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.

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.

"I'm Fine, Thanks"

As I've been discussing here and here, I'm one of the newest members of the unemployed class. I'm keeping myself busy with reading, writing, housework, and also looking for a job. Per my last post, I have become disillusioned with the idea of meeting with startup people who are 15-20 years younger than me with the hope of proving that "yes, I'm cool enough to be your co-worker". There have been enough failures in that area for me. I have seen the futility in repeatedly trying something that is not destined to work out for me in the hope that the next opportunity will work out differently. I'm looking at a new idea: to teach what I've learned in over 10 years of experience with the hope of finding a few freelance opportunities.

In the midst of all of this re-evaluation, I finally got around to watching the film "I'm Fine, Thanks" by Grant Peelle that was made with the help of a number of Kickstarter donors (including me). Peelle is a realtor who, somehow along the way, took a detour from his dream of making films to settle into The Script: go to school; get married; get job; get kids; wait until you're retired to follow your dreams (if you're lucky enough to make it). He reaches the breaking point of living a life that is not genuine to him and decides that he is going to follow his dreams and become a filmmaker. "I'm Fine, Thanks" is the manifestation of that dream. In the film, he and his crew interview dozens of people who are in varying degrees of discomfort with the concept of living the traditional rat race life and decide to do something about it. The subjects are not concerned with financial reward- they have a higher, more fulfilling purpose. As one person puts it, "If you live a life cut off from your heart, that's not really living." That line really hits home for me. I have no interest in pounding the pavement in search of another job like those I've had in the past that tend to burn me out after a year. Like the saying goes, the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing repeatedly with the same result in the hope of getting a different outcome." None of the people interviewed in the film are motivated by money. In fact, most of them accept that the key to a fulfilling life is in detaching yourself from material things. I always thought that once I earned a six-figure income that I'd be truly satisfied with myself. Once I got there I was just as miserable as always. In fact, if I were to list the most fulfilling things in my life, money would not be in the Top 5.

I have to admit that I am still on the journey to figure out what I should be doing with my life. I'm taking the advice in Steve Jobs' famous Stanford commencement speech where he talks about finding the things you like with the faith that you will be led down the correct path. I'd like to say that I can define the One Thing that I think I was put on this planet to carry out but I'm not there yet. "I'm Fine, Thanks" has provided me with a much needed shot in the arm to find the courage needed to get off the hamster wheel and onto a much brighter path.

The film has not been widely released yet. More info is at http://cranktank.com/im-fine-thanks/.

"American Graffiti" And The Yearnings Of Summer

As much as I love “Star Wars” (episodes 4-6, anyway), if I had to choose which of George Lucas’ films I’d like to have with me on a desert island, I think I’d have to pick “American Graffiti”.  Lucas captured that end-of-summertime yearning better than any other film I can think of.  Having grown up in a small town, I can certainly relate to the feeling of driving around aimlessly at night, filled with the desperation of hunting down a truly spectacular experience.  I’ve always identified with the Richard Dreyfus character.  He spends his last night before flying off to college prowling around town with the hope of meeting the mysterious woman in the white T-Bird who he spots momentarily at a red light.  As the night progresses and his chances slowly evaporate, his frustration grows.

Most of my summer nights ended with the same empty feeling that accompanied the inability to fill the void with the conquest of love or the completion of some grand journey.  My defeat was sealed once I arrived at home where I had to tip-toe nervously up the stairs of my parents’ house.  As the stairs were old and creaky, I had learned over time the correct pattern for walking on them so as not to hit the sweet spots on each step that would trigger the squeak alarm and wake my parents.  Some steps creaked on the left side and others creaked on the right so I performed a delicate little dance, shoes in hand, deftly maneuvering from one side of the staircase to the other.  No matter how many times I shuffled up those stairs without the victory I aimed for at the outset of the evening, I never lost hope in the magic of summer.

As a kid, summertime seemed like this endless entity.  Days would creep along, seemingly dragged out by the scorching sun and heat. By the time evening approached, everyone was home from work, summer school, or wherever they hid out all day and the phone calls would commence.  Being that this was before Facebook or texting, you had to be glued to the phone to ensure that you didn’t miss out on whatever the evening’s main event was going to be.  You always held out hope that the night could take a series of twists and turns, propelling you from yet another mundane night on the town into something that felt truly epic.  “American Graffiti” took that ideal and ran with it.

Now that I’m all grown up, summer has lost some of its luster.  The time speeds by in the blink of an eye and the most notable thing about this time of year besides the greater amount of daylight hours is that I have to wear short sleeves to work so I don’t melt into a puddle on the subway platform.  These days, I’m not looking for grand sweeping epic moments to make myself feel validated and alive. It can happen by lying in the hammock on the weekends staring out at this:

The magic happens as soon as I arrive at this destination and take my first deep breath of non-citified air.  My life no longer has to resemble an old Bruce Springsteen lyric about heading out to some vague Somewhere Else where I’ll be free of my demons.   I’m not sure if that means I’ve given up on dreaming big dreams or if I’ve found a different definition of satisfaction. Or perhaps, I’ve found that peace and contentment is more of an inside job.

Battling Motion Sickness With Carnival Cruise Lines

     

     I have battled motion sickness for as long as I can recall, even in seemingly harmless places like taxi cabs and surfboards.  The last time I attempted a boat excursion was roughly 8 years ago.  My apprehensions about the trip were batted away by the saleswoman at the activities desk in Cairns who assured me in her Aussie accent that the waters of the Great Barrier Reef were “like glass”.  A few hours (and one Bonine) later, I was lying face-down in the boat for the two-hour trip back to Cairns.  As I moaned in agony, I made a pact with myself that I would never ever subject myself to an experience like that again. 

     Recently, I was invited to a most-expenses-paid cruise trip that served as a family reunion.  The thought of being trapped for five days on a cruise ship didn’t exactly fill me with tons of excitement.  However, as I looked over the details of the trip and the abundance of options for onboard and offshore fun, I decided to take the chance knowing that three members of our party were nurses.  (After all, no one has ever died from motion sickness as far as I know.) Armed with a supply of Transderm Scop patches to stick behind my ear once every three days, here's how it all went down.

The Night Before

    

     I decided to put on my first patch the evening before getting onto the ship as I wanted to ensure that whatever magic was inside these little dots had plenty of time to enter my bloodstream.  I followed the directions to the letter and applied a patch behind my right ear.  Several minutes later, I noticed that my vision was slightly blurry.  At first, I thought it was a side-effect of the day's journey from NYC to Miami but then later recalled that this was to be expected.  As I was ready for bed, I figured I'd defer any panic until the next morning.

Day 1

      I woke up with a headache that seemed to affect me for most of the day but did not return for the rest of the trip.  Cross another side effect off the list.  The blurry vision I experienced the previous evening was gone and I was ready to get to the ship.  As there were 15 of us, we rented a passenger van to take us from the hotel to the Port of Miami, a trip of approximately 25 minutes.  This was to be the first test of the patches.  As I sat in the back of the van, I realized that I was perfectly at ease despite being accosted by a six-year-old boy who found it amusing to pinch my nose for much of the journey.  The good news was that I didn't feel a single twinge of motion sickness.  Typically, I would’ve been woozy not only for the car ride but for an hour or so afterwards.  This small victory bolstered my confidence for the adventure at sea that lay ahead.

     As we were getting situated in our stateroom in the late afternoon, I continued to feel fine and became very eager to check out the ship.  The fact that our stateroom was in the middle of the ship was a huge benefit as I felt much less movement there than anywhere else we visited on the ship.  I wouldn’t say I felt *zero* movement at all times while in the middle, but there was a notable difference.  I noticed in a stateroom located in the rear of the ship that I could feel motion and also as I sat in the ship's library.  As a little experiment, I tried looking out the window once we set off. Sure enough, I was good for a few seconds before the queasiness set in.  If you are prone to motion sickness, it's imperative that you prepare adequately because no matter what anyone tells you, it's possible to feel the movement of the ship even in the middle, regardless of what you’ve heard about the so-called stabilizers that are supposed to steady the ride.

Day 2

      For our first full day at sea and my headache from the previous day all gone, I decided to do a whole lot of nothing.  After breakfast and a morning full of sun, I went back to our stateroom for a nap.  While walking down the corridor, I started to feel extremely dizzy.  A quick check behind my ear indicated that the patch had fallen off so I immediately applied another one.  Thankfully, I had extras with me to last for more than once every three days for the duration of a five-day cruise.  A word of caution- make sure you have plenty of extra patches just to be on the safe side. 

         In addition to using the patches, I made sure to keep myself hydrated and well-fed for the duration of the cruise.  Drinking plenty of water is beneficial not only because of the sun.  In regards to keeping your stomach full, it’s darn near impossible to avoid food while on board a cruise ship. 

Day 3

      We disembarked in Ocho Rios, Jamaica and joined a zipline tour where you’re strapped into a harness that supports your body as you fly through the treetops. In order to get to the starting point, we had to drive in a van for about 15-20 minutes through hilly and curvy terrain.  After we arrived at our destination, we were schlepped into the back of a pickup truck with seats and traveled across roads that were so bumpy we thought we were going to fall out at several points during our 10-minute ride.  Without the patch, I think I’d still be lying by the side of the road in the fetal position.  Fortunately, by looking forward at all times, I was able to make it through with flying colors. And speaking of flying, the zipline adventure went off without a hitch.

Day 4

      As 72 hours had expired since the last patch, I made sure to swap out for a replacement.  Sure enough, my vision started to blur slightly.  My previous experiences kept me from panicking.  Again, it’s best to apply the patches before going to bed so that the blurriness will have minimal impact.  Also, by applying the patch at night, you will allow ample time for the medication to enter your bloodstream overnight.

Day 5/6

      I kept the patch on as I wanted to take advantage of its magic for our trip home the following day.  We had to wake up early as they were kicking us off the ship by 8AM.  After leaving the boat, we checked into a hotel on South Beach and went for a swim. After our swim, I lost another patch.  Next time, I’ll either be very cautious or I will research a brand of patch that will withstand a dunk in the pool.  Sure enough, the flight home the next day made me feel queasier than I felt for the duration of the cruise. 

     Despite the ups and downs, I can say whole-heartedly that the patch was a success. A whole new world of travel has opened up for me.  Bring on the next boat trip!

Chapel Hill

I've been home for about 5 hours and I'm still tired and woozy from my trip home from North Carolina. I've found that the easy, short trips are more taxing than traveling to the other side of the world. Perhaps that's because the smaller planes used for these 1-1 ½ hour flights are way too rocky for my hyper-sensitive motion sickness. Despite my fatigue, I had a most relaxing time out of town. All of the NYC tension I've been feeling for the last few months disappeared until I touched down at Newark Airport. In contrast to the quiet half-empty corridors of RDU that I strolled this morning was the cattle-call turmoil of the security lines that I glanced at as I made my way through Newark Airport on my way back to the city. That night-and-day difference pretty much sums up my long weekend.

We spent 3 days in Chapel Hill visiting family. We've been down there several times between the two of us and have always loved it. As trite as it sounds, the people in North Carolina are effusive in their kindness wherever you go. The disorientation I felt on my first day there was the effect of uncoiling the over-wound state of mind I have when I'm going about my business here in the city. It's easy to become oblivious to the concept that there are different ways of living that are probably healthier in the long run. For the longest time, I always believed that if you were interested in interesting films, music, and bookstores you had to live in either New York, LA, or San Francisco. Social media and entities like YouTube have pretty much obliterated the barriers to entry as we're all pretty much experiencing the same things no matter where we are sitting. In fact, I saw more flyers for a wider diversity of music in Chapel Hill than I see in the East Village. On top of that is the fact that one of my favorite all-time used bookstores is located just over the border in Carrboro NC. While New York still has things you'll never see outside of the city (like Philip Seymour Hoffman's powerful performance in “Death Of A Salesman”), there's enough going on in different pockets of the country to keep one satisfied- and for a much lower cost of living.

We've been contemplating the end of our New York residency for the last two years. The list of reasons to stay is becoming shorter as we remain here. I'm not sure we're ready to bolt just yet but we're beginning to think there's more to gain and less to lose by living elsewhere.

Photo courtesy of http://www.cardcow.com

Xmas Tree Crew

For the past few weeks, there was a black, beat-up Nissan van parked in the empty spot in the photo above. A handwritten sign in red ink read “Xmas Tree Van”. Around the corner, in front of the Rite Aid was a Christmas tree stand with trees of various sizes for sale along with a tiny office (maybe 4 feet by 4 feet at most) made of wood planks and thick plastic walls. The van had California license plates so I assume that the owners of the van were in town for a few weeks to sell some trees and make enough money for the next adventure.

There seemed to be about 3 guys and 1 or two women working the stand. All of them appeared to be in their mid to late 20s. The one guy that I saw regularly had a pierced septum and wore the same brown Carhartt one-piece coveralls and knit every time I encountered him. I'd say “good morning” to him whenever I passed him during my daily morning dog walk. One time, I gave him a copy of Wired magazine that I was done reading as I figured he might appreciate having an interesting diversion from the van and the stand. While I don't know how these tree sellers passed their time, I walked past the van one morning around 6:30AM to see it rocking from side to side. As the van was a'rockin, I didn't bother knocking as I assumed that even Christmas tree sellers need some loving like the rest of us.

I'm really not sure what the stories were behind the Christmas tree crew but as I passed them one day, one of the guys was talking about moving to Minneapolis for a while as one of the options he rattled off. I found myself fascinated by these folks and really wish I had found out more about them. For one thing, how did they get all of the trees out of the woods and into New York City? I never saw a truck pull up with a bunch of trees. Also, did they have families waiting for them? Were they college students working over their break? Were they all from Portland?

As I've written about previously, I envy those who don't feel tied down to people, places, or things. While the gutterpunks in Tompkins Square Park can be annoying at times, I'm drawn to the way they can carry their entire lives on their backs and live out in the world. Sure, as I type this in a nice and relatively warm apartment, I wouldn't want to be sleeping on the streets right now. Still, there's a part of me that wants to abandon everything – a job I don't really like, financial responsibility- and just float on out of here and experience life.


On Christmas morning, the van was gone. I guess that after midnight on Christmas eve, there's no point in hanging out on the corner selling trees. The crew is probably still on the road if they're making their way back to California. Perhaps they have a different adventure in store. I regret not talking to them a little bit more as I want to fill in all the missing pieces about them. If things work out, I may get my chance next winter. For now, I wish them well on their travels and hope that they were able to enjoy some of the holiday while they were helping others do the same.

Be Here Now

I've been putting myself under immense pressure these days to change my life. I suppose this is all part of my current internal conflict around approaching middle age without the cash and prizes I thought would be here. I can say in all honesty that my life is rather fucking grand. I don't really have much to gripe about other than the fact that I am stuck in a (decently paying) career that I don't want any part of because, beyond the fact that twice a month I receive an email from my bank indicating that my employer has deposited funds for me, there is nothing fulfilling about what I do. My employer insists that I do a good job, so it's not like I'm floundering in the workplace. The fact is that I do such a good job that there are no more challenges for me. All of the heavy lifting of my new job was done within the first 90 days and now, it's just a steady coast.

I used to see this every day from my desk at work:

Now I look at this:

I've come to realize that the sea of computer monitors I see before me all day long resembles a graveyard with plastic tombstones. I dread each day I'm there because it feels like my life is slowly being sucked out of my soul along with any aspirations I once had that my life would be glamorous. Some recent reminders of who and where I was a long time ago (mentioned here and here) have added fuel to the flames of my mid-life crisis. I'm doing some internal work to try and come to peace with all of this. One of the most important things I've ever read was this:

If you want to change your life, change what you do and your life will change as a result.

(I've tried to locate the author of this but have yet to succeed).

As I've mentioned in other posts, this blog was about doing something different. It was about finding things that interest me for their own sake and not the promise of gold bricks or magazine covers. Although I haven't paid as much attention to this blog as I would like, I can say that each post has been gratifying despite the fact that the readership can be measured in single digits. I figure that if I do this simply because I like doing it, I'm moving ever-so-slowy in the direction of self-fulfillment. As Paulo Coelho writes in “The Alchemist”, when you're moving towards your chosen path, the universe conspires in your favor by throwing a few bones your way that inch you closer to the promised land.

And that's the funny thing about where I'm at these days. There have been circumstances in recent memory where I had the chance to do different things in regards to career change. Each of those did not work out. What ended up working out was more jobs in a career that I've said for years that I was done with. Is this what the universe really wants for me or is it that I'm too damn complacent to do anything else?

That's where the picture at the top comes in. It's from “Be Here Now” by Ram Dass. I stumbled upon it in a story about the literary influences on the late Steve Jobs. The picture stopped me in my tracks. After viewing it, I realized that a cruise ship can't do a quick 180 in the middle of the ocean. I hate the idea that time takes time because I feel like I need answers Right Fucking Now. I have been trying to find the place where I am being patient yet am doing as much as I can to avoid complacency in my life. I'm clueless as to where my efforts and energies have to cease and where the universe needs to take over. I suppose it's safe to say that the knots in my back, my current state of constant fatigue, and the minor physical injury I've been nursing for two weeks are all indicative of the fact that I've been trying way too hard.

I'm sifting through piles of unfulfilled dreams, expectations that were never realistic, and abandoned opportunities that deserve reconsideration. I'm doing my best to take it all one step at a time. Shedding old skin, inch by inch.

Cometbus

I've been checking out the new Cometbus anthology “Add Toner- A Cometbus Collection” that Last Gasp just put out. For the uninitiated, Aaron Cometbus has been putting out his zine Cometbus since the early 80s. The fact that someone is willing to publish a zine comp in 2011 is a nice little reminder that the small press underground has not been completely obliterated by the blogsphere and e-world. Every issue of Cometbus has been handwritten and assembled in true DIY bare-bones fashion (though I'm not sure if they're still xeroxed). The zine has covered Aaron's travels around the country (and more recently, around the world, as documented in his recent memoir of touring Asia with his old friends in Green Day). Over the years, he's documented his life as well as the lives of punk rockers and other under-the-radar types who dwell outside the bankers' hours existence that for many defines the epitome of American existence. In this compilation, Aaron covers the years 1998-2002 when he was living in Asheville NC, St. Louis, as well as his hometown of Berkeley. He documents the romance, travel, and (of course) music that shaped his life in those years. The section on Berkeley, “Lansky", ties all of this together as it covers a decent chunk of Berkeley history and sites as well as Aaron's own history growing up as a punk in Berkeley. The stories are chock full of the eccentric characters that weaved their way into his life. Rounding out “Add Toner” is “Back To The Land”, a collection of interviews with those who have chosen to abandon city life for simpler living and “8 Out Of 10 Days”, a collection of previously unpublished stories. Having been a fan of Cometbus for over 15 years, one undercurrent that has always resonated with me is Aaron's journey of growing older while embracing the punk DIY ethic that's guided him all these years. I've always pictured Aaron as a monastic punk who survives on just the bare essentials. He always seems to travel light and because of this, he's not forced to make decisions that are based on the necessity to accumulate goods or preserve an expensive lifestyle.

My reading of this collection is particularly interesting timing for me as I am now closer to 50 than 30. I've been thinking a lot lately about where I am in life. Hey, I have it real good these days so I am hardly suffering. But each day, I put on my middle-class uniform and shined shoes before hustling to a really big gleaming office building where I put in 9-10 hours a day doing work that is virtually meaningless to me beyond the fact that every 2 weeks there is money in my bank account that was deposited there by those who own my soul. When I was in my 20s I had a notion that I'd get older but somehow maintain my youthful spirit but somehow life got in the way. I've sworn repeatedly that I would never again take an office job but when The Man came around jingling the dough and bennies, I was roped like a steer. I've admired the way that Aaron has been able to keep true to himself all these years. His simple living reminds me of the old saying “that which you possess also possesses you.”

Somewhere along the way, I made a decision (or perhaps an indecision) due to a perceived need for more stability in my life. Perhaps complacency has led me to a point where I am yearning to do something more fulfilling with my life besides helping some wealthy people become even more wealthy. When I see my company's executives beg their investors for more money, I know that the master plan is to ensure that the fat cats get fatter and not to necessarily build something that will sustain all of us. If the grown-ups at my job pull off their scheme they will walk away very wealthy and re-convene down the road to start up the engine once again in an entirely new setting. Frankly, there's no reward for me if/when this happens. In fact, it could very well mean the end of my job.

So what separates someone like me from someone like Aaron Cometbus? Is it plain old fear? Is it attachment to what I think I need to have in my life to be content? Do I lack humility? I really don't know and I guess I'm processing my mid-life crisis in front of the handful of people that will actually read this. One of the motivations in starting this blog was to provide myself with an outlet where I can express my true self as a reminder that some ember of that still exists. The destination at the end of this is a mystery to me but I'll never know if I don't take steps in the direction that is calling me. You've just finished reading a small milepost on the quest to figure out where to set the sails.

Buy "Add Toner" by clicking here.

There's Calm In Your Eye

Originally posted on 8/30/11


Hurricane Irene came and went with little effect to those of us in the EV of NYC. We're far luckier than the people in New Jersey and other places up the East Coast. The worst of it for us was two days of cabin fever. When Monday came, the subway system was still coming back online so many folks were unable to get to work. With the sun out, the cooped-up masses hit the street. Thanks to modern technology I could do most of my work via smartphone when I wasn't glomming wireless internet from the diner on the corner.

As there wasn't much happening on the work front I decided to hit the promenade by the East River on my skateboard. At one point I decided to sit on a bench and stare at Williamsburg directly across from me. Sitting there, I realized that I just don't have the time to do the things I really want to do. On Sunday as the wind was rattling the trees outside, we finally organized the front closet and rewarded ourselves by addressing the “Homicide: Life On The Streets” logjam in our DVR. We haven't spent a ton of time together recently so it was great to lie down and not worry about getting up for work or the next task to schlep to. The two of us (and the dog) could be together and present without the sense of an impeding stop time. After getting re-acquainted with “Degrassi: The Next Generation” via the web, I grabbed my beat-to-hell acoustic guitar, plugged in the USB mic that I've not been able to use, and recorded some music for the first time in months. Most gratifying.

While I was enjoying myself on that bench in the park, it dawned on me that the storm rid me of lots of outside distractions and allowed me to focus on things that were fulfilling to me: reducing clutter; hanging with the girl and dog; making music. Since there was nothing happening on the work front, I was able to let go of work tension because there was nothing I was going to be able to change with no one around. Sitting in front of the monitor right now as I compose my thoughts after a day at the office, I feel how tired I am. It took a little bit of pushing to get myself to put this together whereas the other day I spontaneously picked up the guitar and, after learning how to play Nirvana's “Heart Shaped Box” via YouTube, put down a track.

My life has gotten pretty busy these days and most of that time is spent on pursuits that are not meaningful to me other than the means to a paycheck. Lately, I've felt like my life is slipping away from me as I put on my worker-guy uniform and march in line like the rest of the masses. It's a prison of sorts and the choices consist of either sucking it up and accepting that this is my life or rejecting it altogether. Sitting in the middle where I know I'm unhappy without the resolution to rest firmly on either side of the fence probably feels worse than living in either extreme. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find those pockets of time to devote to the pursuit of my passions. I read a blog post recently where the author said that if you're not able to devote 5 hours a day to something you want to do, it's not that important to you. I wonder how that author is able to find his 5 hours. If I do a quick inventory, I work 9 or so hours a day, take about 90 minutes to get to and from work, try to sleep 8 hours a day and spend 30 minutes getting ready in the morning. My math tells me that I have 5 hours left. With that 5 hours, I would like to cram in exercise (30 minutes at least) and eating (total of 1 hour or so). If I want to spend an hour a day with my partner, that leaves me with 2 ½ hours to myself. Take 30 minutes for reading a book and 15 minutes to get ready for bed there's now 1:45 left. Not to sound like a cop-out but that's not a lot of time. The name of the game that I've been trying to win is called Balance. It simply does not exist in my life. I'm not saying I have it hard or that I have good excuses. I'm just saying what I'm saying.

When circumstances forced me to sit still this weekend, I found myself with energy and focus. Obviously, I still have to work for a living but when circumstances forced me to sit still I found that I had energy and focus. It was as if for a fleeting moment, Hurricane Irene came in and briefly swept away much of the junk in my life that separates me from my freer self. One other thing that dawned on me was that the world did not come to an end yesterday because I was not in the office working. All of the work was there waiting for me and my life did not suffer greatly due to the lost day of productivity. It goes to show you that perhaps some of those work urgencies really aren't as important as they seem in the moment.

Perhaps that's the lesson for me.

Image courtesy of cnn.com

Bucharest

The imposing structure in this picture, built by Romania’s communist leader Nicolae Ceaușescu in the early 80s, is second in size only to the Pentagon. Apparently, a visit to Pyongyang gave Ceaușescu the inspiration to build this. In doing so he razed the historic district, destroying churches and displacing thousands of people in the process all in the quest to build this towering monument to, perhaps, himself. Over two decades later, the building sits mostly empty and is still not complete.

The Palace of the Parliament is situated at the end of a Bucharest boulevard meant to resemble the Champs-Élysées in Paris. There are tree-lined paths on each side of the boulevard leading up to the building. Looking down the roadway leading up to this monstrous edifice feels like gazing upon the Communist version of the Yellow Brick Road with a concrete Oz at the end of the line. Sadly, both sides of the streets are filled with empty storefronts. I went to see this building while spending a few days in Bucharest as part of my new job. As my time was very limited, I figured I’d visit the One Thing You Must Do in this city.

Bucharest is still in transition from the struggles it freed itself from with the revolution of 1989 with lots of road construction taking place. Parts of the city look rather drab, with large concrete apartment blocks whose plain boxy exteriors seem consistent with the Communist ethic of sameness. Other parts of the city attempt to be modern, shoving glass-façade buildings in among the older architecture wherever they can fit them. A few places, like the Lipscani old town area, fit in with the idea of Charming Old Europe with winding cobblestone lanes dotted with restaurants, cafes, and bars. The whole city looks like it could use a good scrubbing.

As part of my work time here, I had to interview a few people for a job opening we have in Bucharest. At one point, I was talking to a kid about Biohazard and the NYHC scene when I found myself drifting from the conversation. In that moment, I was struck by the idea that I was sitting in Eastern Europe conducting a job interview, something that I never dreamed that I would be doing. I’m not saying, “Wow, I’ve always wanted to do it and now I have”. The point I’m making is that it never occurred to me that my life would somehow take a path where I would be in a job that required me to be in Romania. All I knew about Romania a few weeks ago was that both Dracula and Olympic gymnast Nadia Comeneci were from there. As the plane was landing in Bucharest, I looked out the window imagining that I’d see forests, large imposing Gothic castles, and flying gargoyles.

When I’m aware that the unexpected is taking place in my life, it allows me to reflect on how things can open up for you if you are open to new experiences. I almost didn’t accept the job that has brought me to Bucharest. If I hadn’t, I never would’ve come on my own. Perhaps this experience is a lesson for me to allow myself to be pulled in directions I hadn’t ever intended. Even if those destinations (or any destination, for that matter) don’t become rewarding in and of themselves, the pit stops along the way makes for a much more interesting journey.

Ponce De Leon Missed Out In New Jersey

Yesterday, I mowed a lawn for the first time since I was a kid. The plot is roughly a half acre. We bought a new lawn mower for the summer place, a little cabin out in the woods of New Jersey. I haven't had the need to mow grass in many years as none of my living places had any grass for me or anyone else to worry about. It appears that lawn mowers have changed a bit since my day. Auto-propel technology reduces the need to push as hard as before though the hilly terrain was still a workout in the noonday sun. Of greater value is whatever technology has been developed that makes starting a gas mower a relative breeze compared to the days of tugging away furiously at the starter rope. It took a gentle tug to get things rolling and by the end, the view of a newly mown lawn felt like a big accomplishment for a holiday weekend Sunday.

The plot of land I mowed sits outside the door of the summer cabin my partner has owned for the last four or five years. From the windows in the living room, you can see the grass and a thick patch of woods whose green lushness has just filled out in time for summer. My partner's cabin is part of a group of about 10 cabins hidden from the main road. If you drive past the entrance to the compound quickly, you may not notice the gravel road that leads into the woods and up the hill to the cabin. We use the word "cabin" because it's easier to describe the place to people than trying to explain the concept of a 1950s prefab Sears house that was ordered out of a catalogue back in the day, shipped out in parts, and put together like an Ikea project on steroids.

The land that all of the houses reside on was bought by a bunch of World War II vets after the war. When they first came out, they would pitch tents and sleep on the land. Over time, they built houses on their plots and ran the community like a co-op. Some people moved on and others have passed away. The last member of the original crew is still alive and until this year, he and his wife were out here regularly, dividing their time among their cabin in New Jersey, a condo in Florida, and an apartment in New York. They're in their 90s and for the most part, they've kept very active lives. Many of the people who have lived here have also been able to enjoy an extensive golden age.

I've talked about this summer community and the residents quite often because I am fascinated by their collective longevity. Initially, I wondered if the water out here is some kind of elixir like what Ponce De Leon was looking for centuries ago. As I've learned more about these people, the answer seems so much less mysterious than that. The wife mentioned above still goes for her morning swim each day in Florida, a habit she cultivated well into her 90s by traveling on a New York City bus to the nearest Y. When she was living in the city she was a member of more clubs and, with her husband, went to more movies and museums than people half her age. Other residents in the community remain active and don't think much about age as they drive around and go about their business as cheerful, optimistic people.

It's not much of a stretch to say that staying active in one's golden years is an important component of remaining vital but there's a little bit more. Having a place outside of New York City forces you to slow down and take a breather from the manic energy that sizzles from the sidewalks. I've always said that I would like to get to a place where I am in New York only during spring and fall. For now, I have some of the summer taken care of bug winter is still a mystery.

The people here in the community are not wealthy by any means although they live comfortably as far as I can tell. They live simply and keep the overhead low which allows them to have a modest summer place where they can escape the hot sticky NYC summer. One of the biggest lessons I've learned lately is that if you keep your spending in check you will have the flexibility to enjoy life more without being weighed down by financial commitment.

There's a lot to be said for keeping balance in one's life. I am typing this from my apartment in the city where I had to endure a one-hour bus ride (standing the whole time), the too-muggy-for-May subway and a walk through the busy streets of Manhattan. As soon as I was off the bus, I was back in the craziness of New York and I could feel the difference from the quiet inner peace I felt all weekend. I've learned from these people that there is a different, healthier way to live that does not involve wealth. Instead, it involves full engagement in life and finding a way to make time for loved ones and for whatever sparks your passion in life. Just as importantly, it involves finding those quiet spaces where your mind can get off its treadmill and relax. I'm a much different person out in the country than I am in the city. Hopefully, by cultivating the lifestyle I've just been exposed to, I can ride things out for a real long time.

Eight Ramones A-Scamming

My part-time bouncer gig was the best job I've ever had. I'm grateful that for three years, I was a tiny part of the history of a grand New York music institution. The job was not nearly as tough as one might think. It might come as a surprise that the best shows for me in terms of crowd behavior were the hardcore shows. The worst moment that sticks out in my memory was being body-checked by the mother of a fan of a big teenybopper band who was hysterical about some minor thing I can no longer recall. Her over-the-top reaction was surely due in large part to the fact that she had been sitting on the sidewalk all day with her kid waiting to get inside and hadn't eaten.

The gig involved standing guard over a velvet rope in front of the VIP/backstage section. A large chunk of my job consisted of repeated variations on politely saying “no, this area is for people with VIP passes” and “the bathrooms are downstairs”. Most people were ok with that but some tried the “don't you know who I am” bit. (The reply of “no, I'm sorry I don't” took the wind out of quite a few sails.) A few others won points for creativity including the 12-year old girl who tried to slip me 5 bucks and the eight guys at a Ramones tribute show who swore they were former members of The Ramones. From working at shows, I now understand why bouncers tend to be terse. After being treated poorly by people who fancy themselves to be more important than everyone else, you tend to become less cheery over time. I tried my best to be polite and accommodating but I'll admit I strayed a few times and apologize to anyone I may have treated poorly.

For those who have tried to weasel their way backstage or who have been overbearing to a bouncer, here's what it looks like from the other side of the rope:

Offering cash to get to the VIP or backstage area brands you as a schmuck with no class and no respect for money.

The bottom line: if the band really wanted your sorry ass to be in the VIP area, they would make sure to provide you with a pass. Bouncers don't give a shit who gets to stand on the “cool” side of the rope. When I was working, the only important thing on my mind was the end time of the show because I knew I'd be home within 45 minutes. Bouncers get paid the same regardless of who is hanging out in the VIP area. An honest worker trying to make an honest buck will not let you in without a pass because he/she is doing his job with the same integrity that you would hopefully maintain at your place of work. The bouncer has nothing against you as he/she doesn't know you beyond the fact that you are Person Without Pass.

Your allegedly unique take on getting past the rope has been heard hundreds of times. As soon as you offer money, it’s as if you’re saying “Look, I’m really just a schmuck who’s not as cool as I would like you to think. I have no connections anywhere and I’m hoping for a piece of glamour to get me through the night”. What struck me as especially appalling about attempted bribes was the fact that I was being offered as much as $500 to sneak people past a velvet rope when there were people sleeping in the streets down the block from the venue.

“No, I am not interested in oral sex from you”

Please note that the bouncer can't leave a post for a quick one as payment for a better view of the show. Also, in this era of STDs, the guy at the rope would have to carefully consider what other superficial thing you are willing to risk your health over and decide if it's worth a roll of the dice to hook up with you. The thought that always struck me at times like these was: once you’ve given away the prize of VIP access for the promise of some action after the show, THERE IS NO MORE INCENTIVE FOR THESE WOMEN TO SLEEP WITH YOU. As those who have let women past the velvet rope can attest, the night will end, you’ll get your “goodnight” hug, and you will go home. Alone. Again.

I don’t have to let you fight with me

One of the best things I gained from the job is the ability to manage potential conflict without the need for escalating words or actions. A life coach friend likes to say that if you don’t throw the ball back, there is no game. When you’re arguing over how important you are when you are turned away, there's nothing left for the bouncer to add to the discussion. My move was to turn my head and slowly walk away, pretending that I was unable to hear the person behind me. It’s silly to argue with the back of someone’s head although a few tried valiantly.

The other thing that worked was to not deviate from the script. When I told someone politely (because that’s how I usually rolled) that I was unable to accommodate a trip into VIP Land and they tried to find some other reason why I should, I would just say “I’m sorry I can’t let you in” each time. It’s difficult to escalate an argument when the other person is not willing to participate. If someone kept jabbering at me, I would throw them my “moron” look that I perfected during my tenure: vacant eyes with mouth held slightly open. I learned that looking stupid really disarms people. With these methods I can say that I avoided conflict about 98% of the time.

For most of the time I was in the job, I was able to shrug off the tiny percentage of irritating people who crossed my path. When it got to the point where petty annoying people ended up taking up space in my head, I knew it was time to hang up the radio and flashlight. We always wish that good things will remain good forever but unfortunately, that wish is inconsistent with the way that life ebbs and flows. Chapters close and chapters open. I'll always remember this particular chapter fondly.

Image courtesy of http://www.worshipperiod.com.

Once in a while you can get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right

I was looking at some pictures last night of a trip I made to Thailand 2 years ago when this particular shot caught my attention. At the time I took it, I suppose I was humored by the awkward grammar that dictates the refund policy of the store I was perusing. It's likely that the store management wanted to inform us farang shoppers that you can't return an item after purchase that has been altered or opened in any way. Last night, I was exhausted and slightly depressed after 3 days spent moving, unpacking, and settling into a new place. In my somewhat hazy state, I made a connection that I hadn't made during any previous viewing of this picture.

That's the thing about enlightenment- it'll sneak up on you sometimes when you least expect it. I'm currently in the process of making a lot of big changes: brand-new living situation; brand-new job starting soon; taking a class in a classroom for the first time in close to 20 years. I didn't exactly want a new job as things were rather cushy where I was but I had reached a plateau maybe a year or so before my employer was forced to shut down. I had hoped that there would be an opportunity for change in the workplace but alas, that was not to happen. In hindsight, my previous employer's woes shook me out of an all-too-comfortable complacency against my will. In a few days, I start a new job in a new industry doing a larger version of the type of work I've been doing for a very long time. There will be the challenges of being the new guy and I will have to figure out how to balance what I want to do in my life with the demands of my employer. In my last job, the work load dropped dramatically and I got soft as there wasn't much to do. This new job will be a whole new world. In regards to the other new things, my new living situation is the first time I've lived with another person in a long time. There's a whole new chapter opening on that alone. As a big upside, I have a much bigger place now and need to get into a routine of where to find things as I have actual rooms to choose from.

As chaotic as the last few months have been, I asked for all of this. I wanted change because I know that experiencing the discomfort of change is the only way to grow. I haven't really been uncomfortable in my life in years and as a result, I haven't experienced personal growth and have become resentful of those who have cast aside fear and doubt in the pursuit of new experiences. The idea of taking a class was as much about learning things as it was about feeling awkward about not knowing everything. I wanted to learn how to accept criticism without wanting to tear someone's head off. I'm doing my best to participate even if it means that no one agrees with what I have to say or if what I say is absolutely wrong. I've been raising my hand when I don't understand something and have been trying to sit with the sensation of asking what is possibly a stupid question. The bottom line is that I haven't really failed at anything lately and the reason is that I haven't traveled outside of my very small comfort zone. I've known for a while that this strategy for living does not allow for personal growth or true fulfillment as we tend to learn many of the big lessons of life through failure and discomfort.

One of the most profound sentences I have ever read is this:

If you want to change your life, change what you do and your life will change as a result.

I don't recall who said it and while there are tons of variations on this, I can't find the origin of this particular quote. The idea makes perfect sense: if you walk the same path over and over, it seems reasonable that you will always get to the same destination. It's by choosing left instead of right for a once that things inevitably look different. You may not get exactly what you want or you may fail disastrously at what you try to do. But in the same way that a piece of toast can't become bread again, if you make a change in your life you will be at a different vantage point than if you don't. You will never go back to the person you were before the change was made. In most cases, your life becomes bigger when you acknowledge fear and walk through it anyway, regardless of the results. I base this on my own experiences as well as on those of people I know.

Whether I like it or not, I will not be the same person at the end of 2011 as I was at the start. It's just not possible with all of the things that are in play right now. I have no idea if I will be better off or not. Hell, I'm not sure what “better off” means other than to hopefully be at peace with where and who I am when I am finally able to take a step back and look at everything that's happening to me right now. But tonight, I have faith that I will be taken care of no matter what. If I envision the worst case scenarios for the situations I will soon encounter, none of them include death or anything irreparable. Sure, there may be psychic pain but one thing about pain is that it's a clear warning sign that you've gone too far. The only way to know what one's real limits are is by going beyond the realm of comfort. If you extend yourself reasonably and feel the pain, you now know your true limits and can reassess the real edge of the envelope. I've never done this.

So here's to jumping off cliffs with the hope that there will be plenty more cliffs down the road.