A voice from the past has recently risen through the mists of the internet and called me out, bringing with it the sounds of tumultuous teenage days made harmoniously beautiful and epic with the addition of so many years.
I've had mixed feelings about my past come calling with folks I knew in high school. I have no interest in revisiting my high school days, curiosity can't even fan the flames of interest that would tear a path to a high school reunion (number 20 coming soon). There aren't regrets or juvenile hatreds that I harbor, it all just seems like a really extended run of a not particularly enjoyable show that I would like to go ahead and put behind me, look ahead to what's coming next.
But my grade school and junior high days... that's sort of different. I know that there were large sections of junior high that made me miserable, I remember it clearly, but there's still this heartfelt feeling of love towards them. I start to think that it's because the child wonder and wholesale innocence that marched around with very thin masks of adulthood on was suddenly torn away with the move to California. So much was abruptly ended that I am constantly left wondering how the years treated those that are perpetually 13 or 14 in my mind.
Anyway, Danny found me online. Danny was without a doubt, one of the sweetest and most positive people I have ever known. He constantly made me laugh and had an impish little smile that could make you forget you were locked away in the penitentiary of junior high, a prison full of the collected hormonally challenged, a concentration of humans during their most awkward years.
Danny and I were good friends, I think mostly because there was this shared non-fear of baring our weirdness. Somewhere in the middle of those years, Danny's family moved to Sequim (a pronunciation of this town is on the applicant's test to move to Washington). Sequim was only a couple of hours away, but to a 13 year old without a car, or parents willing to drive to Sequim, it may has well have been Botswana. Not long after, Dad's career whisked us away to Orange County and my pre-fifteen life was left to gather rosy color in my memory.
Interestingly enough, I met a girl in high school who knew Danny, heard news of him through her.
Now we have tossed a couple of emails back and forth and there's talk of a reunion of sorts with a handful of people I left behind about 25 years ago. And I'm down, I'm in.
I was heading to the store yesterday, and as it's clear and hot in this part of the world at the moment, I got a glorious view of the Olympic mountains out on the other side of Puget Sound (not a bad trip to Safeway, I'm just saying). I said to myself, "it looks like a good day over on the Olympic Peninsula, I hope people are enjoying it." And then I thought, "Danny is over on the Olympic Peninsula, I'm sure he's enjoying it." And as my mind is wont to do, it started making connections. I thought of our last email conversation where I had jokingly mentioned Depeche Mode, and he had answered back saying that later that day some Depeche Mode had popped up on his iPod. I began to wonder about what music had sort of spun his head as a teenager, as a young man in his twenties.
And then I thought about chocolate chip pancakes. I can't control what happens up in my head.
I cruised around the nifty Freon smells of the air conditioned Safeway, checked out the cornucopia of salad dressing options that I had before me, when I felt this little tickling in my mind. I stopped, I imagine with my head sort of cocked to one side like a confused dog, and tried to figure out what it was, and I realized that I knew the song playing overhead.
Depeche Mode's "Enjoy The Silence".
I laughed that sort of loose laugh you get when you realize that the universe is talking right to you; I laughed because I realized I'm not quite fluent enough to understand what it's saying.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Never Let Me Down Again
Today marks the anniversary of a concert that, though it may not hold a high position on favorite shows of all time, has left a deep dent in the memory.
Depeche Mode was ending their “Music for the Masses” tour at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California. It coincided with the birthday of Captain MIA, and he wanted to go bad. Dave and I had convinced him though that we had already made other plans. We had in fact convinced him that we were going down to Tijuana, but eventually surprised him with the tickets on the drive up to the show.
The line up was Wire, Thomas Dolby, OMD and, the impossible at the time to stop, Depeche Mode. Wire left little of an impression, which is a shame as I’ve become quite fond of their first album in the years since. Thomas Dolby left a bit more of an impression, but not enough of one to make me go buy a tape; OMD, still a little more – and I did buy a “best of” afterwards. Depeche Mode could have done no wrong, and did. No wrong that is.
There are two specific events that I remember quite clearly from this show. First, at some point during the day, between bands, I began to see the random cardboard food tray flying through the air. Sometimes there was an empty cup, or a popcorn container. Suddenly en masse, the air was filled with flying trash. There was a point where I couldn’t see across the stadium because there was so much shit in the air. I laughed and laughed…
Second thing was the rain.
June 18th of that year was a fairly standard June 18th for Southern California, it was clear and it was hot. That night, midway through the Depeche Mode set, it began to cloud over. As they began to play “Blasphemous Rumors” the rain started to fall. Partway through the song, lightning actually flashed as if these guys had the direct connection to the universe’s best lighting guy – and that connection was made by insulting him. I’m not a religious man, and if possible even less so at that time, but I remember freaking a little bit and wishing those guys would cut the song short. They finished though, and as they did, the rain stopped.
Even then, coming home from the show, that rain seemed unreal in some way, part of the show.
Here’s the kicker to this whole little trip down concert memory lane (at least for me): This Depeche Mode “Concert For The Masses” took place exactly 20 years ago.
Let me go ahead and repeat that, it was 20 frigging years ago. That does not seem at all possible, it seems like more stage magic, like some hypnotic trick of the light they played on me while “Everything Counts” blasted out over the Rose Bowl. It’s a number that’s way too big.
Anyway… Happy Birthday Captain MIA, wherever you are.
Depeche Mode was ending their “Music for the Masses” tour at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California. It coincided with the birthday of Captain MIA, and he wanted to go bad. Dave and I had convinced him though that we had already made other plans. We had in fact convinced him that we were going down to Tijuana, but eventually surprised him with the tickets on the drive up to the show.
The line up was Wire, Thomas Dolby, OMD and, the impossible at the time to stop, Depeche Mode. Wire left little of an impression, which is a shame as I’ve become quite fond of their first album in the years since. Thomas Dolby left a bit more of an impression, but not enough of one to make me go buy a tape; OMD, still a little more – and I did buy a “best of” afterwards. Depeche Mode could have done no wrong, and did. No wrong that is.
There are two specific events that I remember quite clearly from this show. First, at some point during the day, between bands, I began to see the random cardboard food tray flying through the air. Sometimes there was an empty cup, or a popcorn container. Suddenly en masse, the air was filled with flying trash. There was a point where I couldn’t see across the stadium because there was so much shit in the air. I laughed and laughed…
Second thing was the rain.
June 18th of that year was a fairly standard June 18th for Southern California, it was clear and it was hot. That night, midway through the Depeche Mode set, it began to cloud over. As they began to play “Blasphemous Rumors” the rain started to fall. Partway through the song, lightning actually flashed as if these guys had the direct connection to the universe’s best lighting guy – and that connection was made by insulting him. I’m not a religious man, and if possible even less so at that time, but I remember freaking a little bit and wishing those guys would cut the song short. They finished though, and as they did, the rain stopped.
Even then, coming home from the show, that rain seemed unreal in some way, part of the show.
Here’s the kicker to this whole little trip down concert memory lane (at least for me): This Depeche Mode “Concert For The Masses” took place exactly 20 years ago.
Let me go ahead and repeat that, it was 20 frigging years ago. That does not seem at all possible, it seems like more stage magic, like some hypnotic trick of the light they played on me while “Everything Counts” blasted out over the Rose Bowl. It’s a number that’s way too big.
Anyway… Happy Birthday Captain MIA, wherever you are.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Change It's Gonna Do You Good
Okay, you keep hearing about how bad things are going right now; the economy is like a Rob Schneider movie – terrible to behold, gas prices have jumped to an amount that seemed like a ridiculous impossibility not that long ago, and as a result the cost of every good and foodstuff that’s delivered by truck is jumping in cost too. We’re still in a war that seems impossible to get out of, the super wealthy still seem hell bent on screwing anyone within dickshot for a couple more bucks, and hatred and ignorance still seem to run rampant throughout this country.
And this little laundry list doesn’t help anyone feel better. I start to feel glad that I already know how to drink heavily.
But - and here’s the big, bright, shiny but – there’s some good out there folks, for real. Obama got the nomination. I sat watching Hillary’s succession speech awhile back and started crying. I was here to witness this remarkable force of change; my son, who was busy trying to eat the D string on my guitar at the time, would grow up in a world where it would seem ridiculous that a woman or an African American wouldn’t be taken seriously as a presidential candidate. I cried hard and happy.
And today folks, gay marriage is happening in California. Not that there isn’t a battle ahead I’m sure, but it gives you some hope doesn’t it? Don’t you feel like we might turn some things around, start celebrating love and the power of good?
And here’s where I make a sharp turn, poop on this big plate of happy.
George Takei, “Star Trek’s” own Mr. Sulu, got hitched today and his quotable response to this joyous day for him was.
"May equality live long and prosper."
And I guess this isn’t so much a happy poop plate as it is a personal note to Sulu: Dude, not everything you say needs to reference “Star Trek” in some way. Seriously. We know you were on the show, we know this because aside from a time or two doing a voice on “The Simpsons”, you haven’t done anything else. And anyway, that’s Spock’s line. Dude.
And this little laundry list doesn’t help anyone feel better. I start to feel glad that I already know how to drink heavily.
But - and here’s the big, bright, shiny but – there’s some good out there folks, for real. Obama got the nomination. I sat watching Hillary’s succession speech awhile back and started crying. I was here to witness this remarkable force of change; my son, who was busy trying to eat the D string on my guitar at the time, would grow up in a world where it would seem ridiculous that a woman or an African American wouldn’t be taken seriously as a presidential candidate. I cried hard and happy.
And today folks, gay marriage is happening in California. Not that there isn’t a battle ahead I’m sure, but it gives you some hope doesn’t it? Don’t you feel like we might turn some things around, start celebrating love and the power of good?
And here’s where I make a sharp turn, poop on this big plate of happy.
George Takei, “Star Trek’s” own Mr. Sulu, got hitched today and his quotable response to this joyous day for him was.
"May equality live long and prosper."
And I guess this isn’t so much a happy poop plate as it is a personal note to Sulu: Dude, not everything you say needs to reference “Star Trek” in some way. Seriously. We know you were on the show, we know this because aside from a time or two doing a voice on “The Simpsons”, you haven’t done anything else. And anyway, that’s Spock’s line. Dude.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Audition Allergies
I was starting to feel cocky. I was walking down to a theater audition a couple of weeks ago and thinking about how I had gotten a part in everything I had auditioned for in the last year or so. I was heading down to audition for a show I didn’t particularly want to do, in a theater that I didn’t want to particularly do it in. The director had asked me to come down, and I like her, I respect her, I’ve had a good time working with her in the past.
The audition went well, I ended up having more fun with it than I thought I would. The director gave me some kind words about how I’d done (and our relationship being what it was, she didn’t need to). She called the next day and let me know that she was going to cast the part in a “different way”. This is pretty standard theater let down lingo, but also true to a point – there are times when an actor (because of look, inflection, the way they hold themselves, whatever) is just not right for the part or for the show itself.
My first thought was, “drag dude – that sucks.” This was quickly followed up with my more reasonable side saying, “uh dude? You didn’t even want that part.” True enough, the offstage drama involved with trying to get a show done that I wasn’t that into was reason enough to be happy about not getting in. But still, you might not want to go to the prom, but you still wanna be asked.
About a week after that, I went in for a film audition. I went to the greeter and let him know I was here ahead of my scheduled audition time. The director came out and asked the greeter about me and what part I was to be reading for. “Bennet,” the greeter said, receiving only a look of absolute confusion from the director. “Who’s Bennet?” the director asked.
This does not bode well, thought I.
The director brought me a reading script, told me to read for Donovan, and about a minute and a half later asked if I was ready. Being a can do sort of guy, I said I was.
The director sat me down in front of a camera and began to tell me all sorts of things about seemingly every other character in the movie (except for mystery man Bennet), and very little about the one I was about to read for. I said okay, stated my name to the camera and began reading.
Before going in for a second read, I asked the standard, “is there anything that you’re looking for?”
Only to receive the standard, “I just want to see what you bring to it.”
It went well, the director began to tell me how I would be good for this other character and he would set up a “warm read” in the next week for me to come in and do. I received an email with a list of days they were possibly going to be doing the reading, a request for conflicts with this proposed schedule, and a list of actors who would be reading for which parts – I was listed as reading for Douglas Bennet. Again, a little knot of worry began to form in the back of my mind.
After about a week of not hearing anything back about my conflicts, I emailed the director and asked if there was any update as to the time for this “warm read.” About another week went by before I got a very template-like reply of a sort of “thanks for your time, but no thanks”.
It was as if I had been asked to the prom, but then watched the limo drive right on by.
I feel that I’ve gotten to a point with auditions where I am generally okay with not getting something. I understand that, as I said above, I’m not always going to be right for a part, or that I might perform poorly during an audition and sometimes I just gotta let it go. This one though was like being told, in a sexy whisper, that I’m gonna get blown. I sort of shrug my shoulders and say, “awesome, if you want to, I like a good blow job.” It gets more promising as the blower sinks closer and closer to my groin, I undo my pants (‘cause I like to help) and close my eyes, and then I’m told, “no, I’m allergic to your cock.”
So, I’m okay with not getting the gig, as I’m really not digging how tings were handled, but still… I like me a good blowjob.
The audition went well, I ended up having more fun with it than I thought I would. The director gave me some kind words about how I’d done (and our relationship being what it was, she didn’t need to). She called the next day and let me know that she was going to cast the part in a “different way”. This is pretty standard theater let down lingo, but also true to a point – there are times when an actor (because of look, inflection, the way they hold themselves, whatever) is just not right for the part or for the show itself.
My first thought was, “drag dude – that sucks.” This was quickly followed up with my more reasonable side saying, “uh dude? You didn’t even want that part.” True enough, the offstage drama involved with trying to get a show done that I wasn’t that into was reason enough to be happy about not getting in. But still, you might not want to go to the prom, but you still wanna be asked.
About a week after that, I went in for a film audition. I went to the greeter and let him know I was here ahead of my scheduled audition time. The director came out and asked the greeter about me and what part I was to be reading for. “Bennet,” the greeter said, receiving only a look of absolute confusion from the director. “Who’s Bennet?” the director asked.
This does not bode well, thought I.
The director brought me a reading script, told me to read for Donovan, and about a minute and a half later asked if I was ready. Being a can do sort of guy, I said I was.
The director sat me down in front of a camera and began to tell me all sorts of things about seemingly every other character in the movie (except for mystery man Bennet), and very little about the one I was about to read for. I said okay, stated my name to the camera and began reading.
Before going in for a second read, I asked the standard, “is there anything that you’re looking for?”
Only to receive the standard, “I just want to see what you bring to it.”
It went well, the director began to tell me how I would be good for this other character and he would set up a “warm read” in the next week for me to come in and do. I received an email with a list of days they were possibly going to be doing the reading, a request for conflicts with this proposed schedule, and a list of actors who would be reading for which parts – I was listed as reading for Douglas Bennet. Again, a little knot of worry began to form in the back of my mind.
After about a week of not hearing anything back about my conflicts, I emailed the director and asked if there was any update as to the time for this “warm read.” About another week went by before I got a very template-like reply of a sort of “thanks for your time, but no thanks”.
It was as if I had been asked to the prom, but then watched the limo drive right on by.
I feel that I’ve gotten to a point with auditions where I am generally okay with not getting something. I understand that, as I said above, I’m not always going to be right for a part, or that I might perform poorly during an audition and sometimes I just gotta let it go. This one though was like being told, in a sexy whisper, that I’m gonna get blown. I sort of shrug my shoulders and say, “awesome, if you want to, I like a good blow job.” It gets more promising as the blower sinks closer and closer to my groin, I undo my pants (‘cause I like to help) and close my eyes, and then I’m told, “no, I’m allergic to your cock.”
So, I’m okay with not getting the gig, as I’m really not digging how tings were handled, but still… I like me a good blowjob.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Adventures In Bus Riding
Hello Good People, I miss you.
As a walk to work would probably be a 2-3 hour endeavor, I’m back to taking the bus. I haven’t been in a public transit place since the San Francisco salad days. And I was good man, I had my routes down. I knew how to get to some places. I had hopped on the 23 Monterey a number of times, I had made friends with the 43 Masonic.
More than once, Mercedes and I have tried to drunkenly recount all the SF Muni bus lines in numerical order. Sure it sounds boring, and is for anyone else listening while we try, but it beats the crap out of drunkenly singing “American Pie.” I’m not sure who is drunkenly singing “American Pie,” but they should stop.
My first day of riding the coaches was frustrating, mostly because of the familiarity of previous bus routes. The King County Metro website trip planner advised a convoluted path to work that included a wet transfer it some sparsely populated, unincorporated part of the county – where I wouldn’t been surprised to witness the slaying of a number of pretty, but poorly acted, teenagers at the hands of an inbred and deformed killer in a mask. It took an hour to get someplace that is maybe six miles away.
“I call bullshit,” I said to the King County Metro website trip planner. No response to that, but I did find a route that didn’t take me through the boonies. After the end of a Mariner’s game, said route began to flaunt its scheduled arrival time like a president denying responsibility – aggressively. 45 minutes after I was to leave work, I was finally standing towards the back of one of those extra long busses with the accordion section in the middle.
I like busses with an accordion section in the middle, partly because I like accordions. I also like circular stairways and revolving doors, I’m not sure why those things were linked together in my mind, but they were. Anyway, I like buses with an accordion section in the middle because these busses seem to defy physics sometimes. The bus may be making a turn and suddenly the back half is at a right angle to the front half. It’s like a horrible accident without the carnage, it’s like a pretty boring amusement park ride.
So I was on this bus, angry and frustrated that I was now going to be way late in getting home. I was standing there, with what I must assume was a scowl on my face, when the ol’ Deuce Deuce made one of those mind bending right turns. This girl that had been sitting on a seat that faced the walls of the bus, this girl that had a punkish hairdo and accoutrements but wore some nice slacks and a sweater, she was suddenly spun around so she was facing me directly.
Our eyes met for a split second and she smiled sort of slyly before my half of the bus caught the drift of the situation and swung around the corner as well. Sometimes those small little moments of connection can make up for some bad trip planner advice and a couple thousand drunken baseball fans – some of whom may have been singing “American Pie”.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: “I’ve Seen All Good People” by Yes. But I have this live version stuck there that I heard once when I was flooded by classic rock in college where between the sung line of “I’ve seen all good people turn their heads each day so satisfied I’m on my way”, the lead singer would wail out a band members name – I always hear the falsetto cry of “Christopher Squier!” in my mind.
As a walk to work would probably be a 2-3 hour endeavor, I’m back to taking the bus. I haven’t been in a public transit place since the San Francisco salad days. And I was good man, I had my routes down. I knew how to get to some places. I had hopped on the 23 Monterey a number of times, I had made friends with the 43 Masonic.
More than once, Mercedes and I have tried to drunkenly recount all the SF Muni bus lines in numerical order. Sure it sounds boring, and is for anyone else listening while we try, but it beats the crap out of drunkenly singing “American Pie.” I’m not sure who is drunkenly singing “American Pie,” but they should stop.
My first day of riding the coaches was frustrating, mostly because of the familiarity of previous bus routes. The King County Metro website trip planner advised a convoluted path to work that included a wet transfer it some sparsely populated, unincorporated part of the county – where I wouldn’t been surprised to witness the slaying of a number of pretty, but poorly acted, teenagers at the hands of an inbred and deformed killer in a mask. It took an hour to get someplace that is maybe six miles away.
“I call bullshit,” I said to the King County Metro website trip planner. No response to that, but I did find a route that didn’t take me through the boonies. After the end of a Mariner’s game, said route began to flaunt its scheduled arrival time like a president denying responsibility – aggressively. 45 minutes after I was to leave work, I was finally standing towards the back of one of those extra long busses with the accordion section in the middle.
I like busses with an accordion section in the middle, partly because I like accordions. I also like circular stairways and revolving doors, I’m not sure why those things were linked together in my mind, but they were. Anyway, I like buses with an accordion section in the middle because these busses seem to defy physics sometimes. The bus may be making a turn and suddenly the back half is at a right angle to the front half. It’s like a horrible accident without the carnage, it’s like a pretty boring amusement park ride.
So I was on this bus, angry and frustrated that I was now going to be way late in getting home. I was standing there, with what I must assume was a scowl on my face, when the ol’ Deuce Deuce made one of those mind bending right turns. This girl that had been sitting on a seat that faced the walls of the bus, this girl that had a punkish hairdo and accoutrements but wore some nice slacks and a sweater, she was suddenly spun around so she was facing me directly.
Our eyes met for a split second and she smiled sort of slyly before my half of the bus caught the drift of the situation and swung around the corner as well. Sometimes those small little moments of connection can make up for some bad trip planner advice and a couple thousand drunken baseball fans – some of whom may have been singing “American Pie”.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: “I’ve Seen All Good People” by Yes. But I have this live version stuck there that I heard once when I was flooded by classic rock in college where between the sung line of “I’ve seen all good people turn their heads each day so satisfied I’m on my way”, the lead singer would wail out a band members name – I always hear the falsetto cry of “Christopher Squier!” in my mind.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
The Journey
All right, so here we go…
We bid farewell to Capitol Hill and to apartment dwelling on Saturday, with an unceremonious loading of truck and friends’ cars. No more neon cat, no more drunken yelling or BB gun firing at 3 in the morning, no more drug deals from the apartment building across the street, no more police preparing a triangulation of cross fire just outside the building.
At least one would hope…
The whole thing is still a bit overwhelming. It’s overwhelming and surreal. And yeah, I know, oh poor you, living in a house must be such a heartache. But seriously, I’m out of sorts and waiting for things to sort of fall into place with a resounding, but reassuring, thud.
At one point on Saturday, Dougie Wagner came over with his son. He and his wife had just moved to a place not terribly far from our place. We stood in the back yard, drinking a beer and listening to kids running and crying and I looked at the reflection of my tired face in his tired face. “How did this happen?” I asked him. “We used to be drunken idiots, we used to go play video games in a North Beach arcade during our lunch break… I did not see this coming.”
And I think some of the fuzzy, this doesn’t feel real aspect of this whole thing is tied to this sense that I’m in a show. There’s this moment that happens in my mind before I come onto a stage that I sort of visualize as jumping onto the back of a tiger. It’s this idea that you’re about to throw yourself into a situation and the only chance you have is to just ride it to the end with everything you’ve got.
And so the journey continues, on a new trail I didn’t see back where I was – there’s so many of these new trails poppin’ my way lately. Always a tiger to ride, always riding with everything I got.
And super special thanks to the rock stars who came on force to help with the move, we owe you more than that pizza and beer. We can talk about forms of reimbursement later…
I’m hoping some normality will return to the proceedings when there’s a computer to use, or I can find things like my pants.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: The theme from “All In The Family” has been floating around up there for days, and I cannot say why; creepy and annoying.
We bid farewell to Capitol Hill and to apartment dwelling on Saturday, with an unceremonious loading of truck and friends’ cars. No more neon cat, no more drunken yelling or BB gun firing at 3 in the morning, no more drug deals from the apartment building across the street, no more police preparing a triangulation of cross fire just outside the building.
At least one would hope…
The whole thing is still a bit overwhelming. It’s overwhelming and surreal. And yeah, I know, oh poor you, living in a house must be such a heartache. But seriously, I’m out of sorts and waiting for things to sort of fall into place with a resounding, but reassuring, thud.
At one point on Saturday, Dougie Wagner came over with his son. He and his wife had just moved to a place not terribly far from our place. We stood in the back yard, drinking a beer and listening to kids running and crying and I looked at the reflection of my tired face in his tired face. “How did this happen?” I asked him. “We used to be drunken idiots, we used to go play video games in a North Beach arcade during our lunch break… I did not see this coming.”
And I think some of the fuzzy, this doesn’t feel real aspect of this whole thing is tied to this sense that I’m in a show. There’s this moment that happens in my mind before I come onto a stage that I sort of visualize as jumping onto the back of a tiger. It’s this idea that you’re about to throw yourself into a situation and the only chance you have is to just ride it to the end with everything you’ve got.
And so the journey continues, on a new trail I didn’t see back where I was – there’s so many of these new trails poppin’ my way lately. Always a tiger to ride, always riding with everything I got.
And super special thanks to the rock stars who came on force to help with the move, we owe you more than that pizza and beer. We can talk about forms of reimbursement later…
I’m hoping some normality will return to the proceedings when there’s a computer to use, or I can find things like my pants.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: The theme from “All In The Family” has been floating around up there for days, and I cannot say why; creepy and annoying.
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