no fear

I have clinical depression. I've had kidney stones. I've had some of the most disturbing surgery recovery one can imagine. I've failed at my chosen career. I've had any variety of shocks to the system, and I'm here to tell you all that there is a bright side. Nothing scares me anymore. Or, as Berke Breathed says:

they come running just as fast as they can

One of the reasons (I like to tell people when they ask...not that they really take that much of an interest) I do the job I do is because there's no dress code. I don't like formal clothes...so I do my best to not wear them if possible. Where I work? Dressing up doesn't help me. In fact, the one semester I experimented with a blazer, it actually hurt my classes, as the students thought I was way too formal and wouldn't talk at all.

 Most people assume this is because I am incapable of effectively dressing up. That is not true at all. I actually own a very nice suit. Moreover, on the rare occasions I do dress up, I've also been told I accessorize and color match quite well. In other words, if I wanna, I can look good.

The issue? Most times, I just don't wanna. I dislike formalism. I dislike the idea that I have to put on a "hey, I'm an adult" uniform. I don't like artifice when it comes to identity. Moreover, I don't like having anything tight around my neck, so I hate ties. This also leads me to not like turtlenecks, but that more influences my ability to dress business casual/preppy than anything else.

Today, though, I found a suit I would dearly love to own. I like it so much, I would dearly love to change careers so I could wear said suit with greater frequency. What is this marvelous outfit? Why, it's the pictured Pac-Man suit. Tell me that ain't just awesomely cool. It would, however, have a fairly big drawback. Where would you actually wear it? I'm betting the bosses who would approve it as professional wear are few and far between. It's probably out for most weddings. Funerals? Also a no-go, I bet.

However, I make you this promise right now, as we speak. If any of you decide to buy this for me, I promise to invent situations to wear it.

Message me for my suit size, please.

stimulation

I like coffee. I mean, really like. Coffee is holy. I have reworked a number of classic quotes to be about coffee. "Black blood of the earth." "You mean coffee?" "I mean black blood of the earth." That one is my favorite, but I also enjoy "no pleasure, no sin, no exquisite rapture greater than coffee." So it is with great that I, as a result of both a decreased ability to process caffeine and on advice of my urologist that limit myself to a maximum of two cups a day. That make every single speck of coffee that much more special.

So you can imagine my feelings when, while doing dishes Monday, I accidentally broke my French Press. There was, for the record, much weeping and rending of garments. I thought I might try to go without coffee the next day, but within minutes of leaving the house, I found myself in the drive-through of a Tim Hortons. Of course, it took seven minutes to work through the refunding of my accidental overcharge before I could get on my way to work. Top this with my four year old in the back seat complaining that she "is gonna be late for class," and you can see why the day least to more anxiety than normal instead of gentle stimulation.

My AeroPress came in the next day. I've never used one of these before, so I poured over the instructions. Then I recalled hearing of the annual AeroPress recipe championships, so I looked them up online. Later that night I decided to check YouTube for tutorials. Next thing I know, an hour and a half of my mother, my father, and I watching coffee making videos and critiquing them had passed. It was stimulating I'm a completely unexpected way.

Not, however, as stimulating as the coffee the next morn.

you ever have that feeling...

...when you spend two and a half hours cooking a band new recipe like the red bean stew (which looks very promising), lovingly prep all the food, finish, serve, dish up, have your four year old take a bite only to say, "Daddy I don't like this," take a few bites yourself, and realized that your kid is right, and the dinner just ain't that good?

Yeah, me too.

time off

This week in class, some of my students were talking before class about how much they wish they could sleep in all day instead of having to work. One of them asked me if I agreed, and I told him the idea of spending all day in bed frankly scared me.

He looked puzzled, so I explained that with generating lesson plans for four new classes, grading, my band, my solo album, my therapy, my depression, and my family, I always seem to be massively behind. A full day in bed would just mean I wouldn't be able to sleep for a week if I wanted to get close to getting caught up. Moreover, this knowledge would mean I wouldn't be able to enjoy the day in bed anyway.

I think I might be a workaholic trapped in a lazy man's body.

friends and dreams

I've been thinking about distant friends lately. On my best days, I try keep the Harry Potter quote in mind: the ones we love never really leave us. Most of the time, believing this is fairly difficult, becoming more difficult every time another friend takes a job in another state,moves on, leaves me behind. But still I try, in spite of the houses turning from places where my friends live to the shadows of where they used to be.

The worst moments sneak up on you. The other day, my daughter was playing, and she picked up a boo one of our friends gave her. It was said friend's book as a child, and that she gave the book to my daughter was originally very touching. Since then, said friend has decided I'm the root of all that's wrong or something like that, and she has made it a point to act as if I don't exist. I usually put on a brave front and play along in the game of mutual disdain, but there are times--such as when I saw the dedication in the front of the book from an aunt to said friend as a child--where I can't help but dwell on what is lost. Then I remembered that the person in question won't have anything to do with me. Then I don't know what to think

Still, though, we always have dreams, and hopefully that is somewhere where everything can work out. Last night, I dreamt of running into a few scattered friends at a party. The one conversation I recalled upon awakening is of a friend showing me all the new items she had invented. Now, this person claims to be utterly uncreative. Moreover, she's not really a nuts & bolts person. Yet my dream friend had invented and manufactured any number of hand tools. I don't remember most of them with any specificity, but the last tool was some type of rivet gun which implanted decorative bolts and such directly into one's bones. After showing me the tool, she turned around and showed me the silver star studs affixed to the back of her skull. Now, I really don't think my friend will ever become an inventor, but if she did? I could see her dreaming up this project.

It's a shame, though, the good ones only happen in dreams.

mental occupation

I have, for reasons I'm not going to explore here, found myself on campus during the Monday of Spring Break. Of course, it's deserted, and I can't do half of what I need to do...because that's just the way life is.

So of course, I need to occupy my time. A colleague of mine started the year by putting inspirational quotes on his door. He promised to add a new one each week. So far, though, this has not happened. So I decided to compile some quotes and add them to his door for them. I hope he likes today's addition:

reassurance

I spent Tuesday in mental pain. But even though my brain doesn't work properly, I knew that I couldn't dwell in the mental pain. So yesterday and today, I did my best to push down the horrible twist in my gut and get to work.

I am happy to report that after two full days of research, I now have evidence to prove I am not actually the world's most suck-ass teacher. And, as a result, I feel relatively normal again.

Now to prepare myself for the forthcoming battle.

support

After all the trials this week, I'm happy that I have a family to support me. But they're my family, so the support is...different.

Earlier tonight, my daughter said, "I love you more than anything."

"Aw, I love you more than anything too."

"I even love you more than stinky fish!"

So I got that going for me, I guess.

ideals

After the hell of a birthday I had Tuesday, I've spent Wednesday with my kid...which helps a whole lot. I've spent most of my mental energy on trying to hold myself together, on mustering my strength, on funneling my rage/depression into researching my case and arming myself for a massive battle with the powers that be at my job. You know, fun stuff. Mostly, though, I've been looking for positives, for things that help, for any sliver of worth in myself or in the world.

While I was cooking dinner and waiting for a pot of soup to come to the boil, I picked up my library copy of the Harvey Pekar collection On the Fly. I've loved Pekar for quite some time. He brings humanity to everyone he depicts. While the soup simmered, I took the book with me to the couch. My daughter snuggled up to me, and I plowed though the rest of the stories. I went back to the introduction (previously skipped), which I noticed was written by author/television personality Anthony Bourdain. Near the end of the introduction, Bourdain says,

Harvey Pekar owned not just Cleveland but all those places in the American Heartland where people wake up every day, go to work, do the best they can--in spite of the vast and overwhelming forces that conspire to disappoint them--and try as best as possible to do right by the people around them, to attain that most difficult of "ideals": to be "good" people.

That is all I really think I'm trying to do...and I can't tell you how much reading this helped.

birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. Up until I got to work, it was going swell. Then it went wrong. I mean horribly wrong, cataclysmic level of awful. Black fog descending, light fading, depression monster honing this pointy claws. Bleak, hopelessness, pointlessness. I'm not gonna write here about the details, but trust me...there was a reason. This wasn't just a random fit.

So, to all the people who wished me happy birthday yesterday: thank-you ever so much. It was wonderful beyond belief to hear from you and was one of the few things which made me feel that I had any value at all as a human being. I can't tell you how much I needed to hear from you...and I'm sorry I won't have the chance to thank each of you individually and personally.

ignorance, fast food, and screen time

When I became a parent, I found myself hungry for advice. In an effort to stave the encroaching panic about my lack of fatherhood skills, I hunted down suggestions from every possible source. Me and my wife, for instance, purchased more than one of the books from the What to Expect When You're Expecting series. We scoured over them. Prior preparation prevents poor performance, right?

As it turned out, after about ten months, most of these books went by the wayside, never to be opened again. What was the issue? On one hand, since every child develops differently, the advice they contain requires so much interpretation, it's not funny. Worried your kid is slow learning to do something? Consult the book...only to find that while many children acquire the skill at this age, many others do so either earlier or later in their development cycle. It only takes a few of these instances to begin to see said books for what they are: the parental equivalent of junk food...nice every so often, but no substitute for actual food.

Lots of the advice also tends to be common sense stuff.  There is one important condition to this, however: the parent cannot be an idiot. Any section on proper nutrition works as a good example. If you need to be told not to feed your eight month old McDonald's hamburgers, no amount of outside advice is going to really help your parenting skills.

One bit of advice I saw more than once was to make sure you limit your child's screen time. Watching too much television, the books claim, can hinder emotional and mental development, thus possibly turning your child into a slithering moron. No more than three hours per day, many of them recommend. Others suggested one hour as a maximum. Still others said no television at all. Of course, they also suggested that you move out to a grassland and become a homesteader, gathering your own food from the surrounding wilderness...so take that as you will.

On one hand, I can kind of understand this advice. There is a lot of junk on television...you know, the visual equivalent of that McDonald's hamburger. After all, no one on Earth needs to be exposed to any more Barney or Calliou than absolutely necessary. However, I trained as a media scholar, and as a result, I'm innately suspicious of any claim about the medium overall. It reminds me of those academics who brag that they don't even own a television. I suspect it's more an issue of perceived class than a matter of actual science.

So, with our child, we don't put too many limits on screen time. We try to encourage good shows, and  we try to help her find stuff with some value. That, however, is about it. I feel that my daughter still watches an awful lot of garbage. My wife says I only think this stuff because I'm a bitter person. She also says that I need to let my standards go and remember that it's only kid's programming. Of course I disagree. For example, why on Earth would the Bubble Guppies, who live under water, be flying on an airplane? Of course this drives me crazy, so of course, this is a stupid show.

The thing is, my wife might (shudder) very well be right...because my daughter does seem to become a whole lot smarter as a result of the television shows she watches.

On Wednesday, we were (after a heavy morning of playing and artwork), vegetating and watching television. Well, my daughter was watching while I was playing gin rummy on my phone. She had on something I'd rather ignore, so I was ignoring it. The show must've been something about space, because she said to me, "Daddy, is that true? Is the Earth really a big ball?"

"Yes it is, darling."

"...and if we jumped up and down really hard, could we make the Earth bounce around the room?"

She had my attention. "No, honey. The Earth is really big. It would take a whole lot to move it. You'd have to be a really big giant to have any effect at all."

She thought it over. "A really big giant? Would it work if you were a proboscis monkey?"

And this is why I'm completely rethinking my relationship with media...and, for that matter, with fast food.

crushing expectations

The coolest thing about being allowed to teach a poetry class is to be able to move away from the sleepwalk/recycle mode that I've been in with my other classes. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I don't care about my other classes. However, I have a slate of four different classes I teach, and I've been doing them for over a decade, so they are definitely not surprising me in any way. Moreover, I have them down to where they work, and if they're working, why change? So they require very little creativity on my part.

My poetry class, though? I'm having to think out of the box every time I plan anything. Very little from my previous classes transfers. And while this does mean I have to work a lot harder than normal, it also means that I can be creative...which is something the other classes do not require.

Last Thursday, for instance, we were covering comedy and satire poetry. We got into a discussion of how comedy is contextual, and I started talking about the international versions of "what is funny." I told them some Romanian jokes as an example of black humor. We discussed how lots of British humor seems based on discomfort. I then mentioned Canadian humor, but for some reason, none of my students had never experienced any Canadian comedy. Since we're only two hours away from the border, this confused me. One person asked for an example, so, in a fit of inspiration, I showed them this:



This, my dear readers, is why I love my job so much.

the best thing you will see today, 2/27/16

One of the best things about the interwub is that if you search long enough and are very lucky, you can find the coolest things. For instance, I just found an article (with a video clip) about a sketch on the Richard Pryor Show which had Pryor as a bartender in a Star Wars bar.

You're welcome.

what is and how things should be

A couple of weeks ago, my favorite diner had a fire. It was pretty badly damaged and will have to be gutted and reconstructed. Luckily, my wife and I ate there a few days before, but it seems that ever since, I've had at least four instances of, "Man, I really want to go to the Corner Grill tonight." And ,of course, that's something I can't now do. Sometimes, that's just how life is.

One of the bartenders at my favorite bar loves my favorite diner as much as do I, so by the end of the week of the fire, she had already started planning a benefit show for the diner's employees. I contacted her as soon as I heard and volunteered my services. As much as I miss their food, I also miss the people. Everyone who works at the Grill is awesome. They made my daughter her first hamburger and her first pancake...and most of the times we go, she gets either a chocolate chip smiley face on her pancake, or the cook makes the pancake into a special design (several past favorites have included pancake as cat and pancake as snowman). My daughter has a special relationship with their evening guy, Steve (aka Kilt guy), and they banter regularly. So of course I wanted to help these people. That is how life should work...we should at least take care of our own.

So I was scheduled to play the benefit, which was great. I don't have the next generation of my band ready yet, so I was playing as an acoustic act...just me, six strings, and a kazoo. Of course, I get scheduled to go right after a really heavy, grungy area band. Furthermore, I couldn't get anyone to play with me (my trombonist couldn't get off work), so I'd be facing a crowd of people who just had their ears blasted, and I'd be doing so alone. Further furthermore, no one I knew was able to come and support me. I try to be optimistic (really, I do), but I had grandiose visions of the room clearing before I got to the first chorus of the first song...because sometimes, that's just how life goes.

So after the very cool Casket Company plays and breaks down their massive amplifiers, I mount the stage with acoustic and kazoo. I start playing, and rather than fleeing, most of the crowd stays. I get applause. I get "woos." My Miley Cyrus cover gets a good wave of claps...and in general, it was one of the best received solo performances I've done. After I get off the stage, a few people go out of their way to thank me and to tell me they liked my stuff. That's how my life goes when get really, really lucky.

After my set, I got a chance to hang out with the very cool Dick Pretzel, who was MCing the event. Dick is a stand-up comedian who's been a fan of my music from several bands, and it was great to see a friendly face. I talked to a few of the Corner Grill staff and owner. I had some magnificent vegetarian gumbo. I heard some great tunes. I got to talk to the amazing Justin Payne and hear his set. Sometimes, life can just be good.

While I loved being out, I was beginning to miss my family...so I decided to head home. Only problem was that my car had been towed. It was parked in the same lot I'd been using throughout the last six years of playing at the bar. Apparently someone different than the bar now owns the back 30 feet of the lot, and they just decided to start towing people. So I had to get a ride and pay $100 dollars to get my own car back. Sometimes, that's just how life is.

Slice of life, 2/22/15

So me and my girl were leaving the grocery store, and she was yelling, dancing, and generally aging strange...business as usual, in other words. We got to our car, and we had to wait for the person in the next car to get out. The woman exiting the passenger side saw Sylvia and said, "it looks like someone is a singer."

"And a dancer," my daughter added.

I offered my take: "Or maybe you're just crazy."

"No. I am an artist," my daughter said as she climbed into her seat...and I had to remind myself she's only four and a half..

my Onion Horoscope, 2/12

"Remember: Spring is a time of renewal and rebirth. Barricade the door to your goddamn basement before it arrives"

chew on this

Last night, I had a dream that I was on some college campus, beset by some vague difficulty (it was vague in the dream). As I was trying to solve whatever was going on, I started to chew some gum. Then I tried to spit out some of said gum, but a certain portion of it stuck in my mouth. I spent the rest of the dream torn between solving whatever problem and prying the gum out of my mouth, bit by bit.

While the bit about being on some campus was relatively new, I have actually dreamed about the stubborn gum...about a month ago, I think. But I am no stranger to recurring dreams. As a kid, I used to dream about driving (and sometimes walking) across giant bridges suspended impossibly high over a river-divided city...only about half of the time, significant portions of the bridges in question would crumble or, even worse, be missing altogether. And I have been dreaming of being back at Little Caesars for well over a decade.

The literary part of my mind wonders what the gum dream could mean. I've read my Freud, but this one seems to be beyond Freudian interpretation. At any rate, I'm sure that Freudian dream analysis has probably been proven obsolete by the psychology community...knowing my luck, that is.

Maybe I'll ask my therapist. He'll probably tell me dreams are random brain misfires. But who knows? He has, during our last few sessions, said that pessimists have a more accurate view of reality, come to the defense of escapism, and used a Terminator 2 metaphor. Maybe he'll surprise me again.

My personal future with the gum industry depends on it.

pickles in the morning

Mornings do strange things to us DuBoses. Today? My daughter's first words upon waking: "Daddy? You're a pickle bow. That means you are really good at eating pickles. Hey, wanna hear a joke? Why did the pickle cross the road? To get to the other coffee! You can tell that to your students if you wanna."

weighty issues

Lately, I've lost a bit of weight. I knew I wanted to shed some tonnage for a while, but when I felt my head was good enough to not require 100% of my work, I changed my diet.  I had some thoughts about how to do so (I mean, I had already cut out meat and alcohol), but I decided to eliminate most sugar from my diet after watching this:




This had an interesting level of difficulty. When you start to become cognizant of sugar's omnipresence, grocery shopping changes. I can now only buy product from like 7% of the store. I went full-bore no sugar for the first couple of weeks before I added the occasional fruit back into my system. Even then, I stayed with low sugar (grapefruit, berries) or glucose-centric fruit (bananas, mostly). And whenever I had a craving for...pretty much anything, really, I went to nuts. Peanuts, cashews, and the like became my go-to food.

The results have been really startling so far. I started all of this sometime in the Fall (probably September), and now, I'm down about two and a half stone. I have had to buy smaller jeans, and I've moved up four notches on my belt.

The weirdest thing, though? When people point out that I've lost weight, they tell me "you look good." I respond with, "I always looked good." But really, did no one want to tell me that was I that much of a bloated whale carcass before?  Look, I think I feel better, but that everyone else is now able to look at me? Weird. If I ever break the 200 barrier, I might have to become a model!

ps: I am firmly aware that women have to put up with this kind of crap all the time, and that me having never heard such comments before is due to my male privilege. As much as the sudden focus on my attractiveness strikes me, I am also just adjusting to having people look at me. Weird.

anecdotal evidence on genetics versus learned behavior

One of the coolest things about having a child is getting a chance to do some good first-hand science. After all, you have someone who comes out with only limited influences. What will lead to the subject's new behavior? It's a common question.I particularly love using my child to play out the environment versus genetics debate, and this is where I learned today's important lesson.

I saw a pretty cool article on Buzzfeed about Lego finally introducing a minifigure in a wheelchair. As a social justice warrior, I found this to be overwhelmingly positive, but I didn't want to make assumptions about the future generation. So I showed the picture to my kid. She looked at it and said, "Cool! But you know what's really cool? That one there pushing a lawnmower! Can we get these? Please?"

Now...I am perfectly aware that I might have influenced her lack of surprise when it comes to the physically disabled minifig. But I can most certainly guarantee you that I in no way would ever suggest that mowing the lawn was anything other than agonizing hell. In fact, I have no idea where she might've received a positive feeling towards lawn maintenance.

So, there you are. Science.

so I asked my daughter a question

...and, after she told me where my missing slipper was, she said, "I told you I know everything. I saw it with my bat vision."

This is the next generation. You're welcome, humanity.

epiphanies

I'm teaching two sections of a new (to me) class this semester. When they originally (and fairly at the last minute) threw me into Reading Poetry, I was scared. Not only was it fairly short notice on a class I had never taught class before, I had never actually taught poetry at all. Moreover, as it was a more advanced class than I normally teach, I knew I needed to do a good job. After deciding on a text and entering the initial planning stage, though, the fear turned to excitement. This was gonna be fun.

Of course, that excitement doesn't preclude more fear. I had vast plans this weekend to get my week's lesson plans knocked out early. However, I then got sick and spent most of the weekend scrunched up under a blankie. Today, I had to definitely get the Tuesday class lesson plan done, lingering exhaustion or no.  So I plowed through the material, and guess what? The panic returned.

The problem is that all poetry texts start off with the "how to analyze poetry" sections, and said sections are always the stuff like "all about imagery" or "figures of speech." This has always bored me. I understand the concept of introducing basic terminology, but the implied resulting action pushes poetry towards taxonomy. As an example, one of the poems in tomorrow's reading actually had a discussion question which asked students to circle all verbs and tie them into symbolism. Blech.

This kind of ruins the fun of poetry in my mind. It would be like thinking one could understand all the foibles of humanity by studying anatomy/physiology. One would gain a certain amount of knowledge, but it would be relatively pointless knowledge, suitable for no more than some contemporary card catalog of terminology...and that ain't poetry.

I was slogging through the readings for the second time, though, when it finally hit me. I heard the kettle drums of my psyche pounding. The fluorescents in my study somehow narrowed to a pinhole spot aimed directly at my cerebellum. Choirs of angels (who mysteriously rang out in a voice reminiscent more of Ronnie James Dio verse than of a Handel refrain) chanted. I knew how to tie it all together. The answer? Film director Edgar Wright.

I'd tell you more, but I, in the spirit of a good poetry reading, am more interested in your interpretation than any literal truth.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1) Please identify all uses of irony, simile, metaphor, hyperbole, paradox, and any other figure of speech and spell out the role of these devices in explicating the "epiphanies" mentioned in the title.
2) How would other poets have tackled the same issue? How is their particular use of tone different than in this piece?

just to clarify

It's been one of those weekends. While I could go on in depth on my feelings and attitudes towards said weekend, I just wanted, rather than addressing some specific points, to add some more general clarifying information. Pick and choose whichever is most applicable to you personally.

• Even though some might deride the current crop of "kids" as whiners, the best way to make one's point is not by suggesting they be more often required to kill people. Just a thought, but constant warfare generally might not be a great thing.
• Colleges? If you truly value active learning, you might want to not schedule 2 1/2 hour college classes for Friday afternoons.
• You might possibly be more able to maintain an even mental keel if you quit hunting for people who tick you off so you can let them know you think they are stupid/evil/whatever. Being an evangelical anti-idiot is still being evangelical (in the worst possible way).
• A company refusing to label their product as halal is not a victory in the war on terrorism any more than a company refusing the kosher label for their hot dogs makes said wiener makers anti-Semites.
• I'm not being reclusive or paranoid, honestly, and I don't truly believe there's causality at work. I just seem to get sick whenever the taiko ensemble plays my local dive bar. Someone needs to figure this one out.
• We all know the college textbook industry is evil. It seems college bookstores are complicit in said evil. They are the major pains in my pedagogical backside right now.

Okay, that's enough for now. I gotta get back to work so I can get out of debt, eventually buy a house, and tell kids to get off my lawn

day one from the trenches

Today is day one of the new semester. It's still too early to tell, but I think this will be a fun one.

I had my teaching schedule changed pretty late in the game. Normally, this is a bummer, but this time, I lost two sections of College Composition One and had them replaced with two sections of Reading Poetry. Usually, I'm stuck with the "welcome to college" writing classes or the tech/business writing classes. I do the best I can with them (I've even made the business/tech classes interesting to me...which was an accomplishment, because I found "here's how to write a resume" unbelievably dull). They are not, however, what I pictured myself doing with my life. The poetry classes? Those are fresh, exciting, and fun. I get to feel like a professional, like the kind of teacher I went to college for twelve plus years to become. I've only had literature classes twice before, but each time, they were marvelous. The last fiction class was by far the best time I've had teaching in my life. Don't know if this semester will go that well, but I have hopes.

One of the reasons I have hope? In class discussions today, we agreed that out of all the characters in the Star Wars series, Kylo Ren would be the most likely to be a poet. He is, they agreed, just emo enough to pull off the tortured coffee shop writer bit. I love it when my students are creatively funny.

After my last class, I saw a bunch of students who haven't yet got the textbook taking photos of our next class's reading from those students who already have it. It's the first time I've seen this happen, so I'm particularly impressed with their problem solving.

Let's hope the trend continues

the big time

I guess I must've hit some level of the big time. I just got hacked! Passwords are changed and all, so we're all fine here, but don't open the link in the post earlier today (if you in fact saw it).

I hope this fulfilled some inner desire/ brings some peace to whomever hacked my account...or maybe gives them motivation to do something with their lives.

the latest judgement on my character

My daughter has an issue with never wanting to go to bed. Tonight, after telling me she had been taking an eye injury to stay up, she then asked me to put one of her programs on TV. As a reasonable father, I pointed out that it was already an hour and a half past her bed time. She looked me in the eye and said, "you're as mean as a bulldog."

Of course, not two minutes later, she gave me a very chipper "I love you!" So who knows?

on the other side

The song of the season says, "May all acquaintances be forgot and never brought to mind." That, however, ain't my life. In fact, I seem to have ended up on the opposite side of the equation.

I used to go gallivanting on the 31st. This year? I spent New Years Eve sitting on the couch by myself  (as my daughter was, as per usual, fighting against her mother over the topics of bedtime and sleep). I was watching a documentary as the ball dropped...in fact, I didn't even think of the magic moment until about a quarter of an hour too late. This is, incidentally, much the same thing I did the year before (although, to be fair, I have no real idea what I was watching on 12/31/14).

Does everything (as another song says) really change on New Year's Day? Not for me. The wife and kiddo are visiting my in-laws while I'm prepping classes for next semester. The one person who I could think to call for lunch was too tired to leave his chair. I'm really less ringing out the old or in the new than continuing the same old slog.

I don't want to turn this into a pity party, though. I have plenty of friends...they just seem to live somewhere other than here. The ones still in the area are the ones with wacky schedules which never seem to coincide with mine. I don't quite know how this happened. Some time shortly after my daughter was born, I found it harder and harder to find anyone who wanted to hang out with me, even after doing everything possible to make myself a nicer and more friendly person. Still, the level of social connections just kept decreasing...and, several years later, I still can't seem to reverse the trend.

In one of my songs off the forthcoming album, I have a line that says: "don't wanna be here and still disappear...a social Schrodinger's thing." It's one of my favorite lyrics from the new album, but I gotta admit that it hits a little too close to home. Somehow, I've turned into a social afterthought, and I have no clue how this happened. I have a great life with my family, at work, and playing music. Outside of those, however, there's not much left. Most of the time, I deal with this just fine. Other days? It bothers me...but that's something me and my therapist will just have to keep working on.

Enjoy your 2016, everyone, but remember: more important than flipping over the calendar is finding and holding on to those around you. We're all social animals...even those of us who aren't currently finding much success pulling it off.

stringing together this year's notes

I still get nervous before shows. It's not horrific or anything, and it's certainly not close to being called stage fright. It is, however, still there. My stomach feels a little funny, and once I get to the venue, I have problems talking to people. So I have to apply a laser-like focus to getting set up and mentally prepared (which I hope doesn't come off as jerkish). The second I hit the stage, though, and break into the first chord, I'm generally okay, fine, wonderful even. Everything else is downhill.

I played an emergency gig last night at The Stone's Throw. They have the best open mic night in the area (The Hump Day Revue), so whenever I feel the need to break in a song, blow off some steam, or just get back on the stage, they're my go-to spot. I got there early enough to hear the host break into a Buddy Holly song. Grabbed my pre-show Guinness and grabbed a seat, only to see that the second act was a friend (and the singer for my old band The Black Swamp Rats). I went to set up my merchandise suitcase just as my friend went into "Demons," my favorite song of his (from his band Kitty Glitter).

Then it was my time to hit the stage. It was a strange night in that the bar was packed...but it was mostly middle-aged adults and beyond, plus a couple of families doing a late dinner. Because of the families, I didn't think it would be right to do my newest Christmas song ("Consenting Elves," about partying elves at the North Pole and sexual consent), but I did do "I Don't Wanna Be Depressed This X-Mas." I had to do one of my holiday songs, as I now can't do them until after next Thanksgiving. I also did an acoustic cover of Motorhead's "Overkill" (RIP Lemmy)...which was probably the first time anyone anywhere has ever thrown a kazoo solo into a Motorhead cover. I got six songs total, and then I packed up to make room for a ukulele trio. Really.

It has been an interesting year for my music. I had a great run with one version of my backing band The Antidepressants, which included a festival gig. Then the drummer dropped out, the bass player moved to drums, his neighbor came in on bass, and several more gigs (including another festival). Then that drummer bought an RV and left to drive across the country with his girlfriend.

Solo-wise, I started the year determined to break into new markets. I got a gig at a farmer's market in Michigan. The first one was rainy and sparsely attended, but it was still fun. When I pulled up for my second date, I found out they had double-booked the show...so I turned around and fumed on my two hour drive back home. I also booked a bunch of shows with a new venue in Michigan. I played the first show with my trombonist and had a good time (even though no one was there). Then the rest of the shows were cancelled on me. I still had my Bowling Green and Toledo venues, however. Partway through the year, though, the Toledo booking company went out of business, not even allowing me to finish out my last scheduled date. None of this was exactly good for the soul, but luckily, I still have Bowling Green. Still gotta expand, though.

My alt-country band Midwest Tourist started the year with a bang. We played an early January show (videos of the whole thing!) with a dear friend and songwriting inspiration Micah Schnabel. We played a February show where I moved over to electric guitar (and briefly changed the genre of the band). In March, we did a Couch-By-Couchwest video (in which I wore a funny hat). Then we just kind of stopped. We were going to record an album, and we got started. Then we were interrupted by band personnel turmoil. We got close to recovering from losing a member, and then said member rejoined the band on a limited practice schedule. Now it's been months since our last rehearsal, and there's no telling if, when, or where we will play again. Welcome to the holding pattern.

I had plans to record and release a decent amount of stuff this year. I announced 2015 album project number one. It stalled. I announced a Christmas single. It never happened. I announced album project number two, which I'm doing all by myself. It's going fine, but I had my computer die on me right when I had budgeted recording time. Tomorrow, I get back to it. It's gonna be great (I'm already getting much better quality than on the last disk). It's just not gonna be a 2015 release. Better late and great than never, I guess.

So I've had a lot of strange feelings towards my music career this year. I've lost gigs instead of gaining them. I've lost one band and seen the other one effectively mothballed. I've seen music projects pushed and pushed. On the other hand, I finally did get to hear my music played with a full band. I am still writing new material, and it is getting better with each song. And when I do get on stage, it is glorious.

I was thinking of all this as I packed up my gear last night. Then someone came up to buy a cd from me, and my spirits lifted. I sat down to talk to a former boss and her husband (who was also one of my professors), and they told me I sounded great. I got to talk to my former band member for the first time in ages. The Hump Day host thanked and complemented me about five times. I talked to the mighty Mechanical Cat, who told me he's seen real growth in my performances...before going on to buy a shirt. As I was packing up my shirts and albums, Mechanical Cat told me I had the best merchandise suitcase ever. Then I discovered five bucks in my tip jar. By the time I was loading up my car, thinking about everything just made me laugh out of joy.

It's been an up and down year, but ultimately, I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing...because nothing makes me feel better. I've got big plans for next year (at least one album, more festival and other gigs, a new cover band so I can make money, a new version of The Antidepressants)...but there's plenty of time to let that all unwind.

today's reason i wish i was rich

If I had stupid money? Enough to spend truly frivolously? I would commission a study to measure the accuracy to Netflix's recommendation algorithms. "Because you watched 30 Rock, you might like Broadchurch?" Really??

taking stock

Some time this morning (whilst my kiddo was no doubt playing with one of her awesome new My Little Pony toys), my wife looked at me and said, "I'm so glad you're in a much better place than this time last year."

This took me aback a little. "Was I in a bad mood last Christmas?" I honestly couldn't remember.

"All I can remember is that you seemed to be mad at me."

This took a moment's contemplation before it hit me. "Ah. It must've been the gout, followed by the kidney stones, which all meant I was behind for months, panicking."

"Well, that's not the only thing. Getting your meds adjusted and therapy. But I think it was mostly getting your meds fixed."

She's not wrong. There have been plenty of complications. I wasn't expecting to have my Buick explode...but it did, and the car payment and the insurance bump are just unavoidable realities. I was expecting my music career to go better, and it was for a while...but then my solo band broke up, my alt-country band has pretty much ground to a halt, and my full schedule blew up for reasons which are still unclear.

Yet in spite of these, I persevere and actually do okay...for the most part. And I have even have optimism for the forthcoming year (upcoming classes in poetry instead of only "welcome to college" classes, a cover band which should also morph into a backing band, and another album in progress and coming along nicely). I feel it would be unwise to dwell on such things, though. Better to manage expectations.

Survival is a laudable goal, no?

thoughts during several arguments lately

"What are we? The PC police?"

I've heard this phrase bandied about lately. It irks me.

"If you can't handle it, you should just shut up and get out."

I am not afraid of anyone having a strong opinion. I am, however, worried about misplaced priorities.

"We don't need guidelines to stop offending people. What are we? In middle school?"

I know the chances of my words really affecting any change are not great. And I know this is something which shouldn't need saying. Yet I feel compelled, so here goes...

Being afraid of political correctness? That's really just you saying "My right to be offensive is more important than your right not to be offended." And if you really feel this way? This means your priorities in life are really messed up.

on semester's end

There are plenty of ways for teachers to think romantically about their chosen profession. We don't get paid all that much...this is basically social work for the overeducated...so the rewards have to come from elsewhere.  Our ultimate dream is to, years from now, have former students tell us that our course changed their lives.

This has happened to me a few times, and it always knocks me out. However, if I'm to be honest, it doesn't happen all that much. Part of it is the nature of my position. When people are successes, they tend not to really think about the person who taught their "welcome to college" classes as major influences. It took a while, but I'm actually okay with my job's main feedback being either delayed or absent. It is, after all, my mission to plant seeds which, if they bloom, rise up sometime in the future...so I gotta be okay dealing with very little immediate gratitude for doing my job.

Still, though, it would be nice...and because of this (and something relatively perverse in my nature), I still tend to do the post-semester tally after my last class. This semester, one "happy holidays" and one "you have a nice semester too." But that's okay. Good work is its own reward. Right?

Right?

black humor, parent style

As I have a kid, I watch a decent amount of kid's programing. Some of it (such as Octonauts or My Little Pony) are quite awesome. Others are...much less awesome. And it seems that the worse the show, the worse my tolerance.

When faced with the worst shows, my only real coping mechanism is bleak humor. I don't really have a good outlet for this humor, though. Additionally, I could also (much like most parents) use extra cash.

I just, however, figured out how to solve both problems. I will start a series of bleak versions of kid's shows, such as:

The last episode of Doc McStuffins. Doc, on the cusp of becoming a teenager and losing her ability to talk to toys, faces the ghost of every toy she couldn't save.

Calliou's parents finally break the news to their son that his cancer is no longer in remission.

Jake and the Neverland Pirates enter adolescence, start experimenting with pixie dust, and get mortally wounded by pirate/pusher Captain Hook.

Daniel of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood realizes he's a carnivore and eats everyone at his daycare.

Swiper gets tired of trying to rob Dora the Explorer and just decides to shank her.

The Teletubbies have a bad trip.

The gang on Little Einsteins crash their ship in the Andes and have to resort to cannibalism.

I think many parents would appreciate seeing these. Go out and find me some backers!

it's getting rough in here

We're still several days away from Thanksgiving, and I have been accused of being a "humbug" for the first time of the year. Record timing on my part, sure, but it does show the extent of what I'm up against in this place.

album update 11/22

So, how's my new album coming?

I had yesterday to record, which is good. I got all of my vocal overdubs for my album done, which is also good. Moreover, I refined my recording technique, so the vocals sound better than ever...which is essential for anyone with a voice like mine.

However, the recording spirits are nothing if not fickle. When trying to install some effects plug-ins (so I might better manipulate my recordings), I also got some malware on my computer. The act of removing said malware somehow disabled my computer's ability to connect to the internet. Then, as I was mixing in the overdubs, I realized they sounded so good, they made it clear that I now have to totally rerecord several songs worth of vocals. No problem, right, as I have all of today to record...except my sinuses have started acting up and my throat is getting sore, so no singing today. Sigh.

It will all be worth it in the end, though. I'm getting really good guitar and vocal sounds, so I will be able to keep the song arrangements relatively spanrse  (at least as compared to Skeleton Coast's kitchen sink approach) while also having it sound very full. The drums sound great, and I had a blast indulging my percussive quirks...not to mention I have a magnificent bassist recording tracks for the album.

One of the best things about doing a DIY project and being one's own producer is the ability to fully commit to the "there's no reason not to do everything right" dictum. I should be ready to release the album by January, and I think you will like it.

Stay tuned.

more things to think about

If you read a plea to think, you know I've been thinking about the whole ISIS situation. You also know I feel it's more complex than people believe. Here's some further readings:

• I Was Held Hostage by ISIS presents a good inside look at the terrorist group. They come off less as malevolent evildoers and more like angsty teenagers desperately searching for something in which to believe.
• How Islamic is the Islamic State? largely undermines the notion of the terrorists as fanatical ideologues. The author writes: "Religion plays little, if any, role in the radicalisation process...It is an excuse, rather than a reason. ISIS is as much the product of political repression, organised crime and a marriage of convenience with secular, power-hungry Ba’athists as it is the result of a perversion of Islamic beliefs and practices."
• ISIS Has Studied the Past Successes of Terrorism All Too Well undoes the idea of a real distinction between terrorists and legitimate methods of social change. Terrorism, the author argues, often works quite well as a means to achieve political goals: "neither Sinn Féin, the IRA’s long‑denied legal political wing, nor Hezbollah could ever have acquired the power, influence and status they enjoy today if not for their terrorist antecedents...while governments regularly decry terrorism as ineffective, the terrorists themselves have an abiding faith in their violence, and for good reason"
• What Americans Thought of Jewish Refugees on the Eve of World War II points out some fairly frightening parallels with the anti-Syrian refugee movement. "[M]ost Western countries regarded the plight of Jewish refugees with skepticism or unveiled bigotry (and sympathy followed only wider knowledge of the monstrous slaughters of the Holocaust)." Hopefully, we won't follow the same path.

Okay, next time, I'm moving on to other things (my album, existential philosophy, or new recipes).

my Onion horoscope, 11/17/15

"Remember, people like you for who you are: an incredibly insecure person willing to do almost anything for acceptance."

Get out of my head, Onion!

a plea to think

"Just remember...there are reasons"-- Spider Jerusalem

It was a difficult weekend. Like many, I spent a lot of time checking the news feeds for updates on the Paris shootings/bombings. I spent a whole lot of time thinking about meaning. Mostly, though, I spent a lot of time being scared.

I am not afraid, for the record, of the terrorists. This is not, for the record, naivety on my part but a conscious choice. They are scary, yes, but if you're actively afraid, you're helping them achieve their goals of terrorizing. And living in fear never ends well.

To tell the truth, I actually find many common reactions to Paris to be scarier than the terror. I saw way too many people who allowed the killing to in turn make them equally frightening and bloodthirsty. Almost as if to consciously prove the "violence begets violence" adage, cries of "wipe these people/religion off the face of the earth" flooded the internet. Even politicians got in the act, ranging from Senator Ted Cruz saying we had to be okay killing more civilians to former Governor Jeb Bush proposing only helping Christians. Personally, I have doubts that being more narrow-minded will solve much.

It is true that I did see a lot of good, including various French groups offering their help, their support, and their houses. And it was obvious from just a glance that the general tragedy certainly touched many people in social media, when before too long, French flags started showing up on Facebook.

It was at that point I started to notice something else scary. There was a ton of sympathy for France. Just a day before, though, Lebanon had been hit by similar terrorist attacks...yet they got no sympathetic outpourings. Where were the cries for Russia after an ISIS bomb took down a commercial airline flight? Where, for that matter, was the outrage over any other recent act of violence, no matter what group was at fault?

Why did we all latch onto the Paris tragedy? Is it because they're European? White? More like us than any of the previous victims of recent violence? Was it because we don't expect bloodshed in France like we do in other places? Why are we so hurt by unexpected violence yet immune and numb to violence where it is a fact of existence? And if this is the case, how screwed up are we as a species when we can actually not care about people in a specific place getting hurt because they're always getting hurt? These questions had special importance, because the bad behavior of only caring about the French victims? I first saw it in myself.

Maybe it's naivety on my part, but I feel that shortsightedness is not only a problem on the part of the terrorists. We're equally guilty. A seemingly senseless act occurred, so how did we react? Simplistically, with either a "kill 'em all"/blood-centric approach or existential "why do bad things happen" angst. Neither of these will solve anything.

There are reasons. And if we want to avoid tragedies, the first step has to be to find those reasons so we may address them. This requires analysis, though, and one of the prime rules of analysis (as I tell my students with some frequency) is that base assumptions such as "they must be insane/ignorant/stupid/bloodthirsty are pointless, as they tell us nothing.

We have to be willing to see other perspectives...even those of the people who are trying to kill us. To that end, I present two must-reads, What I Learned From Interviewing Imprisoned ISIS Fighters and Confessions of an ISIS. If you take nothing else from them, just realize that the situation has no simple truths. It would be easier to go by our stereotypes, but if anything is to ever change, we have to learn just how complex the world can get. It's hard knowledge, to be sure, but it's the only viable first step.

my favorite bit of praise

Today was my daughter's picture day at preschool, so I got to take her there three hours earlier than normal so she wouldn't miss the photo shoot. Knowing how much I utterly love mornings, this was a bit of a burden. However, I did get to have her rest in my arms for a while, and that's one of my favorite things in the world...so that eased the pain a little. But the part about the early day which made me feel the best? As we pulled up to daycare, my kid (totally unsolicited, mind you) told me, "Daddy, I like your head."

The rest of you could learn something from my girl.

on a university walkabout

Every so often, I get antsy at work and get overwhelmed by the desire to wander around campus. I never actually do this, though, because my schedule is usually kinda packed on work days. Today, however, I got to be on campus three hours early, so my time today is more fluid. I wanted to pick up some books on existentialism at the library and I had time to kill, so out the door I went.

This was, ultimately, a mistake.

If you haven't been to a university library lately and feel the need to murder any nostalgic feelings you might still have for the institution, you really should make a special trip. Floors one and two of my university library are now utterly devoid of any books, magazines, catalogs, or journals. Here, the spaces are called "the information commons." What this means in practice is that they have wifi and a bunch of close-to-obselete computers. I guess this is cheaper to run than hiring librarians and actually doing, you know, library stuff. The upper floors do have some books, but they are in an utterly lovely environment which includes stained carpet and a significant supply of dank.

I walked through the food court on my way back to my office. It was at least a new experience. Before today, I'm not sure I ever completely appreciated the scent of artificial flavor.

Captain Willard ultimately got this one right: "Never leave the boat."

philosophical states

It was about two weeks ago when we made a grand breakthrough in therapy. The day had already started weirdly, when an auto repair place offered to fix my car for free (why? Were they perhaps fans of my music? Doubtful, as I remember all 20 people who've bought my album). After describing the latest pseudo-tragedy in my life, I found myself saying, "I bet it would be much easier to cope with this kind of stuff if I believed in any sort of order or justice in the world. That would probably be nice."

My therapist, asking the natural question: "Don't you believe in anything?"

"Well, at one point in my life, I believed in my skills, and I believed they would be enough to pull me through...but getting rejected over 500 times on the job market kind of beat that out of me."

My therapist, after taking a breath: "Well, we're swaying into the realm of philosophy here. I'm completely happy to go there, by the way. This is very much existential angst...and many people have it."

"Maybe we could start a support group for them."

"Hi, come on in to the church basement. Grab a coffee and tell us why you're doomed."

"We could make them read Kafka before joining."

My therapist, after another breath: "I'm not sure that would help sell the endeavor."

After the session, I continued my day, which went about as expected; after grabbing a coffee and then leaving my Kindle in the coffee shop bathroom, I went to an appointment to get my face blasted with liquid nitrogen...but the idea of philosophy, I realized, had finally started to resonate with me. I'd tried to read the great philosophers while getting my Master's degree, but I never really got them. It took the advice of mental health professionals to make philosophy stick.

Later on that week, I had a psychiatrist appointment, and I told that doctor about the existential conversation. He immediately recommended I get and read a "philosophical textbook/novel" called Sophie's World. I've been plowing through it ever since it arrived, and while it hasn't actually helped my diseased mind just yet, I am learning a lot. There's one part where the protagonists are discussing Existentialism, and the philosopher says (paraphrasing), "Existential angst is always a starting point on which to build a new philosophy."

I'm not yet sure what new philosophy I'll build. I am, however, working towards finding one.

dream interpretation needed

Last night, I dreamed I was in some kind of big competition. My team consisted of my mom, dad, and a few other people. The mission? We had to find out where Tom Bombadil was hiding.

There were tons of competing teams, but after camping out (in the tent me and my brother used in Boy Scouts, no less), I had an idea where we could locate Mr. Bombadil. I found him hiding in his condo. As my reward, I became Tom Bombadil. After saying hello to everyone, I returned to the Bombadil condo (widely furnished with Ikea products), where I hung out with Swedish flight attendants. Then my alarm went off.

If you believe dreams have hidden meanings, I'd love to hear your take on this one.

emergency gigs, 10/28 and 10/29

Two emergency gigs! I will be playing tonight at Stone's Throw in Bowling Green at 9:30. Tomorrow, I play at Howard's Club H in BG at 10:30. I will be accompanied by Nick Zoidberg for both sessions. Come see me!

the most depressing thing you will read today, 10/27/15

Still think racism is all in the past? Then read "School is Racist." What makes this that much more sickening is that this is all from kids. C'mon, people. We should be better than this.

today's dose of truth, 10/27/15

The New York Times nails it in the editorial "Political Lies About Police Brutality." Maybe some good will come out of all the horror. Hope so.

the most awesomely halloweeny thing you will see today, 10/27/15

informalities, language, and fruit

Ages ago, I had a colleague read over something I'd written for an annual review, and he fixated on my use of the word "amongst." "Among," he pointed out, was the more acceptable and contemporary word, while "amongst" was merely archaic. This was true, I admitted, but since I get so little opportunity to express myself in formal documents, I'd rather just use the strange word as a release from the institutionality of the required document. Said colleague just shook his head and called me weird.

I am weird. I have no problem with that. The language bit, though? I'm very much into letting my personality come through my writing, and I have no problem tweaking the expected language requirements to let that happen. There's nothing wrong with giving one's personality through, and using archaic and just plain weird words whenever possible allows this to happen...while still maintaining the required standards of formality. After all, amongst is still perfectly acceptable from a grammatical standpoint. So why not use it?

Language should still be a reflection of the writer's personality, and if said writer can use it as such whilst still maintaining the proper grammatical standards of the situation? So much the better. And this shouldn't hold one back from applying the same approach in less formal situations.

I like old-timey words and phrasing. Maybe this comes from my dear foreigner mother, who still peppers her language with phrases like "donkey's years" (meaning a long time ago). I default to either overblown academic sentence structure (see the first sentence of paragraph three) or 19th century-esque Southern colloquial slang. This is one of the reasons why, if we would've had a son instead of a daughter, I would've made a half-hearted push for Delmar as a name. My lovely spouse, for the record, is relieved that this never became a serious argument.

Today, at breakfast, we (really more me, with my mom and wife as leery bystanders) got into a discussion of the types of berries included in a mixed berry yogurt. I expressed dismay that boysenberries and huckleberries were not on the ingredient list. My spouse didn't know what a huckleberry looked like, so I pulled up the Wikipedia huckleberry page so I might show her some photos. Then I stumbled upon the subtopic "Use in slang." It's so awesome, I'll quote it here in full:

Huckleberries hold a place in archaic American English slang. The tiny size of the berries led to their use as a way of referring to something small, often affectionately as in the lyrics of Moon River. The phrase "a huckleberry over my persimmon" was used to mean "a bit beyond my abilities". "I'm your huckleberry" is a way of saying that one is just the right person for a given job.The range of slang meanings of huckleberry in the 19th century was fairly large, also referring to significant persons or nice persons.

First, this alone justifies Wikipedia's existence. More importantly, we need to start a movement to return huckleberry to the contemporary slang lexicon. We have to turn this viral! I want to see huckleberry memes! All hail the great huckleberry!

I realize that the task of getting the common folk to actually use these slang terms might be a huckleberry over my persimmon. I will still try, however. The fruit deserves all of our best interests.

Monday, 10/26's dose of truth

The article "Everything Doesn't Happen for a Reason" tells an awful lot of truth. Is it good to try and grow from tragedy and heartache? Of course it is, but to then say tragedy and heartache are essential and good? That's a sentiment only a sadist would support.

on gigs, merch, and cats

I played an impromptu set at an open mic night tonight. I always come into these with zero expectations, but tonight went pretty well...and this is most visible in two items.

First, I made a sale! New fan! She got a CD...and a sticker...and a guitar pick! She paid partly in quarters...which means I can do more laundry!

Second, and most awesomely, I made another fan..and it's Mechanical Cat! Bowling Greeners will understand how awesome this is. Not only did he complement my stuff, he sat down, and we talked for a while. He even told me the plot of the hopefully forthcoming animated series.

So I call tonight a success.

TheMikeDuBose music news, 10/16/15

I have a show next Saturday, October 24. I have high hopes that I will be joined by my colleague/tromboner Nick Zoidberg. This time, I will be splitting the bill with Max Machon (a nice guy and a good songwriter). The show's from 8-11, and as soon as I find out when my slot is, I will let you know. I will have copies of my debut album Skeleton Coast for sale, alongside my handmade tee shirts. I've got new originals and new covers to debut, so it should be a really fun night. I would love to see you there.

I am currently recording an album. No, not the album I told you about a while ago (which is still being delayed for...um, reasons). I'm talking about the previously announced second album project. I have drums recorded for all the songs. I have acoustics and vocals recorded for three of the songs, and I have distributed these to my awesome bassist Steven Guerrero, with whom I play with in Midwest Tourist. Steven also does solo music under the name Flat Earth Agenda, and you should buy his album. I'm thrilled that Steven agreed to play on the new album.

I still have to do more acoustics and vocals, so I can get the rest of the songs to Steven...but this damn death cold/flu/plague I have is slowing up the process a bit. As soon as I get the bass-added tracks back, it's time to finish the arrangements and record the rest of the instruments...and I'm thrilled that Nick Zoidberg has agreed to help me with all this.

I might throw some demos up pretty soon, so you can hear what I've been up to. The one thing I'm lacking? A good name for the album. Suggestions are welcome. Hey, give me a great name, and I'll even give you album credit!

Oh, did you hear me say I have new tee shirts for sale? I did these a little while ago, and they're pretty cool. It's all handcrafted, so each one's a little bit different. Hey, it's the arty touch! Supplies are limited, so shop now! Plus you know you've always wanted to have my face on your chest.

I also just got a November show at Iggy's in Toledo. I will be playing on November 27th, opening up for My Hated Friend. They're pretty funky and trippy...good dancing music! I'm not sure what time I go on, or who else is on the bill, because I just found out about the show this week. As always, more details when I get them.

Other than that, I'm still working on more shows at new venues. Losing the Adrian shows was a blow, but I"m pushing to recover. Hey, any of you own a music venue? Need an old, fat guitarist to entertain your friends?

today's bit of procrastination before I get to work

Still true all these years later...maybe even more so.

children are a linguistic treasure trove

My daughter, on the way home from school, was telling me about a game they played. It was apparently "so fun, it will make your teeth fall out." Ponder that one for a while.

She also told me a joke. "What keeps your teeth together? Toothpaste."

genetic musical talent

My daughter seems to have inherited my musical abilities. Not only can she make a whole heck of a lot of noise (something at which I too excel), she also writes songs. Like my songs, hers have something a little...unusual about them.

This morning, she sung me her latest composition. The lyrics: "One, two, three. I love me. I love rocketship and red raspberries."

She's an artiste.

sleep, or the lack thereof

Last night, after a productive yet mostly uneventful day, I got some bad news about a friend of mine who's in trouble. It tears me up that I can't immediately fly across the country to be with him. If there's a downside to being a failure in one's chosen field, this is certainly part of it. As-is, though, there's little I can do from here on the sidelines but send good vibes...for whatever good that does.

It's frustrating that I'm rendered merely an observer where I want to be a friend, but this is part of the "if you thought about it, you'd only grow madder/crazy/whatever" school of thought. So I tried to put my personal anger and disappointment at the world out of the way and focus on doing what I can from the sidelines.

Of course, this never works. To the credit of my therapist and my psychiatrist, I did not fall into a depression fit, instead merely getting sad. I must've been sadder than I realized, though, because in spite of my sleeping pills, I did not get to sleep until around 4:20am. Let me tell you: the 8am alarm felt really scary.

This is sure gonna be one interesting day.

increase in rank

It seems I have received an unexpected yet completely welcome promotion. While we were eating breakfast, my daughter informed me that I am now "King of the Robots." Needless to say, I am thrilled and honored. And, if any of my royal subjects are reading this, you have a full week to bring me your tributes.

an informal judgement about the medical profession

I am at the age, mental, and physical condition to where I have seen and continue to feel a certain number of medical professionals. This means that I know waiting rooms. And while I don't have enough data to extrapolate with any degree of statistical significance, I can say this: if this swanky leather chair waiting room is any indication, psychiatrists have the nicest digs

new insect taxonomy

Today, my daughter showed a certain amount of aptitude towards becoming an entomologist. As we were walking towards my car, we saw some wasps flying around. My girl looked at me and solemnly informed me, "Daddy, you see those bugs? Those are daytime bats."

Admittedly, she might still need more direction.

collective creativity

When I teach a class I've taught before, my usual modus operandi (or however you spell that; why doesn't my computer's spell check do Latin?) is to look at the lesson plan from the last time I taught that day's class, copy it over to the current class's lesson plan file, and tweak as needed. Today, when I looked at last semester's lesson for today's Business Writing section? Frankly, I have no idea what I was thinking. It pretty much had to be scrapped.

Luckily, I have a secret weapon: TedTalks. They are almost always entertaining and informative, and I can usually find one which fits my needs. Today's one, in spite of the distraction from the speaker's shoulder pads, was particularly up my alley:



If I had a time machine, I would go back and make all my former bosses see this. Ah, life could've been so much better.

and another joy!

Back in December 2013, I recorded a live set for the local PBS station. It was for their live music show Livewire. It was the acoustic showcase. Additionally, they asked us to do Christmas songs for a holiday special. So I did my set, complete with my own original Christmas song "Xmas in the Drunk Tank." And then I waited for it to be aired. And waited. And waited.

I just found out they actually broadcasted the acoustic showcase episode back in March. No one told me. And they don't have Youtube clips to show me.

It's one of those days.

Adrian shows cancelled

A while back, I was booked for a bunch of shows at a venue in Adrian, Michigan. They had me going through the end of the year, and I was ecstatic. I thought I made a break-through as a solo artist. I was starting to actually make profit! Moreover, I was able to meet my "I need to play a gig a month or I start to go crazy" requirement.

I played the first show, and it was really fun. The place was pretty empty, but I assumed I just had the worst luck of the draw. Crowds can never really be all that predictable. Nevertheless, I vowed to really polish my act and make sure I was ready for the next gig. I wanted to keep coming back. I wanted to become a regular draw.

About ten minutes ago, I just found out that the venue has decided to quit doing music. Apparently, their business is down, and they just could not afford to pay talent anymore. Those remaining gigs of mine, all the way through December? Cancelled.

Anyone need an acoustic guy? Or better yet, anyone got anything to stop me from having a depressive fit?

manic thrills

Where does a sober person find joy? It's been a question ever since I quit drinking. I don't do illegal drugs. I don't eat any meat, not even barbecue. And I'm too broke to even do shopping therapy. So what can one do?

Lately, I've started to act like a madman. My biggest act of pure insanity occurs when I use the restroom at work and no one else is inside. When this is the case, I use both of the air hand dryers to dry my hands. At the same time! Wooohooo! Party!!!!!

I'm dangerous, baby.

another album project

I seem to be at a stage of music overload lately...and I'm okay with that.

I've never understood people who have problems writing new songs. I treat songwriting as a muscle; if I don't exercise it regularly, it will atrophy. So I keep writing. I finish writing ideas that don't start out too well...because by the time I'm finished with them, who knows? And, as a result, I tend to get ideas pop into my head. Saturday, as I was getting ready to go into the living room, I had chords and a melody pop into my skull. That one will be the next writing project

Artistically, I am currently in the midst of a whole lot of recording. In addition to the album project I announced earlier (it is still ongoing, but it's going slow...because of reasons), I also am finally recording my Christmas single that I wrote way back in 2013 for the as of yet unaired Livewire television episode. To make it a true single, I even wrote a second holiday song called "I Don't Wanna Be Depressed (This Xmas).

In spite of this, I still had about 13 songs which did not have a home. But I did buy a new vocal microphone which also allows me to record pretty good quality guitars. So, after some heavy research (let's be honest: I did a web search), I decided I knew enough and had enough material to record yet another album. So that's what I started to do.

I have eight songs that fit together pretty well. I've formulated pretty good arrangements for them. I found an open source drum machine program and taught myself how to use it. And yesterday, I finished programming the drum parts.

I don't, however, have a good album name for this one. Suggestions?

unlocking a key to the universe

Lately, I'm on a roll. I'm caught up on grading. My wife and kid still seem to like me. I got to hang out with friends, and it wasn't even a special occasion. All of this on top of mastering the art of folding a fitted sheet? Unbelievable good luck.

Today, it got even better. I work at a university, so of course most of my work day's energy is spent trying to find a parking spot. There is absolutely never enough parking. I'm not sure who said it first, but the old adage, "a university is a diverse group of students, faculty, workers, and administrators who all come together to complain about parking" is absolutely true. Why, the building in which I work, in the plaque describing all the green technology and ideas they used in its recent reconstruction, even brags about not adding any more parking spaces (in a supposed effort to "encourage ride sharing"). Add to this parking services's habit of randomly closing off spaces, and it is assured that many people start off their school day trying to suppress their parking rage.

The lot by our building is (I am told) completely clogged up by 8am. If you get here later than that, you can only get a space by endlessly circling the lot in the hopes of spotting someone leaving and getting there to grab their space before someone else snipes it. One day, I circled the lot for 40 minutes before finding a space (and then accidentally locking my keys in the car while exiting...sigh). So I've started to park in a faraway (read: other side of the campus) lot and just hoof it. What the hell...I need the exercise.

Today, though, when I went to park, parking services had (of course) randomly shut down a significant portion of spaces, so there were no vacancies. I tried the lot near my building, but it was full...and I didn't feel like going on a snipe hunt. I left, resigned to parking a good mile away.

I turned into a lot on campus on a whim, even though the front was stuffed with cars. Lo and behold, I turned a corner to find...an empty space! Then another...then another? The lot on the side of the building (which I will not name) was half-filled...at 10:30, no less. Spaces! Regularly open spaces! Glorious spaces!

The skies opened, and I was hit by rays of light. The angels began their choir. Everything took on a technicolor hue. I have been given the key to the universe of parking on campus!

I promise I will try to remain humble.

radicals

I've been saying for a while now that the older I get, the more politically radical I get. Well, earlier, I found myself reading an interview with the head of Communist Party USA...and I couldn't find myself disagreeing with anything he said. I wonder, however, how 1980s me would've taken this news.

one more RnB thing

Emma Franklin's version (the original) of "Piece of My Heart just came on, and with apologies to Joplin fans, but it blows away the more popular cover. But then again, I feel the same way about the aforementioned "Tainted Love" being superior to the 80s cover. A few other songs have come on, and in every case, the original was better.

The lesson? It's cool to cover old RnB, but don't ever expect to outdo it.

creepy songs

I'm stuck in traffic, at what would normally be two minutes from my exit. So what am I thinking? About how creepy the world is. And what's causing me to think think this way? Current events, yes, but mostly RnB.

A while back, I combed through my mp3s and put together a 180 song folder of the best of Motown, Staxs/Volt, Chess, Atlantic, and Muscle Shoals. Whenever I'm working on songwriting, I put the folder on random play when I'm on the road. It's very awesome and educational usually. Today, though, it's a bit unnerving. I seem to keep hitting the most frightening lyrics. "Tainted Love" is, when done by the original female singer, so much more obviously about an abusive relationship. Then I hit "He Was Really Saying Something." Stalking. "Jimmy Mack?" Stalking again..but also about how weak-willed women are. And "Shake, Rattle & Roll" is just straight misogyny.

I realize it could be much worse; after all, Country music even has a standard sub-genre called "the murder ballad." But really, there's not a genre which comes off okay upon examination. Today's selection is just peculiarly focusing on how rotten it can be to be a female.

It's not like it's easy to be any non-dominant person...just ask Ahmed Mohamed. Yet that songwriters (and other artists) feel free to be so blatant and open about it? Frightening.

It definitely pushes me to ignore lyrics whenever I listen to huge swaths of music. It does, however make me feel better about my insistence to, when writing my own songs, to make sure I'm treating them with respect and trying to actually say something.

mood swings

The more I think about it, the more I've come to one conclusion: my mind just doesn't make any damn sense.

Friday, a simple discussion on household finances threw me into a horrible depression. I'm talking about "the entire world is doomed"/feeling weighed down by a thousand pounds of sludge/punched in the torso-level depression. Saturday, my apathetic audience threw me into a less intense but longer funk. Typical depression...the slightest tremor causes an unpredictable level of fit.

Yesterday, though, everything changed. When I got close to work, the oil pressure light in my car started blinking. On the way to grab my kid from day care, I looked at the oil pressure gauge, and it was just a hair away from the red zone. I stopped to check the oil, but it was fine. When I got home, I did some research online which was confirmed by a call to my mechanic this morning. The verdict? My car's time is swiftly approaching. It will not last through the winter. It's almost time to grab a rifle and take it behind the barn.

Surprisingly, I'm actually feeling fairly zen about the whole deal. My car is well beyond saving without investing roughly three point seven times its blue book value into the repairs. And I can by no means afford to replace it. Yet, for some reason, the prospect of taking even more debt than I have already to buy a new (to me, anyway) car I had no intention of getting has me feeling...pretty okay, actually.

The randomness of my depression often surprises me. Now...anyone got a car they want to give me?

alternate explanation

I've given some thoughts to the events of yesterday, and I now have a different interpretation: I must be a wizard.

Think about it. I was able to play four sets and barely be acknowledged. Invisibility. I was able to perfectly fold a fitted sheet. Manipulating the laws of physics. I have arthritis in two places and bursitis in one, but they are all on the right side of my body. Cursed.

The only bummer here is that my apparent wizardry did not manifest itself in a heavy skillet of alchemy. I could use that. I got credit card debt.

balance?

Today I played four sets to the most staggeringly indifferent crowd to whom I've played in ages. This was at my favorite bar, during a local festival which is usually my favorite weekend of the year. I had three people clap, and the rest ignored me totally. During the last set, no reaction at all...and I started to question my actual existence. I walked back to my car with my head battling between "some people do claim to like me, so what happened tonight?," "how did this happen when I thought I played pretty well?" and "Geez, I must really suck."

On the other hand, I did tonight finally master the skill of folding a fitted sheet.

One must take whatever balance one can get.

the future looks bright 9/12/15

Earlier this morning, my daughter took a bite out of her waffle, examined it, and said, "hey, this looks like PacMan!" She then got up and started running laps around the kitchen, yelling "wakkawakkawakka...."

As I've said, the future is in good hands.

ups, downs, parking

It started off so well, this day. A rare shower where my next door neighbor was not alternately scalding and freezing me by random water usage. A good hair and beard day. Cold brew coffee. Snuggle time with my daughter, followed by her non-stop comedy routine as I drove her to daycare. No traffic on the ride to work.

Then it went all wrong with parking (as it is wont to do). Got to campus in plenty of time, only to have to circle various lots for an honest forty minutes (including waiting for five minutes each for two different cars to leave, only to figure out the drivers in question were just hanging out, with running car and lights). Finally got a space, only to have the keys fall out of my pocket when I exited my vehicle. A good twenty five minute wait for the cops to arrive. Five minutes for said officers to break into my car.

Surprisingly, I'm in a decent mood. There you have it, folks: therapy actually helps!

lyrical realizations

I just realized that a good twenty percent of my songs mention scars or carved lines. So if I ever say I don't think at all about getting older, please point me towards my own words.

certainty

Writing night. I'm chipping away at a song, even though I know the chances of breaking it open tonight aren't great. I know it will be an acoustic song, and I know it won't be exactly upbeat in tone. The rest, however is still cloudy...and I know I will have to live with the uncertainty at least another week.

The semester is under way, and I've just reached the time where the students are getting to know what's at stake. They are, however, a few weeks from insight. They will, for the next few class sessions, have a lot thrown at them, and it's still unclear if they will sink or swim. Meanwhile, while they circle around the uncertainty, I begin my own cycle of seemingly endless grading.

This is usually how things go. One of the hallmarks of my younger days was that I expected stuff to build to some grand conclusion...the search for ultimate meaning and all that. Now? I don't expect any real resolution, just one damn thing after another. And when we do get closure? It will be way too ultimate, way too final, and, most likely, won't be something to which we should look forward. Certainty is too close to being an end.

I believe this, I really do. But every so often, I get reminded that being certain of uncertainty is itself too definitive...and then I really don't know what to do.

Today, while I was getting ready for work and getting my daughter ready for day care, she turned to me and sweetly asked, "Daddy, are people permanent?" When I asked her what she said, I got "are people permanent? Do they break, or do they go on forever?"

This hit me, but I realized I couldn't let it stop me in my tracks. So I gently replied, "I don't know, sweetie. I hope they go on, but I don't really know." Surprisingly, this answer seemed to satisfy her, and she moved onto other things.

I wish I could tell her how much I envied her in this.