My 29th.

    

     I looked back on my last list and realized I'd had about a 50% completion rate. That's pretty damn good for who I've been. So, I'm gonna do another one. Keep up that directed living. So, in my 29th year I intend to:

     1.) Finish my damn degree. I keep trying. I really do.

     2.) Work my ass off in my new and healthy relationship. I punished myself enough with that fucking redheaded disaster. It's time to be a damn adult.

     3.) Get my musical shit together lmao. I need to release something, and perform for fux sake.

     4.) Get a big boy all-or-4 wheel drive for this state I'm in.

     5.) Get back in the gym. I'm looking like hell, and I'm weak as see-through coffee.

     6.) Let go and forgive.

     7.) Read more and better books.

     8.) Keep thinking hard. Keep avoiding drinking the way I can.

     9.) Visit Matt Lazar.

    10.) Keep working on my resume and my PCEI stuff through Alison. I've got a lot I wanna learn. :-D

I'm happy. Which explains why I'm not writing.

It's almost mom's birthday. I dunno.

I'm reflective, like the vest I wear. :) 

Anti-Depressant.

Making everything chemically okay in the brain is doable, and it helps some people function in society.

It might help to remember that all of society is a construct of our collective minds. Note also the total dysfunctional nature of society. I'm not saying correlation implies causation in this case, but it does feel symptomatic.

We created a society that is rife with suck. To deal with that suck we have to medicate our minds so we see the suck...less. Otherwise we can't fucking bear to go to work, we can't fucking bear to look at ourselves, our partners, our children. Everything feels like a disappointment when we really look hard at it, because everything we've been told to care about is the concern of minds that aren't ours, specifically. So yeah, every promotion is thrilling, then awful. Every birthday is sweet and bitter. Every childbirth is beautiful and awful. Every Christmas is less magical than the last until one day you wake up and unwrap presents bought on a credit cards near maxed, and can't think about anything but how many hours you had to work only to fall so far behind. So why not have 10, 12, 15 beers? Third, half, near gallon of wine? Two, four...fuck it, why not the whole damn bottle of pills? Yeah, why not?

Because fuck it. Yeah, those societal concerns...getting a nice car, big house, paying off debt, having a hot partner who'll swallow...yeah, they're not yours specifically, but getting one of those feels like an accomplishment. However hollow and surreal, it feels NICE to have what everyone's talking about...for even a split second, the understanding a person gets when they switch from a shitty beater car to their first REAL luxury vehicle...oh it all makes sense then. That's not finding meaning. That's making meaning. And that's where all the living is done. Those split seconds of understanding what everyone's on about.

First orgasm.

First buzz.

First diploma.

First belly laugh.

Pulling away some essential layer of confusion surrounding the "why" of "why keep living?" are in those moments of understanding.

And yeah, of course people go their entire LIVES never having known even the scope and size and multitude of questions they could be asking of their inner beings...some people are republicans, after all...and some of us have to go to public schools...but is it alright to look at the lack of self-reflection in the people around us as the new normal? No. Of course not.

The best of us battle against that new normal, that want for average. Teachers. Real teachers. People who beg you to think. Not that asshole who tried to drill into your mind with the blunt instrument of of their cynicism and 10 year old textbooks so they can go home and collect a pension in a couple decades.

And if it isn't our job to try and enlighten those around us, and we'd rather not frustrate ourselves...at least we should be able to tone down the volume knob on how awful everything is. Anti-depressant. Binge drinking. Whoring. Sex addiction. Internet Addiction. Drug addiction. Anything. Just shut up this nagging sense that at the bottom of everything is this core of darkness that reeks of hopeless and meaningless annihilation. Just shut up this voice in me that says that I'm not good enough for me, and that even if I were, in the larger picture, it's still not good enough for anyone else, and even if I overcame all of THAT, there's STILL no satisfaction to be gained, because nothing truly has meaning outside of that which I give meaning, and the only frame of reference I have for "that which is meaningful" is what I've been told by....society.

Whatever, and ever, amen. 

On Authentic Experience.

     Art is a problem. Fuck you, yes it is. If you're sitting there reading this thinking, "Art is an experience, it's made as self-expression, take it or leave it, but it's not a problem...A flat tire is a problem. Donald Trump being the leader of the free world is a problem...Picasso is oil on canvas." Then you're just not giving me room to expand my thought, hush your inner monologue. 
     Yeah, okay, anyone can walk through a gallery space, and anyone can look at a painting and anyone can be glib and detach themselves from their thinking being. That's experiencing art. That's walking through the MOMA with your cell phone, snapping pics for Instagram, texting your bff lol j/k lmao. That's the equivalent of just existing. What I'm getting at is the difference between living and existing. 
     Two artworks, side by side. One, a picture of a dying soldier in Iraq. The caption beneath reads, "Private First Class _______, during the invasion of ______, 19-- to 20--. Photo credit to Sgt. _____" 
The second is the exact same photo. The caption for this one reads, "A picture of the picture seen to the immediate left. Photo Credit: Mr.____, Photographer, and artist". 
     The set up begs the question, "What makes the photo of the photo worthy of being hung in the gallery?" There's the problem. 
     Getting your hands on the answer to the question "What constitutes art?" is harder than just getting your brain wrapped around the core concepts of subjectivity versus objectivity. If all art amounted to was "whatever a person sees as art, is art" then, fuck it, everything and anything is art. And if everything is art, then fuck you, why make any more? Why are the Van Gogh's in the Dollar Store 15 dollars, but the ones in the gift shop at the Carnegie 150, and the actual paintings worth millions? I could accurately reproduce a Van Gogh. Does that make me a genius? No, that makes me a Xerox machine with oil paint instead of shitty ink and toner. Where's the difference?
     It's authenticity of experience. Van Gogh lived his life, struggled, failed, continued, lost his mind, continued painting, and continued failing. Nobody gave a fuck about his work until well after his death. Now experts look at his work and say things like, "Can you imagine what he must've been going through?" 
    I didn't live through those times, I didn't struggle through that, I didn't suffer for the art, and so when I reproduce his works, even perfection isn't good enough. 
   I'm reading "Humans of New York Stories" by Brandon Stanton. It's...glaringly profound when seen through the lense of the argument I'm making here in this post. The elevation of human experience to art is something I don't take lightly. Pick it up. Put your cellphone down. Give it a good once-over. 
   That which affects, and that which moves us is the at core of artistic value. Art does it's best to be Universal in some sense. Anyone, hypothetically, could interact with a piece of art. Does that in some way demean it? Does the dissemination of fine art via the internet rob the viewer of some essential quality of seeing the piece in situ? Fucking, YEAH. Authenticity of experience.
     At the same time, is coming face to face with the Mona Lisa a moving experience? I'll never fucking know, because I've seen it so many times in my culture that I've absolutely no desire to go and see it in person. Fuck you, I know what the goddamn thing looks like, and I'm not wading through several hundred assholes with their iCan'tBeBothered's snapping pics just to see something I've already seen. That said, someone who's actually been to see the Mona Lisa face to face still has something I don't in the realm of lived experience. 
     Why are you spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a house full of shit you don't really need? Have a family, provide them with the tools to be happy. Give them authentic lived experiences. Keep them healthy and well-fed. "We need kayaks if we wanna go kayaking..." Just fucking rent one, and give it back when you're finished having the experience. Pay for the experience, not keeping the shit involved with having the experience. 
     Okay, that was a lot of stream of consciousness...total sobriety doesn't exactly agree with me on all fronts.  

Coldplay, "A Head Full of Dreams".

     What's vaguely inoffensive and great background noise for supermarkets, elevators, and anywhere a body might need distraction from their lack of self-awareness? That's right! It's a brand new Coldplay album! 

     I bought "A Rush of Blood to the Head" three times in hard copy. I have "Yellow" as a fixture in my set list when I play live. I've listened to a LOT of Coldplay. That said, I can't tell you a single thing they've said or written that I heard and related to. It's like their lyrics are are this weird jumble of vague ambiguities that could really apply to just about any situation without any necessary context. Like they'll say anything to get to that hooky chorus swell. 
     So to be fair, I listened to this album twice. Once as background noise to get a feel for the overall theme and structure of the album, and then again to really try and get a feel for the lyrical structure and production. 

     Track one, "A Head Full of Dreams" gives the immediate first impression of being extremely built up. I'm talking Tokyo. Just fucking see-it-from-space bigness. Like Tycho on steroids...with lyrics. What kinda lyrics? Fucking...weird ones. 
   
   "Oh I think I landed / In a world I hadn't seen / When I'm feeling ordinary / When I don't know what I mean." 

     Coldplay, nobody knows what the hell you mean. Go home, you're way too high on E to say anything worth repeating. But I'm sure that won't stop you from repeating yourself, or doing that "ohhh" thing you like to do so the crowd can sing along at your concerts...annnnnd there it is. And don't think I didn't notice you stealing that shitty guitar effect Edge uses in "Where the Streets Have no Name." Bono must be spinning in his grave. 

     Track two. Birds. Are we talking about chirp chirp birds, or slang for females? Uh. Fucking hard to say. The lyrics are...incongruous. "Come on rage with me" is sung as if he's asking for a dance partner. Granted, there aren't many instances of pop artists even using the word rage, but it's still frustrating to hear it sung totally divorced from anger. 

     Did they fire the drummer, and just get a machine? If not, I'm sure he's on life support somewhere, dying of boredom. Our thoughts and prayers are with the drummer's family. And what's going on with the endings and intros of the songs? 

     Track three, "Hymn For the Weekend". Noted. Don't name my tracks some pretentious bullshit just for the sake of being quirky...Was that Beyonce on the intro? Okay, Google....Yes. Yes it was. Just put her on the track and let HER fucking shine, you stupid prick. She's not a goddamn background vocalist, you snarky cunt! Wow, you had the most powerful woman in the charts on your track, and you buried her in the mix, and gave her no parts to sing? This is why your band is over. 

    "Everglow"...Did you literally phone this in? Was your iPhone reception so poor that you thought, "Oo, what a unique quality that is...we'll clean that up in post"? Pretty schmaltzy, fluff lyrics there, bud. What did you do with your time off?? 

     "Adventure of a Lifetime". Goddamn it. Alright, I'm fucking bored, irritated, and I can see through all of this. Did you take a little vacation where there were tiki torches and touristy music? This sounds like the worst parts of Modest Mouse had a really bad three-way with Justin Timberlake and 90's hip hop. (Which is kinda redundant, I realize.) 

     "Fun. (feat. Tove Lo)" Almost reflective. Almost thoughtful. If it were Christina or Brittany or even a boy band, I'd applaud the step up in writing quality. And yeah, okay, they don't/can't write their own lyrics, but that's not the point. I'm just saying, at about 3:26 in this song, you get a glimpse at what was probably the bare bones of this song. Everything else shuts the fuck up for a minute, and you see that somewhere in the molly and mire of 808's there was still a guy with a guitar trying to write something that he cared about. Sad. Just...fucking....sad. 

    "Kaleidoscope". Oh please, be good....nope. Spoken word. Not even particularly profound spoken word. 

     "Army of One". Betcha this is the single. Little bit of plagiarism from Pogo. OH FUCK YOU SO HARD!!! NO NO NO NONONONONONONONONONONONONONO. "Beautifulest"<-----Go fuck yourself, I'm not even gonna dignify the rest of this song with the use of my time. John Mayer would've done it better, and I'dve hated him less for it....maybe. 

    "Amazing Day". What exactly are you trying to be? Some kind of weird 1950's mash-up, doo-wop, modernized to the point of bleeding in my ears? I dunno. I kinda like it though. The song structure is at least solid. I'm pretty damn conflicted about it. 

    "Colour Spectrum". Oh, don't you wish you were Pink Floyd? 

     "Up&Up". Fine. Just hit the goddamn chorus already. There. Was that so hard? It's still not that good, but it's the best so far, so good for you. One song I actually am okay with. 

     Wait...that's the end of the album? That's all there is? 

     I am so sorry. Either have something catastrophic happen in your life so you have something to write about, or get someone who's still out there struggling with real life problems to write for you. You have nothing left to say from your platinum tower. 

1 out of 5 stars. Don't buy it. Stream it, steal it, find your favorite song, and then forget this album exists. 



    

 
    

 

On Connection.

A very dear friend of mine just texted me and asked if she was "cool". After assuring her that yes, she was in fact very cool, I asked her why she was feeling doubtful in the first place. She said, "I'm having a hard time finding someone to connect with".

Hm!

Well, that got me thinking. What the fuck do we mean when we talk about feeling connected to a person in a romantic sense? In any sense, really?

I think it goes back to meaning. We're born into this world fumbling for meaning (Jerry), and while some of us never find it, most of us spend our lives looking for it.

We say things like "I feel so connected to my partner because _____". What we're really saying is "I have no idea why I believe in monogamy, so I'm going to justify and rationalize it by giving a title to this feeling I'm experiencing in the hopes that perhaps this experience is universal and therefore objectively true and at last, meaningful."

Calm your tits, it isn't.

At best, all you can say is that you're feeling something, and that your partner agreed upon the word you've chosen to point to that feeling. Maybe they're experiencing something closer to sea-sickness, and "Connected" is the only word they've ever had for being in a relationship of some depth of commitment.

Oo! That's another good point! What exactly is "Depth of commitment"?

Don't get all flashy on me.

Depth, I think, refers to: Proximity + Time + Effort + Honesty. Commitment is just doing the thing you said you'd do...so essentially, your depth of commitment to a relationship is just how long and hard you're willing to work with the person you've chosen to be with, and how much you trust them to do the same.

So, my point?

Stop looking for connection. You're really looking for meaning. Find it within yourself, and if you have, or find a partner? Don't demand that THEY give your life meaning, even if they do. Enjoy them! Enjoy the experiences that come with being with them.

Connect with me in the comments below. 

In My 28th Year.

Every year on my birthday, I look back and reflect. I also take time to list the things I intend to accomplish in the coming 365. This year has been a remarkable series of defeats and victories, minor and major. More loss than win, but I'm still here. Thanks in no small part to the dedication and care of my family and friends without whom I would certainly have perished.

With this 28th Year?

I'll finish my goddamn college career. One way or the other.

I'll stop whoring around and find a life-mate.

I'll bench 400lbs

I'll enter a new work field and generate wealth that affords me the luxury of building a cabin on the family land.

...Pay on/down/off my student loans as best I can. 

...Finish the album I'm working on, and start on something new.

...Start saving towards fixing my nose, teeth, and getting my tonsils taken out, and getting my eyes zapped.

...Throw away useless shit that's taking up space in my life.

...Drink a beer with all of my dearest friends at least once.

...Try new and exciting drugs to expand my mind.

...Go on exciting sexual adventures. (BEFORE I stop whoring, let's be practical now.)

...Help at least one person become a better version of themselves.

...Destroy at least one person.

...Buy a pistol.

...Drink expensive scotch.

...Investigate the city.

...Go to cultural and artistic events in said city, Including the opera, the symphony, and gallery shows.

...Start to Learn self defense. Specifically Krav Maga. Which I can't even spell yet.

I also plan to write and release a self-published work of short stories online, just to say I did it before I hit 30.


That's a full year's worth of work...Starting...now.

Gear Review: Samick Om3 Mahogany

Vodka, my love, thou hast never forsaken me.

     I'm an avid Ebay-er, and as such I know the street value and retail value of the very narrow selection of things I give a shit about. Namely music, photography and gadgetry.

     I'm also an avid drinker, and as such I can be surprised occasionally when the UPS man pulls up with a package I have no recollection of ordering.

     Such was the case with this purchase. I thought I was getting a new case for my baritone, and lo and behold...A Samick Om3 arrived instead.

     I'm a Samick guy. They ghost build for all kinds of brands. I'm not gonna name drop here because that's not what this review is about, but they sort of specialize in this 200-500 dollar range of knock off guitars that look strikingly similar to the big brand names every player covets.

     Right out of the box (A camping stove box, if you're curious), I unzipped the hard-shell gig-bag case, and was very pleasantly surprised to find a beautiful mahogany topped guitar. Why? Why did I order a mahogany top? Because my father has been talking about them for the past month and a half, that's why...

Anyway! Looking back through my emails and billing statements I found the guitar. 175$ WITH the case.

So, drunk me has the good sense to avoid ordering a guitar without a case at least...how does it sound?

Tuned up with dead strings, my first impression was...really good. Not kinda good. Not, "okay for this price". Really good. Totally clear and resonant notes, a good amount of sustain, a beautiful high end, and a crisp mid range.

I handed it to my father. He diddled it a bit. We both frowned at this kind of unexpected weirdness we were holding. He couldn't really find a fault with it.

Now I'm interested! My father, the Taylor die-hard. The Martin aficionado! The Wood and Steel subscriber, and 30+ year veteran of the instrument says he can't find fault with a guitar that's essentially 80 bucks? Bullshit.

So I order some Tusq bridge pins and resolve to re-string, clean, polish and generally set up this little beauty.

That, was an excellent idea.

With Elixir Nanoweb Custom Lights, and the new pins installed? This fucking guitar is a BEAST. It's subtle and projects, it sustains and swells. It's got the entire frequency range covered.

Any cons to having bought it? Well, the fret work is a tad lazy, and there are a few cosmetic issues that are so small I can only call them nit pickey. Truly, this guitar has surpassed all my expectations for a budget guitar.

Should you get drunk and buy one of these? Yes. Then take it to be professionally set up by a luthier.

Final score: 8.8 out of 10.