnight on a monday after having worked for 14 hours; lying, laughing, squirming in my seat. What a masochist he is. To simply watch, as though he has no idea, but he knows. He knows even better than I do. I don't mind so much. I've spent enough time in a tattoo chair, and they don't joke when they say it's an addiction.

We talked about addiction. Something that you feel you can not function without. Does that mean I'm addicted? I can function, I just don't like it. Look at me, wallowing as though I were some star crossed lover with a gun to my temple, trembling and weeping to a melancholy man. How is he the only one that brings this out of me. This flood, this monsoon, this tidal wave, if you will.

2009-11-09T12:25:00.000-08:00

I am standing in line at the pharmacy counter in the hospital. This is my fourth visit to the doctors office in 3 weeks, the smell of the elderly seeping like smoke under my overworn fleece. Do we live our lives too much? or not enough? To find ourselves broken down and wearied all of a sudden, in the bleek and budgeted hospitals. I'm watching at some couples quietly argue, perhaps about money or nothing at all, just out of stress, or anxiety and worry. I slight turn of the head and beside them is a loving couple. The husband holding her hand and adjusting her pillow so that she is at her most comfortable. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear as though they were 17 again and she slowly nods her head in thanks. What makes the difference I wonder. Where has one gone wrong, where the others went right? Did one have money and the other stuggle just to make ends meet? or vice versa. Perhaps, ones Mother and Father raised them to appreciate and love, keep an open mind and communicate. What works? if anything?

Last night, after going outside for a positively frigid cigarette break, I took a moment for myself in the bathroom before resuming work on about 4 batches of gingerbread cookies. It seems as through, from the bottom of my overworn sneakers up to my blonde roots, that I had no idea what the hell I was doing. The image of his face kept reappearing behind my eye lids and I just couldn't seem to shake it as much as I tried. I kept questioning my motives as well as other things. I brushed my teeth to kill some time and get the horribly dry ashy taste of Marlboro from under my tongue. Looking down at my pants, my right thigh has several white flour hand prints and I'm reminded of a similar tattoo I want. Autumn leaves, scattered behind a vine tattoo I already have.

1 hour left to the day, and I'm flipping mindlessly through the pictures. Mindy Smith's smooth voice breezes through my dark hair. There is so much I miss and can not get back. Banjo's and antiquated Casio keyboards. Santa Claus laughter and warm smiles. Homework in bed, Phish documentaries, and 90's pop music. Late night chicken fingers, practice rooms, and paint by numbers. Not entirely sure how I found myself here, at this cluttered desk, updating spreadsheets and coughing gently into the crook of my elbow so as not to distub those around me. I triple check the weekend, highlighted and whited out more than once. Not a moments rest until Christmas Eve. Three, fourteen hour days, right in a row. When do I finally get to play? When do I get to be carefree and reckless with my moments and my mind? All these minutes pass and I can barely make out how important they are. Stamp this sheet, paid, and move through the next one. Mark it, stamp it, code it, process it. Saying I feel like a robot is giving this action too much credit. At least the robot, without having any feelings at all, never faulters, never performs less than the best. As my mind wanders, I scribble a bit on the notepad. Fill in the corners with blue ink and meander about mindless thoughts. I'm waiting for my phone to vibrate maybe? or just for an IM to pop up and distract me effortlessly from this ignorant war path I've set myself on. I slow and painless numbing down of the nerves and all extraneous by - products.

Chapter 4

2009-09-14T11:36:00.000-07:00

Could I say it. Could I just say "no" for once in my life. Cut these puppet strings and extinguish such a bright, burning wild fire. I feel pathetic today. Weakened and used like a cheap whore, broken by a lifetime of struggle and cruel words. How is one man capable of making me feel so weak. You go and spend hours, days, and months at the gym working so hard to build yourself into a powerful structure. You withstand gale force winds and torrential downpours. But nothing can prepare you for when he walks through that door. The moment of weakness, like chocolate cake. It gives you one fleeting moment of joy, and for what. The following day, perhaps the guilt outweighs the joy. You can feel it building in your arteries, collecting and weighing down your body. All you can feel is sad because you let it happen, and no one is going to love you if you can't hold up that girlish figure and be strong. Be strong. But you allowed yourself to be vulnerable and someone felt they could take advantage. I was weak, and when I woke up I didn't really seem to mind. I reassured myself that there is only one life that I am given. And every night when I lay my spinning head on tired pillows I make pretend that this is what I wanted, as the clock ticks. I made my choice. Is this how trust issues arise? Is this what people mean when they say they can't let themselves "open up", or let others in? Is this why grown ups can sometimes act like children and treat each other like the innocent crush on the playground, hitting each other with the tether ball and tying their laces together so they trip and fall. The other standing idly by, waiting, and when the moment strikes they relish in the opportunity to point and laugh, and to make someone else feel smaller than their childhood mary-janes.
I sat casually in the middle of the mall, sipping my second coffee of the day and munching on an overpriced salad. I tried to watch discreetly the passersby and their facial expressions, trying to determine what their problem was. Do they even have a problem at all? I'm judging, and I'm enjoying myself so who's going to tell me to stop. I am annoying myself wondering where he is or what he's doing when I really don't want to care about it at all. The more I wonder, the less attention I pay to the passersby, and they are specifically why I took this seat. I feel like this day should feel more important to me, but I am melancholy, making sure to get every last drop of my coffee hiding between the ice cubes. An elderly man takes a sit near me, and I become a little anxious. I don't want him in my space, watching me as I watch others, breathing in my recycled, poisoned air. He pays me no attention, but I feel as though he is creating a detailed outline of me simply by gazing over my tattoos and my pitch black, badly cut hair. What does he think? perhaps he has an old sailor tattoo himself and misses the old days, or perhaps he already hates me, and thinks I'm ruining the country.
As I am stumbling through the corner convenience, peering through sale priced notebooks and cheap back-to-school accessories. I recall in the back of my brain a friends note, which rang so true to myself, about the power of blank notebooks. The sheer pristine nature of the crisp, clean brand new pages. I feel a tornado of words and scribbles ready and waiting to command these pages and tear them to shreds. The monsoon erupts within me and I'm forced to leave in a rage. I immediately head for the nearest book store for it's calming, soothing properties. I believe there is one across the street. Just as I reach for the shifter, my phone lets out a quiet ring from inside my clutch and I rush to release the button and bring my phone out to see the sunlight.
As the phone vibrates in my hand, I shake my head in wonder. Is this for real? And am I willing to deal with this right now? What if it's a good phone call and not the confrontation that I'm expecting. I don't want to answer the questions and make up the stories and be ready to appease with the best shit-eating grin I can muster. But against my better judgement, I answer.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Hey hey, not much how have you been?", his voice sounds deeper than before. Is he faking it to sound deeper? or have I just forgotten all together what his voice sounded like the last time we spoke.
"Not too much, just finishing up my lunch break" I muster, with a shaky voice.
"Oh well, is this a bad time? Do you want to call me back later"
No I don't want to call you back, I want to smash this phone on the ground in hopes that the shock and shrapnel will somehow transfer through to your body and mind. I don't want to call you back, ever.
"Oh no, it's fine, I have a few minutes. What's up?"
He goes on to ask me a few questions about my day, but he's not interested, I can tell by the sound of his voice. He continues on about something hypothetical and meaningless. I am about ready to shout at him to just get to the point of this horribly inflicting phone call.
"So, are you busy tonight?"
Horribly busy. Busy enough with writing and cross stitching that I know in the deepest corners of my heart that there is absolutely nothing in this world that could make saying "No" right now worth the time.
"No, I don't think so. I was just going to hang in, I have some writing I'm working on and perhaps some laundry."
And the trap was set, and I was caught. I lay, wounded and struggling, staring at myself in the rear view mirror knowing that these dark circles under my eyes are all my fault. How am I really that different? Thousands of women make mistakes like this everyday, I have nothing to complain about, it's all old news.
"Would you maybe, want to get dinner or something?"
OR something? what would this something be? I tear myself apart searching for any bit of the tiniest amount of strength I can muster to say 'No, I'm sorry, I can't'. I'm imagining myself the next morning, crying and screaming only at myself because I am the only one to blame.
"Sure, I guess" I can't believe that I am doing this.

There comes a moment in a day at some random time in your life, when you know from the colored roots of your hair to your sore and swollen soles of your feet that you have to stop. This moment can sometimes be disguised as an epiphany, or a moment of realization, but it is much more than that. It is the moment when you witness a change in your life, in your perspective, and sense of motivation. This is a moment which presents you with a grand opportunity to sink or swim, the fight or flight response. This is a moment for you to decide. But how do you know if your ready to decide? Are you prepared? Have you done all the research and created a solid hypothesis and outline to your argument? There are two paths before you, but you don't recall ever intending to stumble into the woods, thus getting yourself lost like this.

This morning, I seem to almost feel nearly nothing. And we've all had these days, but I (more importantly) hate these days. I hate feeling melancholy about my choices and my performance as a human being and part of this world. And I hate that I'm hating this day and everything that happens to be a by-product of this day. What have I done to make myself so unimpressed with myself these recent days? And I pretend as if I haven't a clue, but truthfully I know, all too well. There is a quote from a novel I'm reading which strikes me exceptionally hard, taken from "Seven Types of Ambiguity" by Eliot Perlman.
"Most people are alone. To not be alone somebody has to connect with you, and you have to connect with them. I mean really connect. I mean that somebody has to make the emotional and intellectual effort to come with you as you ride the relentless waves of fear and hope, of pain and pleasure, of doubt and certainty, that inhabit the sea of human experience... And you have to return the compliment. You have to project yourself into someone else's pain and, by absorbing, lessen it."
This quote spoke to me, as it was said from the view of someone whom suffered from a deep and severe depression to another whom lacked the security and understanding of the relationship you make with yourself. And it struck me because... I didn't want to make that effort. I had no idea that commitments such as this could be expected of others, that someone could ask this of another and that someone would just simply oblige. The conundrum has rattled around in my brain for many a moon, and still I can not understand the premise. I once wrote that I felt marriage was created as a lame excuse so that people wouldn't have to ever feel alone. That the law and God himself bonded you together and no matter where you roamed, the knowledge was always there that you had someone to break your fall. But then my sister told me I was seemingly more bitter. I thought it was a bit more realistic, although moderately morbid.
Sometimes I feel like the days only go in and out as if it were the gentle rhythmic flow of a New England sea coast. Although these days don't seem quite as comforting and soothing such as the locked and bottled ocean sounds. Even as I wither away at my cluttered and neglected desk, I can feel the breeze against the back of ear and under the hair, tickling at the nape of my neck. I daydream about life on the ocean, life by the water, or even in the forest locked away from the world. I count the minutes, hours, and days down to when these precise moments will begin to look good on paper. And when I feel as though I should begin to open my own doors, as opposed to the ones others have opened for me. It's a shame that I must wait. It's a shame that living for your own sense of self is not recognized as full occupation on crisp, clean resume paper. That writing each night before bed is not considered "blogging" or that watching as the decrepit mingling of dust around your speakers is not considered a "fine attention to detail".
Lately I have dreamt of living as a writer. Starving for dinner and love, while drowning in booze and sorrow. How simplistic.

Chapter 3 (The Chase)

2009-09-03T13:34:00.000-07:00

"What have I done to myself" I quietly whisper as my left foot slides onto the escalator, quickly followed by the rest of my lumbering body. Was is it about the smell of a book store that stirs something within me. And on this particularly warm day I am practically inhaling the transparent yellow glue holding all those screaming pages together in one simple, contained box, only to be heard as the next patron flips through. I imagine quietly, arms and legs reaching with all their might through the paper, loud screams and calming seductive whispers.
Brown eyes. Which ones? I don't even remember who I'm looking at anymore, except that it's not myself. Brown eyes. So full of shit, or sweet smooth dark chocolate. A passerby makes a comment about my tattoo and I nod a gentle Thank you and smile, but my mind is not in this book store. My mind does not even know where it would want to be if it had the choice to be anywhere but this book store. Perhaps thousands upon thousands of miles away in a cement jungle or just a few towns over, hiding behind thick glasses and piles of philosophy books. I quickly find that which I need, scoot back to the escalator, down to the register to pay and put myself back in my car, just to finish out the day as if it were any other. The sun is hot, but I force myself back into the overzealous air conditioning, back down in front of the blistering and bright screen, continuing on with my copy and paste routine.
It was as soft as the first kiss you give your new born child. As painful as hearing its first shrill cry and as heart breaking as watching it grow and leave your side. All the questions that I could have asked and willingly refused my lips to move so as not to let them casually slip out. Just refrain, don't speak, don't laugh or yawn. At any moment the Why's could spring upon you and you'll have no control, no defense. Protect yourself with the pen, keep writing and don't let your lips part even for that of Santa and his elves. But if I could've spoke, what would I have said? The questions, I can barely even put on this page, simply out of fear for the reader. Could they have turned brown eyes black, and my own green to blue. Turned your perfect Friday night outfit from strategically placed and pinned to piled and crumpled on the bedroom floor. Or turn the brighest of upturned faces dark and full of subtle shadow. You ask to be "filled in" but you're really just waiting for the juicy parts, that's all you really want to know. All the mindless banter filters through your system and you pay as close attention as your poor weary mind will allow. Try to ignore the motion of your hand or the rapid rate of breathing. If you ignore it, it will go away right.... Focus.
The smell of glue revists me in my sleep. I am standing among some of my most favorite novels and trying to decide which one to purchase, even though I know full well that I already own them all. I begin to pull the books from the shelf, shredding the pages one by one, mad and frustrated that I can not just chose one novel to take home with me. My small hands create so much damage that just in this one aisle it seems as though I have been working on shredding these books for decades, but then those catcher's mits. Brown eyes. I am halted by the inkling feeling that he's here, but who. I can hear his footsteps in the nearby stairwell, the pounding is rhythmic and numbing and for a moment I forget the necessary chase. My legs move underneath me, but my mind stays stoic and rigid. I awake to my feet throwing me down the stairs, the pounding as loud as ever. Tonight I am determined not to let this escape me, but my legs have become motionless, broken by the violence of my dream. I remain, still and motionless in my bed, hearing the slow pounding in my mind and trying to determine from which direction it emanates. It must be a neighbor, a little overexcited with his new flat screen television or his collection of Calypso. My mind becomes Rashmonian, seeking in each corner of this one way street from as many angles as my mind can stretch itself in to just from my window. These stars, brown eyes. And again my mind spins, the pounding becomes a distant memory.
I have found myself buried in college ruled lines. The black pen I have confiscated from work the week before is slightly chewed on the end and my fingers anxiously pull upon and replace the cap from the butt in a slow rhythm. I have reread this one single line about twenty times and yet still I can not find what it was that I meant to write. "Why come back". Oh! the Why's and all the many reasons why they are specifically instructed not to escape my mouth. But my pen, I can not stop. I have created pages and pages of questions and queries, inquiries and interrogations. One basically written upon another as I begin the next before I can even finish the last. The black ink has found itself smeared on my palms, thus on the pillow and blankets. I try to rub it away only to make it worse, but I suppose that's why someone somewhere gave us the washing machine. My face feels wet, but I can not quite comprehend what could be causing it to be so. I haven't cried in months, and at this precise moment, there is nothing to provoke me to do so. I bring myself to the mirror and my eyes have become a crystal clear blue, and the black has dragged itself, as that of fingernails trying to save a life in peril, down my overly pink cheeks. I don't even own a box of tisses, why would I. Brown eyes.
I stumble to kitchen, but am almost too positive that I have cleaned myself out of red wine. Three bottles are lined up on the counter, broken and punctured corks still remain in the mouths, but each one is bone dry. I hang my head, mostly in shame, but also in frustration and worry that I may not get back to sleep tonight. Not a single cigarette lingers anywhere in my home, only ample packs of spearmint gum. No big deal, I don't need the red wine to sleep, just read for a while and eventually your head will fall to the side.
I lift up my head, back in the stairwell and the sound of my breath echoes off every inch of metal from bottom to top. I hear his footsteps scurrying like a New York rat, but I can't tell if he's moved North or South. I look up trying to peer between the minimal space separating the floor from the staircase, but I see nothing to provide me with any evidence. The longer I linger in this spot, the farther he gets from me. My mind has a moment of melancholy and tries to decide if I care so much that he is far away, debating whether or not to simply go back to the shelves of book and continue on with the shredding of pages. But I move to find him, he probably went down, if we went up would he only be trapping himself on the roof? That is, if there even is a roof to this building.
I run, my hair moving in thick black waves behind me, my heels and toes pounding against the thick cement. Each step echoes immensly, but I can still here his oversized sneakers slamming the concrete slabs on the off beat. I try and judge if I'm getting closer or farther away, but at moments I seem to slip into vertigo and I am lost in a flurry of anxiety. My legs continue on, simply dragging my body along with them. I reach the bottom floor, just as the large door under the glowing exit sign slams shut. I stop and stand still for a moment to take in the lingering aroma he has left behind him. A collage of images runs brightly behind my eyelids and I'm gently reminded to continue on the chase. As I heave open the heavy door with all my might, I am greeted by a barren, vacant, one way street, dimly lit by one dull yellow street light under which a frenzied group of moths gather. Around the corner I see the shadow of a step and as I shift my body to follow, I feel the warmth of the sun on my back and I'm awake once again.
I slam my dainty digits against the snooze button for the last time. Slide my hand over my face to gently wake myself up and slowly check the time. I contemplate a quick journal entry, but think better of it as to not be too late to work. A quick brush of the hair and teeth. Dressed, and out the door. With each turn and swerve I take throughout my commute, I continue pressing myself for more. I need to remember every bit of sound and sight that I can capture from this night. I need to scurry to my desk, nervous and worried for the day, and with all the subtle stealth I can muster jot down my adventures through a library stairwell. It was a staircase I remember fondly, perhaps from college, one that holds faint memories of charming moments. My skin crawls with ghosts that linger there in that staircase. I push on, noting the collection of books, the color of the carpet, the warmth of the red exit sign.
But who am I kidding, there is no escape.

Chapter 2 (this could take all day)

2009-08-20T07:47:00.000-07:00

I stood in the back corner of the Harvard book store, moving my eyes quite languidly over the multi-colored spines and lettering. There is nothing in particular I am looking for, simply, enjoying the view. In my right arm, two books loosely sit. Given that I find another more intriguing, either one could be replaced, but I have to set myself to minimum, and also a maximum, of two books. Too many and I limit my chances of coming back to this beautiful book store sooner rather than later, but just one is not enough. I can practically feel the french roast from next door electrifying my weak veins, as my eyes keep focus on a pale blue moderately sized paperback. I reach up, pull down on the top of the spine and shimmy it out of it's cozy little home on the book shelf. Judging a book by it's cover, they say it's bad, but I continue day in and day out. Something on this cover doesn't jump out at me. Is it the font? the overused computer generated portrait of an allegedly calming landscape? Perhaps just the title, or something lacking in the story line. Where is the emotional turmoil and interpersonal connection with the characters? I laugh silently to myself and repeat under my breath "too picky", and return it to the aged oak shelf. I have begun to feel content with my two choices, but still meander through the other aisles, contemplating the other genre choices and reminding myself that it's time to start studying once again. I move out of the way for other shoppers, while simultaneously positioning myself in the route of another. I apologize profusely and slide my feet over once more, closer to the empty cash register adorned with overpriced candies and bookmarks. Smile, nod, say thank you. Good-bye.
It is hot today and I am in a long sleeved shirt. White, 3/4 length sleeves and jeans with the same flip flops I wear everyday. I tuck the new, crisp beautiful books into my tote and continue back toward my car, parked down past the Harvest. I pass by the door way to the MoTu office that my sister once worked in, and remember the oversized Apple computers they used to design the software. I had fantasized about being in that chair one day, but I guess somewhere along the way, it began to look uncomfortable. Harvard looks especially bright today, and I contemplated a stroll through the campus, but it seemed to be bustling with new arrivals, and unfortunately I had to get going to my second job for the remainder of the day. I felt good. I imagined that someone I knew would happen to be walking around Harvard Square at that same moment, see me and think 'My, she looks happy'. When I returned to my car, the smile seemed to melt right down my left arm as I picked the daunting parking ticket from my sleek black windshield wiper. But almost immediately after I felt nothing could ruin this moment for me. These are moments we don't see often, 'relish' I thought, in an almost cinematically gentle whisper. I pull away from the curb and head back where I came from.
I am working hard to quit smoking, and today does not help much. I have nothing in the car, and contemplate stopping by the local convenience store, but I think better of it. Stepping back down the ladder would be an almost perfect way to destroy my overwhelming elation. Cas Haley in the speakers, sunglasses and speed. I imagine myself on the beach with my new books and pair of headphones, that is where I should be driving to, but I am not. I pull into the parking lot, circle and squeeze my Scion into a nearby spot and continue on my way to another few hours of work.
There are somedays that I am thankful for my co-workers. They keep me sane, remind me what laughing right from the pit of my stomach feels like, they take me away from my computer and in front of human beings, both good and bad. But somedays, I wonder what would happen if I left. I would have free time, time to read all those books at a spritely pace. Time to spend with my sisters and friends or perhaps the brown eyed mystery man from the Cambridge church. But I remind myself of how bored I felt when I left. I get consumed in my own thoughts. I write pages and pages and think it could be a book, laugh, and then put it away to never look upon again. Drink the wine, smoke the cigarette and lay back in bed just stare out the window at the street lights behind the wilting tree branches.
How many letters have a written? I imagine how many of the same sullen morbid lines I have jotted again and again. Reminds me of the Spanish vocab drills my 8th grade teacher would ask of us, rewriting the same lines 10 times over, emblazoning them in your mind for days until they'd leak out during sleeping hours the night before the exam. But I digress. Letters, how many? and how many never mailed. Letters to my family, my friends, dead presidents, inanimate objects and customers I've dealt with through the years. Letters that proclaim so much, or absolutely nothing at all. But never read. Never even sealed in an envelope and stamped. Never even torn from the cheap Family Dollar spiral bound notebooks, piling up on the floor in the corner just beneath my bed. For now, the letters stay hidden. I plug in my shiny new fan, peel back the first pages of this new book. Before long, I am sleeping restlessly to the quiet voice of Kris Delmhorst.
To My Dearest __________,
How was your day today? I found a sun spot on my left hand this morning while applying my hand cream. It reminded me of how bright you are. How you had at one time illuminated the darkest places within me. How your smile caused such burns that I merely welcomed, throwing the SPF to the side and shutting my eyes tight against the intense heat. Even in the coldest nights in the deepest of December, never did my lips quiver, my knees quake, or my spine shake. But today I am cold, and it feels quite refreshing.

I awake to a dull slow pounding. I immediately think, in my drunken state, that it is my alarm clock, but after a few more pounds, know that this can not be right. My mind is not spinning, my head feels no pain. Perhaps the TV next door. Damned city, I can hear the conversations of the married couple three houses down. The clock reads 4:27am, perhaps the landlord, it was said that she tends to wake up early. I rise from my bed to round the doorway into the bathroom, the pounding has ceased for the moment. But before I could open the door, it has begun again. I move towards the window in the kitchen, while messily pouring a tall glass of lemonade. Doesn't sound any louder out this way. I make the 25 step trip to the front door and stumble up against the view finder. Nothing. Must be a TV somewhere in the neighborhood, sound on this street can echo like a canyon. Ignore it, back to bed.

Chapter 1 (just to keep track)

2009-08-20T07:31:00.000-07:00

I awoke to a pounding sound. My heart? Footsteps? A fist at the door? I couldn’t be sure. Heart and mind cloudy with sleep and sweat, I push myself from my overused mattress and stumble to the broken down door. My eyes refuse to open and my knee meets the wall violently, loud curses fling themselves from my lazy lips. The wood floor creaks achingly under my gentle footsteps to the door and I peer through the viewer, conveniently placed 6 inches above my short frame. Nothing. The hallway is as black as pitch and still as the wind on this painfully humid night. Must have been a dream I reassure myself and dangerously make my way back to the bedroom.

The morning is always a difficult time. My fingers meet the snooze button time and time again over a period of about an hour, until the time catches up with me and I have no time. A quick brush of the hair and teeth, two slices into the toaster, jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt to cover the tattoos and flip flops. Fill the tote with all the necessary items for the day, am I working tonight? Thankfully, no. Two jobs and a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I pretend to hate it. I make sure I have everything and shut my bedroom door, my knee aches with the memory of my rude midnight awakening and I spend most of my morning commute to work scrunching my eyebrows at negligent Boston drivers and trying to remember that dream, or even if I had one at all. I pull into a parking spot at work, repack all the things that I pulled out of my bag during the drive and slam the door, my sweatshirt catching in the crack. I tug at it violently hoping that it’s just slightly stuck, but instead have to dig deep in my bag to find the keys, unlock the door, pull my sweatshirt out, drop the keys, nail my head on the door, shut it with a furrowed brow and head to my desk.
The day ends in a flurry. I’ve thrown back two or three coffees, I’m not really sure, and I’m on my 2nd liter of water. I wave goodbye to my co-workers, clock out and head to my car, removing my sweatshirt, now that the sun has graced the day with its presence. I slather a generous helping of SPF 30 onto my left arm to properly protect my tattoos from the beautiful rays of the sun, pull to the end of the drive way, slide on enormously oversized sunglasses, and light a menthol cigarette. My ride home is equally as enjoyable as the ride in, clear on the highway for the most part. I gracefully tuck the tail end of my burning cigarette between my thumb and middle finger and flick it forcefully out the window, watching it violently land on the pavement in my side view mirror. I contemplate dinner plans and think if there are any errands I need to run before landing at home. I decide to rightly discipline myself, head home and finish all the projects that I had told myself I would do when I moved in over a month ago.
Checklist:
1) Hang curtains
2) Living room extension cords for lamps
3) Clean dresser and dispose of dead flowers
4) Collect clothing for consignment.
A never ending checklist I must keep in mind. Every time I manage to knock off one thing another three creep upon me. Perhaps I should actually treat this apartment like home, as I never have for any of my previous apartments. I park around the corner as I still do not have a sticker to park on the street I live on, and head inside for the night, which I’m almost sure will end up wasted. My key sticks in the door, but with a little shoulder grease I bash it open and proceed directly to my bedroom. A quick check in the mirror to make sure I’m not dead, dry off the hands and I stand at the center of my room, glaring at the curtains, possibly trying to will them to just simply hang themselves. The truth is it will only take 5 minutes, but it’s 5 minutes that I would much rather be doing something totally unrelated and not nearly as productive. And I begin to ponder, why curtains? Why anything? A topic that I’m sure I will have to sleepily jot about in my spiral bound journal later on in the night with a glass of red wine in one hand and bleeding ink in the other. The stereotypical writer; a drunk. I begin contemplating pouring a glass for myself at this precise moment, but think better of it as I’m trying to save that Renaissance for perhaps a special visit later this week. A special visit that I desperately wish I would stop looking forward to and rehearsing in my head as if I would be tested later. A special visit that is truthfully, not special at all. I propose to throw what seems like a mere handful of laundry from the tower building in the corner into the washing machine and snatch up a chair from the kitchen in order to properly wrestle with the curtains.
With the curtains hung, the washing machine spinning and flowers still rotting away as graciously as ever, I decide on hot dogs for dinner. I gently make slits along the dogs, listening and watching intently as they snap and pop in the fry pan. How did I get here? Why curtains, who cares? Is Boston really my home? Do I really love that dirty water? I feel like a traitor just thinking it in my own head. My disconnection with reality sometimes feels so great that I feel like my own overcooked hot dog. Burnt around the edges, just enough that my friends want to ask me what’s wrong, but still soft and juicy in the middle, laughing at the politically incorrect jokes and the consequentially misshapen faces, drinking at the bar and engaging in paper thin conversations and concerning myself with the placement of my bra strap. I’m thinking too much about it. This is too intense of a thought process for a simple Tuesday night. Slowly turning the burner to off, I roll the hot dogs over for one more quick sizzle. I empty the contents of the pan onto my brightly colored dinner plates, which I hoped would bring some life to this kitchen, but only make me sad each time I remember that I spent $8 per plate. I numb myself by the light of the History channel, my mind spinning until finally I shut it off and turn myself in for the night.
One glass of wine, which I am making up for because I didn’t drink with dinner. Another to warm my sullen bones. Perhaps a third just because I love the way it makes my letters look on the $.99 pages. I wish I could cry tonight, but perhaps the sodium in the hot dogs has dried me up. I keep writing. Write here, write now. Writing the wrongs, the cigarette burns, the humiliations and catastrophes in a mere 24 hours. Write. My pen bleeds and smudges, streaking my palms and finger tips like black blood. Or perhaps it is my blood and I just have no color left in me. I contemplate rising for another glass but my movement is muddied and thick. Twenty pound toes, and fingers with such fortitude. I continue on writing, not so sure what is with the fascination to fling myself so violently against this page, but I am here and I am not leaving. I linger for moment on the deep brown eyes of the kind face sitting opposite from me in last nights Al-Anon meeting. I didn’t catch his name, but perhaps it could be Dave, or Ben, or Mike. The options are endless, but what’s in a name truly. I ponder how perfectly the tiny tornadoes of toxic air flittered around his thick digits while waiting for the bus. Around mine, they seemed significantly less graceful, almost menacing and malicious in nature. My attention to this single detail irritates me and I try to move on, but somehow I always manage to motion back to some utterly mindless simplicity surrounding the mystery of Dave/Ben/Mike…. Whatever his name is.
My eyes lids begin to droop with a soupy movement. I drink down the last sip of wine, feeling one last wave of warmth move over my thick body. Click off the light, and rest my bones.

Family

2009-08-03T08:49:00.000-07:00

This weekend while at my best friends house, her husband was watching a show called "Gamer Generation". Now I don't know what channel it's on, or what time it normally plays, as they embrace the wonderful world of DVR, but I can tell you this: it was cool from several different aspects.
The basis of the show that I somewhat caught from joining half way through was that it was based in the middle east and it was focusing on First Person Shooter games that are marketed in America. The show focused on how they feel that Arabs are ususally depicted as the enemy in these games and also how researchers felt that the severely aggresive nature of the games was affecting the aggresive nature of the player. One researchers believed that there was no affect, but after conducting tests, found that there was a significant affect on the brain while someone is playing a First Person Shooter, and the aggresive tendencies can become much more intense. The other factor to incorporate is how young adults perceive theses games. Do they understand that is satirical and mocking fun? Or have they immersed themselves in the alternate reality. The matter reaches all over the world, and through all races and ages. How do video games really affect our social behavior?
Well I'm sure it's an enormous topic, one that truthfully I can't speak to all that well, nor have the time and space in this blog to deeply and thoroughly investigate into. I have never been a video game player. I have dated many video game enthusiasts, but now, at my ripe old age of 24 I feel like guys that have immersed their lives in a video game (take World of Warcraft for example) just need to get a life. It cliche, but it works. I dabbled in Sonic the Hedgehog back in the day, and the closest I got to any real destruction came from the classic Wolfenstein. But given I'm a female, and I think it's pretty obvious that most female are not usually drawn to the death and destruction that a First Person Shooter game brings. We'd prefer the cutsie Little Big World, or a personal favorite, Rachet and Clank. It's clear in research all over the country that First Person Shooter games can lead to a desensitized, anti-social and more aggressive nature. http://www.independent.com/news/2009/may/17/your-brain-video-games/

It's interesting from a cultural and musical perspective because you want to look at the kids. What happens in their minds to feel like these actions are okay? I understand for many there is the fore-thought that the game is fake, but for some younger players, they can not understand the difference. There is is most certainly a power handed over to the player that they do not get in the real world, that draws them into these positions. The ability to control ones fate is an intoxicating and addicting feeling I can only assume. A similiar situation has basically surrounded the careers of serious metal musicians, ie. Marilyn Manson or Rob Zombie. Marilyn Manson more so because of his unique attire I propose. I remember many years ago the kid that were arrested for a shooting, claiming that the lyrics of a Marilyn Manson song told them to do it and I watched in the den of my parents house, shaking my head quietly. I think the kid was about the same age as me at the time.
I think that just the idea that we are positively drawn to the idea of having control of another life becomes the basis of the argument. Do we feel like because we can not control our own fates, the idea of controling someone else's is that much more seductive? Our own lives are not something that we find interesting, so thus we cling to gossip and propaganda surrounding celebrities, from their frosted tips down to the designer toe rings. It seems as thought for a lot of us, our own lives are just not sufficient. We're not living our lives to the fullest, we feel we're missing something, an opportunity or the chance of a lifetime. We feel like we're living vicariously through these stars in the magazines, trying to act and look like them as best we can to ensure we are the image of perfection. So does this same image transcend through music? Absolutely. Through video games? it would just about seem so. The concept seems to be about the same, except that the image is something twisted, angry and violent. They are trying to create for themselves a persona in which they can control their fate and the fate of others. A persona where they are powerful, invincible and free in every sense of the word. This persona can become completely mind altering to someone who carries an anti-social personality and does not feel connected, personally and emotionally, to a community in the real world. They find a home with the others with these same tendencies and the online community grows until such things as marriages happen. It seems like a total unplugging from the real world. A true Matrix.
Have we all kind of become like this, perhaps to much less of an extreme? With our blackberries and iPhones? I mean, I know that I've written about this already, but it always seems to become interconnected as you pull from all the different aspects of society. No matter if it be the video games or the palms to television. We have consumed ourselves with the idea of becoming someone else. I mean, something as simple as coloring your hair. I'm guilty, I'm a natural blonde and I colored my hair red about 6 years ago and about 4 years ago went black. I have no idea what I would even look like as a blonde. oh well, people say it suits me, perhaps it's the tattoos.
Now, letting go of all these fantasies and and whimsical notions is like admitting to alcoholism or drug addiction. It is something that we feel is okay for ourselves, until someone throws it in our face and we begin to question our nature at some point or another. Some realize something is wrong, most others simply write it off. I recall my moment, and everyday I try and remind myself about what it is that makes me who I am and more specifically, like no one else. I do not need video games, or celebrity gossip to feel apart of something, I am a human being, a part of the human race. If that community isn't small enough for you, I'm not sure what is. We have to share the earth with so many others, and even though not one of us shares the same fingerprint or laugh and smile, we're all pretty much family.
So don't hurt each other.

The Skin.

2009-07-10T12:08:00.000-07:00

I feel like writing today and not having any point in mind. Considering that I really only have one follower, and I highly doubt there is much of anyone else out there that happens to stumble upon the tragically incoherent rambling mess I claim to be this blog. When I started up the blog I, for the most part, had an idea in mind. That's usually how projects start; an idea, a concept, a plan. There are so many ways to plan and create and develop and execute ideas. And everyday, everywhere there are people doing just that. I began a blog the first time when I was a senior in college because I was working on a business plan for my Entreprenuership class. My business was to be a free music business publication that would deliver music industry news, instead of the typical hot spots and best places to catch the local bands. I started the idea because as a broke college student I was frustrated that everytime I wanted to read up on some industry news it always came up through a paid site, or if it was on a free site it was already old news. My entreprenuership teacher asked, as he asked of everyone in the class, "what makes it different?" and 9 times out of 10 I really didn't have an answer, except that I felt the publication would be a resource for news and not album reviews.
Creating a publication for music industry news was just one of my many aspirations as a confused and overwhelmed college student. I wanted to go to law school, I wanted to do lots of different things. I will admit that never once did I wake up and say I want to work for a record label and of all places, that is where I found myself. I have no complaints, and I am thankful everyday. The industry has not only taught me a lot about business and people, but also about myself and the things that are important to me.
Something that is probably more of a negative aspect than you would think is that I tend to pinball between not really having any desire to impress people. The trouble with this is, it would really well in your personal life, but not so well in the professional world. And if you're anything like me, how I carry myself in one life affects how I carry myself in the other. I can't seem to make myself a night / day person. I also notice as I get more confident in my position that I also feel more comfortable outside it, which I think affects the way people associate with me.
Another aspect of myself that affects the way people associate with me, and I've been noticing more and more lately, has been my person.... how shall I put this .... appearance (I guess). To myself, I feel like I look like any other person on the street. I do not go out of my way to create my own "look", I just get dressed and cross my fingers that I remembered to put deoderant on. But the other day I was at Building 19 purchasing some sheets and a bedskirt and I noticed the cashier blantantly staring at the tattoos on my arm. I was a step away from pulling out the cliche "take a picture it'll last longer". I went to get a hair cut, and the stylist seemed comfortable enough with me to talk about ditching her job and going to work on a cruise ship for a while, oh okay that gives me great confidence in how you feel about your job. there are guests that walk into the store I work at part time and will literally stop mid-sentence just to grab hold of my arm and ask a million life questions about what would possess me to cover myself in tattoos, and then they proceed to reveal something about themselves that I would never truthfully care to know. Today when I went to Panera to get lunch I noticed a table with two elderly women who each took a turn while I was in their line of sight to scan my left arm up and down. Why? what's the big deal? what's the difference between my tattoos and wearing a long sleeve shirt with a decorative pattern on the sleeve? oh, that's right, it's permanent and painful and expensive - thus, it must be bad. because my skin is holy and golden like everyone elses so I must cherish it so?
So basically it was those two little old women, harmlessly gumming their egg salad sandwiches on the first sunny day we've had in weeks, that prompted me to come back to my desk and quickly whip up a little ditty while also enjoying a tasty fresh sandwich myself.
I had done a research paper a while back discussing tattoos in culture and how the practice has gone from idealistic to hedonistic. In a few conversations I've had over the past few days some different points have been made, one from someone whom in the past has never said anything positive about tattoos.
While talking with my Assistant manager at my part time job, I mentioned about the hair dress and how uninhibited she seemed about disclosing her desires for other employment and my assistant said "you just seem to have that personality where people tell you things that you wouldn't ever really want to know" and I responded "perhaps they see my tattoos and it immediately conotates an informality and thus, they feel comfortable being informal with me". which is some cases is fine, in other (such as the hair dresser) a bit unprofessional. Another point I thought of the other day when talking to a friend was kind of like a metaphor. We know that there are people out there with identity issues. They feel that the way they look or something about them does not feel appropriate for how they personally feel about themselves. well, I feel right with these tattoos on my arm. I feel like without them, I didn't look right or something. Seems a little weird at first, but the more I thought about it, it made sense to me. No matter how much I tried to wait until I was financially ready to have the tattoos I just couldn't. I wanted them, money or no money. And the pain, well that just happens to be a negative by product but worth it for something that means a lot to me.
Now coming a little bit full circle to saying that these tattoos mean a lot to me brings me to my sister. She has never like tattoos. Every time I told her I was getting more she would give me the whole hour lecture on how it would ruin every opportunity for me and that I would grow up and hate them and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Now a little while ago she made a comment, and to anyone else it would seem normal, but for my tattoo fearing sister it threw back a little and she may not realize it, but it meant a lot to me. It was shortly after my 2nd sitting and she'd seen it at a family gathering and I kind of gave her an idea of how the rest of the tattoo was potentially going to be finished. The next day we're chatting on Instant Messenger as we usually do in between being responsible and she asked me a few questions about the tattoo and said "I'm actually really excited to see how the whole thing turns out". A simple comment mind you, but for someone who has blantantly discouraged tattoos in almost every step and to say it to someone who was doing this to represent our family including her. well... it meant a lot to me anyway.
Now for those (Lori) of you that haven't seen any of the work done yet, I am more than half through to a full sleeve on my left arm. I had an older tattoo on the forearm that was done to represent my sisters and the path that we've traveled together, but there was more that I wanted to express. I wanted to show everyone a little plastic picture book of my family and tell a story at the same time, so I have several images that I took and put together to represent my family, by way of something that will always remind me of them. An example would be a cardinal for my mother as she LOVES cardinals. A jukebox for my tattoo fearing sister as she will always have an absolutely endless love for music in every form and genre. so on and so forth.
The point of my first part of the story is that I have come to a conclusion that I want to teach. I want to go back to graduate school for American Studies and look at the Music Industry from a purely cultural perspective and be able to share this different approach with young sponges such as myself in college. I have one moment of doubt almost everyday about my tattoos and wanting to be a teacher and I take a long look at myself and hope that by the time I am out there and teaching tattoos will come with a grain of salt. I don't know if they every truly will. I have imagined my first day in front of the class. Do I wear long sleeves? or do I let them all discuss my tattoos as well as their own for a whole class period so that we can all the distraction out of the way. I think it would be cool to be able to share those things in a classroom setting so that there is a mutual understanding that we are adults and all deserve respect whether it was something we did on spring break, or in memorial to a lost loved one. it's skin, just like the walls in your home, you should be able to decorate as you please.
And I wonder when elderly women with egg salad clogging their sinuses take long scornful looks at my "ink" what they think. Am I irresponsible? irrational? foolish perhaps? do they immediately think that I will grow up having regret? who knows. Maybe they actually really like it and that's why their staring. I'm mad that they're judging me so I judge right back, makes sense...
Anyway, there is no moral of this story or any point to be made here today. It's the close of the day and I just felt that I needed to stand up for myself somewhere in this crazy world wide web. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.

Pandora makes a buck

2009-06-11T08:56:00.000-07:00

http://www.wired.com/epicenter/2009/05/pandora-predicts-first-ever-profit-next-year/

As you can tell, I'm a fan of anecdotes. I like sharing with my 1 follower (thanks Lori) some little memories of my childhood so that you can how this subject matter has affected me and how, today, I can look upon it's growth as a business in relation to the growth of our culture and with myself as a part of that culture. So here's a bit about internet radio.
Pandora.com: We know it. We love it. It helps gets us through the work day and on to new music that we may or may not have dicovered otherwise. Some great artists that I have found using this application include, but are not limited to: Jenny Owens, Amie Miriello, Laura Marling, Gabe Dixon, Barcelona, Dragonette, Priscilla Ahn, and much more. When I first discovered Pandora, it was from a friend many moons ago. I would log in and listen at my parents house while working on homework or randomly searching the net for something, ANYTHING, worth-while. These were the days before Myspace and Facebook had taken over our precious internet minutes. My first internet radio station that I created was that of Alison Krauss, which is ironic considering my current employment, but I began to notice that there really isn't a lot of stuff out there that is quite like her. So I moved on to some other favorites: Susan Tedeschi, Billy Holiday, Better Than Ezra, Erykah Badu. The options seemed positively endless. Now this is just my first experience, I'm sure others have had equally mind-blowing visits to what became the first and most influential online radio site. As years have gone by, Pandora has been followed by others, a couple of examples being Last.FM and Slacker Radio. TasteKid is also and outlet, but it doesn't play the music, it just tells you who you should check out, thus causing a major loss in points.
Now I know that I'm not the most intelligent music business professional to walk the halls, but I do know that companies need money in order to survive. Pretty straight forward business model. Now, how to get that money is where the challenges have become more and more everyday... it seems. So when I first became a true Pandora advocate, I looked at the site and said "where's the money?" "Show me the money!" right?! as Cuba shouted violently in his studio kitchen into an obsolete cordless phone. I attributed it to advertising, where at the time I really started questioning this site I was also in gritting my teeth through an entrepreneurship class with one of the most eccentric musicians/professors this side of the Mississippi, and just about everything seemed to come back to advertising. It looked to be for a time there, the beginning and the end for most business ventures. But, in taking another look at Pandora, there really isn't a lot of advertising. Maybe one ad that changes as the page refreshes. The design has stayed consistent through the years, simple and straight forward through the years. Granted, as technology has changed, they've kept up, adding mobile applications, videos and even a link to festivals. But it is the iPhone application, among other things, that will give Pandora their first profit ever since their birth almost a decade ago.
Something seemingly unrelated that I saw on the glorious television screen just yesterday was a live performance of the All American Rejects at one of those crazy MTV Spring Break thing-a-ma-jigs. I was watching MTV2 and I couldn't believe the massive crowd of half naked twenty - somethings just swaying and jerking about completely without rhythm. And I thought about the bands that I'm huge fans of, and how they most certainly do not have crowds like that at their performances. Perhaps that's one of the reasons that I like them so much. So what did the All American Rejects do differently then someone like Sam Roberts Band or Gabe Dixon. Is it the lewd behaviour? or the crazy pirate outfits? I'm not sure. Maybe it's just targeting a totally different audience. So I wonder when I look at this crowd is... how many of these people have actually seen the album artwork, or did their girlfriend burn them a copy and tuck in a cutsie unmarked cd sleeve. Or they illegally downloaded it and lost on the hi-res album artwork.
so let's link this to Pandora and how they're about to make their first dollar. They're doing it.
I'm serious. That's the whole point. The labels are drowning in their own tears, so disgusted with teenagers across the country that they can't even bring themselves to work to find some avenue of expoitation. They've basically thrown up their hands it feels like. But not Pandora. They look at that swaying field of tanned greasy bodies and see leafy green dollar bills (perhaps). They were surviving better than the labels were before they even started making any profit at all. Now granted, two different business, two different business models. But they're still entertainment suppliers and they're still business all the same. The money needs to come in as well as go out. But then again, what kind of overhead does Pandora really have to pay, besides maybe some liscensing fees and the cost of running the server, and maybe an IT to maintain the site. They looked at the twenty somethings and said "let's work together" and thus from running a profit-free site they've blossomed into an iPhone application. The application is available for a measley $36 a year, but for a company that has not taken in $1 of profit in the past, that can add up to be quite the sum. It's the prefect answer to a daunting question. What do we do now? we work together. We seize opportunity and we gain success. At least we hope. Now the labels are in a completely different position. How does one create a WEA app. you don't. And any other idea that I've thought of in the last 2 minutes have an answer. An app to follow your favorite musicians? - Twitter. An App to listen to their music for free? - Myspace. An App to look at their photos and comment? - Facebook. It's all there, so where is the opportunity to begin with, better yet being able to seize it. There are other avenues that have been previously discussed. The joint advertising ventures, the merchandising ventures, so on and so forth. But it seems like none of these previously mentioned ideas or feasible, or fair. Or is it just that the labels are too scared. There is something out there and if I didn't have to get going to my second job instead of sitting here at the first one thinging about cool and awesome new ways that a label could make money but won't, I would think of it. But for now, I'll leave it open for tomorrow.

Twilight

2009-04-02T12:31:00.001-07:00

So I would like to discuss an epidemic that has swept the nation, thy name is "Twilight". This has nothing to do with Music, but everything to do with our culture. Back a few months ago when the movie trailers started for the movie, I had no idea what "twilight" was, what it was about, or that it was even a book. But then people started talking about it and I got a little curious. I love reading, and I love wierd fantasy/mythical stuff, so I thought to myself while reading the cliched quote on the back of the book in Newbury Comics "what's the worst that could happen, it's $10 and I'm sure it'll be a quick easy read if it's meant for teens". So I put my money where my mouth is and Twilight entered my life. Before I started reading the book, I understood going in that the story was comprised of love, and vampires - which I'm sure would thus lead to life threatening situations and inner turmoil. So as I started in to the first chapter I thought, well it's not Clive Barker but this could be good.
Within moments I was hooked. I'll admit that even though Stephanie Meyer may not be the most intellectual and worldly writer (not that I really know many), the imagery was wonderfully bright and the characters quickly and easily painted in my minds eye. You instantly feel sympathetic for Bella because she's alone, but jealous because she's this average, ho-hum girl from out of town and almost instanteously everyone is in love with her. If only it were that easy for us actual normal, average ho-hum girls in high school. But to ensure the fantasty continues she gets the hottest guy in school, and not only is he a "bad boy" he's a freakin' mythical creature! Apparently just the bad boy persona doesn't do it for us anymore, we're numb to the tattoos and bad attitudes and have moved on to murderous villians. The cherry on the fantasy sundae? This vampire has a gentle, romantic, loving side and a sense of self-preservation. And he's fallen in love with the plainest girl around.
- how like life -
After reading through the first book I instantly thought "man, guys are going to be pissed when they find out this vampire has made them all look like a bunch of jerks", and inadvertently he has. The image of Edward that is created in the novel can be different for each reader, but one thing will be the same for every girl reading: He is the ultimate fantasy. And we all, in some strange insecure way, feel unworthy of him. But if the plainest girl in school won his heart, then maybe there is hope for the rest of us. right?
I have moved my way through book two and three and am about to begin the final mile of the series. Just last week I got the chance to watch the "film" at a friends house, and (of course) because I loved the book so much I was compelled to run out buy the DVD, not knowing whether or not it was actually worth the $15 I dished out.
Long story short - it wasn't. And yet every night I come home from work, with several other things on my mind, A GRE test to study for, a poem to work on, a shower to take, dinner to make, and whatever else happened in the day; but all I want to do it sit down at my cluttered and crumb-covered kitchen table and watch it again and again on my computer. WHY?! I don't understand it and it's honestly been consuming my thoughts a bit. Am I seriously trying to live vicariously through Bella and find love in a romantic, super-powered vampire? Is this all in an attempt to keep my hopes up that if this average girl can find love with the coolest guy in town, than there has got to be something out there for me? It seems like any other romantic comedy. The trick here is that this isn't your everyday swooner people, this is a vampire. He's proclaimed his love and his life. He's saved her from the darkest of places and said all the right words at all the right moments. He stays with her while she sleeps and doesn't complain when she tells him he's not allowed to speak of leaving her side. Any other dude would be like "screw you, I want to hang out with my boyz". The ultimate relationship/infatuation. And now, he wants to be married, even though they've been together for what... a year?! sure, let's run off to be married so that we can take each others "virtue" and spend eternity together!
I'm honestly nervous for what this teaches teenagers that are reading this book. At least it teaches them to wait for the right person, the one you love, the right moment, and (of course) marriage. But are they now going to be looking for real men to think and act as a character in a movie does? I mean, understood, we all watch the sappy chick flicks and we swoon and wish secretly that our men would treat us this way, but we understand that our man, like us, are just human and this kind of stuff just doesn't take place. But with Twilight? I feel like it's different. It's a different audience with different expectations and a different naive grasp on human interactions/relationships. Now, texting is good enough for a break up, as if we have no respect for one another. I have noticed that this book has bridged together generations of women, from teens through young adults my age, to older middle-aged women. The desire to be loved by someone such as Edward is everywhere.
And the love triangle with Jacob?! oh, that is just the sprinkles and whipped cream. Who doesn't secretly love being the center of a love triangle, nevermind one involving a vampire AND a werewolf! It is the epitamy of what every girl dreams about.
The fantasy that we have, is it because we're an insecure society? Is it because we do truely believe that chilvalry is dead when it's the only thing that we really want? Do we want to feel like the kind of woman that could make such a villian want to change his ways out of love for us and become the good guy? it's a little arrogant, I have to admit, to think that we're great enough women to think that a monster would risk his existence and life for us. That we are that charming and charismatic that a killer would find love in his heart and change his entire life for us. What does this say about how we are taught to view relationships in todays society? It's as if the book seems to teach us that having this relationship and having someone to be with us at every moment of the day is the ultimate goal in life. Edward does say "Bella, you don't know how long I've waited for you", as if his life has meant nothing without her up to this point. What about the sense of self, not needing someone else for comfort and validation. I can understand the yearning for companionship and love, but we must find love in ourselves first before sharing it with others.
I know I have preached about this in the past and I don't really want to be redundant, but I wonder if with this new cultural obssession with Twilight only reaffirms the ideal that we as a culture feel like we can't function without the validation and acceptance of others. What if Bella moved out to Forks and made a life for herself all on her own. I mean sure, she makes friends, she gets a job to pay the bills and she goes to school. But what if she found love in herself and not with Edward, what is the story was a journey of self discovery. Do you think that the story would thus be as popular? maybe with a less accomodating crowd, the indie rockers and poets.
I have to admit, I love the book. I thought the movie could have been better, but regardless the book was awesome! The pages moved faster than I could keep up it seemed. The love story reaches out to even the most bitter and reminds them that there is someone out there for everyone, human or not. The aspect of this book that prompted me to come back to a blog that I haven't updated in over a month was her sheer NEED for Edward. She withered when he left and used another just to occupy her mind and find ways to get back to Edward. If he leaves her alone even for a little while she feels empty without him. To some, this is an unconditional level of love. To me, it's just wierd. Bella, sit down and read a book, maybe catch up on some homework or watch your favorite tv show. Sure it's not always going to be as COOL as hanging with your vampire boyfriend but you each have to lead individual lives as well as the one you share together. It's a lot, I know, but I think you can handle it. Heck, you've gone this far.

Oops, not music related.

2009-02-10T08:12:00.000-08:00

http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/magazine/articles/2009/02/08/the_end_of_alone/

The article listed above is admittedly lengthy, but a great representation of what I had been trying to spew out in the past entry (and it's written significantly better).
"The End of Alone" written in the Boston Globe, gives a beautiful and inspiring picture of how disconnected we have become to ourselves. My first reaction to this article was "man I know someone who would relish in all this philosophical bull", but then I began to feel a bit of the guilt that I have been feeling recently because of our loss of our sense of the self. For myself, I am nowhere near as technologically advanced as most. I am overwhelmed by the keyboard on my phone, better yet the e-mail and photo capabilities. I could say it's sad, but is it really? I do enjoy my alone time, but when I think about it my alone time is usually me sitting with my book, my notebook, a pen or pencil, some sweet soul music gently bumping and my cell phone casually placed on the coffee table. Just in case. So I'll admit that after reading this wonderfully written article, I did feel a bit guilty and disconnected with myself, even though I have been making good efforts to "find myself". I can sympathize with the anxiety of doing things alone. Now, I go to the movies alone, I go get lunch or dinner by myself (remembering my book, or journal always), and shop alone. I don't have much a choice in the matter to be honest, if there's something I want/need to do, I go do it. But sometimes I do these things when I am lonely. If I'm just sitting alone in my apartment and most of the time I can't bring myself to turn on the TV and I can only read and write for so long before the pages and words begin to blur, so I go out. Furthering the arguement, he discusses great writers such as "DESCARTES, NEWTON, LOCKE, Spinoza, Kant, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard -- they share the distinction of having been some of the greatest thinkers the world has known. They also share this: None of them ever married or had their own families, and most of them spent the bulk of their lives living alone." So then I began to think, where is the fun in that?! A naive and probably ignorant statement that only further confirms this change in our society.
So I thought about our desperation for relationships, our haunting fear of being alone in this big bad world, that everyone claims is so small, and tried to figure out some kind of middle ground. How can I have faith and confidence in myself when alone but still find peace in another. It's all quite contradictory in my mind. I found several articles on the importance of building relationships. Unfortunately, most of them were quite qhetto looking and didn't really connatate a good sense of integrity (I know, I'm stereotyping a website) so I'm not going to post any of them here. Generally they supported the importance of building interpersonal relationships, whether they be friendships, business, romantic, or otherwise. The funny thing about these articles is that they all discuss "needs", and how our relationships are based on these "needs" and how we determine what we want to get out of a relationship based on these "needs". So what are the needs? I'm sure we could list a million of them, and I'll leave it open to the discussion (not that anyone will discuss it). I'm sure a lot of these needs are things that I've already talked about in the previous entry: validation, comfort, security, self-esteem, and companionship. According to our first half of the debate, these are things that we are supposed to find within ourselves. But I do feel like relationships are important, and not specifically for these things but for other aspects of our life such as communication and other social skills, connection, and how about fun!
Yes, after reading the Boston Globe article I did have a sense of guilt for not taking every moment of my life to reflect on the time-space continuum, but as I think more about it, as these things tend to cause me to do, I don't feel guilty at all and the fact that someone would try and make me feel guilty for not living my life as they have is just wrong. Yes I agree that our society is a bit too involved with their technologies, but think of how that line of communication has improved business, adventure, and possibility. My relationships that I have built and broken for myself were not based on needs, they were just based on pure enjoyment.
Comfort: relief in affliction; consolation; a cause or matter of relief or satisfaction; a state of ease and satisfaction of bodily wants, with freedom from pain and anxiety.
This definition has quietly haunted me for many years. And it amazes me that something so simple and positive could cause such an uproar in ones mind. What a debate - this paradox called comfort. Do we find this in ourselves, in others, in our bed, in music, in television, or some may never find it. In my opinion I think this goes for our critically acclaimed thinkers listed above. In an effort to claim that any and all peace in your life must be harvested on your own, they had sheltered themselves from relationships and love. Sometimes, I feel like love was simply made up in order to justify these cravings of comfort and security, and then as time went on it became marriage. But I can't leave myself to feel so negative towards love. As much I hate it most days, it also is something beautiful that we can find in ourselves and share with others. A passion that fuels us and reminds us that we are alive. For those thinkers that hid alone, I feel sympathy for the overwhelming flow of thoughts, but I also feel that they were quite arrogant, making others feel incompetent and shallow for building relationships when maybe they were just as scared as the rest of us.
I don't want to drag on and on about this forever because, as the previous entry it will become non-sensical and redundant. We've very briefly looked at two very different sides to a very difficult debate. I believe in a middle ground, most don't believe in anything at all. I remember a good line from a Ray Lamontagne song where he said something like "you build these walls, but walls will only crush you when they fall" and if you don't ever let the walls crumble, you will always be hidden and closed, whether your are looking to open yourself to the world or other people.
Highly recommend Gabe Dixon's live performance of "Is This Love" - check it.

2009-01-29T10:02:00.000-08:00

So I'll admit that I've been slacking off. I'm sure there is a TON of music industry news I could be commenting on, but I've been busy and work and busy with life so I haven't kept up. I will though comment on one of the most hilarious pieces of genius to ever stumble onto the MTV screen. If you really want to call it any of those things.
I don't know if anyone else has caught this show, but yesterday during a pretty crappy snowstorm I was working from my bed and casually left MTV on because surprisingly enough they had music videos on in the morning. I was preoccupied with my work and while digilently copy and pasting away I failed to notice that the music had stopped and my TV was now bombarded with a bunch of "toolbags".
Side-note - quite some time ago I was having a conversation with my mom about who knows what and casually in conversation mentioned that some dude or other was a total "tool bag". My mom proceeded to ask me what I meant by a "tool bag" and I moved to the metaphor "dumb as a bag of hammers". She had a sort of moment of realization but then mentioned that she thinks a tool bag would be quite handy. That's my mom for you folks.
Anyway, as I was saying about the music being gone and tool bags and such. So I info-ed this show that had sneaked up upon me and it just so happened to be titled "Tool Academy". A pretty fitting name for the bunch of drones I was faced with. I clicked the "guide" button on my remote to search for something a bit less ... well... awful, and came up empty handed. It was a battle between a disasterous bunch of daytime television programming. I contemplated turning off the TV altogether and just hitting play on my CD Player, but then some ridiculous comment was made and I was basically hooked. So I thought to myself, what's a couple minutes, at least it will provide me with some seriously humorous entertainment and maybe even an ironically deep look into our twisted culture.
So I watched, feeling a little guilty and embarrassed, but I watched. I dug to find the purpose and the objective of the mindless banter and somehow came up with this. I am pretty sure that the show was about a group of guys, in a house along with their girlfriends, and they were "learning" t0 be respectful, mature adults. basically. So what I saw, was a group of guys bad mouthing their women behind their backs and then in some therapy session having to reveal their fears and confessions to their beloveds. pretty funny to see these big muscle dudes with horrible MTV haircuts and fake vintage t-shirts try to "reveal" their feelings. One of them, I couldn't even tell if he was speaking english, but I do know that he kept referring to his bleach blonde overly tanned girlfriend as "dude" and looked like he was about to punch a wall.
So I know this is not good to do but I started kind of comparing myself to these people. Mostly because, minus the details, their confessions were pertinent to my own personal life and I've been doing a bit of soul searching concerning our human obsession with companionship. I actually started this internal debate while sitting in the Orthopedic Surgery waiting room. I was probably the only one there under 40 and also the only one that did not have a signficant other sitting by, hand on the knee or rubbing my back for comfort. How did all these relationships come to be? How did they find one another and how did they decide that they were both right for each other? Was it a compromise, was it a battle of wits or simply love at first sight? But I digress, per usual. In essence I find it contradictory that we all stive to be blossoming, strong, and independent individuals, but yet still crave the comfort of others and the validation of our thoughts and opinions. How does it all work, I have no idea. So I kept watching.
As I watched and thought about individuality in part with relationships I remembered how feverishly we depend on other people to define ourselves, which truthfully is obvious and redundant. But in furthering this thought, it's not just that we rely on others for our comfort and validation, but the experiences we share with these people and what these experiences mean to us. I think what I mean is that we take the experiences we have with people, whether it be good or bad - going to the movies, getting a beer, fighting and yelling, laying on the beach - doesn't matter. We take these experiences and we determine our opinions and reactions to them and thus use those ideals in other aspects of our lives. It goes past feeling validated, it's just .... you.
I'm not sure that makes sense, even to me who just wrote it.
I'm going to try and think up an example, mostly for my own clarification. So say you go to the movies with your boyfriend or girlfriend, or sisters, could be anyone. I went to the movies with a long time friend of mine recently and he's a bit cynical. Me, I'm a bit indifferent with movies. So we go, we eat dinner, see the movie and get some hot chocolate and talk about what we think as we've done maybe a million times before. Now I liked the movie, he didn't - what a surprise, but what's a good conversation without a conflict. So instead of letting him and his opinions and criticisms determine how I felt about my own, I simply thought about the joy of a good conversation and how being in that moment made me feel, regardless of the difference of opinion. I took that experience and when having a conversation with other people, refer back to it and remember the curiosity, the emotions, and the relevance to my own life. I let the feelings associated with the experience define my reactions moving forward. And it's ever changing.
I think this is becoming much more involved then I ever intended it to be. All this from a bunch of tool-bags.
So to try and loop this into my music theme and it's association with our culture. I don't know if anyone is a fan, but I am a huge fan of Kris Delmhorst. In my opinion she writes the most beautiful love songs and the difference that I find between her ballads and others is that she does not write the song as though without them she could not survive. There are a lot of artists who have love songs that I aboslutely love. Great example: "Hope For Me Yet" by Marc Broussard, one of my all time favorite songs. But in listening to his words, he relies on his recepient for validation. Don't get me wrong, this is an awesome song, I don't care who you are, where you're from, Marc Broussard rocks, but it's a good example of how pretty much all love songs are based. The singer always feels lost, lonely, sad, suicidal or something without the other person in their life. And it feeds our culture a great deal.
Going back to the tool-bags and why they still matter to this one - sided debate. These guys were clearly consumed with themselves, concerned with appearance, money and status. And from a woman's perspective, I'm sure their girlfriends felt the same way about most things, or they probably wouldn't be together. Not only does the culture breed lonely love-sick swooners, but to make the situation worse, we now have to worry about how we look, how much money we make and if our job is cool enough so that we can be moved out of the lonely pool and into the "validated by a fake relationship" pool.
With all this stuff to worry about it's no wonder we're an overmedicated culture of fear, insecurity, anxiety and depression. And this all affects how we respond to our music. We listen to what those musicians are telling us. We are their shoulder, because they are musicians and they are, by nature, typically sad, so we let them lean on us for a little while. We feel like we've connected and we feel like what this famous person has to say has got to be the right way to feel about the same situation in my life. I think a lot of musicians use this relationship to sell music and write songs that reach out into their market and not only touch their audience, but basically show them a "bathroom wall" kind of good time. The next issue is, did the listener pay for that good time? Our musicians have welcomed us into their lives, not just with the sad songs but with the happy ones too. We celebrate their success with them, their love and their good times. So even if we feel lonely we can invite ourselves into their world and find comfort in them.
Now I'm not going to sit here and tell people that this is a horrible way to live life and is totally void of any personal independence. I'm guilty of sitting alone in my apartment and singing along to sad songs and feeling a deeper emotional connection than if I weren't listening to the song at all. Our lack of the our sense of self is very obvious in everyday life. Straight from TV shows to our connection with music and then on to the relationships we rely on with the people in our lives. I'm proud of the relationships I have. As I said, I try and remember that they do not define me, but I would never say that sitting alone and simply being happy with myself is enough. At least for me it's not, I enjoy the outside world and relationships are very important.
When it comes to this subject, I think that people don't even think about it. I honestly believe that people grow up faithfully devout to the thought that they have to find someone that makes them happy enough and only then will they be whole. I watch my best friend do it everyday, and it's kind of wierd and unnerving if you ask me. But you're not asking, at this point you're probably asking me to just shut up. I could just go on and on forever when it comes to our obsessions with relationships, fulfilling or not. Has it all become about validation? About feeling like we're actually apart of this world and that we matter to someone, anyone?
Yes, I think it has. Honestly, I have felt more and more that I am a working gear in this broken down machine, as I am at my job and in my family. I don't need someone to tell me and the beautiful love songs... they are just so beautiful.

iTunes Ebb and Flow

2009-01-14T13:31:00.000-08:00

Well how do I seriously avoid writing about the most talked about Music Industry uproar for quite some time. The negotiation of a DRM free iTunes with variable pricing. Labels are expecting to come out ahead with this deal, but is that truthfully a realistic view? Possibly, but I'd like to dig a little deeper into the psyche of this agreement.
The biggest deal here is that some of the pricing on iTunes is going to change. A lot of popular music will undoubtly go up over the $1 mark, making the battle between your favorite song at this moment or the Big Mac that much more difficult. This will make the push for content bundling a little more necesary, because personally, we're already fighting a generation that is used to getting their music for free and if not for free, really cheap. Then you go and raise the price. Will this push more teens to make the extra effort to find a quick torrent to steal the song as opposed to paying more? The unfortunate thing, and this may be totally all made up in my head, is that I don't think that a lot of kids understand the whole point of paying for music and why downloading is considered stealing. They don't understand the copyright law, or that it's not just the artist that loses money, it's also all the people behind that artist that make them a success and bring them to your ear and thus, into your heart. The download generation is also considered, by me at least, to be a "damn the man" generation. And I know I've used this horribly cliche phrase before but it's quite examplory of the type of market so many obsolete label heads are trying to crack. This type of rebelious nature found in the download generation could cause one to think, maybe they won't like this $.30 price hike for their favorite tunes. But! they may also enjoy the $.30 price drop for something less noticed. Which, something the downloading "damn the man" generation also enjoys is finding brand spanking new music that mostly no one has heard before. I think it creates some sort of a feeling of being a trend-setter. Whatever helps you sleep at night kiddies.
Our culture has fueled such a war between the downloading generation and the labels. The more the labels fight to get whatever dollar is owed to them, the less and less young adults are likely to give it up. There is a feeling of trying to screw over the industry simply because it gave you a glimpse of file sharing and now it's out there and easily accessible, but they don't want you to have that. First things first, the labels (obviously) did not give anyone any type of file sharing capability. To be perfectly honest, and because I work for a label and worry about these people all day, I don't think anyone of the heads of a department would know the first thing about staring a file sharing website. And what would be the sense! You'd literally be taking your own money out of your own pocket. But that is all needless to say, we know that these handy file sharing sites are created by bored, jobless teens that are looking to piss someone off, whether it be helping people steal their product or setting the neighbors cat on fire. Or is that a stereotype, oops, sorry.
But I digress, per usual. Back to the subject at hand. Will the variable pricing help or hurt the industry. For a someone that works with a small label which has a good number of artists that feed themselves purely on their tour sales, the discussion that has already somewhat happened is "are we going to get screwed because we don't turn out crazy pop hits". And it's very very likely. Simply because our artists do not generate serious dollar bills like some, they will probably suffer and be placed with the $.69 crowd. Thus, we suffer and the deal is counter-productive. And whether or not I think that kids are going to be just as willing to pay $1.29 as they were at $.99 is arguable. I personally think that it will irritate a lot of kids and they will find other ways of buying/sharing their music. Then there is the up-side that they will think "what's another $.30" and just pay the extra without a question.
The real truth will be seen once the prices start changing and the fluctations in sales numbers is visible. The labels are hopful that this will create some much needed revenue for them, but I can't say that I feel as warm and fuzzy about it. Granted, I am young, and technically considered a part of that "downloading, damn the man" generation. There are others that have the experience of sea tortoises in this industry. But if you look at the past few years, you can see where that experience has gotten them; cowering and scared of a bunch of 16 year olds wearing short skirts and snow boots (I know I don't get it either).
So to keep this entry short and sweet because I have to go home, this is no longer a battle between digital and physical. It's now become a battle between legal dgital and illegal digital. And I think that if iTunes asks for a good deal of titles to raise their prices, the illegal side may not exactly win, but it may gain yet another advantage.
Just pay for your damn music people. Oh sweet irony.

Diagnosis: Fear

2008-12-29T09:31:00.000-08:00

Today while at work with no functioning e-mail, I got the chance to really thoroughly read through some of the more interesting magazines that cross over my desk through the week. Among my stack was a magazine named "UTNE" with a great, informal and confident picture of Obama on the cover pointing his finger, his eyes shaded by Ray-bans, as if to say "you and I, we'll make it happen".
There were some really great articles in this magazine, all of which I wish I had the time and energy to respond to, but one in particular prompted this blog. The title "FEAR ITSELF", written by a Julie Hanus, and on the opposite page, the picture of a man bombarded by common fears such as terrorism, crime and germs. The objective of the article seems to be to uncover what it is that fuels our fear, how it affects our daily lives, and the consequences we suffer for living with such fears. It seems like commonsense to say that we all fear something. I fear losing my job, as do many others. My best friend has a fear of germs and keeping her children safe. It's interesting to me to think about what fuels these fears and what kind of decisions we then make based on them.
Granted this article has nothing to do with music, but it does have a very significant impact on our society and I think, in turn, this affects how we relate to our music.
Throughout the article the writer compares how we once handled fear in past generations compared to how we now handle our "comtemporary" fear. She explains that in the past, fear would pull together communities, "They were a source of shared identity and engendered camaraderie and trust." Our past generations used fear to being their communities together, forming a great dependence and trust with one another. She furthers the arguement by pointing out that today "The individual way we've come to experience fear contributes only to isolation and feelings of helplessness. Instead of seeing support or solutions, we add to our grim roster of perceived threats." Truthfully a well made point.
Over the past few months I have given a kind and attentive ear to a few friends who have voiced many of these concerns. Instead of looking at each situation as an opportunity to rise above, they simply hold their nose as the water overcomes them and give in. Someone or something is always responsible for the laundry list of issues we face each moment of our busy days.
"One explaination for the incapacitating nature of contemporary fear is that our brains simply are not wired to process modern life." But what is this "modern life" that is referred to here. What makes our modern life something that our brains are not capable of handling? Is it all the blackberrys? the overwhelming pressure of society from every aspect of life to feel a sense of acceptance and validation? Each day we watch the news and are bombarded with images of car wrecks, missing children, and disease only to then lie in our beds and create our own spinning web of fears.
A great example of how these fears affect our daily decisions would be the undeniable feelings we all conjured up after the events of 9/11. It is reported that for 12 months after 9/11, most people heeded a warning from their guts to avoid flying, thus putting millions more on the roads. In that one year, the fatalities due to car accidents rose and an additional 1,595 people lost their lives. Another great example "When out guts tell us not to let children play outside unsupervised, the sedentary lifestyle that ineveitably results exposes kids to a host of health problems far more dangerous than the slim probability of abduction". Children that are left in home are more apt to be consumed by television, video games and other mind numbing types of activity. This type of lifestyle not only creates a higher risk of obesity but also a lazy and unmotivated ethic. Children that are not encouraged to be outside, taking advantage of what the world has to offer, I feel are more likely to take it for granted in the future and less likely to feel motivated in other aspects of their life as well.
Another issue that so many people consume themselves with ignorantly would be germs. Our bodies have been built to be able to fend off general germs such as the common cold. Yes, sometimes we get sick if we let ourselves lose sleep or we don't treat our immune systems with the respect it deserves, but our bodies have evolved to be able to fight these bugs. It is very clear that we, as a society, are overmedicated and too lazy or impatient to take the time to simply care for ourselves. It is reported by Mother Jones that today there is more than 9,000 types of antibacterial products on the market, with 2,753 introduced in 2007. The Food and Drug Adminsitration did conclude in 2004 that between basic hand soap and antibacterial soap, neither was better at preventing infection. "Sales of antibacterial chemicals are projected to reach $930 million in 2009". $930 MILLION! That is insane. And for what?! so that we can train our bodies to never be able to fight off the common cold? And then people ask me why I chose a glass of water without the tylenol when I get a mild headache.
Our television has single handedly been able to reach into our homes and play with our most deperate anxieties. Even completely fictional law or criminal based shows such as Criminal Minds tend to lay blame on those that are not "fearful enough".
The author brings up an episode of the Daily Show With John Stewart, pre-election, where voters were rallying with fears worn on their sleeves. Reporter John Oliver concludes "There's no red America, no blue America. There's just one scared shitless America". I remember watching that episode, probably the one episode of the Daily Show I every really paid attention to and thinking what happened to us? what happened to a people proud of themselves, hard working and confident? Everyone waves their American flags and pumps their fist for our country but then runs home to cower behind their Lazy-boy, just hoping to make it to tomorrow.
Sasha Abramsky writes in an issue of The Chronicle of Higher Education "After centuries of tenchological progress, we think we can glimpse the promised land. We can envision a world in which cancer is merely a coldlike nuisance, in which stem-cell research banishes Alzheimer's, ... But the world today is far from a utopia. My guess is that we have become so fearful at least in part because we fear our intoxicating future's being snatched away from us".
A very clear, self explainatory point. We're spoiled. Recently, a great deal of New Englanders lost their power to an ice storm, some for lengthy periods of time. My parents were out of power for 6 days, and thankfully, we're New Englanders, this has happened before so we turn on the generator, light a few candles and cook dinner on the gas grill. but after 6 days my mother just said "This is getting really old" and I said to myself it's amazing to think we're that dependant on something, on anything. I can even say the same thing for my work today. Our e-mail is down and without it everyone has gone home, without the e-mail, there is basically no way to get work done. How is it that it has come down to a company not being able to function simply because we're not able to get an e-mail. Granted it completely cuts off communication, and with our music industry, communication is pretty much all that we have to go on.
"It's a bittersweet silver lining, but economic pains could provide just the sort of galvanizing force we need to recalibrate ourselves towards solidarity." This is, if we as one community are willing to give up our fears and work together as a team, which to me is doubtful. Call me pessimistic, but we don't have a good record of being able to get along with one another. With fear already taking over our country, Obama has been able to "make good on politics of hope, though, the American public must continue to demonstrate the resistance to fear they showed by electing him."
The article advocates an interest in learning our human nature, accepting our susceptibility to "misjudgments and miscalculations". We, as a people, need to remember what we are made of. We tend to take ourselves to seriously, and cower in the presence of humility. We have to learn to be grateful and compassionate, sharing these wonderful attributes with others, in learning to release our overwhelming sense of fear. But we must not completely let go of our sense of fear. Our instincts serve us well and we do have the ability to judge our situations and their risks with intelligence and sophistication. "When something doesn't quite sync up, gut to head, then it's time to pause and at least question what's causing the discrepancy".
Someday we may be able to let go of allowing our individual fears to define us. With giving up our fear, we "free poiliticians from fear inducing rhetoric or stymie fearmongering marketers..."
If we could take the opportunity to release these anxieties and concerns, we could take a larger look at our lives, putting our role into perspective and seeing how far we have come as a people.
We still have so many big steps to take, but releasing the fear makes way for hope to move ourselves further along.

So this has been quite lengthy and I apologize if I have bored anyone, but I must admit that this article really reached out to me. As I stated early, I have been approached by friends and family members with situations of such fear and anxiety, and I can sympathize, I have these moments of my own. It's very hard to be able to advise someone on how to be able to let go of these feelings in such a high pressure society, especially when I myself am not completely able to do so. I always try to remember that when I'm worried about what other people are thinking about me, 9 times out of 10, the other person is worrying about the same thing. And if they are sitting by making their judgements about me, they are also judging themselves, comparing their insecurities against my own. Our society has truthfully fed a generation of fearful adults. It seems as though we're always made to feel like our accomplishments are still not quite enough, our skills and talents are not enough to make us stand out in a pile of resumes. There is the need for continued education and experience in order to set yourself apart in the workplace. In personal life there is such pressure to be confident, unique and creative that even those who make the best friends and companions feel as though they can't quite live up to par, even though they try and teach us in middle school that we are all "special in our own way". And we are! We are all lovable, once we learn to love ourselves. We are all beautiful and intelligent as long as we can see ourselves in that light. So release the fear and find all that there is inside yourself as well as others. After that, the world is your oyster (as they say).

Now you see it, now you don't

2008-12-27T15:45:00.000-08:00

Well I guess there are a few things to bring up for this weeks business.
1) Warner pulls all content from YouTube
2) RIAA promises to stop suing
3) Myspace blocks project playlist

I think first and foremost the fact that the RIAA has finally decided to stop pulling lawsuits out of their butts is a huge positive note. Everywhere you turn the news articles are saying "now what?". Well, maybe the labels can start to regain some of their dignity back. A large part of me wonders if all the irrational legal action that the RIAA took on young kids, people that didn't even own computers, and others that were not even living only fed the fire for angry bitter "damn the man" teens to keep sticking it to 'em. There is always an air of carelessness when you're a teenager. You don't care if you risk cancer smoking a cigarette, risking your job when you get a tattoo, you most certainly don't care about risking getting sued by the record industry for illegally downloading music, especially when you're one of 20% of the country that does it. But you can't hide. As much as I believe the RIAA should have taken action on serious offenders, they were stupid about it. Almost every case looked like a joke to the onlookers and it was humiliating. They only hurt themselves, throwing fuel on an already unwieldy fire. The culture most certainly aids a generation of kids who are ready and willing to take that risk all to feel like they're setting themselves apart and doing their part to screw over big money making record execs.
The funny thing is, those big money making execs are suffering so bad now since you all decided to damn them, that they have to make sure that they are get every penny that they should out of all the other exploitations that are out there. And there are many, such as the YouTube and the Project Playlist. YouTube has been dealing with these kinds of issues since it started up. At least this time they are not being sued. Universal reported great results from their negotiations with YouTube, but Warner can not seem to settle for agreements that are not completely fair to the label, the artists, songwriters and publishers, which I agree with. They have every right to fight for what they feel is appropriate for everyone involved. If the agreement is rational and fair then everyone benefits, even YouTube. It is discussed that YouTube structured agreements with all four major labels to share advertising revenue, which is a good break for the labels and a concept that has been talked about in the past. With so much pressure to keep their heads above water, labels are in a position to create and fight for these kinds of deals in order to make the best profit for each and every available outlet. Warner will lose out of the great exposure for the time being, and the fans won't be too thrilled, but eventually a contract will be settled on that, we hope, will be appropriate and fair.
Project Playlist was also blocked on Myspace. Myspace has decided to "take sides" with the labels, pulling the widget at the request of rights holders. The labels have argued that Project Playlist's structure of their widget and the streaming encourages infringement. There have been other sites that have crumpled under pressure from the labels, in fear of legal action. There are a lot of programs that they could also make this claim about, but the disadvantage the labels give themselves is not stepping into a modern generations mind set to "seek and destroy" these third parties. Of course, the way things are moving at this point, for every site you close another will blossom and guaranteed it'll be better than the last. You'll never be able to fight the young generation, made up of tech savvy, opinions, and intelligence against a bunch of obsolete industry ideals that labels created 40 years ago. And the more the labels fight, the more society fights back harder and with better resources. We all know this to be true with most things. Project Playlist competes with the functionality of MySpace itself and Facebook has also made the decision to not block Project Playlist. So whether or not booting the widget is a good idea? probably a bad idea. But that's what we get for burning out CDs for everyone and their cousins. Losing the widget doesn't really benefit anyone, the labels lose exposure, and the fans are just going to keep getting pissed off without understanding why.

So good news and bad news for the industry. Glad to hear that there is no longer silly ego - trip lawsuits running around. Sad to hear that Warner and YouTube can't learn to get along. Truthfully, the RIAA will probably find another way to blatantly embarrass themselves. Warner will come to some kind of agreement with YouTube, seeing as it's the best promotional tool for anyone and anything, and Project Playlist? It'll make it's home on other community sites for the time being and I'm sure the labels will find someone else to complain about tomorrow anyway.

Broadcast yourself

2008-12-16T16:48:00.000-08:00

http://www.mi2n.com/press.php3?press_nb=115838

http://www.tronme.com/

So here is an interesting advancement of interactive media. Very similar to another website I had found a while back called www.outshouts.com. Where you can record your own personal responses to your favorite music and share it with the world. The difference here I believe is that this can be used with YouTube, Skype, MSN, Facebook, and Myspace.
I think this is a great example of how our culture has enraptured itself with it's relationship to music. Our generation and the next has been consumed with the idea of defining themselves by their musical identities. To go even further, have they also become obsessed with defining themselves by the way they purchase/steal their music? by the way they react to it? the way they can relate to it and share the experience with their favorite musicians? Almost like they were friends, sharing stories.
With this interactive software, music lovers everywhere can become even more a part of the music that defines them. It allows them to be inspired and creative as well, which I think is great for those who are learning to write and compose their own music.
My one real question is, what is the copyright limits here? are there any? has tronme.com covered all the bases, or will consumers pay for having a little fun with their favorite tunes. The concept is definitely fed by the culture. A need to be as much a part of the musical society as possible. It fuels a great sense of creativity but also a sense of belonging, while still trying to be an individualist. Also, a great piece of a culture, becoming the same while attempting to separate yourself. It seems so time consuming to ensure your 15 minutes of fame and making every effort to slap your face on every online community site possible. It encourages a generation of people expressive and confident enough to share they're musical relationships with the world. And as much as I love to advocate confidence and creativity and making sure you share these things with people, I myself feel a bit too humble to truthfully promote it. I must admit though I am a bit of hypocrite with that statement seeing as I do write for this blog, so I clearly felt confident enough concerning my opinions, education, and writing ability. I also have a music myspace, which took a lot for me to eventually post, but I did because I wanted to be able to tell people "yeah I sing, check out my page", but then run for the hills as they type the URL.
I too am a part of this society, a part of a generation that defines itself with its musical relationships and its individualistic nature. It's a great feeling to be able to make yourself such a part of larger communities. I grew up in a small town and the only "big community" that I could say I was really a valuable member of was the high school choir, and mostly so because of my last name and the fact that my sisters and I were the towns famous singers. Then you leave your small town and realize that you're really not a part of much of anything.
Myspace, Facebook, Youtube: these online communities give our attention hungry generation more and more opportunities to feed. We become a part of the music, we can communicate with musicians and people we admire, we can show our support and love. Personally, I think that's important, to be able to feel close to people you look up to. When you feel disconnected from people you admire, the admiration becomes meaningless and whatever inspiration you would've gained is lost.
Has our need to be a part of these large communities created a loss of the sense of self? The loss of the ability to stand on our own without relying on others for comfort or validation could create a constant feeling of being alone and thus also fueling our need to create those relationships with our music. These moments that we make for ourselves with such resources as Myspace, Facebook, etc. makes us a part of these larger communities, and requires no self reliance. And although, as I previously stated, I encourage these great opportunities for people to express themselves and share it with the world, I also advocate our independence as a young generation fueled by creativity, education and exploration.
So let's define ourselves.

Making Money on Piracy

2008-12-10T12:50:00.000-08:00

http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/news/2008/03/music_levy

So how about it? Should we tack some more taxes on our already outrageous internet costs just for the 20% of America that can't keep their noses clean? Would it really save the industry, or even help it a little?
I'm not so sure. I think that file sharing has become such a significant piece of our society that it almost seems strange to think about dealing with the consequences for something that a lot of people don't even understand is wrong. And even the ones that do understand that it is wrong pump their fists and say "damn the man!" but turn around and want an industry job because it seems cool. Well the truth of the matter is people, musicians don't make money if the albums do not sell. Unless you're 50 cent and choose to slap your face on every endorsement that tickles your fancy, it is very tough to make a dollar from touring alone. Does anyone really fully comprehend the sheer expense that goes into touring? Everyone just seems take in the well lit stages, pyrotechnics, and band garb without considering how much is poured into that. And not only money but man hours. The extent of it all sometimes sets my head a spinning.
It is hard to put into perspective how simply burning a cd as opposed to "click to buy" has really hurt the industry, at least for myself it is. And I have an industry job, I have had to watch good friends lose their jobs and harmless holiday parties be canceled because no one wants to pay for a god damn CD. I'm guilty, my family is guilty, my friends are guilty and it's quite the internal battle of all hipocracies, to worry about the strength of my company but turn around and burn a CD. I will admit that I have never illegally downloaded a song in my life, I wouldn't even know where to find the torrents is someone asked me, but I have burned.
We have been saying for years now that someone somewhere has got to figure out a way to make money off the piracy or the industry will never survive. But is this really the right way to go about it? It's like in high school when no one could wear black just because some group of kids started a cult or hankerchiefs got banished because the elderly teachers thought it was all gang related. Whatever metaphor you want to use to help you understand, go for it, there is a million instances where this stuff happens. Other people paying for someone elses mistakes. That in itself is a piece of our culture.
An idea that had been discussed when I was in college was considering the labels working together with advertising companies that market to torrent sites. That to me, makes a bit more sense because at least you would be targeting your audience and you wouldn't be charging the public extra. Adveritising companies could chose to disclose their advertising opportunities on torrent sites and labels could choose to partner with them and take a small share if they felt it was a profitable opportunity. But the disclosure of torrents sites is another tricky venture. I think that labels have refused similar ideas because it would considered siding with the enemy. In order to keep afloat though, the idea could be revisted. Even still, it's a tough arguement because we know that those advertising companies do not only do advertising for torrent sites, so how do we disguish when a consumer is looking at the ad on Facebook or a torrent site? You can't make the people that use Facebook, but not torrents sites pay extra right?
The fact of the matter is that the people are going to pay, whether they're supposed to or not. That is, if this idea is put into action. Even if they are able to avoid charging every single cable viewer extra, they are still going to be higher costs somewhere. If labels want a piece of the advertising pie, then the ad costs will go up for the other companies purchasing ad space. If their costs go up, their product price goes up, and it'll all becomes a big trickle down affect. Or the ad costs could go up, and they could choose to just purchase less ads, thus leading to less exposure and less exposure would could potentially hurt their profits.
Which path to take. One has to be traveled, perhaps one that I haven't even seen or heard about yet. Perhaps one that has not been proposed yet. But the if the Music industry does not strive to push itself forward, then it will drown in this very spot it sits in, finger on the trigger and all the resources laying at it's feet.
Needless to say, this is the first someone good idea that's come about since CD sales really started falling in 2000. Let's hope that there is more brainstorming yet to come.

Our Culture

2008-12-05T09:29:00.000-08:00

12/5/08

So today I began a little bit of Grad school searching. Looking at all the specializations of some of the professors began to make my mind tick a bit.
It's amazing to think about all the different perspectives that can be taken when it comes to the analysis of culture. The word "culture" alone connates so much.
Now I know that the idea of American culture is a long discussed topic. People feel that we are all essentially immigrants and that there is nothing that truly defines us as a nationality.
Do American's really have a culture? It's a loaded question, I know, but if you seriously take a look around and try your best to take into perspective the level of which our beautiful 50 states have become the "melting pot" it is, where does the culture come from? All of us have our heritage, even though some like to deny it, and there is always those people that exclaim "we're all immigrants!". So where is our culture, what defines us as Americans. Is it the sex-driven pop scene? The frialators? The Ford Excursions? or the Dunkin' Donuts. How do we say "here is how I celebrate my culture" - by driving 80 on the highway in a truck sized for 8 carrying 1, bobbing your head to Britney's "Womanizer", sipping double shots of caffiene noisely through a obnoxious orange straw and chumping down on a microwaved meal on the go.
Makes me proud. But please disagree if you feel necessary, I would honestly love to be proven wrong so maybe I could start looking at our "culture" as something to take pride in instead of looking like some kind of eutopian, greed/sex driven mish-mashed experiment. Almost makes me think about a really awful school project I did when I was a freshman in highschool creating a "eutopia" and setting down your own basis of laws and such. It was all based on reading "The Lord of The Flies" and the idea of whether or not a Eutopia could exist at all. But I'm getting off the subject.
So what is American culture? Do we have culture? Can we call ourselves a cultured nationality? Can we even call ourselves a nationality at all?
And how does this culture, or lack there of, fuel our musical interests, our industry and our marketing tactics. Does a person consider their heritage while creeping up and down the aisles of Newbury Comics, or if you're not from around here, Wal-mart/Target/Best Buy. Does a consumer of Irish descent feel the need to celebrate his love for the color green, drinking heavily, and punching fists by picking up the latest Dropkick Murphys album and humming along on the way to the liqour store. How deep does the subconscious affect of our heritage go when it comes to our musical interests?
I feel like there is a big part of the me that can not sympathize considering that my knowledge of my heritage is limited. As far as I have been told in no particular organized fashion that my ancestors range from Cherokee Indian, to Welch, to Scottish, to Portuguese. I just don't know what is truth and what is not. Does my feeling of not have any ancestry affect how I relate to music that is based on a strong ancestry? Sometimes I feel it does, that I can't connect with an artist on that level and it leads me to not be as interested in their compositions.
The search will continue, and next time maybe I'll have some research to base my incoherent ramblings on. That should make my opinions a bit more viable. Or not.

An Introduction

2008-12-04T20:08:00.000-08:00

Hi Everyone, my name is Suzanne Cabot (you can call me Sue) and I am a "music enthusiast". What does that really mean? Maybe someday we'll dig into it. But just for today I would like to introduce myself to the world of blogging and you. I am 23 years old, graduated from UMass Lowell in June of 2007 with a BA in Music Business and an English Minor. I currently work for a relatively small record label, Rounder Records, in Massachusetts.
Now, like most people in college, even though I had decided that I was interested and enthusiastic when it came to the Music Industry I still did not know where to go from there. I seriously considered law school to become a big time entertainment lawyer. I created a business plan for a free music industry publication that would allow me to write as a career and feel like I was providing something useful to society. I thought about music therapy and concert promotion in conjunction with my part-time position with Aveda. I tossed around lots of ideas in my head. All I knew was that I wanted to be a part of the world, not living off it. Always learning, always growing and always pushing myself to think about things differently even if it seemed totally way of base.
After walking across the concert hall stage at UMass, I interned with Rounder in the Sales & Marketing department. The internship was pretty basic: promo mailings, formatting spreadsheets, posting tour dates on Rounder.com, and working on several other tedious yet very important projects. I learned a lot but mostly from conversations with the employees over lunch. After leaving my internship in September I continued working for Aveda and soon after picked up a temp position with Bose Corporation for their inbound call center. They hired about 150 temps just for the holiday season, pretty crazy, but met some pretty awesome people. After being laid off in January, Bose took me on for another temp position with the Computer Information Services department. Technically, the position was called a "Course Translation Administrator" which ultimately meant I executed the translation of the text for SAP courses. No, I don't speak other languages. Let's just say it involved a significant amount of copy and pasting. Unfortunately, the project that we had for worked months on, was canceled in mid April.
A week later I received an e-mail from the Sales and Marketing assistant at Rounder. During my time away I had kept in touch with Rounder, met up for lunch when I could, and made sure I let them know what I was up to. Just thought it was a good way to keep myself in the back of their mind, plus I enjoyed working with them and kind of considered them friends if anything.
Anyway, the Sales & Marketing assistant at the time informed me that she was inclined to look for employment elsewhere and that she had recommended me to the Executive VP for the position. I can't tell you the excitement I felt, I thought I would burst. So to make a long story short, I went through the interview process and was offered the position. I gladly accepted and have been happily (and quite clumsily) tripping my way through learning the music business from my Sales & Marketing post.
So why the blog you ask? Well, back to the paragraph I wrote previously about all the wonderful ideas I had about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Lately I have been wondering where to go next from my post at Rounder Records. Granted, I am not complete with this step in my journey, but what was to be my ultimate goal? I want to teach. I have become, how should I say it without sounding like a snot, slightly turned off from the business aspect of the music industry. I know, it doesn't seem to make sense, but I have never been the type of person to fight over the all mighty dollar. I work because I like to, well the bills need to get paid as well, but mostly it's because I like to. I wanted to be able to inspire myself and maybe some others while I'm at it. I didn't want to be chained to a desk but still have to be able to keep myself up to speed with the industry, while at the same time studying the past.
While meeting with my undergrad adviser from UMass, I tried to really pin down what my next steps should be for moving forward with my education and my career. I thought about being able to teach about the history of the Music Industry, how it started, where it's been, what was said and where it brought us today. How the past affects our future. He directed me to the American Studies program and pinpointed a couple of schools. This program would allow me to write, to teach, and to keep up with the changes in the music industry while still celebrating the past.
So still, why the blog? Because I love to write and I love to study the industry. I love to link the industry to society, note the marketing opportunities and see where some things succeed while others fail. How does the industry affect different generations and how do those generations affect the industry. How far has the industry come from where it began to here, holding the key to it's success (or failure). This is my idea of good time I must admit.
So I apologize for the long - winded life story, but I like for people to know that I am average and must say that my position at Rounder can almost be blamed on luck. I have aspirations just like most people and would like to be able to speak up about my opinions and observations concerning the industry that I am most passionate about. Feel free to play devil's advocate.