Sunday, August 28, 2005

History Was Made, Alright!

I want to send a quick shout out to MTV for officially airing the fucking worst VMA's ever tonight. Not that they didn't send themselves enough shout outs all night. It was as if they were trying to will themselves into something approaching decent by stopping every few minutes to review the past few minutes and talk about how bad-ass it was. It wasn't.

And while I wasn't alive, I've never seen footage of the Beatles talking about "we're making history" on Sullivan. Nor did Hendrix talk about his own talent at his legendary Monterey Pop performance. Micheal Jackson at Motown's Annversary? Same thing. In short, they didn't have to. Because the world did it for them. What they were doing was that good. They spent their time on the road and in the studio figuring out a way to something no one else had ever done rather than looking at 26's and buying obnoxiously over-jeweled jewelry.

Be good at what you do—better than anyone who's ever done it—and that recognition you so crave will come. It's in bad taste to ask for it.

But hat's off to Green Day for finally getting their's after all these years and one hell of a good album. Too bad Arcade Fire or Bloc Party aren't worthy of MTV or that American Airlines Center would no longer have a roof. As it stands, it's just wet and filled with that unmistakable stank of suckdom. And ain't nothing that can wash that off.

And hat's off to the Killers for not going into that place, even if they did have to play a little pool on something looking like an outtake from MTV Panama City Spring Break.

Stay safe tonight, New Orleans. My thoughts are with you as you go through the longest night in your history.


Monday, August 22, 2005

Work Hard Sister, Love Alone Will Pay Your Bills

Right off the bat, I'll grant you that my situation is a little different. Not everyone suddenly figures out what it is they're good at at the age of 28 and then rapidly goes about schooling themselves to do it. But then again, even before I knew exactly what my calling was I still worked hard. But I swear nothing gets under my skin more than laziness. A total lack of caring and commitment to one's art. Maybe it's the teenaged sports teams talking. Maybe it's the mountain climbing. Whatever it is, I'm pretty goddamned competitive. If there's something to be won (and there always is, don't kid yourself), I'd assume win it.

I think it just makes me sad when I see people sleepwalking through it because there were days in my life when I did that and God, I regret it. I'm too hungover today, too tired, too busy, I can't do everything perfectly—I knew all the excuses. Then one day I woke up and realized how fast it can go. The one good thing to come from that day. That was it for me and laziness.

I have a little quote taped to the bottom of my computer that reads" hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard." Some days I read it one way, some days the other. But it reminds me, day in and day out, someone out there is working. And maybe harder than I am. My job is to out work him.

Simple as that.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

One day I live in Seattle. The next, Phoenix.

Of all the places I've lived, Atlanta has the most fucked up weather by a mile. And I grew up in central Texas, the home of freak weather.

It rains almost every day here in Atlanta—and not just a quick one either. It's a frikkin' deluge then followed by the incessant heat that turns the whole city into something resembling that feeling when you open a dryer before your clothes are dry and that humidity just sticks to your arms. Only this is like getting in the dryer and continuing the cycle. A few dozen times until September rolls around.

That's most days.

Then you get today. Just your garden variety scorcher. Probably mid to high nineties ('cause you ask four wearthermen andthey'lll all tell you something different) and humidity somewhere in the 80+ range. Houston's got nothing on this place. Not even close. I haven't seen out my windows in weeks for the condensation.

You know, Sherman rolled through these parts around this time of the year back in 1864 and probably thought to himself "Christ, I'll be doing everyone a favor by taking this place down." Nothing to do with war strategy, he probably was just tired of being wet and hot and it got out of hand. And don't get me started on the mildew. It's been known to run people out of their apartments. Not least of which, Jane, my girlfriend.

Fortunately she moved into a new house this weekend.

At least Seattle is cool, with super nice summers and sunsets over the sound and it's close to world-class mountains. Even Phoenix is kind of pretty in a scrubby, dusty, desert mountains-in-the-distance kind of way.

I'm ready to get the hell out of here, personally.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Importing CD's Ain't No Easy Task

Apple and the state of Georgia recently lured me into buying a sweet-ass new G5 iMac with the holy trinity of a student discount, a free iPod and GA's tax-free weekend. A perfect storm of computer buying factors, if you will. Throw in a flailing G3 iMac that had seen better days and it wasn't a very hard decision to make. Problem is, now that I've got aforementioned sweet-ass computer and some 600 CD's of music that need to be inside said computer.

So most of my day has been spent importing those bad boys. Now, there are services that will import your CD's onto your iPod for about $1 a pop but when you're living just above poverty level, that's a bit of a luxury. And here I thought having 600 some-odd CD's was a good thing. Think again.

The thing I've been noticing as I've been going through the CD's is that some of them aren't going to make the cut. We're talking albums I haven't listened to in years and some I'm even ashamed to still have. Not to mention the fact I'd be alloting valuable hard drive space to them. Even some of the albums I love are getting cut down to 5 or 6 songs. I always swore I was a dedicated album enthusiast and that you had to have the whole thing. Maybe not. 'Cause there's always those few songs that, even on the best of albums, make you say "well this is a little gratuitous, don't you think?" Think about that next time you go to make an album. I know I will.

And away we go

It occurred to me this morning that I may very well be the last man on earth without a blog. After all, why should my life be some big secret when everyone else's is just out there blowing in the breeze like a clothesline of granny panties? So here we go.

I promise tales of romance, advertising, music and various exploits I don't even know about yet. But it will be good and, rest assured, it will be written with a goddamn reader in mind. None of this online therapy-session bullshit here. I'll talk about other people's problems, sure. But not mine.