Opinion
Column 7 – Part 2
What I think of when I mention Chris
To describe Chris in one word, he is dedicated. On all of his breaks at work he is playing guitar, writing lyrics, or doing some promotional research for his band. He loves it, and it shows. He wants to know where to improve. That desire to take criticism and grow is indispensable in any artistic venture.
It doesn’t seem to me that his other band mates care nearly as much about anything but playing. They must feel like getting out there to make it is just something that falls into your lap. Or maybe they know he’ll do the legwork, and don’t do any themselves. So UC’s success is determined greatly in part of his efforts.
The next day at work
Sure enough, he came up to me the next morning, excitedly thanking me for coming and asking, “So what did you think of the show last night?”
“We had all had a good time” I said courtly, and kind of left it at that. Which we did. It was good to get out and see everyone, and I liked supporting Chris and what he was doing. I really respect him for his dedication, I don’t find that often in people.
He seemed satisfied with that answer and went back out to the shop. But it was only momentarily, because about fifteen minutes later he came back in and dropped the bomb on me.
“I know you might not want to think about it, but if you have the time, I would really like to hear what you specifically thought about the show. To hear an artists point of view, I think might be really helpful, whether UC uses the advice or not.”
“I don’t really think I’m in the position to critique you, you know? I don’t really know anything about music and that sort of thing.” And I didn’t, I can’t advise him, I know nothing about how to write or play music. The closest I come to making music is after a half a case of Smirnoff ice and a carton of Kraft Shells and cheese.
“Well, just a regular person’s opinion, you know.”
“Yeah, ok” I agreed, convinced momentarily that my opinion was worthwhile.
What a loaded question
He left the weight with me, and went out to the shop. He didn’t know how it consumed me for the whole next two hours, and I could barely concentrate on my digging for sales information on the web.
I prayed that God wouldn’t let my overly negative side come out and tried to think of how to explain to him what I thought, in positive and constructive terms.
I took him out to my car at break and we listened to the new Linkin Park cd, Meteora. “I can’t stop listening to this album.” I started. “ It is the most solid album from track one to track thirteen that I have ever heard. People think that they are on the tail end of this rap fusion movement thing, but they’re wrong. They have these rich beats and have a different sound that is complemented by Chester Benningham’s rough, raspy, painfully powerful vocals with the monotone vocals by their emcee, Mike Shinoda.” Chris didn’t know who I was talking about so I added, “You know, the Asian guy.” He kind of nodded as he followed where I was going, acknowledging that I was sort of talking his language. “They’re pushing the bill and they cannot be classified in a genre.”
(Many of you might think I don’t actually talk like that, but I do, so nyah.)
“But the track I love the most is track twelve. You know why?” as I deftly maneuvered the track stereo buttons, “It has NO lyrics.”
I made eye contact with him and gestured an axing motion with my hand, “They have no singing in the song. It is like this evolution of beats weaved with a techno sound that builds to a total climax. You know what I mean? The beats move into each other” as I gave an ocean wave kind of motion with my hand. I don’t think he understood my emotion for the song, but he got the jist.
“It evolves their sound just a little from what worked on their first album, but at the same time it stands out, and I love that.”
I reiterated the positive
“I really liked your energy as a band,” I told him, the same thought I had last night, “And I respect that because for such a small crowd, that is hard. But in the same vein, I didn’t find you all that accessible musically. You gotta think about that first time listener and how they will react. I noticed some guys screwing around down front that probably know all your music, but you have to think from a new listener’s perspective and not just play for the old ones.”
I continued, uninterrupted, “I also just feel like you need something. I can’t tell you just what, but for an artist, you need that ‘thing’. For example, when you guys did your solos. The bass guitarist in particular, didn’t stick with one beat. I mean, we know you guys can frickin’ play, we aren’t stupid. It was like you were just practicing on stage. Do something different. Take the solos and do like a melodic song, different guys leading into each other, kind of like that Linkin Park song. It didn’t need lyrics to stand on its own. Blend the bassist into the drummer after he starts. The bass guitar is kind of like the drums of the guitars, if that makes any sense.”
Not to hit you over the head, but the point I was trying to make was, that they needed to stand out from every other local band.
Tools of the Artist
To make your mark and stand out as an artist, you need to possess three characteristics.
You need talent. Chris and UC have that.
You need drive, and they have that as well.
You also need a little luck. Meaning, you need to just be good naturally. It has to be in you. No matter how much you practice, you just have it. You have something that no one else could have, even if they did the exact same amount of work as you.
I am not convinced they had that. They came out and played, and never once did I think anything but, “They’re not bad for a local band.” They wore typical clothing, and sang songs that didn’t stand out in my mind, mostly because I couldn’t even understand Chris when he sang.
I generally don’t go for shock value, but at the very least they could standout by wearing the t-shirts Chris produced. Get some buzz among your listeners. What is it about your show that they have to absolutely tell all of their friends about. Also, it would convey group cohesiveness, and they would solidify their name or “brand” to those first timer listeners, if they didn’t pick it out through garbled speak. Either way, they needed something.
Or go the other way and do the catchy thing. People love catchy songs. Bands on the radio don’t necessarily have talent, but they market something catchy that the masses can sing along to. And hopefully, if your band is smart, you will use that as a springboard to write good songs now that you have people’s attention.
An example; Nineteen Wheels. They redid this song, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet” and it got some serious air play. They are a local band, but they play locally all across Michigan, and I have been to see two of their concerts in Ann Arbor. Anyone can sing along to that fun song. I don’t really even like live music and the sweaty expensive atmosphere, but I have been to them twice! My friends and I just love that remake.
I don’t think it came off right
But I know if I made my point clear, and even though I prayed about him and his feelings, I am sure I did more bad than good, and I feel bad. It is easier to concentrate on the bad, as I have mentioned before.
But disregard all that I said
In the end, no one can really tell you what you need. That is the last component of an artist. You need to know when you are right, and follow your heart.
I am just one unimportant opinion of many. Lots of people care about lyrics, and experimental music, and scoff at any catchy mainstream radio or shock value gimmick. You just need to listen to your heart. You need show people what is good, make them know it is good.
And, if you win the respect of other people for what you are doing with your artistic ventures, you’ll always have those people to back you up.
Respect is not something that fades as quickly as a band with a great freshman album and a piss poor sophomore effort. Chris’ band might not be as big as Linkin Park for me, but I don’t know Linkin Park. I do know Chris, and he is working hard at making it big. He balances a wonderful family, three kids and one more on the way, a fulltime job with regular hours and his band, which he lives all the time in between. I know I can’t say that I am ALWAYS doing something to further my art.
This is a recycled thought, and might sound cheesy, but it is true. Anyone who sees him and his passion knows like I do, that he is following his heart and not listening to everyone else. UC deserves to make it, and all of us who went to their concerts are going to be there, waiting to say, “… I knew him when.”
~final
Column 7 – Part 1
Don’t sincerely ask me, if you aren’t prepared for my sincere reply.
“You need to get out more” Sara, my co worker, judicially brings to my attention last week. “All you ever do is sit at home in front of your computer”
“That’s not true. I …” but I stopped, realizing that the observation was partially true.
Most of you know my wife, Sarah and that we do stay in a lot. That is mainly in part to how I feel about paying off our college loans, and everything you do, kind of costs money. (PS, I just paid off my mine, thank you, thank you. I am very proud.)
I’m an artist, she’s a teacher. What’s more, she teaches in a parochial school. It’s like we looked at the bag full of high paying careers and said, “No sir, not for me. I’ll take a lifetime of struggle over wine and cheese for breakfast any day.” Besides, we don’t really have many friends left in the area. I have two in Grand Haven, and we have one couple we occasionally hang with here in Grand Rapids.
Wanna see us play? Doya Doya?
My coworker Chris approached me last Monday, “Hey,.. so my band will be playing at the Blue Note in Muskegon on Wednesday. I know it not exactly close, but, you should go”.
This sparked my usual penny pinching internal debate. I could spend money on gas, money to get in to the Blue Note (BN) and have at least one drink, and who only wants to stop at one? Or, I could sit at home and play the, “Watch-my-butt-chunk-multiply” game and not spend anything.
I was trying to find other reasons why we should make the trip, other then the main one that we wouldn’t be around after August to see him play again. The bottomless pit of never-ending headaches that is my transportation needed some more of my attention. A body repair I had done in January while still living in Grand Haven, specifically the molding, was pulling away from the passenger side door. If it wasn’t bad enough that you can’t count on people to do something right the first time, I had to zip over at blinding speeds right after work because the repair shop was only open till five, and not on Saturdays, no exceptions. Not even for botched repair jobs.
So, we went…
The hammer was dropped, the decision made, off to the dust speck of a town that is Grand Haven. We took care of my car and we hocked some food at my parent’s house since we saw hers for the fourth.
After dinner, I gave the two friends I had left in Grand Haven a call to see if they wanted to go with us to Muskegon and see Chris’ band play, have a drink, and catch up.
“I don’t know about bands, they seem like the sinful work of the devil” one friend said. “But you can drink copious amounts of cheap beer” I countered and this seemed to appease their conscience, or drown it out in ale. In the end, both wanted to come and the party was started.
(The band does have a name, Unknown Common. Don’t ask me what that means, cause I will give you that stupid look you give when you ate the last breadstick at dinner, that was actually supposed to be your sisters. I will be referring to the band as “UC” from here on out.)
After taking the back way to the BN, which involved going four miles too far north and then touring the exotic and tropical “suburban” environment of the typical living and breathing muskegonite, we still made it there fifteen minutes early. However, our overly prompt arrival worked to our advantage. The BN must have a loser policy. If you are stupid enough to come out to a bar at 9:30 on a Wednesday night, we won’t make you pay to get in. So, no cover, which means, more drinky drinky.
Beer tastes real good with music
UC got on right at ten like Chris promised, and we stayed until the end of their set.
We had a good time. Miller Lite pitchers were cuatro dollares, and the toothpicks were free, oh yeah.
Even Sarah had “At least one whole mug” which at the BN, is about half the size of a normal stein, and three quarters the size of her stomach. I knew it wouldn’t be long before her increased giggle ratio at my retarded jokes would be followed by a tummy ache. Translation, this is Sarah’s dainty girl way of saying big greasy flatulence.
Laughter was as prevalent as the beer. Megan brought along her culprit in crime, conveniently named Sara. (I know a lot of Sara’s) Picture Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble, but more female and definitely more funny and you will get an idea of their interaction.
For example, I felt the thumping of redundant pop music at Rush Street, a small Muskegon dance club next door. “Hey, we should poke our heads in next door.” I suggested with a collegiate nostalgia in my eye.
“Oh, Totally.” Megan said with a giggle.
“But it’s a Wednesday and it’s dead in there. We have to come back sometime on the weekend, on a Friday night.” Sara added with an evil smile, as they kind of bumped shoulders and laughed in agreement.
“Why” Carl asked in disbelief that it wouldn’t be even worth it then.
“It’s funny. It’s all of these 18 year olds…”
“Hormones!” Sara burst out mid sentence, and their giggles turned into strong gusts of laughter.
“They’re all hooched out.” Megan continued, and as her tongue met the roof of her mouth to annunciate the end of “out” when we saw Sara angle her hips down and back, her thighs gave way as her elbows met above her head, her arms together and she did that unequilateral booty twist, “Shake what your momma gave ya” she demonstrated with a little groovy attitude.
Megan joined in, and I about cried laughing as the Flintstone girls were doing something like the Bedrock rumble, but with a lot more ass.
But not to get to get too far off track into demonstrations of the raging hormonal teenage lifestyle.
The concert starts
Chris came up to the mike and said something in garbled live band speak. I made out some comment about the name of his band, and the name of their opening song. I turned back around to the rest of the group to translate.
“What’s their name?” Megan shouted over a blaring guitar riff.
“Unknown Common” I roared, leaning into Megan so she could hear me over the blasting system.
That set the conversational standard for the rest of the night. We shouted to communicate and the drinking didn’t help our comprehension.
Sara pointed out with Pride, “I came here when Warrant played.”
“She’s my cherrrieeee pieeee!” I screeched out, playing my air guitar and wrinkling my nose.
“Yeah, and even they played some covers.” She added as we paused in reflection midway through the opening song.
“I would like to hear a local band play good covers, badly, more then I would like to hear them play their own music”, someone else added.
“They’re kind of shouty. Its like, they’re trying to sound like Metallica. Listen. Their riffs seem to be going some where, but never quite make it there.” someone else added.
We sat in silence for a little bit and then someone else added,
“You know when a band has it. I mean, I might listen to a type of music, blues, rap, whatever, and even though it might not be my musical preference, I still know whether it is good music or not. I am not feelin’ it here with these guys. You know, that special something.”
Someone else agreed and then I added, “But you know, it is really hard to play such a small crowd.”
“It is really hard for local bands, to play these little venues, just trying to get noticed.” Megan added.
That comment got me thinking. They probably didn’t own any of the equipment, the venue probably didn’t have the best speakers and mikes, and the sound in the building probably wasn’t designed for bands, but instead for drunken men to sound sexy to drunken women.
It is. It’s really tough to get noticed under such extreme circumstances. I added, “You have to give them props about their energy, and they look like they are having fun, and that’s all that matters.”
That got a murmur of agreement. I poured a mug of frothy disillusionment, finishing off the pitcher. Sara quickly hopped up to take on the next round.
One of the reasons that I hesitated going to the concert was that I know Chris, and I knew that he would want some feedback when I saw him at work the next day. At the very least, he would ask about the show and if we had fun.
Column 6 – Part 2
But never once was I asked again, and the rest of the day just ticked away. I won’t deny that I was excited about the possibility, but it my mind it was only a possibility if Sarah and I could go together. In passing I had heard my boss say something about it being more cost efficient if one person went, but there was no way. I would not travel that far overseas without my new wife and have my whole weekend gone.
Another employee was emptying my trash and I asked, “So what is going on our there?”
He said with a laugh, “So, you want to go to England?”
“I could, I have a passport. But not without my wife.”
“Really? Come on, be spontaneous. I would take that opportunity.”
This made me feel a world better, or maybe that was his intention when he made that demeaning comment.
As I was leaving, I printed out a document. I passed by my boss’ office and my other fellow employee discussing the game plan. “Not to offend you or anything, but,” and then he stopped and asked, “…unless you were serious?”
“I was, but I am not going without my wife.” I couldn’t understand why this was such a hard concept to grasp, and why no one answered that challenge.
He didn’t say anything, not even an explanation why that wouldn’t work. So I left.
I was pissed.
Why should I be? Because it just seems to be the way things fall for me. Why would that be even a real consideration for me, that wouldn’t make any sense. I mean, it wasn’t enough that I thought I heard that the customer would pay for any means to get the parts there tomorrow, including someone escorting the goods overseas. Proportionately, they were losing much more money per day in downtime.
I could have been in England tonight.
I came home and told Sarah, and secretly wished that I would be called and asked, “Were you serious? Because, we have decided if you and your wife want to go, we could use your help. We can’t pay for any meals or your gas to the airport, but we will cover any airport parking and the airfare,” which, in my mind is what I understood the charges that they were capable of billing the customer.
So, this paints my mood just a little, and I would go into more depth, but those of you who really know me, don’t need me to.
I arrive at home
I told Sarah to be ready to go when I got home, because we had dinner reservations at 5:45 tonight at the EGR Grill. I came in the door, threw down my stuff, explained what almost happened today and grabbed a small nail polish sized container from the counter. I was shaking the whole time I was talking, and when I finished my story, I went outside.
My car hood was really hot from the sun and from just driving it. I wiped it down with a wet rag to clean it off of the accumulated dirt from the night before when I had washed it. I leaned over and looked really close.
My hood has been a sore point, and every time I wash my car, I get more pissed.
Let’s go back to the wedding day. My best man and another groomsmen decorated my car with this foam stuff that was supposed to be exactly for automobile type surfaces. The night of our wedding it rained, and it was a late night. We had an early morning and we left the car parked in the Lansing airport, with most of the foam still on, some pulled off. It had that whole week we were gone to bake on.
The first thing I did when we got back, was to pull the foam off. It wasn’t until about three weeks later that I finally got around to washing the car. It was filthy, and we scrubbed it hard and long. But no matter what we did, we were not able to get off the residue this “special foam made for cars” had left on my hood, and other parts of my car.
While we were scrubbing, we were having particular problems because some areas seemed kind of bumpy. But the actual problem we realized was not a thicker residue. Oh no, it couldn’t be that simple. We realized that the six months I had driven on an unfinished loose gravel surface on M-45, twice a day, at speeds up to sixty miles an hour had done more damage then I thought. I had two ruined windshields on my new car, and now realized, I had probably over 30 small chips in my on my hood from my travels as well.
I had dealt with the long process of getting money from the road commission’s insurance agency, I didn’t have the time or patience to do it again.
So here I am, leaning over my car, squinting in the bright reflection from my hood, and as I steady to touch up the spots on my hood, I realize that I will have all these little red dots, and that it just won’t look nearly as nice as new. To top it off my skippy go lucky attitude, the hood was so hot that I about burnt that sensitive skin around my elbow, and the hand I was leaning on for balance.
I finished and came inside. I sat down to make more changes to my client’s website that has been riddled with them over the past week.
I look at the time. It is 5:35, and I still see my wife wandering around in casual clothes. I yell, and I am pissed.
She has had the whole damn day off, we are going to a special dinner, and she isn’t even dressed for us to get to our reservations on time. She has no management skills, and worse, a lack of respect for my feelings. I was glad that this date meant so much to her that she couldn’t be ready on time an hour after she started, and 8 hours after she got up this morning.
We left, and 2 miles into our trip, the light to my gas tank came on. Seems that the mileage I was counting on for the amount I put in, was wasted away from my stop and go driving on the Beltline this week.
We get to the restaurant. I don’t have much to say, I am still hurt. My day has not been good. We have some water, I take deep breaths, and we talk a little as I try to put on a new face.
We talk about our impressions of the restaurant. As soon as I start to speak she looks off at the table next to me and is smiling, watching a noisy child talking to the waitress. I know she isn’t listening.
As Tom Cruise said, “And the hits keep on coming.” I shut my mouth and drink some more water.
The waiter comes and asks us if we are ready. Sarah finally decides, and I order accordingly. We had a gift certificate, and the whole point for me, was to try to stay within the monetary range of that gift. There were a bunch of items on the menu that interested me, and so I told her to choose what she wanted and then I would order.
After she ordered her mid range piece of dead piggie, I decided I would compliment that with the pizza. Now, mind you, I remember only these things from the pizza description; grilled dough, wood fired with mushrooms. It said pizza.
Wood fired would not have meant anything to me 8 months ago. But since I moved home to Grand Haven, I have been to a restaurant that does wood fired pizzas. They are just so good. The crust is dry, with a soft powder on them a little coarser than flour, but none the less, not greasy. The toppings are generally a little off the beaten path, my personal favorite is the marinara sauce with grilled chicken and garlic covered in melted mozzarella. Not just a sprinkling of garlic on top, or mixed in with the dough. No, we are talking like mac truck sized hunks of garlic flesh all over the little 10 inch pizza.
The pizza’s aren’t cheap, but they are just the right amount of food for a person. Male or female, and they don’t leave you with the that same achy feeling you get after eating thanksgiving, only compounded with the feeling of eating 80 pounds of grease like you get from Pizza Hut. (Don’t be mad, you know I love you Pizza Hut.)
Out comes my pizza, it was like a nightmare. It was this burnt flakey matza type stuff with an all star lineup of toppings. Take a seat cause this is “bery bery excitink.” It has hunks of asparagus, diced tomatoes and slices of mushrooms, with randomly plopped gooey piles of feta cheese.
Mmmmm mmmm. Good God, does it get any better.
Sarah gets her dinner, and I can barely see over the pork chop as he sets it down. It is like when you go to Ponderosa and the slice that meat off that hunk of animal under that red light. It is this gorgeous huge amount of meat on this perfectly shaped bone and they slice you off a two by two portion of the fat and ask you to come again.
Well, it was like Sarah got the whole piece of meat, minus the fat. She got mashed potatoes and carrots. It was like pork stew and any guys dream dinner.
I got the Paula Abdul special instead. Our waiter must have thought I was so gay. I passed on the initial drinks as well, as my worldly wife got some wine, I just said, “Oh, water is fine.”
Sarah was nice enough to share her pork with me. The piece she gave me though was like night and day. The cross section looked like Michael Jackson standing next to Michael Jordan, with a film of fat on it. The meat was kind of spongy and I wasn’t even sure sometimes if it was fully cooked. Although very good, I think that was largely in thanks to the sauce.
I kind of picked at other items on her plate, as we both stomached the hippy goat food that mysteriously got set in front of me.
“Did you read the description?” It was a vegetarian pizza!” She laughed ask she asked me, surprised.
“Pizza! Pizza! Pizza has a red sauce, covered in some sort of melted cheese. This is a garden on burnt toast!”
If this isn’t at all funny to you, then I guess you had to be there. Sarah thought that she would try to cheer me up. So the whole dinner as I was starving, she laughed her ass off at me. She just kept laughing and laughing, and saying, “Mmmm, gosh this pork is good.”
So, I take some whole potatoes off her plate and pop them both in my mouth. I crunch down and get this sweet rush of chalky potato. Not like sweet potato, but like a potato, covered in sugar, but raw. Oh, and it had a skin.
“Can I put anything that tastes good in my mouth tonight?”
Sarah just kept laughing.
Finally we left, full of garden crap
Finally we left and came home. I opened the car door for her and shut her in. I took another look at my side paneling that I noticed last night. On the passenger side I had had a stupid Asian chick driver slam into me and mess me up. I had it repaired a long time ago in January, but it appeared that my paneling was coming off.
I smiled and wished I had gone through with installing that bed in the back of my car, so I could go back to it before I started this delightful day.
The whole ride home, Sarah kept chuckling like Santa Claus in a roasted almond factory.
Except, by the time I had blown through an unseen stop sign, created a “straight ahead” lane where there really wasn’t any, an orange light, and about ran over a 8 inch tall hubcap, I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering.
“I feel like I am going to puke” Sarah kept saying as she just giggled and giggled incessantly. There really wasn’t anything funny, but we were to that point where everything was amusing.
I about rear ended another car, and my gas light came back on.
This shot off another storm of giggles and a surprised smile similar to when your wife comes home and you are using the restroom with the door open and she looks in.
I laugh some more and just keep thinking,
“I am sorry, there is no column today, I had a sudden trip to England. I will write all about it when I get back.”
…and I realize why God was making it so hard for me to write my column this week.
~final
Column 6 – Part 1
Excuses, Excuses.
Either you do it, or you don’t, there aren’t any excuses. I have known so many people in my short life that talk about doing something, but something always gets in the way.
I never want to be that person. If I want to do something, I push things aside, and I make it a priority. It is a challenge, and I am a vehement believer that challenge is good for you. My Grandpa told me many times as I screwed around and pissed away my school days, “You just need to be challenged”. “Yeah, right. I doubt it,” I thought. But he was right.
I don’t complain when I don’t do something I said I would. I don’t say, “Well, I had to organize my recyclables” or “I had to go to the store and get some earplugs.” What I do say is, “I didn’t make time for that” or “It just wasn’t important enough to me, to do right now.” I don’t lie but instead stay true to myself.
That is why this disheartens me to say, that I am not sticking to the two week schedule for this column. I was up until 1:30 one night this week and thought, “Gosh, and I still don’t feel like I am making any headway.” In awe, I surf these sites of these artists who are breaking out, and I feel left in the dust. I have just made a new commitment to do coloring on my artwork 15 minutes every night. It is a small goal, but I have been so unmotivated in the past to do it, that if I don’t start somewhere, I won’t at all.
Originally I thought, if I write this column every two weeks, it will be great for me to practice my writing for when I self publish. But a picture is worth a thousand words, as the saying goes. Even though I do believe that I am above average in my creative writing, I do not believe that doing it at a two week click will be as beneficial to my artist career as working on more finished images will be.
So basically, I am apologizing. For the few of you who have read these right along, I hope you will still read even though I will only be doing this once a month. I feel guilty, but that will pass. Time is always a struggle with me, and I will soon forget and put that time elsewhere.
“I didn’t make time for it right now,” is kind of what it comes down to.
I don’t have any good excuses, because there is no such thing. I have made a decision, and I hope that you who read won’t look upon me harshly for it. I know I don’t. I am proud of my commitment to meeting deadlines, and I intend to keep doing that, only in different areas on this website.
So, don’t go away, I will still have all sorts of fun stuff coming up.
Warning: Sara Littell. This column details my first trip to the EGR Firehouse. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great trip. I am writing a whole column about it. I know Sarah’s first reaction when she saw your gift certificate was, “Gosh, that was awfully generous of her for only one person.” We had a great evening, this is just an exaggerated take on our excursion.
Always read the full description.
I was kind of hoping that the column I posted tonight would have said this,
“I am sorry, there is no column today, I had a sudden trip to England. I will write all about it when I get back.”
I had thought it out in my head, and thought of the weight it would convey, and I was bubbling with delight.
The “Buzz” at work
At 1:00 today things started to buzz around work. There was a customer, I am not sure if it was a returning one or not, that needed some parts overnight because their production downtime was costing them large amounts of money daily. Their drives were down and we had the parts that they needed, it seemed simple enough, get it to them the next day to minimize their downtime. This is most of our business. The only catch, this customer is located in England.
I am not privy to any information at the office. I do my job, and I try not to be too nosy, but sometimes, my curiosity gets the best of me. For something like this, I will not lie and say I was completely passive. There was talk of how to gets these goods to this customer in the UK, and no air cargo was going to be able to do it by noon tomorrow. The best they could do was midday on Monday.
I was in my newly walled off cubicle when this discussion was happening between the boss and another employee.
I said, “My wife and I both have current passports.”
My boss is over 6’4” and he just kind of peered over my wall, hung his hands over and looked in, “Are you serious?”
I nodded.
Now, my boss is the most level headed man I know, and this question was not misleading at all. There was no indication of interest at the statement I had just made, and as I nodded, I just kept staring at my compute screen, without a blink. When he left, I didn’t even turn in hopes of a reaction. I just kept plodding along through my work.
As the day went on, it was apparent that no one would be able to fly the cargo overseas for us, instead, someone who have to take it over. My boss’ wife was in the running to take it, but she turned it down. I am not really sure that anyone else even had a passport in the office. But I do and so does my wife. Granted, it was something like an 8 hour flight each way, and I had made some promises to have an almost final version of my client’s website done by Monday.
But this was not something I would pass up. It would still assert to myself, and the surrounding world, that I can still be spontaneous in a life that has boiled down to an overwhelming amount of routine.
Column 5 – Part 2
The aftershocks
That doesn’t change the many years of outspoken words that I said, and how many people I have hurt in the process. I can think of two people that are very close to me indirectly, that I unknowingly hurt with some weighty words in this time of brash dialogue. They won’t ever know how sorry I am, and neither will any of those I lost, or those who are still hurting.
I have made an effort to change this. I am not stupid, and I learn from my mistakes.
But, like I said earlier, I won’t lie to you. If you ask my opinion, I think it is only fair that you be prepared for the answer. In that same timeframe, when I was feeling insecure, I did make a lot of new friends. But I founded those relationships on a mistake. I thought I had to not be myself, and constantly censor my thoughts.
Those people are not my friends anymore.
It is because they were stupid. They were stupid to think that I was going to sit around and consider every word I ever say, and think through everything I say before I say it. I just assumed that my friends would love me more as they got to know me better, and how I truly was. If I had to sensor everything I said, I would never say anything, and one conversation would take the time it took the Israelites to find the Promised Land. It is too much effort to please everyone, in everything I say.
Those who care about me, care about me and what type of friend I am, even if I occasionally hurt their feelings.
I immediately know if I have hurt someone close to me and I apologize, profusely. That is if I am in the wrong? I hope those close to me view me as someone who will admit when he is wrong, but you have to prove it first sometimes.
I hope they also chose to hang around because they know that there isn’t a thing that I wouldn’t do for them, and that I would never ditch an open minded friend. I would never dump them for a feeling they said out loud, which I might not agree.
As a result I have a small close circle of friends. They have the best damn qualities any friends have to offer, and each one of them is so amazing.
Reason number 3. Still reading?
The final reason I would say that people don’t like me is that I am selfish. I just heard my mom, telepathically. She said “But does he really believe that? He should really lose the sunglasses and he’d have a better attitude.”
I choose the activities I am interested in, and I feel a lot of the time that my interests should be valuable to those around me. I will always evaluate other people’s wishes, and then make my decision.
But every person does that. A friend asks you “Hey, do you want to go see Swim Fan? I think that looks like a really hot movie.”
I think, “Where in Pete’s sake did I meet this guy? I would have rather of had my wife choose the movie.”
Then I say, “Yeah, I don’t really think I want to see that one on the big screen. Maybe we can get together afterwards.”
I might be selfish for not wanting to go just to be with that person, but I am not the only one guilty of doing this. But with me, it comes off so much more worse; maybe everyone assumes I am a jerk because of the aforementioned two reasons. I evaluate what they want and whether it is really a good use of my time and what I want to do.
I am more intelligent than I let on, and I know myself very well, and I know how I will react in potential situations, so a lot of the time, I jointly avoid those situations and potential conflict.
I have always felt, little things do matter, but I don’t do little things. After a while, if you keep doing the same little things over and over, your friends will take it for granted. Eventually your friends will put you on this platform, and if you slip, you are the one that is in the wrong.
Sarah had this with one of her friends. This friend got a lot of personal time with Sarah. She got cards, special hellos, and thoughts throughout the day. Then one day I said to Sarah, “Hey baby, like ice cream?” and the rest was history. Some of that time and caring was shifted to me. It didn’t mean that she didn’t value this friend any less, but that is how the friend felt. As a result she did some extreme things that hurt Sarah.
So, I don’t give until I am orange in the face. When I do something for my friends, it is memorable event. I do something for them that takes hours, not minutes. I do them less frequently. But I feel that generally people will remember big events. They won’t remember how you emailed regularly or called on a regular basis, until you don’t. Then you would like them to make some contact, and they get mad at you. They don’t know it, and don’t do it on purpose, but they take you for granted. I never want to be in that position.
I wouldn’t say that I am misunderstood, I am understood very well. I would say I am not understood past the place between meeting me for the first time and the first bad impression. I don’t generally make good first impressions. Many relationships with me never are realized because of that sole reason.
So, listen up!
These are my faults. They aren’t easy to admit, but they are on the table now. They might not have been as obvious before, but now you are informed.
This column is to those friends who have stuck with me.
They have stuck with me through my changes and my harsh words, and have found that I am a valuable friend to have, with refreshing and interesting takes on life.
To those who I hurt or turned off, I want to say, we both missed out. I am cool.
So to those who never were, I would say that I am sorry and that I am like a highly anticipated movie. I am better enjoyed the second time around.
~final
Column 5 – Part 1
Mom quote for the week
“I think you should lose the sunglasses.”
Well mom, I just wanted to say, “I don’t think I will ever lose the sunglasses”
Do I smell?
I am going to go out on a limb here.
I would say that in general, people don’t like me. Surprised you are, I can tell.
I think those who feel the need to inform me of how I come across, assume I don’t realize. But I know how I come off, and I know what people think. I am going to list a few of the reasons here, and you all can see which, if any of the reasons, you might fall under.
Reason numero uno
I concentrate on the negative. Big surprise.
Anyone who has met me for roughly five minutes has heard me say something is stupid, or retarded, or people who protested our war in Iraq are inconsiderate jerks. I am so negative, I have actually applied for my own button right next to the plus sign on the calculator, but Texas Instruments turned me down.
To say that I don’t realize to what extent my negativity affects other people, would be a more appropriate statement.
This is one of the certainties I have found in my short life. For me, to concentrate on some minute iota of positiveness, and then to proceed to blow it up to float me down the happy river, takes all of my strength. It isn’t easy for me to see little good things and have them overshadow the negative things. So I guess you could say, I am lazy, to the hundredth power.
I know I can say that at one point in time, if not most of the time, the general population does the same. Or at least they think about it.
Do you feel this way?
Think about it.
You come home from a hard day’s work. Your day plodded along, you just didn’t have all that much to do that day. You come home and you have to fix a meal for other members in your household. They hungrily gobble the meal you planned and shopped a week in advance, leave the table, and leave the dishes for you to do, without saying thanks. Would you sit there and say, “Golly! I sure am glad that my fellow employee dropped off that individually packaged life saver candy for me, or this would be a sticky situation!” Hell no! But I will give the benefit of a doubt and say everyone but me would concentrate on the good, smile all the way into bed that night, and dream about marshmallows and funny little elves building the dreamworld’s first happy bridge.
Ack!
I make the choice to reserve the effort it takes to find something positive in something negative and channel it into my artwork. I go into my room and I create beautiful works of art. Some finished, some not. All of them my feelings flowing from a pencil. I have books and books full of feelings.
My art and my negativity are inseparable.
Have many of you been to my web site? You know that no anger = no cool drawings. I would not have the drive and concentration to make them, because my fuel is my negativity. I make myself happy by creating something that I enjoy.
I do handle the events in my life differently; I have a different way of calming my soul. Does it make it wrong? No. But is it easy to be misunderstood? Would anyone be able to look beyond that and make the association that I use the anger as fuel? Nope, and I don’t expect them to.
My Beef, it’s what’s for dinner?
The second reason for my mixed impressions on others is that I am outspoken.
I am going to inch out on the proverbial limb even farther and say that I have gotten better at this. College has changed my stance on my own opinions because I started to get a taste of my own medicine.
Rock my world, please!
College is always fun because you get to meet all sorts of new people. But as I was making new friends, I found that I couldn’t do that by being myself. Myself was too outspoken. I had to concentrate on being more neutral.
I also noticed that I was more sensitive to criticism then I had remembered. I wasn’t a big shot anymore. I was just one of hundreds of the best, the kids who all received “Class artist” awards from their graduating peers. My art didn’t feel so special, and I didn’t go off to college with anyone else from high school, so all I had to fall back on was me. One small comment about my appearance or my work made my shaky wall of security come crashing down.
It was the same thing I was doing to people 24/7, to people who are affected by other people’s thoughts, all through my pre-college years. From that point on I realized that I needed only to give my opinion when asked. I still felt I didn’t need to lie. I didn’t like people who responded in such a way to suffice what another wanted to hear.
Column 4 – Part 2
Number Five: Chip’s tribute to me
I am talking with some people hovering around the carrot cake when I hear the DJ announce “And now we have a request from Chip Cullen going out to the best man and the Ann Arbor crew.” I was like, “Ok, this should be good,” and headed back out to the dance floor. I was intrigued at the possibility of what our song could be. I thought that only girls could have “songs” but that is Chip, always breaking down those barriers so men can be more like women.
On comes Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a prayer”. I love Chip, and honestly, I think at one point during the night, he was more excited than I was about the whole ball and chain thang. But, I still don’t have a flipping clue what that song had to do with anything. You can’t dance to it. You know what I’m talking about Donnie Osmond.
I barely even knew the lyrics. But all the crew from AA got out there and looked like idiots so Chip didn’t have to alone. That is why it was so fitting. Bizarre and random, but that has kind of been our expression throughout college. I don’t think there was ever a joke that either of us got, told by the other one. But if he had requested a song that had some meaning, I probably wouldn’t have even remembered it so vividly and quizzically. So here’s to you Chip, Mr. Random-wedding-song-requester and your punch colored vodka.
Number Six: Mr. Kittleman likes ‘em young.
We had some awesome pairings for the wedding party. All of my best dudes paired up with a gorgeous young Chapman girl. Thomas and Tony might be about as little as the girls, but you know, all the matches looked natural. Then there was Josh Kittleman, our sole usher. Both Sarah and I went to private school with Josh while Josh was still wearing Moon boots and tucking his shirt into his pants every time he took a wiz. Josh Kittleman entered the reception with our flower girl Anna Gagnon.
Now mind you, Josh isn’t a football player, but I am sure he felt a frickin ogre. He has this bashful beard and big round jovial eyes and as he stooped over Anna as he opened the door, she took off on a mad dash to her mom.
Josh told me some crazy story that she was mad at him for telling her the truth about the Easter Bunny. This seems to be a typical reaction all ages for Josh, but you will be happy to know that they reconciled their differences by the end of the night. Just remember Josh, her favorite color is blue, and she has to be home by 8:30.
Number Seven: “Yeah I called you fat, look’it me I’m skinny”
My best man and I have had some great memories reaching way back before our sixth grade year. In senior year of high school we took an exotic camping trip up to his grandparent’s backyard. We biked, ate greasy pancakes and even greasier hamburgers and washed it all down with something we called sludge. (Justin’s sinful concoction of a half s pitcher of water and powered Kool-Aid, mixed with two cups of sugar)
We biked around, talked about female body parts, and claimed a little ditty by the name of the “Humpty Dance” by Digital Underground as our anthem. In the middle of senior year I had gotten the bug to find this song after I heard it on the radio. I loved the nostalgia so much that I tracked down the album online and bought it, just for that one song. We learned all the lyrics and thought we were cool. We even figured out “I’ll drink up all the Hennessey you got on the shelf…” Good times.
At the reception, Justin dedicated that song for me and for a short time we remember what it was like to not have student loans and thoughts of lifelong matrimony. We recited every single lyric to that eighties rap about a guy with a huge nose, and it was beautiful.
Number Eight: And we can always count on Amanda Chapman for snappy banter.
It is nearly 12:00 and I was in serious need of some nookie. Sarah and I had “started” to leave around 11:00 after we had sat through our eighteenth polka and said, “My Amish Aunt Paulina could have been a better DJ than Senor expiration date!”
So we started saying our final goodbyes, multiple times, and I finally got permission to completely get out of my monkey suit.
I told Sarah, “I don’t care if you need help or not, I am helping you out of that dress.” “Oh yeah, it’s naked time,” I thought. She didn’t think she needed any help but gave in knowing it would shut me the hell up.
Her little freshman sister was around for this conversational exchange and when Sarah said “Why is it so important for you to help me change?” Amanda chimed in, declaring her sexual awareness like a foghorn, “Because he wants to see you naaa-ked.”
I looked at her; she shrugged and giggled like Rudy Huxtable, turned around and left. I just laughed.
I laughed even more later when Sarah and I were sitting around and I got the rest of the story.
Not only did Amanda give my naïve new wife some very helpful insight, she also reminded her again later. Sarah was running around trying to find her civilian outfit and Amanda very politely, with her hands behind her back, a lean and a devilish smile said, “Come on Sarah, Jeff is waiting to see you naa-ked.” Not all that shocked, I surmised that Amanda just liked to say naa-ked like a potty mouthed sheep.
Number Nine: Booze vs. the horizontal mumbo
It is the end of the night at Terra Verde and the reception is coming to an end. I know my friends are all staying at one hotel in Coopersville, a tiny nearby town that has one streetlight and 4,000 cows.
My friends smuggled copious amounts of vodka into the reception, which I knew would surface later that night at the hotel. But to top it off, my friends all left together to go into Grand Haven. The one time that my friends from all over the eastern US are in my little home town, I am leaving for the one time I will ever get to go to the southern US.
About the time they were going down to the beach, laughing, and dipping their toes in the cool refreshing lake, I had bloodshot eyes. I am trying to concentrate on the road and taking deep breaths, upset that I let Sarah change out of her wedding dress. I had the option of making love to a woman in a car sized handkerchief, but let her change into jeans and a tee-shirt.
When they went out barhopping in Grand Haven, laughing and drinking, I was making a short stop, in the pouring rain at my apartment in Grand Rapids. I had to pick up my cosmetics and directions that I had left in my mad rush to leave on Friday.
When two of my friends were meeting up with another friend and to hang and drink at his house in Grand Haven until three in the morning, I was blinking, trying to stay awake, frustrated, tired, and lost in Lansing.
Boozing with your pals, or sex. From the dawn of time it has been the hardest choice any man has had to make. But I got the better end of the schtick, I got the week off work. How old AM I, that I held my breath for that?
Oh, and I also….
Number Ten: Had lots ‘o…..
SEX! An average guy thinks about it every seven seconds. Like I said, we had a week with no where to go and nothing to do.
~final
