I've been DJing for over a decade now, and as such, have had the pleasure and the confusion of witnessing the technological changes of the art. A profession that once was entirely reliant upon vinyl moved on to CDs, opening up the world of digital downloads to DJs, and thereby inspiring the computer programs that many of us are using to mix our mp3's today. The world of the DJ has changed in a very short time and those that once said that they would never leave the old ways are being left with no choice but to play catch-up. The ability to acquire music for one-tenth - if not for free - of what it cost in its vinyl form has essentially removed many of the barriers of finding music, expanding on genres, and experimenting with new and has allowed a freedom to the DJ that once was not previously present. All of this at the expense to the record companies and to the producers.
Any of us involved in the industry know how important a demo can be to kicking off ones career. As an unknown DJ, the demo is the one thing that can represent you to a promoter or another DJ. Its hour-or-so-long contents are the only way for those that you want to impress to have any idea of what you are capable of - assuming that they take the time to listen to it. In essence, it is the only hope that you have of ever getting booked, of breaking that initial meniscus into the industry that you so long to be a part of. What I'm trying to say here is that it's damned important.
I remember a time when one of my biggest concerns when making my demos was how best to break up the 45 minutes on either side of the tape. It was always a question of whether or not to make two mini 45-minute sets - possibly boasting of two different styles of music - or if to prove that I could make a full, cohesive set from beginning to end. Did I want chance the first side of the tape running out of space while I was in the middle of mixing? Should I fade out at the end of the first side and fade it back in at the beginning of the second? Or should I let it go full blast, get cut off at the end of a side, and have the second side immediately pick up from where it stopped? These all carried the inherent worry of not paying attention and missing that the tape had stopped recording and needed to be flipped a long time ago. This happened to me on a number of occasions, but I'm probably a bit more absent-minded than most.
Making the transition from a mix-tape to CD was not an easy one for me, mainly because I never owned the technology, nor could I afford it, to do so. The best option that I had for many years was to impose myself on friends who did, and make them listen to me record, re-record, scream in frustration, and go home empty-handed (I'm a bit of a perfectionist).
Nowadays I obviously own a laptop, and even rely upon it for my DJing needs. Making a demo has become an easy undertaking, one that I can do in the time that it takes to record. There are no do-overs any longer. I decide what tracks I want to include, in what order I want them, mix them together, and presto! I have a demo. The only consideration now is whether or not it is even necessary to make one.
Gone are the days that an aspiring DJ could hand over their mix-tape to John Digweed and hope that he'd find your arrangements inspired. In these times one must produce music if you want to have the hope to mix music. Nobody is famous for being an amazing DJ anymore. There are just too many of them. To get noticed on the international market an artist must not only release music, but release a lot of it. The market is saturated with disc-jockeys. It's overrun with vinyl/mp3 junkies. It's a well established fact that turntables have long been selling faster in Europe than the guitar, so it's no wonder why it's so hard to break into this business. And the demo, my friends, no longer cuts it.
So why make a demo? Well, for one simple reason: It doesn't hurt! Because it is so competitive out there one must work all that harder, do what other DJs may not be doing, and be willing to go that cliche "extra mile." But there are other reasons as well. Do it for yourself. Do it for your love of music. Do it because at the end of the recording you'll have a good hour-and-twenty minutes of some of your favorite tunes to put in your ipod and listen to while you're at work. Do it because you just bought a bunch of tracks that you're dying to hear. Do it, for the love of Pete, because you don't have anything else to do.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Electronic music, the masses, and you.
I continue to be faced with the truth that no matter where I find myself resting my head and calling home, that everywhere else seems to be a whole heck of a lot cooler. Now, there's no doubt that Portland, OR is miles ahead of Columbia, SC (my hometown) when it comes to liberal thought, green living, and it's musicians-in-residence. And I'm very thankful to be in a place that boasts many of these things. But you know what they say, and it's true that the grass is always greener on the other side. I've found myself recently bombarded with all of the publicity of this season's music festivals -- in particular, Miami's Winter Music Conference, SXSW, and the fast approaching Coachella in Palm Springs, CA -- and wondering why it isn't that I can either be closer to one of these events, or even just be able to simply afford making the trip.
Winter Music Conference is the electronic music industry's shout-out to the world. It's the annual shenanigans of every important DJ and producer, record label, club-goer, and celebrity. If their were terrorists targeting electronic music, WMC would be their chance to strike. Where else could you find gathered the most important names in the industry, followed by every one of their fans with the money and the time to descend upon Miami for a week's worth of $20 mixed-drinks and two-hours (if any) of sleep? For years I've gazed longingly in a south-easterly direction (Oregon is in the NW and Miami, the SW. I hope that clarification wasn't necessary) across the continental U.S., sadly contemplating the mere pennies that remained in my bank account, contrasted with the exorbitant air fare. For years I've voiced just the right amount of appreciation of friends' pictures and stories of their time at the conference, all the while mentally throwing a tantrum: "Why can't I go??? Jamie got to go!! Why can't I???" Sadly, I remain in Portland with my umbrella, still ignorant to the first-hand joys of Winter Music Conference.
More recently, I was reviewing the lineup for this weekend's Coachella festivities and privately cursing my current state of economic affairs. Among this year's artists are Thievery Corporation, Gui Boratto, M.A.N.D.Y., Junior Boys, MSTRKRFT, The Crystal Method, Chemical Brothers, The Presets, The Orb, and Christopher Lawrence. And these are just a few of the electronic acts slated to play. Other artists include Paul McCartney, The Cure, Morrisey, The Killers, M.I.A., Crystal Castles, Public Enemy, The Ting Tings, and Band of Horses. This is merely a slice of the talent listed to cover the weekend, Friday through Sunday.
Seeing some of my favorite electronic music artists booked side by side with some of the world's most respected musicians does good for my pride in the electronic music world. It adds credibility to a music that, in the U.S., has typically been shoved off to the side and discounted largely as a passing fad. Music that much of the rest of the world has embraced as their most widely listened to genre has been mostly passed over here in the states. And as a DJ in a town like Portland, Oregon, this is a fact that I know well.
Not long ago I read a blog from a local 'Top-40' DJ railing against competing DJs that undercut their fellows by accepting half what their competition accepts as pay, to get the gigs that they might not have otherwise gotten. Now, besides the obvious fact that this is just the way a capitalist society operates, maintaining affordable prices for consumers, I was forced to comment on how this is largely unapplicable as it relates to the electronic music DJ in a town such as ours. Because of the sad fact that the various electronic genres are not in the mainstream and therefore do not, for the most part, pack out a large club, DJs in Portland are often giddy at the prospect of being paid anything. The idea of making the requesite $300 t0 $500 that a local mainstream DJ can expect -- and what this blogger demanded that any of them request, to maintain the status quo -- is laughable. People in Portland don't stand in line to hear local DJs playing underground house music. It doesn't happen. And the type of consumer that makes the big money for the large clubs -- the "high-rollers" -- don't want to be seen anywhere that they don't view as being the hottest spot in town. Because of the way these factors equate in to the laws of supply and demand, DJs wishing to play an underground form of music must do so with the understanding that if they want to play, they'll do so for peanuts.
This brings me back to Coachella's lineup. It's promising. It brings hope that the music that I so love will one day have its day in the spotlight. Though I continue to fight a battle for a broader recognition of this music within the town that I currently call home, with no resolution in sight, I have no choice but to stay the course. I do this not for the money, not for any sort of fame -- I'm definitely in the wrong business for that -- but for a true love of a music that has captured my imagination for the past 15 years of my life. I'll stay here on the frontlines, taking the occasional bullet, but dancing all the while to that infectious beat.
More recently, I was reviewing the lineup for this weekend's Coachella festivities and privately cursing my current state of economic affairs. Among this year's artists are Thievery Corporation, Gui Boratto, M.A.N.D.Y., Junior Boys, MSTRKRFT, The Crystal Method, Chemical Brothers, The Presets, The Orb, and Christopher Lawrence. And these are just a few of the electronic acts slated to play. Other artists include Paul McCartney, The Cure, Morrisey, The Killers, M.I.A., Crystal Castles, Public Enemy, The Ting Tings, and Band of Horses. This is merely a slice of the talent listed to cover the weekend, Friday through Sunday.
Seeing some of my favorite electronic music artists booked side by side with some of the world's most respected musicians does good for my pride in the electronic music world. It adds credibility to a music that, in the U.S., has typically been shoved off to the side and discounted largely as a passing fad. Music that much of the rest of the world has embraced as their most widely listened to genre has been mostly passed over here in the states. And as a DJ in a town like Portland, Oregon, this is a fact that I know well.
Not long ago I read a blog from a local 'Top-40' DJ railing against competing DJs that undercut their fellows by accepting half what their competition accepts as pay, to get the gigs that they might not have otherwise gotten. Now, besides the obvious fact that this is just the way a capitalist society operates, maintaining affordable prices for consumers, I was forced to comment on how this is largely unapplicable as it relates to the electronic music DJ in a town such as ours. Because of the sad fact that the various electronic genres are not in the mainstream and therefore do not, for the most part, pack out a large club, DJs in Portland are often giddy at the prospect of being paid anything. The idea of making the requesite $300 t0 $500 that a local mainstream DJ can expect -- and what this blogger demanded that any of them request, to maintain the status quo -- is laughable. People in Portland don't stand in line to hear local DJs playing underground house music. It doesn't happen. And the type of consumer that makes the big money for the large clubs -- the "high-rollers" -- don't want to be seen anywhere that they don't view as being the hottest spot in town. Because of the way these factors equate in to the laws of supply and demand, DJs wishing to play an underground form of music must do so with the understanding that if they want to play, they'll do so for peanuts.
This brings me back to Coachella's lineup. It's promising. It brings hope that the music that I so love will one day have its day in the spotlight. Though I continue to fight a battle for a broader recognition of this music within the town that I currently call home, with no resolution in sight, I have no choice but to stay the course. I do this not for the money, not for any sort of fame -- I'm definitely in the wrong business for that -- but for a true love of a music that has captured my imagination for the past 15 years of my life. I'll stay here on the frontlines, taking the occasional bullet, but dancing all the while to that infectious beat.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
That big, blinding, yellow thing in the sky
It's back. Every year around this time it happens. That thing pokes it's giant yellow head from behind some clouds, emerging from its 6-month (or longer) hibernation, while us Portlanders peer bleary-eyed from our windows, wary of the reflective capacity of the current state of our skin. That piercingly bright disk of life, that harbinger of summer, that overall tease at this time of year; it changes things.
It never stays long this time of year, but makes the population of Portland into a proverbial Elmer Fudd, constantly in search of that elusive prize, chasing the rabbit down its hole, and in the end being made a fool of, yet again. Two days of sunshine and before you know it, the inhabits of this humble city are rushing off to buy bathing suits, shorts and skirts, beach towels, sun-block, frisbees, Bob Marley CD's, and a new, inconspicuous bowl/bong. Signs of spring in Portland: a) Hundreds of people crowding the waterfront promenade, b) most of which are shirtless (the guys) and blindingly pasty (everyone). How do I know these things? Dammit, I'm a Portlander. At the first sign of sunlight -- the real thing, mind you; not that filtered, partly-cloudy crap -- I'm there with the rest of them, at the waterfront on a jog, dodging around those pale bodies like some vitamin D-deprived version of Frogger.
For a time, everyone is all smiles and nods, possessing of a bounce in their step, and just all-around giddy. Moods are lifted, money is more likely to be spent, and the sidewalks are crowded with pedestrians -- usually wearing less than the temperature might actually call for. But this never lasts. Not this time of year. The sun plays a game of cat-and-mouse with Portland; elusive, incredibly tempting and desirable, but fleeting and constantly out of reach of any lasting relationship with it's consumers.
The upside of the whole ordeal, however, is that the trees are boasting some green, the dogwoods are blooming, and the air has that special smell to it that it can only possess this time of year. And most importantly, we Portlanders know that 3 to 4 months of pure, sunny bliss are laying just right around the corner, waiting to be basked within. If only that didn't have the effect of making us all that more impatient for that time to arrive...
It never stays long this time of year, but makes the population of Portland into a proverbial Elmer Fudd, constantly in search of that elusive prize, chasing the rabbit down its hole, and in the end being made a fool of, yet again. Two days of sunshine and before you know it, the inhabits of this humble city are rushing off to buy bathing suits, shorts and skirts, beach towels, sun-block, frisbees, Bob Marley CD's, and a new, inconspicuous bowl/bong. Signs of spring in Portland: a) Hundreds of people crowding the waterfront promenade, b) most of which are shirtless (the guys) and blindingly pasty (everyone). How do I know these things? Dammit, I'm a Portlander. At the first sign of sunlight -- the real thing, mind you; not that filtered, partly-cloudy crap -- I'm there with the rest of them, at the waterfront on a jog, dodging around those pale bodies like some vitamin D-deprived version of Frogger.
For a time, everyone is all smiles and nods, possessing of a bounce in their step, and just all-around giddy. Moods are lifted, money is more likely to be spent, and the sidewalks are crowded with pedestrians -- usually wearing less than the temperature might actually call for. But this never lasts. Not this time of year. The sun plays a game of cat-and-mouse with Portland; elusive, incredibly tempting and desirable, but fleeting and constantly out of reach of any lasting relationship with it's consumers.
The upside of the whole ordeal, however, is that the trees are boasting some green, the dogwoods are blooming, and the air has that special smell to it that it can only possess this time of year. And most importantly, we Portlanders know that 3 to 4 months of pure, sunny bliss are laying just right around the corner, waiting to be basked within. If only that didn't have the effect of making us all that more impatient for that time to arrive...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Sequential 002, by Omid 16B
Sequential 002
Artist: Omid 16B
Label: SexOnWax
Rating: 8.5 out of 10
Released: 2009-03-23
Type: Single/Vinyl
Omid 16B, of SOS fame – and lets face it, Omid16B fame – comes packed with what you want. His DJ sets being legendary excursions into house and dub, his production also noted as being outstanding, and his dedication to great music have been the qualities that have not only pushed him to the forefront of the dance music world, but have made him a trend-setter, someone who’s record crate you’d sell your best mate for a chance to look through.
Omid definitely delivers with Same As You. Immediately catchy, this track is like a spacey disco extravaganza. The bassline essentially carries this tune, taking front seat as other elements only add to the goodness. Jazzy elements are definitely present, mostly in the form of a great sax riff that is terribly subtle – and even more effective, for this reason – as it mostly floats in the distance when it makes it’s irregular appearances. Though the Dub and Club Dub mixes are essentially the same for the most part, the Vocal Mix is given some definite extra spice by the vocal talents of Loui Smith, Luke Armstrong, and Omid himself, combining to provide a very Robert Smith-esque quality.
The Move is immediately reminiscent of a late-90’s house tune, from the “rave piano,” to the funky bassline. Taken as a whole, this track is definitely worthy of a nod in the direction of overall production and arrangement. The Vocal Mix – with Loui Smith again doing the honors – makes this a bit more aggressive and dance-floor friendly. But overall both the Vocal and Dub Mix are entirely too long for my tastes. Originally 30 minutes long (!?) this 12-and-a-half minute track doesn’t contain enough of a story to justify its length. I have no choice but to recognize the fact that Omid has stuck to his guns, saying, ““I don’t really care how long tracks end up, as long as they flow with a bassline… I wanted to include all my favorite elements in a solid club toon and build the track like a mini DJ mix.” However, though I foresee many a DJ throwing this in their sets, I’d be surprised if more than a few didn’t mix out of it early.
It’s no surprise that Mr. 16B showcases his abilities yet again. It truly seems that those that have been able to find themselves at the top of the industry have truly done so for a reason; whether it be consistency in music production, all around hard work, or a combination of the two (more likely the latter). But this release is yet another case-in-point on the subject, as Omid has undoubtedly delivered with Sequential 002.
Tracks:
1. Same As You – Vocal Mix
2. Same As You – Club Dub
3. Same As You – Dub Mix
4. The Move – Live Vocal Mix
5. The Move – Live Club Dub
Artist: Omid 16B
Label: SexOnWax
Rating: 8.5 out of 10
Released: 2009-03-23
Type: Single/Vinyl
Omid 16B, of SOS fame – and lets face it, Omid16B fame – comes packed with what you want. His DJ sets being legendary excursions into house and dub, his production also noted as being outstanding, and his dedication to great music have been the qualities that have not only pushed him to the forefront of the dance music world, but have made him a trend-setter, someone who’s record crate you’d sell your best mate for a chance to look through.
Omid definitely delivers with Same As You. Immediately catchy, this track is like a spacey disco extravaganza. The bassline essentially carries this tune, taking front seat as other elements only add to the goodness. Jazzy elements are definitely present, mostly in the form of a great sax riff that is terribly subtle – and even more effective, for this reason – as it mostly floats in the distance when it makes it’s irregular appearances. Though the Dub and Club Dub mixes are essentially the same for the most part, the Vocal Mix is given some definite extra spice by the vocal talents of Loui Smith, Luke Armstrong, and Omid himself, combining to provide a very Robert Smith-esque quality.
The Move is immediately reminiscent of a late-90’s house tune, from the “rave piano,” to the funky bassline. Taken as a whole, this track is definitely worthy of a nod in the direction of overall production and arrangement. The Vocal Mix – with Loui Smith again doing the honors – makes this a bit more aggressive and dance-floor friendly. But overall both the Vocal and Dub Mix are entirely too long for my tastes. Originally 30 minutes long (!?) this 12-and-a-half minute track doesn’t contain enough of a story to justify its length. I have no choice but to recognize the fact that Omid has stuck to his guns, saying, ““I don’t really care how long tracks end up, as long as they flow with a bassline… I wanted to include all my favorite elements in a solid club toon and build the track like a mini DJ mix.” However, though I foresee many a DJ throwing this in their sets, I’d be surprised if more than a few didn’t mix out of it early.
It’s no surprise that Mr. 16B showcases his abilities yet again. It truly seems that those that have been able to find themselves at the top of the industry have truly done so for a reason; whether it be consistency in music production, all around hard work, or a combination of the two (more likely the latter). But this release is yet another case-in-point on the subject, as Omid has undoubtedly delivered with Sequential 002.
Tracks:
1. Same As You – Vocal Mix
2. Same As You – Club Dub
3. Same As You – Dub Mix
4. The Move – Live Vocal Mix
5. The Move – Live Club Dub
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The economy eats your TV
Has it really been so long since I've posted? Have I truly sunken to such lows as to leave my dedicated readers -- all 7 or so of them -- without my every word to hang upon for such an extended period of time? Shame on me!
A lot has happened to my humble little life since last I've written. For one, I've begun the process of writing my first printed, literary venture. That's right, I'm writing a book. What's this book, you query? Well, quite simply put, it's a small rub to my own ego. It's the assumption that some of the stories that I might share about my life, and most relevant, my experiences as a DJ, will be interesting enough to not only read, but to purchase. And, apropos to this post, it may have taken place of some of the creative -- or not so creative -- juices that would otherwise have dripped onto these virtual pages.
Secondly, I've taken a term away from school (blame the economy) and have thereby been presented with a small amount of extra free time. So what do I do? I fill up that free time, of course. I've picked up the thread of a previous project of writing music reviews for www.365mag.com, an international, internet-based music magazine. I wrote for these guys a couple of years ago, but had to put my contributions on hold as writing papers was exhausting my mental capacities -- the little of them that exist. But now that this vessel-of-bad-grammar-and-split-infinitives is no longer tethered to an academic master, I'm back at the task of ruining the careers of producers across the world. I'll attempt to upload some of these reviews on this site to prevent any of you the labor of having to copy and paste the link to the website into your browser. You lazy bunch of blog readers, you.
Finally, and more recently, I have accomplished an amazing feat in this economy: I've taken a new job. Indeed, I went from already having a job, with a fair amount of job security, and managed to better my situation by taking a new position at a new, more attractive company. Now I won't get into the exact location and details of my new digs as I don't want to tempt all of you out there that I've already had to take out restraining orders on, as well as the undiscovered stalkers that haven't yet made any attempts on my life. But I will say that the first day at the new job I partook in champagne and ice cream, followed by a meeting on the second day, complete with beer. Sounds good? It is.
But I'd like to make note of an observation or two that I had while taking some time off between jobs. It's been some time since I've had a few consecutive days to sit on my lazy bum and do nothing but watch TV if I so chose. Now, I didn't just watch TV, mind you. And, yes, I know I could have been using that time to either fill the pages of my book or to put more useless information on this site. But with the little TV that I did watch, that I was able to stomach watching, I was faced with the undeniable truth that daytime television plain sucks. I mean, really really sucks.
The hours between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. are dominated by a series of mindless, classless programs running the gauntlet from Jerry Springer and the Steve Wilko Show, to Judge Judy and Divorce Court, as well as and endless stream of soap operas and crappy info-mmercials. And running alongside of these shows are nothing but commercial after commercial of how best to get your degree, fast; of how to get into court reporting, medical and dental assisting, and the culinary arts. And this is the theme of the day. This is what the jobless America is faced with, day after day.
The thought that occurs to me, however, is that during these economic times, during the "Great Repression" -- as it is now being called -- there are more highly educated, specialized, and sophisticated minds at home and jobless than there have been in decades. When my position at my previous place of employment became available, there were 35o (!) applications in a week. And as a semi-educated (I haven't finished school yet, remember?) individual, I'm bored stiff and mildly nauseated with what is presented to me as "entertainment" for daytime programming. What must these poor people be suffering? Because as I whiled away my time, alternating between sheer laziness and exercise before starting my new job, these educated individuals have been faced with the uncertainty and dread of having no income. All that they have to take their minds from the situation that's been presented to them is mothers who've been sleeping with their daughters' boyfriends or the character who's been in a coma for the past 7 years (5 days, in soap time), recovers, but is possessed by a demon. I think that at this point I'd be considering a healthy career in alcoholism.
A lot has happened to my humble little life since last I've written. For one, I've begun the process of writing my first printed, literary venture. That's right, I'm writing a book. What's this book, you query? Well, quite simply put, it's a small rub to my own ego. It's the assumption that some of the stories that I might share about my life, and most relevant, my experiences as a DJ, will be interesting enough to not only read, but to purchase. And, apropos to this post, it may have taken place of some of the creative -- or not so creative -- juices that would otherwise have dripped onto these virtual pages.
Secondly, I've taken a term away from school (blame the economy) and have thereby been presented with a small amount of extra free time. So what do I do? I fill up that free time, of course. I've picked up the thread of a previous project of writing music reviews for www.365mag.com, an international, internet-based music magazine. I wrote for these guys a couple of years ago, but had to put my contributions on hold as writing papers was exhausting my mental capacities -- the little of them that exist. But now that this vessel-of-bad-grammar-and-split-infinitives is no longer tethered to an academic master, I'm back at the task of ruining the careers of producers across the world. I'll attempt to upload some of these reviews on this site to prevent any of you the labor of having to copy and paste the link to the website into your browser. You lazy bunch of blog readers, you.
Finally, and more recently, I have accomplished an amazing feat in this economy: I've taken a new job. Indeed, I went from already having a job, with a fair amount of job security, and managed to better my situation by taking a new position at a new, more attractive company. Now I won't get into the exact location and details of my new digs as I don't want to tempt all of you out there that I've already had to take out restraining orders on, as well as the undiscovered stalkers that haven't yet made any attempts on my life. But I will say that the first day at the new job I partook in champagne and ice cream, followed by a meeting on the second day, complete with beer. Sounds good? It is.
But I'd like to make note of an observation or two that I had while taking some time off between jobs. It's been some time since I've had a few consecutive days to sit on my lazy bum and do nothing but watch TV if I so chose. Now, I didn't just watch TV, mind you. And, yes, I know I could have been using that time to either fill the pages of my book or to put more useless information on this site. But with the little TV that I did watch, that I was able to stomach watching, I was faced with the undeniable truth that daytime television plain sucks. I mean, really really sucks.
The hours between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. are dominated by a series of mindless, classless programs running the gauntlet from Jerry Springer and the Steve Wilko Show, to Judge Judy and Divorce Court, as well as and endless stream of soap operas and crappy info-mmercials. And running alongside of these shows are nothing but commercial after commercial of how best to get your degree, fast; of how to get into court reporting, medical and dental assisting, and the culinary arts. And this is the theme of the day. This is what the jobless America is faced with, day after day.
The thought that occurs to me, however, is that during these economic times, during the "Great Repression" -- as it is now being called -- there are more highly educated, specialized, and sophisticated minds at home and jobless than there have been in decades. When my position at my previous place of employment became available, there were 35o (!) applications in a week. And as a semi-educated (I haven't finished school yet, remember?) individual, I'm bored stiff and mildly nauseated with what is presented to me as "entertainment" for daytime programming. What must these poor people be suffering? Because as I whiled away my time, alternating between sheer laziness and exercise before starting my new job, these educated individuals have been faced with the uncertainty and dread of having no income. All that they have to take their minds from the situation that's been presented to them is mothers who've been sleeping with their daughters' boyfriends or the character who's been in a coma for the past 7 years (5 days, in soap time), recovers, but is possessed by a demon. I think that at this point I'd be considering a healthy career in alcoholism.
So if any of you happen to be television executives, think on that population of bored, educated, unemployed out there, begging for some fodder for the brain. Maybe toss in some reruns of past seasons of The Office, or even bring back Saved by the Bell, for Pete's sake. But spare their livers the inevitable if they are left with no other options!
And for the rest of you, keep checking this space for more tedious reads. Hopefully I won't be leaving you all hanging for another 3-4 months.
Monday, December 22, 2008
I'm wearing 29 like it's going out of style.
That's it. I've wiped my hands of it. I'm done with it and I'm not looking back. 28 can kiss my ass goodbye. What the hell good did it do me anyway, besides getting me that much closer to 29? And now it's just a slippery slide down to 30. Sneaky bastard, 28. You told me we were in it together, until the end. And then you go and ditch me, like last year's birthday. You lying sack of 365 days, I didn't much care for you anyways!
So, dammit, it's my birthday. Birthmorn. Technically I don't know exactly what time I was born off of the top of my ever-graying head, but it happened on the 22nd of December. And as of now it's sometime past midnight, making it that fated day, that glorious day, that day that the collective spirit of the World expressed some flatulence that coalesced into the form of the skinny kid that became the slightly less skinny kid that is me.
It's my birthday! I'm 29. Correction: I have completed 29 years of life and am now barreling one minute at a time into my 30th year. I'm well on my way. I'm already stacking up the seconds that will inexorably pile up into the minutes that will callously add into the hours that will shamelessly become the 365 days (already less than 365 days as I type) that will make me 30 years old.
Eek!
It's not really that big of a deal, I suppose. They say that you are really only as old as you feel. And though I don't know what credentials gives "them" the right to say the things that "they" say, I feel that there's a kernel of truth to that. I really do believe that how you approach life truly affects your mental health, directly affecting your physical health. And reader, if you know me then you know that I am far from "adult," far from sophisticated, far from bitter, jaded, or malcontent. If you know me then you know that I like a good laugh. You know that I like to play pranks. You know that, despite the fact that I am clothed, not cloven hooved, and missing some horns and a pan flute, that I much relate to that merry-making, ne'er-do-well, demi-god, Pan himself. You know, therefore, that I am a soul that is out to suck the marrow out of life and to enjoy, or at least appreciate, every last moment.
So here I am, barely 29, already contemplating 30, and yet still quite youthful in spirit (not that 29 is old by any means. Far from it!). I'm consistently told that I don't quite look my age, that I appear to be on the younger end of the 20th decade of my life. And this, I think, is directly related to that youthful spirit. I'm constantly amazed by people that I meet that are younger than me, and yet appear years my senior. Their relatively few years hang on their faces as a mask of a short life of stress and unhappiness. And though I know that I have been blessed with a fairly good lot in life, and have therefor had more to smile about and less to frown over, I know that these lawyers, stock brokers, and otherwise prosperous folks could find more to be happy about in their lives. Life, after all, really is just one large prank. We start in diapers, spend a lifetime of living, loving, and learning, gaining wisdom and experience, only to end back up in diapers. Show me the justice of that. So what else can we do but laugh? Laugh through life, enjoy your good health while you have it, and don't waste time allowing the small things to affect you so much that your youth is taken from you prematurely.
So as I sit in this coffee shop, watching the skiers go by (it's been snowing for well over a week in Portland, and we now have over a foot of snow) down the street, on this, my birthday, I'm forced to reconcile with 29. Maybe we can be friends. Maybe we can learn to live with each other, 29 and I. Maybe 29 won't be so ready to abandon me to 30 the way that 28 left me for 29. Or then again, maybe I should just preemptively make peace with 30 and hope that it'll put in a good word for me with 31.
Regardless, it's my birthday. I just hope that the cake doesn't melt under all of those candles.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Santa! I've beaten your game...
Kids need a reason to behave. God knows that I did. Well, I still do. But fortunately, or not, I have responsibilities like a gargantuan (for a lowly dj such as myself) rent to keep me from straying too far into a delinquent lifestyle. But regardless of my criminal tendencies, the fact remains that most people are, at their essence, good. And there are reasons for their better-than-my-own behavior. Some call it religion. Some call it the village raising a child. My communications professor would call it a transference of culture. Southerners call it "I'm gonna learnya a lesson!" I call it Santa.
Santa, that bearded, jolly, gift-giving symbol of "behave, or else!" Santa, that self-appointed judge and jury of who's naughty and who's nice, that fodder for children's stories, that deceptively like-able fellow who has the final say over whether or not you receive gifts or a stocking full of coal... Who gave you that power anyways, fat guy?
For ages this over weight candidate for a heart-attack has been the symbol of what kept most kids in line throughout the year. Want that new huffy bike? Better keep your grades up! Love that new Clay Aiken CD? Keep being nice to your lecherous little sister! Want to get a hold of that Wii? Better stop stealing valium from mommy! Have your eye on that shiny new Red Rider Bee-bee gun? Ah! You'll shoot your eye out, kid!
The idea of Santa keeping an eye on each and everyone of us, tirelessly catching all of our wrong-doings, and all of our rights, is sinisterly reminiscent of 1984 and Big Brother, The Lord of the Rings and the Eye of Sauron, the Smurfs and Gargamel. Ok, maybe not that latter, but you get my meaning. Santa represents the idea of an omniscient being with the power to rip away the joy from the most important day in a kids life and replace it with a dirty sock full of coal.
Now, despite the overall tone thus far of this posting, I'd like to submit that I am a complete sap when it comes to Christmas. Hard to believe! I know. But the truth of the matter is that I own Holiday Inn, White Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Elf, A Christmas Story, Charlie Brown's Christmas, The Grinch, and Polar Express. Yes, I'm a complete cheese-ball. Go ahead and yuck it up. But here's the thing: I love the spirit of Christmas. I love the idea of spreading unconditional love, joy, peace, and happiness. I love the damned sappiness of the cheesiest of Christmas songs (with the exception of Last Christmas, by Wham!. Want to see that vein on my forehead stick out and throb? Play that song. I dare you. I'll show Santa naughty...). But, more than anything else, even more than the well being of my own ego, most of what I love about Christmas is my family. And I love what Christmas stands for, in the context of family. In essence, I do love Christmas. Hell, I'm writing this blog by the lights of my Charlie-Brown-esque Christmas tree that I picked out from the field myself! (my friend Robin likened the chopping of the little guy to an abortion. How's that for holiday cheer?)
So why the tirade against Jolly Ol' St. Nick? To be honest, I have no good reason except for my own misgivings for having played by his rules for so long. Why, in the name of Pete (who is this Pete guy anyways?), would I waste so many opportunities for misguided, good-old-fashioned fun, just to appease the Christmas Dictator? Why did I pass up all of those terribly tempting opportunities for mischief? For stuff! That's why! I wanted stuff. And what do we do when we want stuff in America? We get it. Just ask all of those McDonald-eating, Judge Judy-watching, I-got-into-a-car-wreck-and-want-my-money-now patriotic souls what we do when we want stuff. We get it. And ironically, somehow Santa is where it all starts.
So what do I say to you, Big Guy? Here's what: One full year, 365 days and nights, full of all the trouble my twisted brain can think of is well worth that measely, dirty, dingy, stinky stocking full of coal (I'll sell it to the train yard) that you give me in return.
I'm going to Vegas.
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