Pre-surgery Blues

I can feel it coming on like a train bearing down on me, the hair on my neck standing up as if the reach of locomotive headlights had just touched the tip of my track-bound feet. My spine feels loose, as if it could be ripped right out of me by the wind like a cartoon cat devours a cartoon fish, pulling all the meat off with one hard suck and withdrawing a complete fish skeleton from it’s piehole. This is the feeling I remember, and dread, as I lay out my clothes for tomorrow’s operation.

They’ll put me under, and I will be terrified – but I won’t fight to stay awake, because I’m pretty sure being in that state of mind would be much more painful. Still, I am fitful and scared, though trying to be brave – it is a beautiful day, and if it is my last, at least I’ve lived an incredible life. I secretly promise to hold on as tightly as I can, and if it is still pried from my unconscious fingers, then I will happily haunt my loved ones’ memories.

Oh my god, all this fucking hoopla over dental surgery! What a retard.

I’ve had a pretty good time over the last few months, it’s true. I made mac & cheese and banana pudding for Booker T. Jones. I listened to what is probably gonna be the best DBT album yet being recorded in the studio. I fell in and out of love, clean as a whistle at the end. I had my entire immediate family surprise me, along with some of my most beloved friends, at my 40th birthday party. I even saw Slobberbone again.

Man, if I’m gonna be taken out by an endodontist, I deserve nitrous. That’s my theory.

Long time ago

Been a while since I last came ’round these parts. I reckon my attitude has been that maybe writing about ever’ little thang isn’t necessarily helping me out much, but much has changed… much has changed.

I find myself working harder than ever before to change things. I finally have begun – and stuck to – a plan to change my life, and the hardships have begun to come, as I knew they would. Floating along, you may avoid many hard places and deep pools, but you also don’t get very far. I am willing to work harder, and get a little further, so that all of my life isn’t complaining about things I am too lazy or unfocused to change.

Oh, my goals are set high! I have only to the end of this year to change myself physically so much that I no longer have the medical issues that being lazy and indulgent so often create. I am terrified to face, and yet have no choice but to face, my coming tax bill, and solving my financial troubles needs to happen this year too. I even have this crazy dream of singing a song I’m learning in Spanish to my family at the July 4th throwdown at my Dad’s, with me playing guitar or bass and my brother playing along and maybe even a cousin or two. Keep in mind that I cannot speak Spanish yet, have a pretty awful voice, and can’t play guitar. Haven’t touched a bass in years. Are my goals unrealistic? Possibly, but I’m so used to failure that even slight wins take me a million miles high.

I was planning to buy some cheap acoustic to learn on, but then the Firebird decided to cost me $700, so all the stress I went through for freelance last month was… well, I’m glad I had the money, but I sure woulda rather bought me an acoustic and some tickets to Green Bay for the Slobberbone casino shows. Ahhhh, well… it ain’t over ’til it’s over.

Wish me luck.

They KNOW me

I was watching Scrubs the other day while working, and this line by Dr. Molly caught my attention:

“Show me a guy who wants to get married, has a good job – and it’s like snoozeville for me. But if you know a 35-year-old who still lives at home with his mom and he still thinks his band can make it – tell me where to meet him so I can buy him dinner!”

Oh my god.

Will Johnson is making me cry.

Sometimes I just need to cry and cry and cry, not because life is terrible or anything is wrong other than what it always wrong – just because. I don’t try to pretend there’s nothing to be sad about, but the weight of good in my life always has the scales tipped ridiculously in my favor. One day, I am sure, I will have plenty to cry about – you cannot love this deeply and not expect to pay in tears, millions of them – but now, as tough as things are comparatively, life’s pretty good.

Still.

Sometimes, I just need to cry. I let sad songs goad me into it, and i sob and hiccup my silly self to pieces. Today the featured performer is Will Johnson and his fabulous bands. Thank you, Will, for songs like From This I Will Awake and Just To Know What You’ve Been Dreaming. You make it so very easy to release all this pointless sadness.

what am I doing #109

I am starting to wonder again what I am doing with my life, like a dog that won’t stop chewing on a sore foot. I make changes and they are slow…  slooooow to show progress, but I still haven’t done anything to be myself. My life has been spent supporting and enjoying other peoples’ genius and talent. I’ve done pretty well at it, considering the main band I’ve supported is now semi-famous (seeing Cooley on VH1 kinda did me in, in fact) and most everyone I know is happy and healthy. I will always do that kind of thing, to keep myself sane, and supporting good music is what I love. Lots of great bands still need help; but these things don’t do much for my own self-expression.

I watched Man On Wire the other day. Patterson had been talking it up as well as my stepdad. Turns out Philippe Petit was the first street performer Steve saw when he went to Paris. I finally rented it and Matt and I watched it in two parts, splitting in the middle because I was passing out from exhaustion (warning: do not start movie after 18 hour day). What stuck with me most was commentary from Annie Allix, who was Philippe’s girlfriend at the time. She said that there was never any doubt she would support him; that was her role, and there was no thought given to her own dreams. He was all-consuming and she was there whenever he needed her. She does not resent this, however, despite being dumped after Philippe became a star. She says, “It was beautiful that way.”

Once I considered myself an artist. I think that, unfortunately, I was not so much an artist as a skilled laborer. I never came up with much exciting or good on my own, out of my own imagination. I could copy things, especially humans – expressions, the look in the eye – but coming up with my own stuff? Pointless. My imagination is barren or at the very least untended, underdeveloped artistically. I fear the lack of originality, of never having anything new or interesting to add to the art world. I do not see life in paintings or shades and shapes like so many of my artistic friends.

Monster was like that to an extent. He could play any instrument in any style, just about; you could put him on stage with any band and he would merge right in. He of course could come up with great solos, and had the most amazing voice, but writing and creating weren’t so much his forte. I think that is why we were so close; we did talk about it. His philosphy seemed to be do what you do and enjoy it, help who you can and live like you want – but don’t regret what you do not have.

I miss him so much sometimes.

I think, always, that I have found the answer, that this man/drink/house/job/show will make me happy. I don’t feel the need to express myself, but I find it hard to be happy for some reason. I wonder if there’s something expressive I am supposed to be doing…

Crazy Monday

The band had to cancel the last few dates – just about everyone is sick now, not just P. I am really proud of them for soldiering on without him those two dates. Looks like they did pretty good:

Damn I love that Cooley:  “…but I’m still glad I work here.”

I got the site updated and posted everywhere about the cancelled dates. Thank god for Jason W (who shalt never be called by that old nickname again so I gotta think of something new) because I seriously don’t know how I’d do it all – his handling MySpace & Facebook, etc., really saves me from losing it! I then made a giant vat of Granny Soup (no grannies in it, despite the name) and some banana bread and dropped some off to P this morning. He looks like he’s on the upside of a bad, bad sickness. I’ve been there, and it does suck.

Texas, V.8

Because of my damn head injuries and “lifestyle choices”, I don’t know how many times I have been to Texas, but I clearly remember five of them – the first time I rode out there with DBT in the Freedom and met sweet Marianne, which I think was also the first time I saw Slobberbone; the first time I went to ACL (no memory of the second); and the “last” Slobberbone show and both sets of reunion shows.  I am pretty sure I’ve been at least two other times, so I’m calling this last visit Jenn Wonders Why She Doesn’t Live In Texas, Version 8.

It was an in and out situation. I didn’t have time to think. I had no money and little preparation, but luckily a friend needed a website and sent me advance payment. I had money enough if I played it safe, knowing I’d come back and be broke-ass for a good while, but I couldn’t say no. I am a rock and roll junkie, and Slobberbone is the best shit out there. If I get a chance for an injection, I’ll just about sell my soul to get at it, like any stupid hump.

Texas has a lot of my love. I know that fucktard ex-president of ours came from there, and I don’t feel partial to the style or culture or landscape, but I swear to god some of the best people (and bands) I know are from Texas. The people in and surrounding Slobberbone, The Drams and Centro-Matic are some of the most genuine, insanely kind and talented people I know. I’d sell the shirt off my back for any one of them. Add the fact that my most beloved and beautiful sister lives there with her husband who I adore and her little dog whom I adore even more… and a rock show is an irresistable draw.

Slobberbone played an amazing three hours or nearbouts, both nights. Friday night was my favorite by far – I am partial to Dan’s and Denton; the band sounds better, the drinks are stronger, and there are always more friends. I knew we were in for the shit when Slobberbone took the stage with “Tilt-A-Whirl”. I was right. They tore through a setlist I couldn’t have written better myself, until of course the inevitable Oasis cover, which I still think sucks ass; though Brent obviously finds it hilarious to play whenever I’m in town. I forgive him of course. Saturday night I ruined by doing too many shots too early – confirming that ’special occasions’ ain’t a good reason to be drinking, because I don’t remember much. I think the band was great, and I got to finally hang out with them a little while afterwards at Jess and Ashley’s, but even that was cut short by my extreme drunkenness. Sigh.

Sadly I didn’t get to see too much of anyone. I didn’t any of Centro other than Danbom, who played most excellently with SB both nights; neither Keith nor Chad showed up, the bastards, and time slipped by before I could chase them down. I was thrilled to see beautiful pregnant Marianne, who looks about 3 months along but is really 8 (!); Justin whom I haven’t seen in ages but who looks just the same as she did ten years ago; and all kinds of old friends and new aquaintances that I didn’t expect to see.  I got me some new friends, Jenny from Louisianna and Shannon from Cananda, a couple of awesome bitches who know what rock and roll is all about. Got to hang out with my sweet sister some… And then… Suddenly I was back on the plane, heading home, lucky enough to be seated across from a handsome stranger in a near-empty plane who talked me through takeoff and kept me from tearing my hair out in anguish. Yes, I really hated leaving that much.

Now I am home and sick with a cold, sad that I wasted so much of that wonderful time unable to function, and wishing there was a way to do it all again. I’m homebound for a while, unfortunately – wings have been clipped severely by the little financial manager who’s finally growing in my head. It’s okay. I need to stay and contemplate. Life is getting shorter.

I’ll miss you.

Amy

Sometimes in my haste to hustle myself to some point of unknown happiness, I forget to do the little things that actually matter.

While it’s terrible to realize, sometimes it’s what I need to set my priorities straight.

My job with the DBT has always been nebulous, at best. Besides webmaster, I maintain the band’s incomplete archive  (incomplete thanks to the fact that for some reason, the accountants say that the band archive can’t afford to stash some of  the band’s own merch – ?). That’s just a small part of this lifelong commitment I’ve made, for going on 20 years now…

These days I also often deal with the band’s art, merch design, fan to band communications, and charities. I do everything from making laminates to keeping the backstage door key to making food to put on the bus as they pull out of town or banana pudding when they’re in the studio. Booker T has eaten my banana pudding, for god’s sake. How cool is that!?! But mostly, my day to day interaction is with the fans.

I answer all the emails and try to respond to all requests. I try to get something signed out to any requesting charity that the band approves of (pretty much all of them) and once in a while, I get email from a fan who is sick, or someone who knows a fan who’s sick, and I try to get things signed by the band to send to those folks.

Right before the 40 Watt shows, a man wrote me about a good friend of his named Amy who’d been diagnosed with cancer. His email hit me so strongly that I read it out loud to the band at sound check one night before the 40 Watt shows. “She is a beautiful women with a great heart.  She is loved by everyone who has met her,” he wrote. The band was more than happy to personalize a CD for her, wishing her well and hoping out loud that she would pull through.

Unfortunately, time flies after a weekend of shows like the one we had, and a couple of days after I’d finally recovered, I heard that Amy had died. I didn’t get the CD out in time.

She sounded like such a wonderful woman. I don’t know if the DBT’s well wishes could have made any difference, but I hope she and her family all know how many good wishes were sent her way, and how sorry I am that I failed to get the CD to her in time. I had no idea she was so close to the end. I hope that she has found peace.

I’m sorry, Amy.

Fail!

Ah well. I made it 21 days. A fight with someone I love and the violent depression that ensued drove me down to the bar, where I tore it up. I luckily had good friends there, and they saw me through, listened to me whine and got me home safe. Today, I am ashamed I did not make it the length of time I’d hoped, but I truly think I did what I needed to do. A night tossing back liquor with a someone who listened to me kvetch seems to have done the trick – I care less, I feel better, and I would never have gotten it all out if I weren’t drinking. I just don’t exercise my feelings completely without a few drinks in me.

I also don’t care about drinking any more for a while, so it’s not like I’m on a bender. I got drunk and it did the job. It’s good to know I can still do it if I want to, and it doesn’t mean I will go back to drinking every other day. Hell, if I can keep it to once a month, I’m pretty damn happy with that – but I think I truly see the other side. I don’t feel like I will ever need to drink again. If I do, I will. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. Life is much more fun without it, it’s damn gay as hell, but true!

Change (comes from within)

I have a friend who often told the many bums on the street of Athens, when they asked him for change, that “Change comes from within.”

Funny, but true.

I don’t think I have adequate words for how much I love my life right now. I just glided through a magnificent set of rock shows by the Truckers and Centro-Matic/SSG (and The Whigs, too, who are getting fantastic!). Of course, having had DBT in town and in the studio for a week was nice; I got to make ‘em food, have lunch with Cooldaddy, and visit with the out-of-towners that I never get to see. I was pretty damn happy about that.Plus, shit sounds BADASS in the studio – I do believe those motherfuckers are going to pull it off again. It looks like yet another stellar release is in the wings. Unbelievable.

Then Centro-Matic came to town, and crashed at my house – giving me even more reason smile and to cook. Sometimes it’s still hard for me to fathom how such an incredible band can possibly be sitting at my dinner table eating my soup; much less that they are people whose hearts I dearly love, and who love me (!!!uncontainable joy at the thought!!!) . The shows were fantastic. The people I met were friendly and fun. Having the Belton crew come in for Saturday night was awesome, and meeting the winners of the Nuci’s contest kicked ass since they ended up being some of the most killer folks there. The good things that DBT have brought into my life seem neverending…

All my friends were in great moods. Backstage stayed amazingly clear and uncrowded most of the time. There was only a little drama early on, easily resolved, and the rest of the time I felt like everyone was rolling along easily. I had no trouble with the boy tradeoff, though I did ditch the idea of introducing the two. Things are still too weird, and I’m still not ready. Other than that, everything went as planned.

I made it through the shows without a drop of alcohol.

Didn’t even want it, really! Havig Uncle Josh around helps – he’s such a great listener. Casey too – I have a true friend in that man, I am sure, at least when he’s sober.  In fact, everyone supported me 100%. Even Damon mentioned that he and the band and crew were proud of me. I feel kinda like I cheated, because it really wasn’t very hard. To top it off, I got on the scales this morning and was 10 lbs lighter than I was on Jan 1. Living good is easier than living bad. Who’da thunk it?

I think if I stay on course I can actually climb out of debt this year, and if I bust my ass I can get in much better shape physically and keep my head above water emotionally. Not drinking has cut way down on my depression, and I certainly have more money in the bank. So, while I do plan to drink again on certain occasions after this 3-month trial is up, I’m gonna keep it much more in control…

2009. New president. New body. New life. More love. More rock. More living. BRING IT!

Yeeep yep yep yep yep yep

Still makes me laugh. Children’s TV today just doesn’t hold a candle.

Fuck 2008 right in the ass.

God dammit I will be so fucking glad when this god-forsaken year is finally over.

I can’t blame the sleepless lonely worthless year on anything but myself, in truth, but son of a BITCH I am gonna try.

I have some goddamn resolutions for 2009, as I sit here an hour away from the anointed year.

Get my shit in shape. Finances – I will not lose my house. Health – I will heal and become stronger and sleeker than ever before. Love – I will love myself.

That is the tallest order, I swear…

I’m proud that I did all the wonderful things I did this year. I have some great memories. Being on tour with The Drams for  a few days – I can’t express how much I love them, without sounding absolutely retarded. Going to Richmond to see Wes and Jyl, Matt and Alison,  and doing a short run following the Truckers – absolutely wonderful. Falling in and out of love – painful but informative. Becoming closer than ever to my sister and mom – there is nothing I’d take for that. Watching all the children, my nephews and nieces, be born/grow up, making me wonder if I missed something, making me want to make a better future for them. I’ve traversed the width and breadth of emotion this year, been flush and broke, torn and whole and torn again. I was strong and made some important and hard decisions. I was weak and let pleasure rule me.

Tonight I went out to see if anyone wanted to enjoy the last night of the year with me. Everyone I normally hang with was working or tied up with family. I drank a little and quickly realized that keeping up with the Joneses would kill me, so I called a cab. Cab broke down. 45 minutes later I get in another cab which pawns me off on a third cab. I get home after a frustrating hour and find myself locked out of the house. It’s cold.

My phone is dead, of course. I go to the sweet neighbors’ house and they let me use theirs. I called Matt. He’s been working hard, and they are busy – I sit in the cold for an hour waiting for him. He lets me in and goes back to work, leaving me with the animals and this god damned computer.

So here I am, 2009. My phone is blowing up with well wishes and love from all of my friends, all over the country. I’m exhausted and half drunk and not so sure what I’m supposed to do now. I’m sure I will wake up though, and it will be a new day. A new year. And maybe somewhere inside of it will be a purpose for me.

Once in a while, insomnia fucking rules!

Okay, “rules” might be the wrong way to put it.

I should be asleep now so I can drive home for Christmas tomorrow, but noooooo.

Instead I update websites clean kitchen avoid dog farts as much as possible eat bologna sandwich surf the web.

Ahhh, some of the joys of being up at 4am…

Fuck You Penguin

Amelia

In the slightest moments of sleep I actually got last night, I managed to have a dream about my daughter. She had green eyes and a pet bunny and was full of love. Her name was Amelia.

I don’t have children, but I think it’s funny that even my dreams used the name I always wanted to name a daughter…

She would be named after this beautiful song by Joni Mitchell about Amelia Earhart. Joni is such an incredible songwriter, I don’t know how she pegs it so well… but there it is.

Amelia

I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain
It was the hexagram of the heavens
It was the strings of my guitar
Amelia, it was just a false alarm

The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets thru to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm

People will tell you where they’ve gone
They’ll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Where some have found their paradise
Others just come to harm
Oh Amelia, it was just a false alarm

I wish that he was here tonight
It’s so hard to obey
His sad request of me to kindly stay away
So this is how I hide the hurt
As the road leads cursed and charmed
I tell Amelia, it was just a false alarm

A ghost of aviation
She was swallowed by the sky
Or by the sea, like me she had a dream to fly
Like Icarus ascending
On beautiful foolish arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm

Maybe I’ve never really loved
I guess that is the truth
Ive spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm

I pulled into the cactus tree motel
To shower off the dust
And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust
I dreamed of 747s
Over geometric farms
Dreams, Amelia, dreams and false alarms

Almost Tranquilized

I’m sure it’s just the weather or lack of sleep, but I am righteously depressed today.

I’ve been on such a high that I could spit on birds a-flyin’, due I reckon to my final acceptance of the fact that the only person who can change things is the one maneuvering my own eyeballs. Accept, change. Accept, change. See, this change thing isn’t so tough after all!I’m not even breathing hard. At all.

Today, though, everything seems impossible. I’m broke and I know the last thing I need is to go out drinkin’ in this state of mind, but the thought of going home to that lonely house and spending the evening with no one to talk to or cook for or hold on to is completely repugnant. Even the animals, who I love dearly, don’t comfort me when I am sorted like this. Only crying or company gets me through. Or drinking. The most obvious wonderous most impossiblest worst choice. I feel the pull very strongly right now. God help me say no.

Of course, I will pull right through this. I will. I am an optimist by nature and I bounce back like a Spalding. Tomorrow I’ll probably be all sunshine and calm again, the beast having been temporarily banished, ‘my pain almost killed’ as P puts it. I spend too much time in Logictown anyway, tryin’ to maintain that Zen-like state… this night shall be the release valve for all that pent up emotion.

However, if I am dead in the morning, please be sure and tell everyone how much I love them; for while I am lonely tonight, I have spent more than my share of happy hours with the people I love. And that right there makes me feel a little better.

Fuck, did I turn the goddamn thing into a Hallmark card again? Fuck.

FAIL

I have found a new love. It’s name is FailBlog.

The Old Moon in the Young Moon’s Arms

Not-Gay Jason over at AlabamaAssWhuppin.com posted about the spectacular brightness of Venus and Jupiter tonight. I noticed the gorgeous moon and stars last night while standing in the Ingles parking lot. It was so purty it knocked that horrible “Final Countdown” song out of my head. It gets in there every time I shop at Ingles, bacause there’s a Final Markdown store right next door, and I can not look at that damn sign without the damn song kicking off in my head. It’s so bad that I think that’s subconsciously why I am willing to pay Publix prices sometimes. This bit caught my eye:

A very close conjunction of the crescent moon and a bright star or planet can be an awe-inspiring naked-eye spectacle.  The English poet, critic and philosopher, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) used just such a celestial sight as an ominous portent in his epic, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”  In addition, there are juxtaposed crescent moon and star symbols that have appeared on the flags of many nations, including Turkey, Pakistan, Malaysia, Algeria, Mauritania, and Tunisia.

Also on Monday evening, you may be able to see the full globe of the moon, its darkened portion glowing with a bluish-gray hue interposed between the sunlit crescent and not much darker sky.  This vision is sometimes called “the old moon in the young moon’s arms.” Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) was the first to recognize it as what we now call “earthshine.”

happy sad

Proud Moments:

Finding myself involved with my favorite bands, finding out that they are great people as well as great musicians, and finding some of my best friends among them.

Finally realizing that looks don’t really matter.

Watching the band I’ve worked so hard for become famous.

Today is my 11-year anniversary at my job. Wait – is that a regret?

Realizing that I had a one-of-a-kind family; that I’m actually related to some of the most loving and amazing people in the world.

Biggest Regrets:

That I quit playing bass without ever even really trying.

That I slept through Dylan’s birth and wasn’t there for Caleb’s.

That I have a day job instead of a job I love, and am in too much debt now to change that.

That I’ve spent so much of my life being ignorant and self-centered.

That I didn’t make Monster ditch the band and go to Nashville with me the night he died.

That I fall in love so easily, and fall out so hard.

Ryo-oh-ki, up close and personal