Saturday, November 15, 2008

Yes, but is it Art?

Unlike most jokers who have half-assed blogs, I refuse to apologise for not updating for the last 2 months.
Truth be told, I'd love to be able to update daily-but spending 9 hours of my day working kinda' eats up all my free time, ya' know?
If any ultra-rich person out there would like to be my benefactor so I can write regularly, just let me know.

So, instead of writing lately I've been using most of my free time to paint. I'm not really sure how good at it I am, but I have learned a lot over the past few months.
Please check out my Etsy site, and let me know what you think.

Hopefully I'll continue my song list soon.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Song #2.

P.J. Harvey-“Oh My Lover”-Dry
I’m not quite clear where I first heard of P.J. Harvey-I think it was a review in Spin or Rolling Stone. At any rate, the review was good enough that I bought the cassette without ever hearing a single note first-something that was quite the norm for me in the days before the internet. On this occasion I was not disappointed. I distinctly remember buying the tape at the mall Camelot Music on my lunch break from the Hallmark store where I worked. After my shift was over I hopped in my car (a beat up 1980 Chevy Citation), put the tape in and heard the opening chords of “Oh My Lover”. I remember flying down the highway hearing this song of despair and desperate longing and thinking, “This woman knows exactly how I feel.” At this time in my life I was a lonely 16 year old, who knew only one thing about love, and it could be summed up in one word-unrequited. I had endured a fair number of high school crushes at this point, none of them amounting to much except me feeling like I would NEVER have a girlfriend. So when P.J. sang, “You can love her, you can love me at the same time”, I couldn’t help but agree. After all, I’d rather have a girl who loved someone else than no girl at all, right? Of course, lacking P.J.s real world experience, what I really identified with was the overall sense of desperation and loneliness she conveys so well in this mournful dirge.
What a gutsy move making this the first song on her first album-so raw and real and open, as opposed to some of the more traditional pop/rock tunes on the rest of the album. From the slow, sludgy beginning to the desperate moan at the end, this tune builds like all scorned lover’s pleas to an unresponsive former love –calm and rational at the beginning, devolving into a frantic and maniacal wail of raw pain by the conversation’s end. I honestly can’t imagine someone capturing this emotion in a more pure form, at least until I perfect that thought-sharing helmet I’ve been working on.
I almost wish that you girls would never have to experience the kind of incurable pain P.J. expresses so eloquently in this song-but I wouldn’t want to rob you of the pleasure. Yes, it hurts with an immensity that makes you wish you were dead, your body physically aches with the sheer sadness, and you can’t imagine how you will ever make it through the next hour, much less the next day. But honestly, having your heart broken and longing for someone you can never have is one of the most pure and real emotions you will ever experience. If this does ever happen to you, my beautiful girls, there is nothing you can do about it but take it one day at a time and know that, this too, shall pass.
And that you are loved.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

The Beginning.

The Misfits-“Astro Zombies”-Collection 1
I know all the various complaints against The Misfits-misogynistic lyrics, the silly make-up, the murder/horror motifs. I say so what. The Misfits embodied the punk spirit. They emerged out of New Jersey (of all places) as one of the greatest American punk acts ever-they made all their own shirts and merchandise, hauled their own equipment, had a lead singer who sounded like a punk Elvis, and made a name for themselves as rock icons when disco was still king. Arguably, no band ever did more with poor production and 3 chords than The Misfits-modern bands with tens of thousands of dollars and the most high tech recording studios still can’t hold a candle to the passion and gritty punk heart The Misfits brought to the stale and heartless music scene of the late seventies.
The Misfits blew my world apart.
A strange and unique young man named Ruhi was in my Economics class early in my first year of high school. He was raised Bahai (unlike 99.9% of my school, which was Christian), wore a long leather trench coat, and assured me I would love The Misfits. I distinctly remember climbing on the bus that cloudy fall day, popping Ruhi’s Misfits tape into my walkman, and hearing the opening chords of “Astro Zombies”-and I was lost forever. The perfect mix of retro and punk, The Misfits sung about topics I could relate to-feeling alien, mistrusting adults, wanting to take vengeance on the people who treated you like shit-with the added bonus of an amazingly simple-yet-rich stripped down style against a vintage 1950’s horror movie backdrop. I embraced their music with the passion only a teenager can muster. I still love The Misfits now just as much as I did then-as I age I often look back at the music I liked and find it silly or not half as good as I remembered. The passion remains to this day, which-in my mind-is the biggest testament to their greatness as a band.
I chose “Astro Zombies” not because it is their best song, but because it embodies all the qualities The Misfits brought to the table-its like a 1950’s love song put through the filter of a nerdy kind raised on too many horror movies who just learned to play his cool uncle’s guitar. Jocks pick on you? Never get the beautiful boy/girl? Feel like life as a teenager sucks? “Exterminate the whole human race!”.
Indeed.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Musical History.

All too often our parents, great as they may be, fail to impart on us one of the most important aspects of life-their humanness. In an attempt to show us the right way to live, they often hide (or outright lie) about their past-they act as if they never skipped school or stayed out too late with a new significant other or even drank a freaking beer. It paints an unrealistic picture of our folks as unfailing gods, and it robs us youngsters of learning from the one thing kids can't have -experience. That's why it is so important for me to impart upon my girls that their Dad was once young, and that I did have a life before them-a life filled with joy and pain, success and (many)failures, love and loss.
I've wanted to write a journal just for my daughters, but I've just never been inspired enough to do it. Then, last night, I participated in a market research survey in which we listened to and rated 600 song snippets-running the gamut from the Ramones to Led Zepplin. That got me thinking-what better way to give a little insight into who I was in my youth than make a mix of some of the greatest songs I grew up with, along with liner notes. So, in the next few days, I'll share with all of you the mix-tape journal I'm making for the girls.
I've never used any online mixes-like Muxtape, but that's probably how I'll post the songs for your listening pleasure.
Enjoy.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Two Tales.

Have you ever heard a story so poignant you made it your own?
Well, I'll never claim that these tales are mine, but they have had such resonance in my life over the last few years that I'll probably remember them long after Alzheimer's has claimed all the actual memories I have of my life.

So, here we go...

Let me preface this first story by telling you of my obsession with Hawaii. Years ago, I began to read about Tiki culture through the Book of Tiki. After reading the first page I was lost forever. Hawaii, or my imagined version of it, would forever become my Elysian Fields.
So, when I learned that a person I worked with lived there I wanted to hear his opinion on Hawaii.
I asked him about it one day, and this was his answer(paraphrased, except for the first sentence, as I remember it):
"I hated it. The trade winds blow all the time. One of my favorite things in life is to sit in a field and paint and I could never do it because it was too windy. No, I hated Hawaii."
Wow.
Now, I realize that my idea of Hawaii is based on stuff I have read or seen on T.V. However, I do know that, even without children, the 1400 dollar air fair just to get there would keep me from ever being able to visit. Let alone live there.
I mean really?
You hated it?
I've seen plenty of awesome artists who lived in Hawaii who overcame the windiness and made artwork and loved where they lived.
I'll let you, dear reader, take what you will from that story. But it just showed me that whether you live in Columbus Ohio or Valhalla you can always find something wrong with your life situation if YOU are not happy.

Tale number two is by my oh so handsome friend who lived in Savannah Georgia for a time. Now, Savannah is well known for its penchant for Southern Gothic and outlandish characters. My friend knew a older gentleman who would regularly dress as a vampire and lurk around certain areas of town. Yes, a Broadway-worthy costume-like something you would see in Interview With a Vampire, only really creepy beacuse the dude would be sitting in the back corner of your favorite bar ha\ving a drink and scoping out his victims.
During Saint Patrick's Day, Savannah becomes a huge party, the streets filled with drunken frat boys from miles around, with River Street being the center of the "Girls Gone Wild" style partying. My friend was walking through said party, when he noticed the Vampire sitting on a rooftop surveying the festivities below (in full-on Victorian Era vampire garb, mind you). My friend approached the Vampire and exchanged pleasantries.
After a few minutes of silence the Vampire surveyed the drunken masses writhing and pulsating below and remarked, "People are very odd."
Amen brother.

So these are my two acquired stories which have stuck with me and influence my life on a daily basis.
The point being, really, is that the best and worst people you will encounter in life have something to teach you.
You just have to ask.
And listen.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

This Just In...

I am an overly-zealous NPR listener. I listen to my local NPR station from 6 A.M. to 4 P.M. every day. I won't link to Atlanta's NPR station WABE because they suck(a topic for another day perhaps). As much as I enjoy NPR, and all news in general, I sometimes get a little sick of the same old same old. Do we, as NPR listeners, really benefit from hearing a ten minute segment on the latest bombings/killings/fanaticism in Lebanon?
Instead of spending all that time and money to report on topics that have been revisited ad nauseam, why not just record a short message and change the names and places.
So here, dear reader, is the world news in a nutshell-for the last and the next 2000 or so years.

The Middle East-The Jews hate everyone. The other Middle-Easterners hate the Jews and each other (Sunni and Shia Muslims, etc.). They will kill each other on a daily basis just like they have been doing for the past 4000 years.

Africa-We are at exactly the same level of development that we were about 400,000 years ago. Except now we have guns.

Asia-We have a a shit-load of people and therefore have no regard for life-human or otherwise. However, we do make cheap VCRs which you will continue to buy no matter how inhumane we are to our citizens and workers.

Central/South America-Viva the three D's-Drug Lords, Despots, and Donations from the U.S.A. to keep the first 2 in power.

The United States-A bunch of nice folks screwed over for the past 200+ years by a slow, inefficient, and abusive government.

So there it is.
Am I oversimplifying? Being snide and flippant? Voicing a typical nihilistic Gen-X viewpoint?
Unfortunately, no.
Thankfully, rock and roll still rules.
And so do I.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Oh Lord...

Well, here we are-its been a month and a half since my last post. Where has the time gone?
Visiting with LOTS of friends and family, housework in preparation of the fore mentioned visits, time adjusting to the new baby, painting, work, a few movies, etc.

It has been a really rough transition the past month or so. Harper, the very definition of a "clinging vine", always wants to be breast feeding or drinking a bottle. The human pacifier formerly known as my wife barely has a minute to spare between the baby and Audrey. So, we try to pay bills, clean, play with the girls, clean some more, and then we get to kiss once a week. A shout out to all you single parents out there-I don't know how you do it. Actually, I DO know how you do it-a lot of stuff formerly seen as important just doesn't get done. Like a social life, sex, haircuts, shaving, frequent bathing, etc.

However, even when both girls are screaming and the dogs are barking and the oven is burning dinner and Angela is yelling at me to "fix that damn table" and I just slammed my finger in the freezer-I must remind myself that we are extremely lucky.

We are all here, together, alive and well and we love each other. That, and compared to probably 80% of the people on earth, we have it easy. REALLY easy.

Enough said.
I'll be back from now on.
kisses from me

p.s. Check out the awesome picture at the right, taken by some lady who is an amazing photographer.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Ambiguosness.

I was going to post last night, but I got caught up holding Harper and watching Law and Order reruns. I can't think of a better way to finish out the weekend.

I find one of the largest problems with Americans is our inability to deal with ambiguity of any kind. We love a hero and a villain, good and evil, right and wrong.

Perhaps we do this because it is easier than digging deeper into an issue and seeing the varying shades of grey. Hey, I know, we all do it-I hear a particularly repugnant story on the radio, and I automatically think, "man, Republicans are total idiots." But my parents often vote Republican, and they aren't idiots and I actually value their opinion. The knee-jerk, all-damning condemnation just seems to come pouring out when we are emotionally involved in something, and avoiding it often takes a calm head and time for reflection-which clearly involves more discipline that just making rash generalizations.

We Americans love to hastily place blame in any situation, we crave justice-this is one I completely understand and find myself guilty of quite often. The person who robs somebody is an evil person and should be in jail-case closed. And, no doubt, if you break the law you should be punished-but instead of followinf this clearly useless cycle of crime and punishment, why don't we find the causes of crime, and change them- which obviously is not an easy task. But if the good/evil sentencing structure we've been using for 200+ years is just leading to more and more people in jail, perhaps we could maybe, kinda', sorta' think about trying to find a better system?

In Eric Weiner's excellent book "The Geography of Bliss", he interviews the head of the Pagan church in Iceland. When Weiner asks the pagan if he really believes in trolls and fairies he says something along the lines of: well, not exactly, but a lot of people do and they take comfort from that-so who am I to decide?(sorry about the bad paraphrase, but the book went back to the library). Do you realize how crazy that is? That's like the Pope saying he doesn't really believe in Jesus, but, hey, its cool if some folks do. I think there is a lot that can be learned from this way of thinking, of embracing the beauty, or at least the possibility, of ambiguity.

I understand our need for black and white judgements-they offer us a quick dose of comfort and allow us to place things in easily defined categories. Surely there is a biological link to this as well-we learned millennia ago to fear what we don't recognize as familiar or understand, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But at some point mankind reached a new level, when we began to see the ambiguity inherent in life-I mean, not all mushrooms are poisonous, and someone figured this out.

It's time our nation and our own ways of thinking evolve. You never know, we may just discover a truffle in all that mud.

Or, maybe we'll find a Death Angel, you never know.

How's that for some awesome ambiguosity!
Tim G Rules!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Lame-Not-Even-Really-A-Post-Post

I really have no excuse for not having my usual mind-blowingly awesome post for you all tonight. Our good friends Tony and Gia came over, so i'll totally blame it all on them.

I am 33 years old and still don't know what I want to do with my life when I grow up.

I often wish I were one of those people who knew when they were 15 that they wanted to be a doctor. I mean, after that, your life is pretty simple-get good grades, go to pre-med, get your doctorate, get rich, die. Not to say that I think med school is easy by any means, but at least having some pre-set life path must be a huge comfort when compared to the nebulous and rarely lucrative career path of most artists in the U.S. today.

Have you ever met someone who is a professional artist? Long hours, demanding clients who think their problems are a life-and-death issue, constant re-education, and high stress until a project is complete-these are the trademarks of the artist's life. Sounds a little bit like a doctor's , huh?

Now, clearly, if someone doesn't get that commissioned painting by the time they throw their big Holiday party, no one will die. Yeah, try telling that to your average art patron.

Please don't get me wrong-most doctors are incredible people who save lives every day, and we should all be grateful that anyone out there want to undertake such a noble and difficult life-path.

But shouldn't a rich and well-rounded society value artists just as much as doctors? Artists- whether architects, contractors, house painters, fine artists, etc.-affect the way we perceive our lives and often change it in a positive way.

When Harper was born, we were in the brand new women's center for, and it couldn't have been a better place to recover-beautiful wood furniture, nice soothing colors, great amenities, well laid-out rooms. Contrast that to our emergency room visit-in the same hospital-a few days later-old, outdated, and worn furniture; dingy grey and mauve walls and floors; small rooms with few amenities. I couldn't help but feel sick and gross in the older room, even though there was nothing wrong with me. This is but one small example of how artists enrich our lives every day, often to sub-standard pay and benefits.

Hopefully the American Renaissance will come soon.

I can't believe I'm actually up past midnight.

I am so old.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Aught 8

Well, it's Friday night and I'm wiped out.
Between working on a chalkboard I am making, and getting caught up in the movie Spanglish (which was just as good the second time) I have no idea what I am going to write about.

It'll be all but impossible for me to say anything about the current election cycle that hasn't already been said. Despite this, I can't help constantly thinking how amazing this year has been. I mean, the two top candidates(for the Democrats) are a young black man and a woman. That, in and of itself, is amazing and nothing short of revolutionary in American politics. For some reason the media seems to have largely ignored this fact, as if we are such a progressive and open-minded society that, well hell, black people and women are president all the time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed the outcome of these primaries, especially after the non-choice of the 2004 election, a.k.a. "which old white dud is right for you?"(and, no, that's not a typo-i meant dud, not dude). What a nightmarishly low point in American politics. Although maybe that makes sense-perhaps the nation had to get to such a low point to set the stage for this type of change.
And, despite my general lack of faith in the U.S. government's ability/desire to change anything, I actually like Barack. Not just in the "heyJohnKerryyousuck-assbutatleastyou'renotaBush" kinda' way, but with real respect and hope that he will at least think a little bit about solving the problems of this country if he becomes president.
My biggest fear, and pre-election prediction, is that despite all the progressive posturing, the all-too prevalent attitude of, "There ain't no way some black boy is gonna' run MY country!" will win out in the end.

Sorry America, but I see yet another crusty old white dude in your future.
I really-REALLY hope this isn't the case, but-sorry folks-after the past 7 1/2 years my faith in the American people firmly rests somewhere between "nonexistent" and "is there anything less existent than nonexistent?".


But, for my wife and daughters-and my own sanity-I still have hope.

On a lighter note, ROCK ON FRIDAY NIGHT!
See ya' later playa' haters!

tim g

Thursday, June 19, 2008

A little light in here, please...

As made apparent by all the awesome comments from yesterday's post, we all love a good bitch-fest. But not everything in life sucks.
So put your hands together for Inspirational Moments!
From time to time I'll be talking about some of the things that have inspired me throughout the years. I can't imagine life without these incredible influences-they remind me on a day to day basis of why it is so important to keep your mind alive and your heart inspired. I can only hope you all will be inspired too.
Can I get a Hell-Yeah my brothers and sisters!
Eight years ago I was in a Tower Records in Phoenix, and I noticed a magazine I hadn't seen before, and on the cover were John Spencer and Christina Martinez, one of the coolest rock-n-roll couples ever.
Enter Bust Magazine.
Bust, in their own words, is a magazine for "Women with something to get off their chests".
At its very basic essence, Bust is a women's magazine, like Elle or Cosmo-but written by your best friend's big sister who always wore the hippest clothes, listened to the coolest music, and had the best advice on life. You know-the girl you wish you could grow up to be.
Now, first things first. I have been asked a few times why a guy would want to read a women's magazine. Well, the answer is pretty simple. From that very first issue, Bust has contained the most consistently amazing writing of any of the magazines I have read throughout the past 8 years.
One note for those who don't know me. I have a serious love of magazines. Some, like my wife, might even call it an addiction. Here is a list of magazines I've read regularly(more than 5 issues a year) in the past 8 years-Punk Planet, Dwell, Readymade, Cottage Living, Atomic Ranch, Barracuda, Hotrod, Metropolitan Home, Architectural Digest, Mother Earth News, Real Simple, Wondertime Parenting and I'm sure a few others I can't think of off the top of my head. Keep in mind, this does not include single issues, zines, or comic books.
Bust has many of the same sections that any lifestyle/culture magazine has-music/book reviews, cool stuff to buy, places to go, recipies, etc. But Bust also features a large number of articles on women-specific topics-everything from women wrestlers of the 1950's to the new When I was single, Bust helped me realize that the type of strong, intelligent and inspiring woman I wanted to be with did exist. And now, as a father of 2 girls, I realize that it is even more important for me to be informed about family planning, abortion rights, sex-ed in schools, etc. Bust has always been excellent at keeping its readers abreast of new developments in women's issues(pun intended). Also, if you intend on taking a trip anytime soon, check out their excellent online feature Let's Us Go Girl! It has cool things to do in most major cities in America written by folks who live there. I've used this on every trip we've been on, and it is a great way of learning the cool places in a city without knowing anyone there.
Next time you are in your local book store, pick up a copy of Bust and support what these incredible ladies have been doing for the past 15 years.
This Inspirational Moment goes out to the ladies!
Can I get an Amen!?!

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Proceed with Caution

In order to help my reader gain a better understanding of this blog, and my overall life outlook, I wanted to touch on a subject that is near and dear to my heart-anger.

As an American male, anger is the emotion I am allowed to feel.
Braves lose the world series and you loose a bet? Don't get bummed, yell curses and get pissed. Loved one dies? Raise your fist to heaven and curse god. Fix-it project not going well? Don't calmly reassess the situation, call the hammer a fucking piece of shit and throw it across the room. Replace sadness, loneliness, feelings of inadequacy, and all other "feminine" emotions with a good, All-American dose of fiery red anger.
Of course, as a father who cries more than that dude on "The Biggest Loser", I have not fully embraced the "anger or nothing" theory of the American Male's one hill landscape. However, I am a product of both my father and my culture, so I do have a fair bit of anger myself.

Now, anyone who knows me is saying right now, "A fair bit of anger? I don't think I've ever seen that dude when he wasn't at least mildly enraged about something!"
And this is where I feel I need to clarify myself. I do get angry, and complain, a lot, and some people see this as a negative thing.

The main cause of most of my anger is that I see so much potential in the world, and so little realization of that potential.
We have, without a doubt, some of the most amazing and innovative doctors in the world, and yet about 47 million people have no insurance-which, in essence, means no access to health care at all.
America can spend 2.1 BILLION dollars for a stealth bomber, but every time free breakfasts in public schools come up we can't pass the bill because our government can't quit bickering long enough to assure children get the most important meal of the day.
Just off the top of my head I can think, literally, of 10 issues that send a red-hot lightning bolt of rage searing through my brain.
The world we live in is a truly beautiful and amazing place-I see it everyday in the natural beauty around me, the eyes of my family, the help and concern of my friends.
I'm sorry if this blog comes off as overly whiny or angry sometimes, but I promise to lighten it up from time to time (see tomorrow's post).

I've been told that in the Navy they have a saying, "A bitching sailor is a happy sailor.". Its a sentiment I can totally relate to. If a sailor is complaining, then he's letting out all his negative emotions, pointing out the leaks in the hull, expressing his cares with fellow sailors and showing an overall concern for his ship. A quiet sailor is internalizing all his rage, becoming more and more inward focusing and less and less interested in the fate of his crew mates.
I won't be quiet while this ship goes down.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Overachiever

I've really been wanting to work on art more lately, but my job, wife, and kids keep wasting all my damn time! Hopefully everything will calm down soon and I'll be able to post some art for sale.
Unlike most people here, I was born and raised in Atlanta (well, technically, Roswell-which is about 15 minutes north), and this has been my home much of my life.
Atlanta-the only major city in the deep South-is a very strange place, which I have a love/hate/hate/love/hatelove relationship with-all in the span of about 22 seconds while driving down Ponce de Leon or any other major thoroughfare.

By the way-Florida is not the south, Florida is Florida. I'm trying to think of a fancier, more literary-sounding description, but that about sums it up. If you've ever been there you know what I mean.

So, being a relatively big, metropolitan area we have many of the things you would expect-art museums, music venues, the symphony, the Dixie Speedway-you know, culture.
But, somehow, Atlanta-try as it might-strives tirelessly for the "New York of the South" title, but falls painfully, often embarrassingly, short almost every time.
Case in point-two years ago the city spent something like 6.5 billion dollars on an advertising campaign to sell us to the world as a great city to visit.
The slogan they came up with?
"Every day is an Opening Day."
Need I say more? Can you imagine a more awkwardly worded phrase? What the fuck does that even mean?
My only real regret is that I couldn't have gotten all that money and come up with a more appropriate slogan like, "Hey we kinda' try. But this IS the South. What do you expect?".

And yet, I do love this city. The small communities scattered around downtown-Inman Park, Grant Park, Lake Claire, Decatur, and our own little hood-Oakhurst-are beautiful and seem worlds away from the city that is a mere 10 minute drive from my house. I mean, we've got possums on our back porch and huge owls that we hear every night-and I can see downtown from my roof!
As far as natural beauty, we don't have the majestic mountain views of Tucson or the ocean like L.A., but you'll be hard pressed to find a greener, more tree filled major metropolis anywhere in America. And the weather is beautiful for most of the year-the winters are mild, and the spring and fall are nothing short of magical. Nothing beats sitting out in someones backyard for a Memorial Day barbecue, surrounded by huge, 100 year old trees, the easy-flowing conversation and the cool spring breeze drifting by, lulling you into a sense of calm and momentary all-is-right-in-the-world bliss.
Yes, we manage to fall a bit short in the "progressive" department most of the time, but that is changing too. And as thousands of people from "up north" move here and stay every year, whenever they complain I keep repeating, like a mantra, "If you don't like it Yankee, go back to Michigan and try to find a job.".

And then I remind them, just to rub it in, of the popular bumper sticker which reads-"The Civil War ain't over-its just half-time.".
Lord help us all.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Zines and the Beauty of Isolation.

Well, apparently all of you were just reading this in hopes of a shout-out. Since last night when I jokingly mentioned that I wouldn't plug your blogs, I've gotten no comments.
Fickle bitches, the lot of ya'.

Oh well, let me type away in obscurity then.
Which reminds me of a topic I've been visiting in my mind over and over again for the past few years.
Does anyone out there remember zines? If you aren't exactly sure what a zine is click here.
Zines were like the precursor of blogs, in that anyone with an idea or a burning passion to express themselves could reach others with the same likes or interests. There were zines about bands, movies, religion, music, clothes, sex, politics, gardening, conspiracy theories-you name it.
Sure, some zines were amazingly crappy.
But the amount of effort it took to make a zine is pretty incredible. On the technical side, you had to draw/steal artwork, write, cut, paste, lay out the zine, proof everything, go to Kinkos and make photocopies, make sure the copies were good, collate, fold, staple and then go to the Post Office and mail out any copies people want. And on top of that you have to make sure your zine was actually worth reading.
But what they all had in common was the personal touch.
Nothing could compare to sending 2 bucks and a stamp to some kid in Iowa, and getting a little photocopied magazine, the text agonizingly handwritten, in which he espouses his love for The Ramones, lambasted the jocks at his high school, and pours out some really crappy poetry about the unbearable pain of love.
Sure, zines were often amazingly crappy, but if someone took the time and effort to publish a zine it was truly a labor of love-the number of hours and the monetary cost of producing a zine were staggering. And, quite often, there was little or no response despite all your hard work. You would send zines to anyone and everyone you liked and looked up to out there in the big, dark world beyond your bedroom and you might get a response 1 time out of 20.
But, oh man, that one postcard from the lead singer of your favorite band made it all worth it. Someone you admired actually liked your stuff so much they took the time to mail a response to you-little talentless, teen aged, lonely, insignificant you.
And there, in your sweaty little hand, was proof that you were not alone in the wasteland after all.

Perhaps the Internet is the same to kids nowadays-a way to link up with other like minded people and create a social group. Perhaps I'm just an cranky, washed up old Luddite bitching about how much better it was "back in the day".
But I don't think so. The fact that it was such a hard struggle just to get those few letters and postcards made it somehow, I don't know, a little more rare and therefore a little more special.

Would I go back to the old way? No, probably not-like parachute pants and Van-Halen albums, making zines is a thing that served me well, but whose time has past.

But I still have that postcard.
From time to time I re-read it and remember how important it was for someone to let me know that I was not alone.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

New Stuff and Stuff

So, you may notice that I added a list of a few blogs/sites that I like. More cool, ultra-tech savvy shit like that in the future. This internet thing sure is something! If you have a blog and would like a link, just let me know. I definitely won't add you to my list, but I'll probably email you a few times about how your blog sucks-ass and mine is the ruler. If I get around to it, that is.

I can't believe its been ten days since Harper was born! Although I've been home all this time, I haven't accomplished anything. When Audrey was born, we had more stress due to the newness of the being first-time parents, but much more time just to sit there, stare at that baby, and soak it all in.
Harper's birth has been totally different. From the very beginning 9 months ago, that demon-child has been nothing but trouble ( I use "demon-child" in the most endearing way, of course). Angela, super-woman that she is, has had nausea, swelling of the extremities, a false-positive birth defect test, constant heart-burn, bed rest, anemia, and possible preeclampsia. Then the emergency C Section, the requisite 3 days in the hospital, Harper's weight loss and lack of bowel functions, Angela in the emergency room, and an infection of the uterus which Angela still can't get over.
Meanwhile, I've been doing my best to clean, cook, and manage the needs of all three ladies. I have a pile of projects I want to work on, and I haven't touched a single one. I have used up all my saved vacation days being a maid. Work wanted me to return last Wednesday, but I missed the entire week, and now we're way behind.

But, you know what? Despite the list of woes above, I can't complain one bit. This has been a rough year for us, but nothing compared to the tragedies affecting so many people all over the world right at this moment.
The babies seem to be healthy, and hopefully Angela will recover soon.
I cannot stress enough how amazingly helpful and supportive our family and friends have been.
My job has been wonderful and completely understanding.
I have three beautiful people who love me and need me despite all my failures and short-comings.
What more could I ask for?

Listen to me, gettin' all zen and shit.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Holy Shit!

Well, due to some photo shop issues we'll have to do the god pics tomorrow. Since I was all prepared to write the god-pictures post now I really have nothing to say.
I have been working on a scientific theory lately, in the same vein of Einstein's failed "Theory of Everything", that explains all the problems and maddeningly ridiculous aspects of the world we live in.
I call it the "Bizarro World Paradigm".
If you will recall, in old comic books or on the old Justice League cartoons, there is a common theme of the Bizarro World. In this world everything that is good and right is reversed. Hence, Superman is evil, Lex Luthor is a good guy, etc.
The concept usually seems to assume that the world we live in is normal, and Bizarro World is somewhere else. Clearly, with even a cursory examination of most people's daily lives, the world we inhabit is, indeed, Bizarro World.
Observe:
1. The 2000 United States presidential elections-the largest case of voter fraud/mismanagement in U.S. history just happens to occur in a state in which one of the candidate's brothers is the governor. Most Americans view this as merely coincidence.
2. During my wife's hospital stay a few days ago this situation occurred: we wanted to know if she could breast feed on the antibiotic she was taking. Her OBGYN said, "ask your pediatrician". Our pediatrician said, "ask Poison Control". Poison Control said, "ask your pediatrician or your OBGYN". But, hey, at least with our insurance system we get to choose the liability-terrified, over-priced, crappy doctor of our choice (that is, if they are within the plan our company allows us to have, AND if you are lucky enough to work for a company that offers insurance at all). Now that is freedom.
3. Shit like the 1994 genocide in Rwanda happens all the time and no one in the first world gives a fuck. Oh, shut up. I saw "Hotel Rwanda" too. That doesn't count as caring.

Clearly I can (and will) go on and on. As anyone can see, my friends, this truly is Bizarro World.
And, by the way, the phrase "scientific theory" in the second paragraph should be translated as "idea pulled out of my ass".
And I don't even know what the word "paradigm" means. It just sounds smart and stuff.
I rule.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Agnostic

I am trying to post at least once a day, so the two of you cross your fingers and wait with baited breath.
At little history if you will:
Throughout my formative years I was quite involved in the Episcopal church: I went to service every week, worked in the church nursery, had my Boy Scout meetings at the church, was in the Youth group as a teen, and generally spent a lot of my time and energy involved in church-related matters.
If anything, my involvement in the church was a positive aspect of my young life. I cannot stress how wonderful my Scouting experience was throughout those extremely important preteen/teen years. I would not hesitate to say it was hugely influential in making me the man I am today.
Two of my best friends to this day are the sons of the priest of my childhood church, and one of them is an Episcopal priest now.
My love of children certainly began in the church nursery, and I learned many child-care skills which have proved invaluable both as a teen-aged babysitter and as a father.
In my wild, lonely, and single years my Mom once mentioned that there were a lot of nice, single girls at church my age and I should, in essence, come check out the scene. Honestly, I considered.

Clearly, from the title, you can see where this is headed.
Despite all the obvious benefits of attending church in my formative years, I can barely pass through those doors nowadays without a sneer of contempt plastered across my ugly mug.
You see, shortly after 9/11 I began to seriously question the beliefs of my youth. How could there be a loving, christian god who allowed so much suffering of people who were clearly innocent of any crime save being at the wrong place at the wrong time? And, not to diminish the 9/11 victims at all, but what about fucking Rwanda? Or the Holocaust? Six million plus people subjected to the most nightmarish torture imaginable, all pleading to their god for help and the cold European winter skies stayed silent as they shat themselves in fear and died alone.
Is god caring and compassionate and I, a mere mortal, just can't see the big picture? Perhaps. Is god a watch-maker type that the deist founding fathers of America envisioned, who created a wonderful world and set it in motion, simply sitting back and watching as it all unfolds? Maybe.
Or perhaps god is some ultra obscure deity from a native African tribe that is now extinct due to slavery, a god who requires continual human sacrifice to appease his blood-lust, and events like the Holocaust are simply his way of settling the score.
However, as an agnostic I know one thing for sure-we humans cannot know anything at all about the true nature of god.
If god came down from heaven (or up from hell for that matter) and every human being on earth saw him/her/it at the same time, that would be an o.k. start to us establishing that there might, in fact, be a god.
Why does this matter at all?
Clearly a vacuum would have been left in my life if I hadn't been raised in the church. What will fill this void for my children? Is the sense of community church provides more important than our spiritual beliefs? If not, what is the substitute for non-believers?
Any thoughts?
Tomorrow, with the help of my wife, I intend to publish pictures of what I think god might look like.
No, seriously.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Let this be many beginnings...

Where to begin?
My wife has an excellent post on Harper's birth here.
I'll add a little just to give my side of the story.
The whole time they were giving Angela oxygen, shaving her tummy, etc. I was totally freaking out.
Now, I am completely and utterly adamant about fathers being as involved in birth/child rearing as possible, but the fact of the matter is that all this shit is going on with her body, and there are some things we daddys just can't be a part of.
So I held her hand, and told her it would be o.k. and that I wouldn't leave her.
Except, and here's the bitch, I DID leave her.
In the whirlwind of the ensuing shit-storm, they whisked her away and I had little idea of what was happening.
They dressed me in a cap, gown, and mask and had me wait outside the operating area until I could come in. Standing there in that flimsy, clown-colored blue and green outfit with my stupid-ass mohawk I felt like the most useless loser on earth.
I envisioned myself as some bad-ass in a movie, shoving the nurse aside and shouting "Angela, I'm coming baby!" and bursting into the O.R. to grab her hand and tell her it would all be just fine.
Instead I paced outside the doors, tears pouring down my face, just one more time I turned out to be the useless fuck I always feel like I am.
I grabbed every hospital employee who came by and demanded to know what was going on with my wife. These angels in silly scrubs would take one look at my face and run back to the O.R. to fill me in on the latest info.Keep in mind this whole scenario only lasted 15-25 minutes, but I lost about 12 years of my life in that short time.
One of the nurses finally came out and told me I had a baby girl and she would be out soon. The NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) doctor came out with our beautiful baby a few minutes later in a plexiglass box and told me to come with him. I could barely speak the words "Is she alright?" through the sobbing. That wonderful man assured me that all was well in the calmest, most reassuring voice I've heard in my entire life. I honestly don't know how doctors continue to be so compassionate year after year, when that shit is so old hat to them, and yet so life-altering to the patients involved.
I asked when I could see Angela and he said in about 1/2 an hour. We rushed to the NICU and I got to kiss and hold baby Harper for 30 minutes, then I ran up to look for Angela. She wouldn't be out for 30 more minutes, so I ran between the two areas for the next hour-I didn't want Angela to come out of the O.R. and be alone.
When Angela finally did come out I was able to reassure her that everything was going well. I held her hand and kissed her forehead and felt like the luckiest man ever to be surrounded with so much beauty and love. And, honestly, in every moment of crisis I am so thankful that I am strong enough to be there and not fail the ones I love.
It has been a tough week since, but I feel like we will make it through it all that much stronger and perhaps we'll reassess our lives and focus on what really matters.
The support of our family and freinds during every step of this whole process has been nothing short of inspiring. We aren't worthy of your love, but vow to repay you all.
Kisses to my bitches-its late and I'm out.