Fuckin' a.
I have no idea what that saying means or where it came from, but I absolutely love it. It reminds me of the hoods that bought me and my crue beer when we were 17. Lenny, Mike, Shannon...and the countless other dirt rockers that looked out for our thirsty taste buds.
"Dude, thanks for the beer! You want one?"
"Fuckin' a, man."
That's how a normal conversation would go after the boxes of beer and bottles of girl-booze were purchased for us minors.
Following that exchange of pleasantries, we would commence to cranking the stereo to the likes of Ozzy, Dio, Motley Crue, or Van Halen. If we were lucky, some of our female classmates would stop by whatever "older person's" house we were at to see what was happening. Usually they were immediately frightened by the ogling and inappropriateness of our older "friends", and would quickly leave.
"Sorry, man. Guess they had some other party to go to."
"Fuckin' a."
.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Yet Another New Blog
Well, I'm giving it another shot. I've resurrected one of my other blogs and am attempting to feed another one of my creative sides. The old "Earl Pics", that floundered in creation, is now The Art of Doing (www.artofdoing.blogspot.com).
The name came from my brother-in-law, Pat, and I rapping about...well, doing shit. Basically, Pat and I share a similar outlook on life. We both feel that life is way too short to just sit idly and watch it pass by. Cliche'? Absolutely. But it makes sense to us. Call it a reaction to experiencing a loved one's life cut short...call it motivation to not regret...call it inspiration for others to do...call it a "Bucket List"...call it cliche'. I don't care. But doing makes Pat and I feel satisfied. Experiencing different things makes us happy. It makes us feel like we are constantly in motion, living. That's us, though. We're generally not content, and want to see what's around the next corner.
Anyway, "The Art of Doing" is primarily motivation for myself to not get stagnant. I don't plan on cramming it down your throats, posting everything I do on Facebook, bragging and boasting on how glorious my life is and how everyone else should do as I do because I obviously know all. No, it's just going to be a mish-mash of shit that I, and possibly others, do. A trip, hitting a new bar, going bowling, taking a hike, planning a party, inventing a new chili recipe--whatever I find interesting and motivational. The Art of Doing doesn't have to be epic travels and accomplishments--but they are certainly welcome when or if they ever happen.
Earl's Brain is a stage for thinking. The Art of Doing is a stage for doing.
Do. Don't don't.
.
The name came from my brother-in-law, Pat, and I rapping about...well, doing shit. Basically, Pat and I share a similar outlook on life. We both feel that life is way too short to just sit idly and watch it pass by. Cliche'? Absolutely. But it makes sense to us. Call it a reaction to experiencing a loved one's life cut short...call it motivation to not regret...call it inspiration for others to do...call it a "Bucket List"...call it cliche'. I don't care. But doing makes Pat and I feel satisfied. Experiencing different things makes us happy. It makes us feel like we are constantly in motion, living. That's us, though. We're generally not content, and want to see what's around the next corner.
Anyway, "The Art of Doing" is primarily motivation for myself to not get stagnant. I don't plan on cramming it down your throats, posting everything I do on Facebook, bragging and boasting on how glorious my life is and how everyone else should do as I do because I obviously know all. No, it's just going to be a mish-mash of shit that I, and possibly others, do. A trip, hitting a new bar, going bowling, taking a hike, planning a party, inventing a new chili recipe--whatever I find interesting and motivational. The Art of Doing doesn't have to be epic travels and accomplishments--but they are certainly welcome when or if they ever happen.
Earl's Brain is a stage for thinking. The Art of Doing is a stage for doing.
Do. Don't don't.
.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
"Backstage at the CMAs, Dick in a Box!"
Yes, it's back to reality. After three days in Nashville being pampered like a celebrity, it's back to the grind.
In case you didn't get one of mine or April's updates, we won a free trip to the CMT Awards in Nashville. I know, I know--The CMTs suck! That is correct--but only if you watch them on TV. If you win a free trip to see them live and are a VIP at the pre and post parties, then it most certainly does not suck. It's not anything that I would ever spend my own money on, so it was a fantastic experience that will most likely never, ever happen again.
I thought tons about music, culture, and heritage while I visited Nashville. It was my first time there, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Is it going to be like Branson? I loathe Branson. Is it more like Vegas? I hope not. So I kept an open mind and just approached it like a dog with his head out the window. I tried to bury all of those preconceived notions, all of those prejudgements.
I witnessed a cornucopia of people, from your fat, old, touristy, RV folk with their white socks and shoes and freshly purchased hats from the corner gift shop...to punks with Mohawks, wallet chains and tattoos on their hands and necks. That type of diversity generally isn't found in Branson. I listened to different styles of Country music. Sure, there was your Rascal Flatts, Toby Keith, and the like. But we also heard musicians still playing the bars for tips alone, vying for someone to discover them. Some, embarrassingly talentless...others so good it was almost sad that they weren't headlining the CMTs. These were the acts that filtered across downtown Nashville during Country Music Appreciation Week. So that, along with the CMTs and Bonnaroo Music Fest being held on the same week in Tennessee, provided a pretty cool vibe in the air.
The CMTs are basically an MTV'd version of Pop-Country music, accessorized with pseudo-stars that in one way or another have something to do with the Pop-Country scene. Pop-Country to me is defined by overly produced, catchy tunes concentrating on a lead vocalist. This person is generally surrounded by studio musicians who would much rather express their talents on another stage, but are able to wipe away their tears at night with dollar bills.
Pop-Country covers quite a few bases, as far as listeners go. For people that like to party in a Nickleback sort of way, you've got your Jason Aldean--who is quite possibly the love child of Montgomery and Gentry. He's in your face and enjoys rapping Country-style. Chicks seem to really dig him for the most part.
True Americans prefer the vocal stylings of Toby Keith, mainly because he loves America and likes singing about it. Don't tread on Toby, because he's also a bit of an outlaw and might throw down with you. From what I hear, his chain of restaurants serves a horrible cheeseburger. Jimmy Buffet would be disappointed.
And of course there's Rascal Flatts. Two guys who act like they're playing guitars on either side of the main Rascal, who does in fact resemble an ugly, flightless bird.
I can make fun. But the thing is, there actually is a talent factor there for all of them. Shit, they wouldn't be on stage if they weren't talented. I may not like their voices or their lyrics or their music, or Justin Bieber...but someone does--lots of someones. The music is fine-tuned and mistake-free. The vocals are typically the same. Maybe twangy, maybe too rehearsed--but ultimately very talented. And it's not just music, it's entertainment. And they do entertain. I caught myself starting to roll my eyes during some of the performances and had to remind myself, "Just go with it. It's fun.".
When someone asks me if I like Country music, I normally give some sort of reply about liking some Country..."real" Country. You know, Willie, Johnny, Hank. Real artists with real talent.
But if you think that record producers and the "industry" didn't get a hold of any of these guys, then you're wrong. Jesus, just look at Elvis. Although these "true" artists have more or less blazed trails in Country music, they have had their fair share of over-production and pop tendencies. Listen to the "Highwaymen" albums. It's the Country super-group of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash recorded in the mid-eighties and early-nineties. My opinion: Horrendous. The idea is beautiful, but the end product is a disappointment, to say the least.
So, although Nashville is Pop-Country Central, there is at least some solice in knowing that it pretty much always has been. These faces on CMT that we see today are essentially the same faces we saw on The Johnny Cash Show and Hee Haw. The music may have been a little different then, but the fact that they're doing what their doing to make themselves and their producers money remains the same.
Toby Keith and Hank Williams are different. But they're kind of the same, too...as much as it pains me to say it. It's all music, it's all entertainment, it's all art...of different degrees to different audiences.
The heritage, the culture, and the purity of Country music is what makes it such a broad medium. Don't like Branson? Go to Nashville. Don't like Nashville? Go to Austin.
It's like that with every genre. Rock? Well, is it Classic, Alternative, Roots, Rockabilly, Heavy Metal, Thrash, Electronica, Americana, Punk, Progressive, Golden Oldies, or Pop? Same thing.
So when the next person asks me if I like Country music, I'll answer, "Yea, some." And then go into my Willie, Hank, & Johnny bit.
.
In case you didn't get one of mine or April's updates, we won a free trip to the CMT Awards in Nashville. I know, I know--The CMTs suck! That is correct--but only if you watch them on TV. If you win a free trip to see them live and are a VIP at the pre and post parties, then it most certainly does not suck. It's not anything that I would ever spend my own money on, so it was a fantastic experience that will most likely never, ever happen again.
I thought tons about music, culture, and heritage while I visited Nashville. It was my first time there, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Is it going to be like Branson? I loathe Branson. Is it more like Vegas? I hope not. So I kept an open mind and just approached it like a dog with his head out the window. I tried to bury all of those preconceived notions, all of those prejudgements.
I witnessed a cornucopia of people, from your fat, old, touristy, RV folk with their white socks and shoes and freshly purchased hats from the corner gift shop...to punks with Mohawks, wallet chains and tattoos on their hands and necks. That type of diversity generally isn't found in Branson. I listened to different styles of Country music. Sure, there was your Rascal Flatts, Toby Keith, and the like. But we also heard musicians still playing the bars for tips alone, vying for someone to discover them. Some, embarrassingly talentless...others so good it was almost sad that they weren't headlining the CMTs. These were the acts that filtered across downtown Nashville during Country Music Appreciation Week. So that, along with the CMTs and Bonnaroo Music Fest being held on the same week in Tennessee, provided a pretty cool vibe in the air.
The CMTs are basically an MTV'd version of Pop-Country music, accessorized with pseudo-stars that in one way or another have something to do with the Pop-Country scene. Pop-Country to me is defined by overly produced, catchy tunes concentrating on a lead vocalist. This person is generally surrounded by studio musicians who would much rather express their talents on another stage, but are able to wipe away their tears at night with dollar bills.
Pop-Country covers quite a few bases, as far as listeners go. For people that like to party in a Nickleback sort of way, you've got your Jason Aldean--who is quite possibly the love child of Montgomery and Gentry. He's in your face and enjoys rapping Country-style. Chicks seem to really dig him for the most part.
True Americans prefer the vocal stylings of Toby Keith, mainly because he loves America and likes singing about it. Don't tread on Toby, because he's also a bit of an outlaw and might throw down with you. From what I hear, his chain of restaurants serves a horrible cheeseburger. Jimmy Buffet would be disappointed.
And of course there's Rascal Flatts. Two guys who act like they're playing guitars on either side of the main Rascal, who does in fact resemble an ugly, flightless bird.
I can make fun. But the thing is, there actually is a talent factor there for all of them. Shit, they wouldn't be on stage if they weren't talented. I may not like their voices or their lyrics or their music, or Justin Bieber...but someone does--lots of someones. The music is fine-tuned and mistake-free. The vocals are typically the same. Maybe twangy, maybe too rehearsed--but ultimately very talented. And it's not just music, it's entertainment. And they do entertain. I caught myself starting to roll my eyes during some of the performances and had to remind myself, "Just go with it. It's fun.".
When someone asks me if I like Country music, I normally give some sort of reply about liking some Country..."real" Country. You know, Willie, Johnny, Hank. Real artists with real talent.
But if you think that record producers and the "industry" didn't get a hold of any of these guys, then you're wrong. Jesus, just look at Elvis. Although these "true" artists have more or less blazed trails in Country music, they have had their fair share of over-production and pop tendencies. Listen to the "Highwaymen" albums. It's the Country super-group of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash recorded in the mid-eighties and early-nineties. My opinion: Horrendous. The idea is beautiful, but the end product is a disappointment, to say the least.
So, although Nashville is Pop-Country Central, there is at least some solice in knowing that it pretty much always has been. These faces on CMT that we see today are essentially the same faces we saw on The Johnny Cash Show and Hee Haw. The music may have been a little different then, but the fact that they're doing what their doing to make themselves and their producers money remains the same.
Toby Keith and Hank Williams are different. But they're kind of the same, too...as much as it pains me to say it. It's all music, it's all entertainment, it's all art...of different degrees to different audiences.
The heritage, the culture, and the purity of Country music is what makes it such a broad medium. Don't like Branson? Go to Nashville. Don't like Nashville? Go to Austin.
It's like that with every genre. Rock? Well, is it Classic, Alternative, Roots, Rockabilly, Heavy Metal, Thrash, Electronica, Americana, Punk, Progressive, Golden Oldies, or Pop? Same thing.
So when the next person asks me if I like Country music, I'll answer, "Yea, some." And then go into my Willie, Hank, & Johnny bit.
.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Journey, Supper With Cliff, and Rain.
My first thought of the evening:
Journey is a ridiculous band. Here is the inarguable proof:
Now that you've seen that, there will be no debate.
But the thing about Journey is, although they're ridiculous in a certain sense, they represent something fun. Anything that ridiculous has to be fun.
I have my examples, as I'm sure most everyone reading this does. If you're around or about my age, then you might remember the makeout tunes, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully". Makeout probably isn't the proper term...how about couple skate tunes. Yes, these were the songs all the couples or couple-hopefuls waited to hear at Skate Corral, Skateland, or Skate Port (please insert your local childhood roller skating rink's name here, ie: Skateville, Skatopia, Roller Action Central, or Crazy Lonnie's Skate Shack). "Faithfully" was generally the song that couples skated to, as a way to show their undying love for one another in the form of roller skating together. The couples that really loved one another usually didn't fuck around with holding hands side by side--they faced each other while one of the two skated backwards. If they were extra in love, they would switch skating backwards--guy, then girl. It was truly phenomenal. And no doubt the single moment of the entire week that these two couple skaters could not fucking wait for.
Of course these two Steve Perry-crooned rock ballads were not the first time we had heard of Journey. If you're ten years older than me, then you may have seen Journey on a world tour with the likes of Styx, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, or Ted Nugent. But my first memorable experience of Journey was the classic movie, Caddyshack. Perhaps the funniest moment in cinematic history, when Rodney Dangerfield's character, Al Czervick is in a one-uping conversation with that Italian caddy, D'Annunzio and in rebuttal to Tony's "So what?" Al replies, "So what? So let's dance!" He then cranks up the radio on his high-speed golf bag to "Any Way You Want It" by none other than Journey. Everyone on the golf course dances.
Around the same time as Caddyshack, Journey showed up on my favorite naughty cartoon movie, "Heavy Metal". And although Journey is a far cry from heavy metal, it totally worked in the film. Aliens, animated boobs, and Journey--what a great movie.
Wait, the Journey examples continue.
When I was in my twenties (which I have extremely vague memories...) my good friend Vinnie and I, after a hard day at work would load up in his 1964 Chevy Impala, turn on "Be Good To Yourself" by our friends Journey, and go to the Red Lobster for popcorn shrimp and fruity cocktails. We were being good to ourselves. It was kind of like being on the beach...with Steve Perry.
There were many goofy Journey songs that my friends and I sang along to, generally in an inebriated state. "Lights", "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'", and "Feeling That Way/Any Time"--that one song that's kinda two songs.
When I proposed to my wife, I did the whole down on one knee bit. I even put a tie on. When she said yes, with joyful tears in her eyes, beside herself at the fact that she was going to be my wife, I quickly pressed play on the iPod, where I had loaded and ready to go "Any Way You Want It". I did the Rodney Dangerfield dance in celebration. Yes, she still married me.
Speaking of...at our reception, in which we had a very strict playlist--or no-play list, I should say, the last song of the night (unbeknownst to us) was "Don't Stop Believing". We jumped on stage--just the two of us--and rocked the hell out of that song.
These are a few examples of where Journey has it's place. If you're a serious music critic-type, which I sometimes am guilty of pretending to be, then Journey is 100% laughable. But that's just it--they make me laugh, they make me smile, they're fun. I mean, just envisioning Steve Perry singing is enough to make you spew Cheerios out your nose. Steve Perry actually makes Chris Robinson look less birdish.
I've always semi-defended Journey by saying, "They're so bad, they're good." And I guess I mean that to a point. They represented safe, overly produced, corny radio rock in the late 70s and early 80s. Those of us who pride ourselves on appreciating "good" music snuff Journey. We listen to different music--punk, roots, reggae, Americana. We don't sit around listening to Journey on headphones, or debating with our friends which Neil Schon solo is the best. Journey is ridiculous.
Yes, they are. But I still like them.
With that stated, I have to watch myself when criticizing my wife or sister or whoever's choice in listening enjoyment. Whenever fucking Rascal Flatts comes on the radio, I have to deal with it. Because even though you and I know it sucks, I like Journey. So I can't say anything. That part's tougher than actually admitting I like Journey.
Second thought of the evening:
When my wife is out of town and it's just me and my good friend Cliff, I enjoy cooking for us. The other night I thawed out a couple sirloin steaks that we get from the family butcher back in Nebraska. Two steaks come wrapped in butcher paper, so I obviously nuked both of them on defrost. Even though I was only hungry for one, I looked into Cliff's deep brown eyes and my heart sank. He's a damn dog. All he ever eats is dog food and table scraps. This dog is one of my best friends--he never bitches about anything, he's always elated to see me, he loves to go fishing and camping, and he always listens when I've got something on my mind. Also, he's probably only going to live another 15 years at most. Dogs get jipped that way. Then add the fact that he's a carnivore.
Needless to say, I fired up two perfectly rare steaks on the grill that evening. One for me, one for Cliff. Jesus, was that dog happy. He looked at me as to say, "Holy shit, man. Thank you. Thank you so much. That was amazing. You're my best friend. Best friend always."
So obviously last night I barbecued some chicken thighs--once again to perfection-- to share with my carnivorous friend. He wanted those chicken bones, but choking is uncool, so I shredding the meat off the bone for him. He was still appreciative.
Tonight...bacon cheeseburgers. Two for me, two for Cliff. Right now Cliff's asleep and I'm fat. But it's cool, we took a jog earlier.
Third thought of the evening:
I live in Colorado nowadays. We don't get rain, or thunderstorms, or tornadoes too often. Back in Missouri, we did. A lot. But now that I'm residing in a drier climate, I miss those things. Sure, I don't miss the death and destruction of tornadoes, probably 'cause I never lost my house or died due to one. But I do miss the feeling.
The smell of rain. The flash of lightning followed by the delayed roar of thunder. The adrenaline you get during a bad storm. The amazement of how powerful and non-caring a storm can be.
It's raining right now a little bit. I immediately shut off all noise in the house so I could listen to the raindrops on the metal roof of my sunroom. It's weird, the things you miss. Of course, Missouri is under water right now, so I imagine I'd be a little pissed if I were getting rained on there...again.
Journey, supper with Cliff, and rain. That's what I've got going on tonight.
.
Journey is a ridiculous band. Here is the inarguable proof:
Now that you've seen that, there will be no debate.
But the thing about Journey is, although they're ridiculous in a certain sense, they represent something fun. Anything that ridiculous has to be fun.
I have my examples, as I'm sure most everyone reading this does. If you're around or about my age, then you might remember the makeout tunes, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully". Makeout probably isn't the proper term...how about couple skate tunes. Yes, these were the songs all the couples or couple-hopefuls waited to hear at Skate Corral, Skateland, or Skate Port (please insert your local childhood roller skating rink's name here, ie: Skateville, Skatopia, Roller Action Central, or Crazy Lonnie's Skate Shack). "Faithfully" was generally the song that couples skated to, as a way to show their undying love for one another in the form of roller skating together. The couples that really loved one another usually didn't fuck around with holding hands side by side--they faced each other while one of the two skated backwards. If they were extra in love, they would switch skating backwards--guy, then girl. It was truly phenomenal. And no doubt the single moment of the entire week that these two couple skaters could not fucking wait for.
Of course these two Steve Perry-crooned rock ballads were not the first time we had heard of Journey. If you're ten years older than me, then you may have seen Journey on a world tour with the likes of Styx, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, or Ted Nugent. But my first memorable experience of Journey was the classic movie, Caddyshack. Perhaps the funniest moment in cinematic history, when Rodney Dangerfield's character, Al Czervick is in a one-uping conversation with that Italian caddy, D'Annunzio and in rebuttal to Tony's "So what?" Al replies, "So what? So let's dance!" He then cranks up the radio on his high-speed golf bag to "Any Way You Want It" by none other than Journey. Everyone on the golf course dances.
Around the same time as Caddyshack, Journey showed up on my favorite naughty cartoon movie, "Heavy Metal". And although Journey is a far cry from heavy metal, it totally worked in the film. Aliens, animated boobs, and Journey--what a great movie.
Wait, the Journey examples continue.
When I was in my twenties (which I have extremely vague memories...) my good friend Vinnie and I, after a hard day at work would load up in his 1964 Chevy Impala, turn on "Be Good To Yourself" by our friends Journey, and go to the Red Lobster for popcorn shrimp and fruity cocktails. We were being good to ourselves. It was kind of like being on the beach...with Steve Perry.
There were many goofy Journey songs that my friends and I sang along to, generally in an inebriated state. "Lights", "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'", and "Feeling That Way/Any Time"--that one song that's kinda two songs.
When I proposed to my wife, I did the whole down on one knee bit. I even put a tie on. When she said yes, with joyful tears in her eyes, beside herself at the fact that she was going to be my wife, I quickly pressed play on the iPod, where I had loaded and ready to go "Any Way You Want It". I did the Rodney Dangerfield dance in celebration. Yes, she still married me.
Speaking of...at our reception, in which we had a very strict playlist--or no-play list, I should say, the last song of the night (unbeknownst to us) was "Don't Stop Believing". We jumped on stage--just the two of us--and rocked the hell out of that song.
These are a few examples of where Journey has it's place. If you're a serious music critic-type, which I sometimes am guilty of pretending to be, then Journey is 100% laughable. But that's just it--they make me laugh, they make me smile, they're fun. I mean, just envisioning Steve Perry singing is enough to make you spew Cheerios out your nose. Steve Perry actually makes Chris Robinson look less birdish.
I've always semi-defended Journey by saying, "They're so bad, they're good." And I guess I mean that to a point. They represented safe, overly produced, corny radio rock in the late 70s and early 80s. Those of us who pride ourselves on appreciating "good" music snuff Journey. We listen to different music--punk, roots, reggae, Americana. We don't sit around listening to Journey on headphones, or debating with our friends which Neil Schon solo is the best. Journey is ridiculous.
Yes, they are. But I still like them.
With that stated, I have to watch myself when criticizing my wife or sister or whoever's choice in listening enjoyment. Whenever fucking Rascal Flatts comes on the radio, I have to deal with it. Because even though you and I know it sucks, I like Journey. So I can't say anything. That part's tougher than actually admitting I like Journey.
Second thought of the evening:
When my wife is out of town and it's just me and my good friend Cliff, I enjoy cooking for us. The other night I thawed out a couple sirloin steaks that we get from the family butcher back in Nebraska. Two steaks come wrapped in butcher paper, so I obviously nuked both of them on defrost. Even though I was only hungry for one, I looked into Cliff's deep brown eyes and my heart sank. He's a damn dog. All he ever eats is dog food and table scraps. This dog is one of my best friends--he never bitches about anything, he's always elated to see me, he loves to go fishing and camping, and he always listens when I've got something on my mind. Also, he's probably only going to live another 15 years at most. Dogs get jipped that way. Then add the fact that he's a carnivore.
Needless to say, I fired up two perfectly rare steaks on the grill that evening. One for me, one for Cliff. Jesus, was that dog happy. He looked at me as to say, "Holy shit, man. Thank you. Thank you so much. That was amazing. You're my best friend. Best friend always."
So obviously last night I barbecued some chicken thighs--once again to perfection-- to share with my carnivorous friend. He wanted those chicken bones, but choking is uncool, so I shredding the meat off the bone for him. He was still appreciative.
Tonight...bacon cheeseburgers. Two for me, two for Cliff. Right now Cliff's asleep and I'm fat. But it's cool, we took a jog earlier.
Third thought of the evening:
I live in Colorado nowadays. We don't get rain, or thunderstorms, or tornadoes too often. Back in Missouri, we did. A lot. But now that I'm residing in a drier climate, I miss those things. Sure, I don't miss the death and destruction of tornadoes, probably 'cause I never lost my house or died due to one. But I do miss the feeling.
The smell of rain. The flash of lightning followed by the delayed roar of thunder. The adrenaline you get during a bad storm. The amazement of how powerful and non-caring a storm can be.
It's raining right now a little bit. I immediately shut off all noise in the house so I could listen to the raindrops on the metal roof of my sunroom. It's weird, the things you miss. Of course, Missouri is under water right now, so I imagine I'd be a little pissed if I were getting rained on there...again.
Journey, supper with Cliff, and rain. That's what I've got going on tonight.
.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Rant and Joy.
Man, what an awful day. Life would be so much more enjoyable if I didn't have to spend the majority of it away from the things that make me feel alive inside.
I tell ya, I've tried. I've tried to incorporate my passions into a nine-to-fiver. But until you can completely call all the shots in whatever financial endeavor you're immersed in, everyday jobs just flat-out suck. At least in this disgruntled bitch's experience.
As I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and take deep breaths to control the fits of anger caused by people I don't necessarily care for, I take a moment of escape and envision a stress-free life where I am neck-deep in all the things I love. The outdoors, the good times, the people I choose to spend my time with. It's all stress-free. I envision this, and it annoys me that it seems so feasible--so realistic. How can I escape these annoyances? The thousands of people per week that I deal with--many of whom I do not care for and hope to never cross paths with again. The low pay accompanied with low reward. The co-workers that I see more often than I see my family and friends.
We shouldn't have to live like this.
Sure, it's bitching. It's griping. It's ranting and venting. But the cold reality of this whole 'everyday job' thing is that it's what I spend the majority of my life doing and I don't like it. Work is not my second home...it's my first home. I spend more time at my place of business than I do at my own house. "Geez Matt, we all do!" you might say. Some of you might spend 60+ hours a week at the office. I don't care. If you're cool with that situation...if you're content, nice. You shouldn't be, but nice. Enjoy that two weeks off a year.
I'll keep working on it. I'll keep working on a solution to eliminate the nine-to-fiver...no matter how romantic the job might sound. The idea of jobs and the reality of jobs are two entirely different things. For those of you who understand and appreciate my rant, cool. For those who don't, I admire your contentedness.
For everyone else, please enjoy this video of AC/DC not working a nine-to-fiver. It's worth every bit of the ten minutes...
Sorry for being a dick.
I tell ya, I've tried. I've tried to incorporate my passions into a nine-to-fiver. But until you can completely call all the shots in whatever financial endeavor you're immersed in, everyday jobs just flat-out suck. At least in this disgruntled bitch's experience.
As I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and take deep breaths to control the fits of anger caused by people I don't necessarily care for, I take a moment of escape and envision a stress-free life where I am neck-deep in all the things I love. The outdoors, the good times, the people I choose to spend my time with. It's all stress-free. I envision this, and it annoys me that it seems so feasible--so realistic. How can I escape these annoyances? The thousands of people per week that I deal with--many of whom I do not care for and hope to never cross paths with again. The low pay accompanied with low reward. The co-workers that I see more often than I see my family and friends.
We shouldn't have to live like this.
Sure, it's bitching. It's griping. It's ranting and venting. But the cold reality of this whole 'everyday job' thing is that it's what I spend the majority of my life doing and I don't like it. Work is not my second home...it's my first home. I spend more time at my place of business than I do at my own house. "Geez Matt, we all do!" you might say. Some of you might spend 60+ hours a week at the office. I don't care. If you're cool with that situation...if you're content, nice. You shouldn't be, but nice. Enjoy that two weeks off a year.
I'll keep working on it. I'll keep working on a solution to eliminate the nine-to-fiver...no matter how romantic the job might sound. The idea of jobs and the reality of jobs are two entirely different things. For those of you who understand and appreciate my rant, cool. For those who don't, I admire your contentedness.
For everyone else, please enjoy this video of AC/DC not working a nine-to-fiver. It's worth every bit of the ten minutes...
Sorry for being a dick.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sunday Ramble.
Does anyone else feel pressured to fit as much enjoyment into their short lives as I do? It's not a philosophical type of question--not meant to be deep or anything. It's just how I think.
In the grand scheme of things, we as humans live somewhat short lives. We're going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Who knows? And I don't care how religious, how spiritual, how all-knowing you think you may be--you don't know where we're going to end up. No one does. Do we get a second chance at life? Hard to say. Really, really hard to say.
So, without turning that corner to the deep end, I'd like to keep this conversation in the ballpark of "here and now", not "afterlife" or any of that stuff. Although that can be an interesting conversation...
The hard, morbid truth is that I could keel over in three seconds. What, with all the stress of a low paying, rarely rewarding, overly stressful job accompanied by food and drink that the FDA generally frowns upon--there's probably a decent chance of it. Or, I could live to be a frikkin' hundred. But you can't count on a hundred. That's just being foolish. So, we have to take advantage of this short time while on this Earth we know. And that ain't easy--especially for me.
I am not one to, nor have I ever been one to, have the majority of my life scaled out. From a young age I have jumped from one thing to another, trying to solidify and streamline my interests and create a smart and simple recipe for making a living. It has not worked...at all. I've never had a clear vision of what it is that I want to do for a living. So, that in itself makes it tough to incorporate all the extracurricular activities that I'd like to accomplish by life's end.
There are so many directions that you can go. It's tough to figure out which one to take.
There's obviously the side of me that has tried to incorporate passions and employment. It's been very bittersweet. It tends to dampen your interests a bit, when you have to do it. If I have to do something, then it fails to be a passion or interest. I'll do those on my own watch. But on the other side of the coin, it has opened up some fun doors as far as networks, knowledge, and experiences. It's time to move on, though.
Then there's the side of me that thinks going back to school might be the best answer. I'm more willing to learn now, I could use the credentials, and it would help secure a more permanent career. Once I've graduated and am on cruise control, let's say being a teacher, then I'm locked in with an okay salary and benefits--plus I've got my summers off to ramble. That's one train of thought.
And the side that I'm always battling is the side that wants to find a way to split. I'm not talking leaving my wife or anything. Just downsizing and leaving. Getting rid of the house, the car, the anchors. Responsibly freeing up time, while keeping a modest travel fund, and roaming the world until I run out of money or ambition.
Thing is, my jobs have never dictated what I do or who I am. I've had so many that I don't even remember half of them. I'm not a "DOCTOR" or an "ASTRONAUT". I'm just some dude named Matt who tries to make an honest living doing whatever so I can swing some living on the side.
I'd like to be able to swing a little more living, though.
.
In the grand scheme of things, we as humans live somewhat short lives. We're going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Who knows? And I don't care how religious, how spiritual, how all-knowing you think you may be--you don't know where we're going to end up. No one does. Do we get a second chance at life? Hard to say. Really, really hard to say.
So, without turning that corner to the deep end, I'd like to keep this conversation in the ballpark of "here and now", not "afterlife" or any of that stuff. Although that can be an interesting conversation...
The hard, morbid truth is that I could keel over in three seconds. What, with all the stress of a low paying, rarely rewarding, overly stressful job accompanied by food and drink that the FDA generally frowns upon--there's probably a decent chance of it. Or, I could live to be a frikkin' hundred. But you can't count on a hundred. That's just being foolish. So, we have to take advantage of this short time while on this Earth we know. And that ain't easy--especially for me.
I am not one to, nor have I ever been one to, have the majority of my life scaled out. From a young age I have jumped from one thing to another, trying to solidify and streamline my interests and create a smart and simple recipe for making a living. It has not worked...at all. I've never had a clear vision of what it is that I want to do for a living. So, that in itself makes it tough to incorporate all the extracurricular activities that I'd like to accomplish by life's end.
There are so many directions that you can go. It's tough to figure out which one to take.
There's obviously the side of me that has tried to incorporate passions and employment. It's been very bittersweet. It tends to dampen your interests a bit, when you have to do it. If I have to do something, then it fails to be a passion or interest. I'll do those on my own watch. But on the other side of the coin, it has opened up some fun doors as far as networks, knowledge, and experiences. It's time to move on, though.
Then there's the side of me that thinks going back to school might be the best answer. I'm more willing to learn now, I could use the credentials, and it would help secure a more permanent career. Once I've graduated and am on cruise control, let's say being a teacher, then I'm locked in with an okay salary and benefits--plus I've got my summers off to ramble. That's one train of thought.
And the side that I'm always battling is the side that wants to find a way to split. I'm not talking leaving my wife or anything. Just downsizing and leaving. Getting rid of the house, the car, the anchors. Responsibly freeing up time, while keeping a modest travel fund, and roaming the world until I run out of money or ambition.
Thing is, my jobs have never dictated what I do or who I am. I've had so many that I don't even remember half of them. I'm not a "DOCTOR" or an "ASTRONAUT". I'm just some dude named Matt who tries to make an honest living doing whatever so I can swing some living on the side.
I'd like to be able to swing a little more living, though.
.
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