The Integratron

I just got back from five days in Palm Springs and fell in love with the place. There is something about being in the desert that recharges me.  It’s likely the combination of scenery and purity that transport me to a much quieter headspace.   Here’s an account of one of the side trips I took.

The town of Landers lies roughly an hour or so outside of Palm Springs.  After drifting through the mountains and taking a few turns you are greeted by a domed structure that looks like a small observatory.  The man who built it, George Van Tassel, asserted that his design was based in part on the directions of extraterrestrials. He claimed to have been taken aboard a ship that arrived to Landers from the planet Venus in 1953. While onboard, Van Tassel learned the various theories of time travel and rejuvenation that shaped his knowledge.  According to the website, the Integratron’s physical location is a key component of its magic. More details are here.

These days, the easiest way for the public to experience the Integratron is to partake in a sound bath. Once everyone is lying down comfortably on the floor, a guided meditation takes place for grounding purposes. Next, a series of quartz bowls are played which emanate sounds and vibrations that are enhanced by the acoustically optimized building. I recall thinking that the sounds were coming not from the woman playing the bowls but from within my skull. After a few minutes I felt myself slipping into a different state of awareness. It was a spiritual Elvis-has-left-the-building moment.


The best way I can describe my state is that it was in-between being awake and being asleep. I was aware of being inside my body but I was not fully conscious. At first I experienced audio hallucinations where the sounds began to form words (I only wish I could recall what those words were). The next thing I remember is the feeling of opening my eyes and seeing a vase of yellow flowers on a white mantle against a white wall. Later, I thought I saw the sections of the Integratron wall folding in on each other.

For the first 30 minutes or so of the drive back to Palm Springs I felt a tingling sensation all over. I also experienced the sensation of floating within my own body. I hadn’t felt so calm in a long time and chose to drive in silence, enjoying the scenery and serenity.

Check out the Integratron site for full details on how to visit.  Reservations are essential as there is a limited amount of space.

http:www.integratron.com

Let it go...and so fade away

While driving back into the city the other day, I found myself in need of a change from the usual WFMU/Howard Stern/Spotify playlist selections that tend to dominate my listening these days. My ears craved the comfort food of NYC classic rock radio. Once upon a time there were three stations to choose from – WNEW, K-ROCK, and Q104.3. It was difficult not to find a song you liked on at least one of the stations at any given time. With the consolidation and corporatization of radio stations and formats, only Q104.3 continues to churn out the classic rock. If the #1 radio market in the US can support only one classic rock station, I pity the smaller regions of the country that have to slurp up whatever morsels are available to them among the selections of rock-type music that are being cranked out today.

When I tuned in, I stumbled upon a staple of classic rock radio – the workforce block. To the uninitiated, a workforce block consists of 3-4 songs of the same artist. These blocks are usually requested by some person whose job allows him to be in close proximity to a radio so he can hear his name being uttered by the DJ as his songs are queued up. This particular block happened to be devoted to U2. For one thing, it’s interesting how U2 went from college rock radio to alternative radio to Top 40 radio to classic rock. That trajectory feels like the journey of my own life from youth to middle age. The last song of the block was “Bad”, now 31 years old.

While listening to the song my mind drifted back to the years 1984-1987, the same era when U2 straddled the fences of alternative rock and Greatest Rock Band In The World. I thought about how, at the age I was during that time, bands and songs had the ability to transform and uplift me beyond my self-loathing being. In those days there was an excitement around hearing the new single from whoever was the hottest band around at a certain point in time.

These days, music has become a throwaway commodity. For $9.99 per month I have access to millions of songs. It’s not like it once was when you had to be more discriminating about what music you were going to purchase because albums and CDs were more costly. It would be quite the task to assemble my Spotify library if I had to buy each album or song individually. The upside to this is that I’ve encountered a ton of good music without incurring great expense. I tend to save a track or band that captures my fancy but much of it is in-and-out. There’s no sense of permanence here. Most of the artists and songs don’t burn themselves into my consciousness in the same way that the songs of my youth did.

I’ll still get excited listening to older stuff but I wonder why I’m missing the transcendent nature that was part of my youth. Is it because I have it all ay my fingertips to be punched up immediately? Is it merely due to the passage of time that has brought me away from the time in life where the spark can happen? Or is it simply a question of the quality of what’s out there?

In regards to the last question, it’s too early in the digital music game to know what the longevity of today’s streaming superstars will be. Perhaps I’ll know more when I revisit this topic down the road.

Got Screwed? So What!

You’re standing on the sidewalk outside of what used to be your office.  In your arms is a cardboard box full of the crap that you accumulated during your tenure.  Maybe you had to pack your things in front of your co-workers who all looked away at the Dead Man Walking so as not to catch the disease of Being Fired via your glance.  Perhaps your things were already waiting at reception, your (former) HR person having done you the “favor” of packing your crap so that you wouldn’t even have to walk into the office.

Your boss decided he needed a scapegoat for some things that went awry on his watch that had nothing to do with you.  You know, that guy who you always thought was a bit like an automaton with his “asks” for things like “rockstar” performance and “championing the customer”.  His taking license with the English language aside, he showed his true colors and set you up for the fall.

So there you are, watching everyone walking around you in the street with their jobs seemingly intact as you wonder just how in the world you are ever going to get another job now that you have the Scarlet F branded on you.  Fear not- millions of people have been fired before you and they were all able to recover.  Here are a few things to keep in mind:

You Are Not A Loser

Never make the mistake of basing your self-worth on a job.  You are much more than the sum of things you do to earn a check.  Assuming that you’ve truly been screwed, remember that you did nothing wrong. The only person that can take your self-respect away from you is…. YOU.

Own It (But Honestly)

Don’t start lying about what happened to you because as the laws of reality tend to go for most of us, you will get caught.  If asked why you left your last job, you can reply with something like “Well, over the last few months it was clear that the company and I were moving in different directions.  I’ve been taking my time in looking for the next opportunity to ensure that it is the right fit for me.”  Some people will let you leave it at that.  If pressed, come up with an example of something that your employer was doing (a new policy; treatment of customers) and spin that into your answer.  Companies that screw their own employees tend to have a lot of questionable behaviors.  It won’t be hard to find a good example.

You will find that some potential employers aren’t as concerned as you think about being terminated.  There’s no need to over-discuss the point.  In fact, don’t even bring it up unless your interviewer does.

Embrace Your Friends

If you have co-workers that you were friendly with, you will want them to help vouch for you as a reference.  Hopefully, you were a good person and a good co-worker.  If so, this won’t be hard.  And remember, it’s possible that they may want your help in seeking their next gig once you’ve landed at yours.

Enjoy The Time

If you’ve been working hard for the past couple of years, give yourself permission to slack a little bit (finances permitting).  Your brain and soul both need time to unwind.  Do yoga, exercise, hit the beach, read, or do whatever makes you feel good (provided that it’s a healthy undertaking- no one benefits from drinking all day and night).

Good luck! I am definitely pulling for you!

Maxwell's

Anyone who's been familiar with Hoboken since 1995 knows that the town has experienced a radical shift in housing prices and overall cultural aesthetic.  During the ten or so years I spent in Hudson County, I was continually amazed at the way developers were able to squeeze in yet another towering condo community into a city that's only one mile square.  Back in my day, there was still a hearty contingent of locals and imported freakers who turned their noses up at the inevitable changes that come with the gentrification of a neighborhood.  From their stools in Kelly's Pub, Black Jack's and Louise and Jerry's, these raconteurs would talk themselves hoarse about the good old days of cheap rent and unsafe streets.  All of that has vanished into the mist of nostalgia.

Among the last holdouts from the "old" Hoboken is Maxwell's, one of my favorite all time rock clubs.  The official "backstage" area was in the basement next to the kegs. Bands would have to walk up the basement stairs, through the bar, and then navigate their way to the stage from the back of the club room while accepting (or dodging) pats on the back or high-fives being offered from the crowd. I always thought that was a great proletariat approach as opposed to the usual way that bands appear from the backstage wings, looking down on their audience from on high.  I remember one night when Anton Newcombe was trying to make his way to the stage when someone by the door to the back room tried to goad him into a fight. Thankfully, Todd A was able to gently coax him away and prevent the possibility of having to refund the entire crowd for a show that was aborted before it began.  The stage was barely a couple of feet off the ground so if you were in the front there was a good chance that you might be playing the role of roadie by helping adjust mic stands that were accidentally knocked down. At Maxwell's, you felt like a more integral part of the show.

I read today that Maxwell's is shutting down on July 31st.  The shift in nightlife trends combined with the fact that much of the Maxwell's crowd has grown older and moved on makes it difficult to sustain a live music venue in Hoboken.  Despite the challenges they've faced for well over a decade, Maxwell's managed to outlive CBGBs, Brownies, Tramps, and The Continental.  This is no small feat. I was lucky enough to see a lot of great shows there over the years- Mike Watt, Guided By Voices, Supersuckers, Dead Moon, Doo Rag, The Dirtbombs, Billy Childish, Reigning Sound, Brian Jonestown Massacre, and more. (Typing that list out just now reminds me of how amazing that place was).

I'm at that age now where I can share memories of adulthood that took place over 20 years ago.  Each vestige of my younger days that slips away is another not-so-gentle nudge towards middle age. I'm slowly getting better at accepting this fact and am grateful for the experiences I had along the way.  Thank you, Todd A and gang, for so many magical nights.

The Blarney Cove

    

The Blarney Cove seems to be one of the only bars in the East Village that didn’t receive the memo that the 'hood is now about expensive drinks, NYU kids, and shrieking woo woo girls who truck in from the 'burbs for a night in the big city.  Even those who visit divey shithole bars as hip anthropological experimentation tend to steer clear of the Blarney Cove's front door.  I loved it because it was a place for professional drinkers to lose themselves without inhibition. It reminded me of the line in "It's A Wonderful Life":

Hey look, mister- we serve hard drinks in here for men who want to get drunk fast and we don't need any characters to give the joint "atmosphere".

It was always dark in there regardless of the time of day. The only light I can recall noticing was the faint illumination from the bar. It gave off a weird sort of glow that made everyone look like they were terminally ill.  I would go there because I knew I didn't have to impress anyone.  I certainly was not going to run the risk of running into future wife material and if I happened to rub shoulders with anyone I might've known from my outside life, it was safe to say that the person I saw was as much of a degenerate as I was.

No one cared if you slept at the bar, chewed the shit out a straw, or talked to yourself as long as you didn't bug anyone else.  I've heard that people have been 86ed from the Blarney Cove.  If you can't keep your shit together enough to remain welcome at the Blarney Cove, there's not much hope for you as a public drinker. The next stop is either drinking alone at home or while wandering the streets because there's few other places that will tolerate your sorry ass.  It's a pretty low bar to make it as a Blarney Cove regular. Failure to meet that standard says a lot about a person's ability to co-exist with the rest of the human race.

I learned today that the bar is set to close at the end of the month.  The surprising part is that they managed to stay open as long as they did.  Per an article in the EV Grieve, the whole block is shutting down business-by-business.  What does the future hold?  Who knows? All I can say is that the march of change has claimed another uniquely New York artifact.

Photo courtesy of EV Grieve

Screwed Forever- Messing Up In The Digital Age

It's been a while since I've felt like posting anything here. Over the last few months I have taken a big step back from social media.  I have found that when I log onto Facebook and scroll through my News Feed, I'm overwhelmed by the amount of information that spews out and underwhelmed by its substance. I don't mean to suggest that my life and thoughts are so much more interesting than the rest of the world. Instead, I don't free the urgency to share every single thing I do or every single thought that crosses my mind. These days, I do a quick weekly-or-so scan through Facebook and go about my business.

One huge benefit of all of this is that my head feels so much clearer. At my peak of online activity, my head felt as if it were being cooked in a microwave with rays penetrating my skull and slowly frying my brain. When I initially became aware of this, I decided to enact a No Internet Sunday rule for myself which consisted of not going online at all unless there was a specific urgency. Otherwise, it's all about reading, writing, and listening to music. I won't pretend that I've adhered to this fully but I can say with confidence that there has been a huge change for me.

Over the last few years, I've been alarmed at the downside of being a virtually connected society. Once upon a time, if you screwed up royally you were less at risk for having a black mark attached to your name for the rest of your life. These days, if you do something stupid or commit an action due to some temporary lapse in judgement, it's too easy for that to be documented, uploaded, and stored for posterity.  Some young people appear to be especially oblivious to this idea as they post pictures of their intoxicated selves or share information best left unshared.   The concepts of forgiveness and redemption are harder to come by once your transgression has made its way to Google and the all-knowing Cloud. I had an experience a few years back where a handful of people decided that a minor error of judgement on my part merited four pages of Google results with my name attached that should stay with me until the end of time. These people, with seemingly little time on their hands, felt that the rest of my life should be tainted for something that wasn't my fault but that I was accountable for. Thankfully, this was all before Twitter and Facebook so it was very easy to mitigate the damage although some of it remains years later.

All of this was on my mind this week because I saw a photograph taken on an airplane flight of a man who was restrained in his seat with duct tape and plastic ziplocks along the lines of what police use to arrest rioters. The man was allegedly intoxicated and became abusive to passengers and the flight crew. I fully support the decision of the flight crew to restrain this man if he were presenting a huge safety risk. What angers me is that the person sitting across the aisle from him found it necessary to humiliate this man further by taking his photograph and posting it online. Again, the behavior of the passenger merits appropriate punishment. My hope is that the man is given an opportunity to seek whatever help he needs to address the root causes of his actions. But no matter what he does, the documentation of a single regretful act will be around forever.  Somehow, it seems unfair.

I really want to know what went through the mind of the person who uploaded that picture. Was it because he/she was subjected to this man's abuse? Was it because he/she wanted to help create the next hip internet meme? I find the whole thing shameful and disgusting. Something like this makes me want to retreat further away from the online world.

Viva La Vinyl!

For many years, I wanted to live in my current neighborhood but everything that was once appealing about it is rapidly fading away like an old Polaroid photo in reverse. St. Mark's Place looks like a mall and the NYU kids and whoo-hoo girls have made the place seem like an extension of college. Adding to my disappointment is the fact that one of the two record stores on my block closed this weekend. I've always found it odd (yet refreshing) that in an era where record stores are becoming extinct, our block has been able to sustain two shops. Until now. This store is collateral damage of the digital music revolution and its conquering of all physical music media. As if that weren't enough of an opponent, they're also on the losing side of the gentrification of the East Village. The building now has new owners and, if you live in New York City, there's no need to spell out the rest.

While I was only in there once or twice and never bought anything, I'm always saddened when a small business owner in the East Village is forced to shutter a business and seek livelihood elsewhere. When it's a record store, I feel an extra bit of sorrow. As much as I love the convenience of things like MP3s and Spotify, I will be the first to tell you that the sonic quality of these mediums does not measure up to a physical record. Whenever I put on a piece of vinyl, I immediately recognize the warm thump of bass that I never get to hear through those white earbuds. That timbre reaches down to my bones and warms me from the inside. There's now an entire generation of people who will never know this feeling. I can't blame the kids, really, as they're not being given the option to experience music any other way. For those of you who know better and who turned your backs for the sake of convenience, shame on you.

I heard that the owners are planning to go to LA and give things a shot there. I hope they make it.