music machine

so. over the weekend i had an interview and have been invited to write for an LGTB publication as an entertainment contributor on a trial basis.

the bulk of the writing for now will be music centered, possibly expanding at a later time.

i am SUPER excited for this opportunity. i learned from the last magazine gig that i ADORE interviews. i love getting to sit down with people and get a peek into their life. i love asking questions, seeing people light up with excitement to tell you about a project or a memory. making a personal connection or finding common ground is always exhilarating and then being able to take that and share it to a group of readers is even better.

HOWEVER.

i'm a musical fake.

don't get me wrong- i LOVE music. i always have music playing at home or in the car. i have pandora on my phone, tv, and bluray so it's available wherever i am. i put on some bad. ass. concerts in my kitchen while i cook. i do not sing in the shower (never could figure that one out) but i will do a whole show with encores in my car.

but i don't KNOW about music. i can't tell you which drummer left which band in what year between which albums and joined the OTHER band and released the next album which had a sophomoric urban feel opposed to the angsty grunge feel he had before.

I AM NOT LANE KIM.

i have this idea stuck in my head that to be a true music journalist i need an encyclopedic knowledge of all music across all genres from ALL TIME.

i thought about this on the way home from the interview. will i be able to ask the "right" questions? will they know i'm a fake?

let's take a trip down musical memory lane:

i don't remember when my fascination with music began. i remember having a plastic record player that plinked out songs when you turned it on.

i remember a sesame street cassette with such classics like "If I Knew You Were Coming I'd Have Baked a Cake" and "C is for Cookie" (which a google search just told me was the name of the album).

other childhood albums included evie, the bill gaither trio, and agapeland music machine:

for better or worse my ability to do the alphabet backwards to this day is thanks to the bill gaither trio a-b-c- song: a-b-c-d-e-f-g jesus died for you and me OR z-y-x-w-v god is watching over me.

if i ever have to do a field sobriety test that officer is in for a real treat.

i can still tell you the sound the music machine makes- it goes whir, whir, chicka, chicka, bomp, bomp, psssst. even more humiliating? i SEARCHED for this album and bought it on CD less than a year ago because i loved it so much as a kid.

things were a little edgier at my dad's house- he bought me an ann murray cassette (a gift i'm sure he deeply regretted later that same summer after hearing teady bears picnic for the millionth time). oooo. a canadian singer. can you handle all my edge?

i remember my dad whistling/singing john denver songs on road trips and his deep baritone singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" on occasion.

i learned on my last trip to his house ever that he loved musicals which i'm 100% sure is where i get it from.

as a teenager i somehow managed to own a copy of  Hearts of Gold, The Pop Collection which i completely wore out listening to over and over and over again. OH MY GOD WILSON PHILLIPS. and janet jackson! sinead o'conner! she shaved her head. CAN YOU FEEL THE REBELLION?

good thing that album didn't have madonna- i would have never been allowed to have in the house. madonna was complete scandalous trash, don't you know (she was the whole reason i wasn't allowed to watch A League of Their Own, yes, the baseball movie).

i remember my brother having a beach boys tape that i was SO jealous of. somwhere there is a GLORIOUS picture of him in his chubby phase wearing spandex bike shorts, some horrible tank top, with a flat top hair cut listening to that tape on his walkman.

the beach boys- they sang about girls and cars and surfing. so hip. he even had the soundtrack to cocktail on cassette. lucky bastard.

i went to a DC Talk concert with my youth group in high school but i spent the whole concert being worried about people seeing how much i was sweating through my super awesome but hot as fuck silk shirt (seriously, why didn't any tell me what a bad choice silk was for a jam packed high school auditorium?). my only other concert of my youth was a vince gill concert also in high school. again with the edge.

outside my pathetic collection of cassette and concerts my personal experience in creating music was also sadly limited. i played clarinet in middle school and jr. high. i always managed to snag second or third chair, but never really enjoyed playing (i figured out how to tear the pads off my clarinet in 8th grade so mine always needed repair and i wouldn't have to play). i did a few years of piano as well. my mum figured out early on that i could play by ear and immediately signed me up for lessons (that managed to train that out of me). i played piano until my teacher started shoving me in competitions all over the place. it takes the fun out of music when all you're doing is learning a piece to play for a judge that is going to tell you all the ways you did it wrong. there's a small collection of WSMTA (washington state music teachers association) pins around my house somewhere along with all my participation certificates and judging sheets.

i always wanted to keep playing piano. i still really miss it around the holidays. just couldn't figure out a way to make them let me play music just to play music. there was a lady that tuned our piano twice way back in the day- Ruby Bartel (or something close to that). she was...i don't even know the words. she was what i wanted to be when i grew up. she had this beautiful long black and silver braid and the coolest red cat eye glasses. she was a reporter for the local newspaper at a time when computers were just starting to be used and i remember hearing about how she typed so fast that she would finish a piece, walk away to get a cup of coffee and the computer would still be putting words up on the screen.

and she played piano.

holy. fuck. do i remember her playing the piano. i remember her showing up at our house and tuning the piano with a simple tuning fork. after it was tuned she played old school honky tonk/ragtime that cartoons are based on- she played with so much energy and passion that you swore the piano was jumping. i remember staring in complete awe as she just railed the piano and didn't miss a single note and created this...music. this color, this sound that was bigger than life.

dude- to be her. this cool, single, independent journalist that could play music like that. that would have been the most awesome thing ever.

but that's it. the extent of my music experience. as a child of the 80's when MTV first aired and the 90's when Nirvana was just over the mountains and music was everywhere on walkmans on cassette or cd's (oh my god cd's!). i missed new kids on the block. i missed jenny when she was from the block. I MISSED ALL THE GOOD BLOCKS. i can't tell you any of the hanson brother's names. i can't readily name off any greenday albums or one song the red hot chili peppers were famous for. 
i never figured out what meatloaf wouldn't do for love. i have ZERO information on any of that devil noise music like AC/DC or Motley Cru or Alice in Chains. i DID learn to play bryan adams everything i do on the piano.

i'm not an audiophile. i don't know what new cutting edge bands are on the verge of making it big. i don't know what the next big sound will be. i don't know the music underground. i'm not the one to compare music catalogs with. i've never even listened to the dark side of the moon.

so. i'm not sure how i'll be as a music journalist. but i do love talking to people. i do love asking questions. and when it comes to if i like something or not, i'm pretty good at being able to dial in why or why not and at least having an appreciation for the effort and feeling behind it.

and so it begins.

excuse vs reality

2015 is all of 16 days old and it's already started with a bang.

i'm working on arranging an interview to get back into published magazine writing for a local brand which is VERY exciting.

i've written and had a piece accepted for OffBeat Homes. Publication is loosely scheduled in a few weeks online (and more to possibly come!).

i've worked on organizing the house and have actually been keeping up on things and making myself JUST DO IT instead of sitting on the couch hating myself for not doing it (ie: fixing the bathtub and sink in the main bathroom that weren't draining. i'm like a super hot bob villa (i've been told i'm actually not. whatever.)).

AND: one of the things i'm proud of: i've been getting my ass OFF THE COUCH. it started with doing the rowing machine while watching tv at night (only after finishing other chores). i just made myself do it. no particular reason or trick- just. did.

i also am contemplating roller derby.

and that's where my main battle is right now.

what's the difference between an excuse and a reality?

i want to do roller derby.

not because i'm all WOO HOO! GO SPORTS TEAM! i'm not. i didn't do sports in high school. well, i was a cheerleader, but if you knew our squads you'd know it was more of a whoever showed up for try outs and not one of those competitions you seen on ESPN 8, The Ocho.

i want to do it because i know it's a great way to get in shape and be active and biggest part: because i know it's an amazing group of supportive, strong, confident women that help each other and accept each other and that sounds DAMN AMAZING.

BUT.

practices start at 7:30 on tuesdays and thursdays. shouldn't seem like a big deal, but for the kiddo, that half hour before bedtime of me not being home is pretty much on par with abandonment. not to mention the 3 hours saturday morning practice. i went on tueday night (yay! survived an actual practice!) and wednesday morning the kiddo was a nasty grouch and wendesday night he was a bundle of LOOK AT ME while i was trying to get photos taken for the OffBeat Homes article. In the space of an hour while editing pictures i had to ask him three different times, "Can we do this later?" because he kept interrupting with school papers, permission slips, etc.

if that's the way it's going to be three times a week? oh. my. pending. insanity.

he always has been a high maintenance kid and i have been trying to figure out the balance between telling him to just deal with it and not ignoring him FOREVER. he's the type of kid that you can spend ALL DAY WITH and the next morning he's insulted you don't want to do it all over again and insisting you NEVER do anything with him. it's been like that as long as i can remember.

i already feel guilty enough for him being home alone before and after school while i'm at work. and i have this HUGE ball of parental fuck up in my gut at all times for my down time while dealing with depression. what toll would it be emotionally and mentally to me to add more away time (even just a half hour) to the fire? how much would his behavior shift and would it be a constant battle?

is this an excuse or a reality?

additionally, there's the fact of WHEN, not if i get injured. it seems like everyone in derby has a story of when they messed up their ankle or knee or arm or miscellaneous body part. i have ZERO wiggle room or cushion for missing work. i have no one to watch the kiddo if i'm in the hospital for any length of time. i have no savings account or fall back if there's medical bills or missed pay. one injury would wipe me out across the board. YES, i fully realize i could get injured walking down the street or driving to and from work with the same consequences. that, to me, is drastically different from signing up for something that has an inevitability versus a possibility.

again though, excuse or reality?

there's the thought that since i'm considering spending money on dues and gear i could put that towards personal trainer sessions/gym fees and be able to work out after the kiddo is in bed and get the same health benefits. but that misses out on the interaction and belonging to something or being a part of a group.

there's the thought that i can't let the kiddo dictate my life forever, i need to just GO. but i know my brain and i know it would be a constant nagging/distracting thought.

so. here i am, waffling. if it's just excuses i can kick myself in the ass and say SUCK IT UP.

if it's a reality then i need to find a work around or alternate solution.

 and i really just don't know.

dull hooks

well, it's officially 2015 and that means only one thing: 

#bfhunt2014 has been retired and #bfhunt2015 has begun (boyfriend hunt 2015 for the non-twitter hashtag addicted crowd).

yes. this is a continuation of #bfhunt2013 as well. shut it.

with the new year comes the same old question: WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU MEET PEOPLE?

i decided a few weeks ago that i'm actually going to *TRY* to find someone to date. this is an actual conscious decision vs the previous "meh, i'll throw an online profile up and see if anything happens" which has obviously gone so well in years past. well, it DID net plenty of interesting blogs and horror stories but no real results.

SO. i sat down yesterday and started writing about WHERE do you actually go out and meet people?

"out"

WHERE THE FUCK IS "OUT"????? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE NAME A BAR "OUT" SO I KNOW WHERE TO GO?

fuck a duck sideways. i go to the theater, i go to concerts, bars, restaurants, stores, art exhibits, sporting events, OUT. most of the time i'm alone, some of the time i'm with people. ALL OF THE TIME i go home alone.

also, have you tried to go "out" as a single person? especially as a single 30+ not hollywood leading lady sized with *maybe* a bit of a...non-conventional attitude and appearance? i've tamed down over the years (no more blue hair) but there's no hiding all my tattoos. there's also no hiding my no bullshit attitude. i'm never flat rude (without provocation at least) but i'm also not a legally blonde bend-and-snap girl.

in case anyone wandering across/reading this doesn't know me, here's my nutshell: 34, 5'8", size 20, red head (from a salon, not genetics). i hold a BA in English, a steady job, own my home and car. i have 2 kids, a dog and a plant that i've kept alive for several years now. i'm not bad to look at on a good day and on a great day i can even be called pretty. i have a wealth of useless information stuffed in my head that allows me to be able to carry on a conversation with just about anyone and a sense of humor that only makes fun of you if you're not fast enough to say something right back. it's a cozy little nutshell. i've modified it and adjusted it over the years and i'm quite pleased with it.

so. i do it. i go OUT. me and my little nutshell take on the infamous OUT.

here's what happens: business men in town for a convention think i'd LOVE to be their free hooker for the night. "pretty people" pretend like i don't exist (literally leaning over me to order drinks when the rest of the bar/space is empty). if i decide to dance i'm the sad/weird girl dancing alone. if i try to initiate conversation with anyone sitting around me i'm creepy/desperate (and probably eavesdropping to boot.)

today, Bustle.com posted THIS ARTICLE about going out to bars alone in new york. i commiserate with the author on several points but the entire article holds absolutely NO water because, if you happened to miss it, the writer is NOT SINGLE. how the fuck can you honestly/accurately write about going out to a bar to get picked up when you're NOT SINGLE? at the end of the night you have a significant other to remind you that you're not invisible, that people can see you and have conversations with you. those sad looks from the bartenders? try getting those ALL THE TIME, not just the one night of the experiment. writing an article about ONE NIGHT is bullshit. get back to me when the one night out alone is the rule, not the exception.

i spent TWO YEARS going to the same bar, every wednesday to listen to a band that i adored (until they all grew up and went to colleges on the other side of the country or pursued other careers. assholes. WHAT ABOUT ME??). after two years i managed to make friends with all the bartenders and cocktail waitresses but had yet to figure out how to get along with the other people in the bar. TWO YEARS. you can't say it was for lack of trying.

so. the infamous "out" isn't a place to meet people. what else is there?

friends! have your friends hook you up!

fuck. that. shit. all my friends are either gay and/or married. not sure if you know this, the gay dating pool isn't exactly the place for a single FEMALE to fish. don't get me wrong, i LOVE visiting the gay dating pool. some of the prettiest, most in shape, most gentlemanly fish you'll ever see. they just have ZERO interest in any kind of bait i could even imagine tossing in. the fun thing is we usually have the same taste in gentlemen. the not fun part is they always win the fishing derby.

married friends tend to know other married friends. little inside tip: not many married friends are kosher with you dating their other married friends.

i may or may not have dipped into the married pool once or twice (i know, i know) and the only thing there is heartbreak and drama. even under the best of circumstances (permission on all sides: yes it exists; no, none of mine were) it's still complicated. when you have a less than above board arrangement it's just a trainwreck in perpetual slow motion. all the emotions, all the attachments, all the potential jerry springer moments waiting to happen, none of the movie watching nights.

so friends aren't a great way to meet people.
 
what about the age old grocery store or coffee shop or post office?

honestly, married, single, visiting alien from planet xenob: when is the last time you randomly talked to someone out and about? can you remember the last conversation you had in the check out line at the grocery store? or the last time you tried to joke with someone about why the price of bacon is so high? I DO AND IT WAS SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE AND THEY LOOKED AT ME LIKE I HAD JUST ADMITTED TO LIKING M NIGHT SHYAMALAN MOVIES.

what about online? or a smart phone app?

*sniff*eyeroll*sarcastic cough*

moving on.


what about being spontaneously asked out by a complete stranger? LIKE IN A ROMCOM MOVIE??

that totally happens, right?

yeah. it does.

have i ever told you the story about how i accidentally dated a pimp? it started with me walking down the street in a super cute dress on the way to get lunch and ended with a hooker telling me "if she had to share her man with anyone, she was glad it was me."

don't remember that part of the last meg ryan movie i watched.

so. as the great #bfhunt2015 kicks off (for the third consecutive year), WHERE DO I START?

no, really. where do i start?

happy new year?

well. it's a new year and all that.

as with the last...too many...years, there's really not a great spin I can put on 2014.

january my kiddo moved out, june there was a slight melt down of mental status, november was perhaps the shittiest month on the books of all time, and here we are starting over again. i honestly can't remember any big hi-lights for the year- no major accomplishments, no major life changes, no major decisions or turning points. i dreadfully neglected reading and writing- my two core touchstones. i've been unusually snappy and grumpy (some is normal, more days than not is a bit much). i'm stuck in this angry cloud of depression and desire to change but inability to kick my own ass into gear which leads to more depression- you get the cycle.

and, perhaps, in true 2014 bland bullshit fashion, the final blow was reading my 2015 horoscope (you know those are NEVER wrong, ever) which said i'll be stuck in this funk and my "new year" won't start til august. blah blah blah healing and releasing a grudge bullshit mixed in, but my new year won't start until august 11.

THANKS 2014.

an extended 8 months of bland bullshit.

AWESOME.

what a great fucking start to the year.

SO.

this is where my rebel side starts to kick in.

FUCK YOU 2014. and FUCK YOU 2015 HOROSCOPE.

i don't want to be stuck this way for another 8 months. the last 12 almost did me in. more than once.

more than that: I REFUSE to be stuck this way another day.

i'm not one for resolutions. if i were, this list would be where i'd start.

i AM a person of lists though. and plans of action. i work best with an end goal and a map.

SO. here's my list and my end goal and my map:

list:
1. STOP HATING LIFE
2. start finding things to love about life.
3. be the obnoxious person that loves live SO MUCH it makes other people want to do that too.

plan of action:
1. stop hating myself: when i think of something negative write it down. dissect it. if it's valid find a fix. if it's invalid toss it.
2. list positive things DAILY: maybe even the trite writing on my mirror or post it notes where i can see them- whatever it takes to start infusing POSITIVE things.
3. get back to the core: reading, writing, creating.
4. to steal from nike: JUST DO IT. i've gotten incredibly lazy. i would rather sit and watch reruns on netflix than do...anything. dishes, laundry, exercise. i say i'll start being positive but never actually do it. i say i'll start writing again...after one more episode of scrubs. time to stop the bullshit, be an adult, and just DO THINGS. don't plan on taking the dog for a walk when the weather gets warmer. put on a fucking hat and gloves and go NOW. don't say i'll cook healthy meals after all the dishes are caught up: do the fucking dishes and cook the fucking healthy meal already. stop waiting for the "perfect writing environment" (like the first time i finished the office, or the second time i rearranged it, or the most recent time i bought a brand new writing desk that has yet to be used for writing). JUST FUCKING WRITE. 

map:
1. get a daily journal WITH WRITING PROMPTS since i use that as my main excuse to not write ("i can't think of anything to write about" BULLSHIT. excuse gone.).
2. look in the mirror every morning (you're there putting on make up anyway) and say things i like about me AND BELIEVE ME. that last part is the bitch of the process. how can i argue with myself and call myself a liar or think of all the exemptions to the statement? i do it all the time. own worst enemy and all that.
3. SELF CARE. vitamins. water. real food. friends. activities. shenannigans (there were far too few of those this year).

this isn't a new years resolution. it just happens to be starting now because i'm- i guess i'm finally fucking tired of waiting for the magic button to appear or the magic day on the calendar to pass or the magic whatever to finally happen.

it isn't magic: it's work.