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Justified |
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When my sister brought Brett home from the hospital later that weekend, she invited my family over to watch the Super Bowl. I have no idea who played that year, but I distinctly remember U2 performing for the halftime show, singing "Where The Streets Have No Name." They had a big screen with all of the names of the victims of 9-11 on it. It was truly a wonderful performance. I remember feeling like a country still newly and deeply wounded by 9-11. It's something Brett will never fully understand. It was odd to watch CNN today, perhaps even a bit ironic in light of that U2 memory, to see the footage of the people voting in Iraq. Whether I agree with our role over there or not, I can't deny that 9-11 started a chain of events that brought about this change, for better or for worse. It's been three years since Brett came home from the hospital. That tiny little baby with the skinny arms and big eyes is now riding a two-wheeler with training wheels. My Ireland trip is a thing of the past. I wear a ring I purchased over there every day to remind me of those distant memories. I bought concert tickets yesterday for the U2 Vertigo Tour for early in May. Once again I can expect to be moved by "Where The Streets Have No Name." We are now a country at war. Thousands have died. The people of Iraq waited in line for hours today to vote. None of these things really have anything in common, but yet in my mind, they are completely integrated. It's funny how these stories and memories, the historical events and extremely personal moments, all somehow become connected and intertwined to become our own personal histories. I guess, in the truest definition of the word, that's life. Happy birthday Brett!!!! Sunday's Playlist: Michael Jackson - The Ultimate Collection |
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Thank
You Dear Ticketmaster, Thank you for the hour of my life that I will never get back. Thanks for the $120 I just dropped on two tickets for nosebleed seats BEHIND the stage, which will surely have an obstructed view. Thank you for adding another show two nights later, seconds after I purchased my nosebleed tickets. Thank you for the $20 of convenience fees you charged to the already outrageous ticket price. I would be interested in knowing your definition of convenience, by the way. I especially want to thank you for giving away thousands of tickets in advance to promoters, radio stations, scalpers, and your inner contacts, making it IMPOSSIBLE for me -- for any hardcore fan -- to EVER get anything remotely close to the stage, SECONDS after tickets go on sale, if we can get tickets at all. I'm glad your executive friends who liked the band back in 1985 will get those front row seats, probably yawning during the new material. Thank you for the monopoly you've created in the music industry, and for being part of the corporate conglomerate that also owns 90% of the radio stations out there, forcing artists to stick with your shitty company to ensure radio play. Thank you for literally raping your fans, biting the hand that feeds you. Thank you for being part of the reason that the record industry is dying, but blaming us instead. Thank you for being part of the reason why Napster and P2P filesharing took off in the first place. So I guess, Mr. Ticketmaster, thanks for the hundreds of illegal, but more importantly FREE, downloads and the creation of the iPod. I will be waiting with bated breath to see what you charge me for parking. Regards, Joe Q. Music Fan |
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But I've noticed that this time around, I've created a bit of distance from what's going on in my world to how I go about expressing it in these pages. I'm learning to talk about the things that are on my mind, but in a slightly more abstract, and far more universal way. This way, I'm still protecting my privacy. Granted my heart, which tends to have a permanent location on my sleeve these days, is still naked, setting itself up for another bitch-slap always just waiting to happen. But I'll deal with that when the time comes. My emotional vulnerability is something I will never artistically compromise. Holding back a few more of the details of my private life, while still putting my emotional sentiments out there is a compromise I'm willing to make. It's also an enjoyable way of writing. With my renewed interest in introspection via these pages so far this year, I find it ironic that I'm also heavily concentrating on my body these days too. My workout regiment is going well, a little better each day. Today I had my first full weight training workout. Although I'm beat and quite sore, it's a good kind of beat and sore. It's also created a certain clarity in my head and calmness in my heart. Since I've started working out, I know my spirits have risen as well. There are still the low times, but they seem fewer and farther between. I've been slowly altering my diet, not giving up anything, just cutting things back. Even though the scale says I haven't lost a pound yet, I feel lighter. Perhaps physically and mentally. People always talking about a healthy body and healthy mind. One goes hand-in-hand with the other. My newfound physicality has allowed for a renewed mental clarity. My introspection has affected my attitude, my energy levels, my diet, and my workout, which just keeps getting better. What will next month bring? That's all for now. Wednesday's Playlist: 1. Beck - Sea Change 2. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb |
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Over
To The Couch I remember watching Johnny Carson when I was a young boy with the privilege to stay up past 10:30. I suppose back then, there wasn't much else on TV, but The Tonight Show was the show to watch, at least in my house. There was always something warm and familiar about him. Perhaps, it was almost a grandfatherly-type of thing, as he was the same age as my grandpa. I remember always babysitting at the neighbor's messy house after their bratty little kids. After I got them off to bed, it felt dark, scary, and lonely. Carson was always my comfort zone back then. I would cling on to those last minutes of his show on those scary nights when I was in the big man in charge, always dreading Letterman. If Carson was the hip grandpa figure to me, Letterman was the creepy uncle that nobody talked about. My memories of The Tonight Show are as intertwined in my brain with many fond childhood memories. My fondest recollections of Carson always involved him, a zoo keeper, and some out-of-control animal. That was by far the best. I got quite a kick out of Carnak skits too. And I always loved how his eyes would say a million words when some busty model in a low cut dress would be part of one of his skits. As I got older, I gravitated towards The Arsenio Hall Show (yeah, I'm a real sign of my times), but The Tonight Show will always been what I gauge any late night talk show against. Over the weekend, America lost one of its truest national treasures. Johnny Carson was a man whose legacy was carried on decade after decade. He was a man who changed the world of late night TV, way back in its formative years. The list of comedians he made into stars in endless. Without Carson, there'd be no Seinfeld. It's amazing to think of the ripple effect. The legend of Carson was that if he liked an act, he would give them an "okay" sign or a thumbs-up, and then call them over to the couch. This was the sign of a true break for the comedian, a sign of good things to come, and a new beginning of sorts. I wonder if he's up in heaven right now, getting the "okay" sign from the big guy in white, who's now calling him to come over? Heeeere's Johnny! Rest in peace Johnny. Thanks for the memories. Tuesday's Playlist: 1. Kelly Clarkson - Breakaway 2. Kelly Clarkson - Thankful 3. Fantasia - I Believe EP |
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In my art class, most of my classmates are also going through a four year masters-type program, modeled after programs that some of the greats went through, hundreds of years ago. The program is a huge time and financial commitment. But it's nothing I'm currently interested in pursuing. When I was drawing Thursday night, I could see my classmates' approach changing. They all talked about and shared their experiences with the new program. As I stood there drawing, feeling like a bit of an outsider but really pushing things in a new direction that has been making them raise their eyebrows, I found that jealously bubbling up again, trying to surface. What's wrong with me?! I forced myself to realize that they are on a completely different path than I am. Not better than mine, certainly not worse. Just different. I made myself see myself for who and what I am and what I've achieved. I'm a professional degreed in art, from a Big Ten university, with a long profession in it. I went to school for graphic design, and have been doing it and building on those skills for the past 11 years. My career is not at a stand still. I have many options for the future when or if I chose to pursue new directions. But art and graphic design will always be who I am and what I do. At times, I fail to see that success. Many people would kill to have those kinds of options in a talent or profession. There will never be a question for me as to what field my career will be in. I have to realize that my possibilities are endless. I see the directions my art is taking. I feel myself really putting myself out there more, as an artist. And people are responding to it. I now have a handful of people who want to pose for me or have me create things for them. Everybody around me considers me an artist. They always have. That's a really cool label to have placed on my forehead. It's who I am. Yeah, my jealousy will rear its ugly head from time to time. It's a character flaw that I am aware of and am trying to overcome, often not succeeding. Bottom line, though, I have to start seeing me for me. I have to base my success on its own merits, not anybody else's. I have to understand and accept my station in life as it is for what it is. I may not be married, may not have kids, but I'm young, overflowing with creativity and have the ambition and time to do something about it. I have to understand that if my life was different, perhaps the art would have to be cast aside. I have to understand that where I currently am in my life, where everybody is in their life, always presents unique opportunities. It's up to each and everyone of us to run with those opportunities, take advantage of what life presents us, and make things happen. And to me, that's the true gauge of success. Sunday's Playlist: Kelly Clarkson - Breakaway |
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That's all for now. Stay warm! |
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My biggest focus right now is that I've really been working out hard the past three weeks. I'm up to almost an hour of cardio exercises a day and will start weight training next week with an orientation on the new weight machines. I've cut back on portions. I've cut fast food way back. I've basically nixed candy from my life all together. I try not to eat carbs for supper, and if I do, they're tiny portions. After an hour at the gym, I still try to go for a short walk after supper, just to give the metabolism a boost. I've been feeling extremely dedicated and have only slipped up a few times. But on the flip side of the coin, a new burrito place opened up less than a block from my house. I wonder how often that place will be my excuse to treat myself? I already flubbed up and ate there Monday night, having to try it on its opening day. I found a new flavor of cappucino at the gas station right next door, peanut butter cup, that's absolutely incredible. Again, it's enough to tempt me when I feel the need for a treat. And, in my mind, my worst habit, my TV season, has officially kicked in. 24 is well on its way and has totally seduced me in for another season. Even though I considered not watching it, I've started watching American Idol again too. I'm bothered by how much time that show will consume of my nights, but again, it's a guilty pleasure. I try taping these shows so I can at least not lethargically surf the other channels during commercial breaks. What 2005 has presented me so far are some interesting personal goals and challenges. There are many apples in my garden of Eden. Yes, I will fail and eat at the burrito place. Yes, I will skip a work out and watch American Idol instead. But I guess what matters is that I just try to keep things in check. TV isn't bad if its rationed. Burritos aren't bad if they're not every night. A peanut better cup cappucino won't kill me if that's what I put in my body on a Friday night instead of going to the bars. I can sense a real desire to make some positive changes in my life this year. Some of them, I'm sure, will be like most New Year's resolutions cast aside in the next few weeks. But I don't want to count myself down and out. Not just yet. All I can do now is put my best foot forward and try. Try not, do! If I can do a little better every night, and admit that my small failures don't mean I have to quit, maybe I can achieve these goals I've set for myself. "Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you'll be walking out that door." - Father Winter, from A Year Without A Santa Claus That's all for now. Happy new year! Wednesday's Playlist: 1. Rufus Wainwright - Rufus Wainwright 2. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb 3. Queen - Classic Queen |
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Sometimes I get down for no reason at all. Sometimes the silliest little thing will make me happy. I can obsess over the tiniest detail one moment, and let some of the biggest details slide right by the next. I'm a neat freak at work and a slob at home. I crave "me" time, but am threatened by isolation. I feel surrounded by friends, but alone all the time. I hate sitting home on Saturday nights, but still screen my calls. I am intensely introspective, but amazing shallow when I want to be. I'm very capable of unconditional love, but sometimes hold grudges for the dumbest reasons. I have a strong circle of people around me in my life, but have walked away when the going got tough. I love. I hate. I am an optimist when I want to be, but bitch and moan and complain all the time. I can be level-headed, but highly irrational. I can see the bigger picture in things, but it still has to be all about me. I'm a creative person, but stuck in a rut. I'm the original of my species and a plagiarist. I'm brave but I'm chicken shit. I'm a giver and a thief. A pirate and a humanitarian. I've achieved many goals in my life, but consider myself the biggest loser. I don't consider myself a very handsome man, but find myself looking in the mirror all the time. I sweat the small stuff. I freak out. I worry about things without knowing the full story. I take things too personally. I obsess over things I have no control. But yet, I feel enlightened, like I'm living my life with eyes wide open. I consider myself an intellectual, but still watch American Idol and Nip/Tuck. I'm dreaming but wide awake. I can keep it together; be the rock. I also fall apart inside. I can have the biggest heart and feel the deepest wounds. I also hide behind a mask and not give a shit. I'm Mother Nature's son but spend most of my day in front of a machine. I worry about Mother Earth but don't recycle or walk as often as I should. I work out an hour a day, but don't eat vegetables. I order a Diet Coke with my supersized Value Meal. I am politically correct, but tell some of the most off-color jokes. I get jealous of other people's success. I don't see my own. I gauge my life according to those around me, but yet tell people to "think different." I am self-righteous but yet humble. Opinionated but open-minded. Egotistical but selfless. I hate being in the spotlight, but secretly crave the attention. I give compliments to get them. I have a set of standards for people that I rarely achieve myself. I'm spiritual but not religious. I'm a sinner who lives across the street from a church. I live by the river and don't know how to swim. I'm passive-aggressive. I'm a realist and a hypocrite. I'm a guy. Just a normal guy. I'm human. Just a normal human. Or at least I hope. Tuesday's Playlist: 1. Bryan Adams - Reckless 2. Rufus Wainwright - Rufus Wainwright |
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I don't want to get my hopes set too high for this class. I'm not even sure if they're will be enough students to run it. Even still, I am very excited. I've always wanted to do a kid's book. I've had a few ideas in my head for the past few years, stories more or less which have stemmed from and are for my nephews. I know I can draw the characters for the story, that's never been the issue. I'm pretty sure I have a good grasp on how to write the story as well. But what I lack in are the finer details of the publishing end of things, which this class go over as well. After I signed up, my mind started dreaming of where this could all go, if it became my great success story... For now, though, I'm just excited to have a spot in the class. I'm enjoying the fantasy of it all but trying not to get too lost in the clouds. If everything goes as planned, the class should start February 1st. I have my fingers crossed. I know this is going to happen. Artistically, it just seems like there's something going on in the air these days. As I'm pushing myself into deeper into the world of color, I'm finding a style and a sense of expression that I didn't know I was capable of achieving. I wonder where it will all go, what the greater purpose of it is. My fellow art students are all taking an extended four-year program, designed after the training the great masters went through. They're going through a complete submergence into art training. Although I know that is not my path, I feed on their inspiration. When my Thursday night group gets together, I feel a certain sense of magic in the air, and a creative electricity that none of us can deny. The mere fact that I ran into these people in my lifetime, that they enriched my life as they do, and have extended the possibilities of my talents is a miracle in itself. It's one of the few things in my life that I can honestly say was meant to be. Heck, the fact that I'm taking this illustration class because of one of those friends makes me think how deeply rooted in the fates this all must be. One of these times, its going to be my big moment in the sun. I know it. It's meant to be. With the coming together of that group of people, I really believe there's something remarkable in store for each of us. When I'm having a rough time just muddling though my day, I find hope in the notion that there's something far greater out there in store for me. What that is, I have no idea. But I'll be damned I'll give up trying. Monday's Playlist: 1. U2 - The Joshua Tree 2. Sinead O'Connor - I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got 3. Sheryl Crow - The Globe Sessions 4. Nickel Creek - Nickel Creek 5. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb |
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One of the things that keeps sticking with me is how so many people lost their entire families or how many children were suddenly orphaned. I had a dream last night that my sister and her family were moving away. I woke up feeling completely saddened and at a loss to my core. It took me about 10 minutes to shake those feelings; it felt so real. I know the dream stemmed from thinking about all of those tsunami victims. I just couldn't imagine such a loss. I think of some of the statistics, where sometimes as much as 90% of complete villages were wiped away. I think of my own little town of almost 1,700 people. I couldn't imagine only 170 of us left. How does one carry on from something like that? How does one wake up from such a nightmare? How does one start over, when 90% of the people you know and love have literally been swept away into the ocean? I wonder what I can do to make a difference. I feel like no contribution, no matter how large or small, could ever mend the broken hearts, shattered families, and lost dreams. Of course they say every little bit counts. I'll try to help, in some small way. Something like this saddens me to the core. I know over Christmas, part of my flu was actually grief I felt for all of those lives on the other side of our world. My heart reaches out across the planet to a continent I know little about. It's easy to ignore all of this since it didn't happen in our backyard. It's so completely horrendous, though; one has to try not to think about it. It makes me happy for the basic things I have in my life: heat, food, water, shelter, and my family. I hope out of this tragedy, as Americans, we can at least get that out of it. That's all for now. |
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Before the holidays hit, I had only begun exploring color. Tonight, I am a bit nervous to get back to my class, but also quite excited. I'm looking forward to really going full-speed ahead with this color thing, and taking my art in some wild new directions this year. It's been a slow process, but the payoff has been extremely fulfilling. When I think of the stuff I was doing back in October and November last year, it was really something that I'd never done before in my life. Exceeding my potential and entering a new realm of creation every time I put my mind to it is completely exhilarating but also scary as hell. Hopefully tonight I can find my muse again! Thursday's Playlist: 1. Rufus Wainwright - Want Two 2. Shania Twain - Greatest Hits 3. Sheryl Crow - Sessions @ AOL EP |
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The iPod shuffle blows my mind. It holds something like 240 songs, is about the size of a pack of gum, and weighs less than an ounce. It would be great for working out. If I had spare cash floating around, I'd pick one up in a heartbeat! But for now, my third generation 30G will have to do. It's funny, how quickly these things get outdated. I love my iPod though, and as time moves on (I've had mine for almost a year and a half), I find myself loving it even more. It has to be the coolest gadget ever made, especially for a music enthusiast like myself. It's great to see whole line of iPods forming, from the standard white ones like I have, to the cool looking minis, and the especially awesome U2 special edition iPod. If only I could find that money tree! That U2 one has me written all over it, but I just can't justify another iPod, as much as I'd like one. With all of these new models, mine is beginning to feel like an elder statesman of the bunch. Oh well, you can never wait around for technology and I can't put a price on the year and a half that I've already had mine. The other really cool product Apple came out yesterday with is called the Mac mini. It's their most affordable computer yet. It's Apple's venture into reaching a higher share of the home PC market. I think this will be a great plan to get those people sick of Windows, who just bought an iPod, or are ready to make a switch. At $499, its a beefy little machine, with no keyboard or monitor, but its should no doubt be capable of doing all the awesome multi-media stuff all the higher priced Macs have always done. Once again where Apple is concerned, I'm blown away by the design. It's about 6 x 6", roughly the size of a CD case and 2" thick. Frickin' aye. I, of course, have been diligently saving up for my new Mac all year. Patience is key here, 'cuz I want a new computer in the worst way. This old grape iMac, although I love it so, has just about seen its time. Part of the reason I hadn't been updating this thing as often as I once did, is because of how slow this old toy has become. The tiny 10GB hard drive that I once proclaimed would never be filled up, is running dangerous close to being completely full. I vary anywhere between 400 and 90MB of free space. Not the best way to run a system or a website. My monitor has been skewing way on the dark side, making all of my photography work hard to gauge, as well. It didn't help getting the dual G5 tower at work either, which just screams, only making mine feel that much slower at home. It's so time. Hopefully, within a few weeks, the new 20" iMac will be mine. I'm getting mine specked out with a 250GB hard drive (25 times more space than I have now), a 20" monitor (5" bigger than what I have right now), wireless mouse and keyboard, and an AirPort Extreme card allowing me to surf wirelessly from anywhere in the house. It's a very sweet machine; the Cadillac of that product line. I've been saving up almost an extra six months just to get this beast! There's so much I can't wait to do with it. I have hours of video footage I want to edit into music videos. I want to make DVDs. I want to create music using programs such as GarageBand and SoundTrack. I can't wait to tear through my photo library and use my digital camera to its fullest. I also have a bunch of updates and additions to this site that I can't wait to do, but that will be for another post. I'm not sure when I became this guy; this computer guy who gets so geeked up on this product line. But man, with all of these Apple products out there, I'm just flying right now. Apple does it right. Think different. Wednesday's Playlist: 1. Dido - Life For Rent 2. Nickely Creek - Nickel Creek 3. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb |
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If you look inside my house, the decorations are all up yet, too. They no longer have that festive, deck the halls kind of vibe to them. Their gloss is missing. It's like they're hungover from Christmas or New Year's Eve and just want to go to sleep. The plan for the weekend is to de-Christmas my house and get things back to normal. Before I do that, though, I need to share one last Christmas story involving my dad and our annual Christmas light display. Every year, I help Dad with his display. It's really the only thing we seem to have in common, and it's kind of become "our thing." Although I complain about how much work it is to do each year, I take a real pride in the display of almost 15,000 blinding lights. To get a sense of it, check out the December 2003 archives, about midway down the page to the 12/15/03 post. With Dad's sickness this year, there's been a constant battle with depression. Much of it has to do with fact that Dad is on so much medication for his pain, that he can no longer work. This has been a very difficult thing for him to deal with. He's been a construction worker his entire life, used to working 80 hours a week, not laying on the couch all day. I'm sure much of the depression has just been brought on by laying around the house all day, not really feeling up to doing anything, but also letting that laying around start eating away inside. When early October came around, which is usually when I start working on the display, I asked him if we were going to do the lights this year. I thought this might be a good project for him to get him mind off of things, even though it's a horrendous amount of work for him, my brother Chad, and myself. But he didn't want to do it. His logic was why celebrate and decorate the house this year, when it's been so rough and dark? Why try to act like it's a merry Christmas when behind the scenes we've all been struggling just to keep a smile on our face? In my mind, for that very reason, these lights had to go up. It's been such a dark year, I couldn't imagine the old homestead without all of those lights. It would just have been too much for me to handle and way too telling for the pain that Dad is going though, inside and out. I told him I was going to put the lights up, or at least what I could put up, with or without him. It may not be the magnificent display that the neighbors were used to getting, but if anything, I was doing it for my nephews, who get such a charge out of it. He told me he still didn't want to do it. He didn't know if he could do it. Dad's best friend even offered to get a group of guys together to get the project done in a day. Dad turned down that offer too. He's always been a man of pride and honor. The idea of having people do things for him, especially this, was something he just couldn't accept. But I, of course, pushed on. I told him that no matter what, I was going to do what I could. If he was in too much pain, he didn't have to help at all. Maybe, I would just need his assistance finding my way around the old part of the basement where he stores all of the lights. The day I started putting the lights up, I could tell he was having a bad day. I told him what I was doing, but kept my distance. When he gets his bad spells, he just needs to be left alone. Eventually his curiosity peaked, though, and he helped me with a few things. But for that Saturday in late October, that was it. The following weekend, I did the same thing. This time, he helped a little bit more. My next visit, he was outside before I even got there. He told Mom that he thought maybe he was beginning to get into the spirit of things. Later that week, he made his annual trek to Menards and made a purchase of a few new large pieces for the lawn and a bunch of replacement bulbs and sets. He really started to get into it. As fall wore on closer to Thanksgiving, the night we always do our annual lighting of the display, Dad spent most of his free time that he felt up to it or wasn't too cold, working on his Christmas display. I was over there more than ever. Things that used to take me one night to do with Dad were now taking five. That was the hard part of it for me, seeing how his meds have affected his memory and how much he's slowed down in the past year. But on the positive side, this light display project was keeping him out of the house. He had something to focus on. His mood started to lift. His depression really has slowed down since then. Now granted, he still has his bad times, but those are hours now more so than days. His body's adjustment to all of this medication has been a painstakingly slow process, but it is happening. Those Christmas lights were our savior. Lighting the display on Thanksgiving night after our supper seemed like such a huge achievement. We all worked extra hard to help Dad get them up. Thanksgiving night, I had peace in my heart. The local news channels always feature homes at the end of their broadcast that have nice Christmas displays. We always look at those houses and say that how tiny their displays are compared to ours. We've called the local news channels, but they never come to get footage because my parents live too far out in the country. My sister even emailed one of the local stations, telling them about the special circumstances that the lights went up against this year. But to no avail. All Dad really wanted was to get his display on TV. A few weeks before Christmas, I mentioned to my sister that Dad asked me to email one of the local newspapers some pictures of the house. They'd been featuring displays as well. I asked her if she could email the newspaper the same letter she sent the TV station. At this point, it couldn't hurt. She emailed the Appleton Post Crescent and explained to them Dad's situation, how much it would mean for him to get his house in the paper, and that this may actually make a touching Christmas story. A few days later, one of the reporters got back to us, and said it was a go. A reporter came out to the house the week before Christmas, interviewed them, my brother, and myself. After a few follow-up phone calls to my Dad and sister, the reporter said they would surely be running the story, probably on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. A few days later, right after our first major snowfall, a photographer was sent out to capture the spectacle that is the Meulemans' family Christmas display. I haven't seen my dad this proud or happy in a long time. The story ended up running on Christmas day in both the Appleton Post Crescent and the Green Bay Press Gazette. Those two papers cover a good piece of upper and eastern Wisconsin, including the entire Fox River Valley. Many people saw that story that day. Here is a link to the article, sans the photograph. A few bits of information are wrong, but the essence of the story is right on. It was the nicest Christmas present we could have asked for, really generating some excitement for my family on Christmas morning. My parents received much more traffic past their house than ever before. They even received a number of phone calls from people going through the same thing. I think it really opened their eyes that they're not alone in this. In thinking about this all now, I'm a bit surprise that Dad went through with it. He's a private man and who doesn't like talking about his sickness. But I think he knew how special it was, how special these lights now are. He wanted to be on TV or in the paper so bad this year, to really make that statement that he is still capable of doing things himself. Tonight I talked to mom, and, apparently, they made a real killing at one of the stores in town on some Christmas clearance sale. From the sounds of it, Dad is planning on making the display bigger, better, and brighter next year. Frankly, I hope I'm up for it. So I guess for now, I will wish you all a belated Merry Christmas, for what it's worth. Tuesday's Playlist: 1. Allison Kraus and Union Station - Lonely Runs Both Ways 2. Beck - Sea Change 3. Rufus Wainwright - Want Two 4. Peter Gabriel - Shaking The Tree: Greatest Hits 5. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb |
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During my many days of vacation over the holidays, I realized that there was another reason I'd been having a hard time dealing with stress. It had been months since my last workout. There was a time a couple summers ago, when I worked out an hour a day, five days a week. I had dropped about 30 pounds back then and felt great. Since then, I've struggled with that kind of commitment again. My writing, art, the internet, friends, TV, etc., all became valid excuses for me to zoom on past the gym. It's so easy to fall out of a good habit and into many bad ones. Around the beginning of last year, the same time when everybody makes those hard-to-keep New Years resolutions, I'd actually been doing quite well with a new daily exercise routine. But then, ironically enough, right when Dad got sick, my workouts ended and I stopped watching what I stuffed into my fat mouth. When diabetes entered my family's life, everybody told me that I'll have to watch myself that much more. But instead, I pushed my health aside and did whatever I could to be with my family as much as possible. During the sadness of it all, I just didn't care about myself in the least. By the time early summer rolled around, I'd gotten back on the horse. Again. This time it was in the form of running. It helped me clear my head, and explore and feel part of my community and Mother Nature. By August, I was up to over three miles a day. I'd built up endurance levels I didn't know I was capable of. But once again, a summer full of concerts, bachelor parties, and weddings got in the way. The day I left for my trip to San Diego, the excuses started all over again. By the end of the year, I was really having a hard time with things. Once my hectic summer calmed down, the harsh realities of life came back into the foreground. I was still dealing with a sick father. I had problems mounting at work and with friends. A close co-worker's father passed away. Another co-worker's wife died unexpectedly. I even began feeling a slight rift between my art friends, something that had always been my safe haven. Literally, things felt like they were falling apart right before my eyes. I remember one night having a long talk with my dear friend Vicki, telling her about the rough time I'd been going through. She asked me if I'd been working out again, as she knew that used to be my escape from everything and my way of dealing with stress. Of course, the excuses flowed. But her question stuck in my mind. Shortly after Christmas, as I spent my remaining days of the year sick on the couch, I knew I needed a change. I needed to break out of what I'd been feeling. I realized two things: I'd been ignoring my writing and I'm paying for a membership to a health club that I'm not using. I knew getting my ass to the gym would be the best thing I could do for myself. I had to step back up to the plate on both accounts. Like countless other Americans, I've spent months loathing about how I look in the mirror, but continued to stuff cheeseburgers and french fries down my throat. The one silly thing I always caught myself doing was going to McDonalds, getting my Value Meal super-sized, and then when they asked me what I wanted to drink, I'd sheepishly respond "Diet Coke." But like many of the over one billion served, a few days after the New Year, I made the commitment to get back to the gym and in shape. Yeah, again. My immediate goal is to drop about 25-30 pounds and start toning this flabby body of mine. It won't come easy; I know that. I've been through this arduous process before. But I feel completely revitalized about it. I'm excited to go to the gym again. This is my second week back and I already feel a change in my mood, my energy level, and in my attitude towards how look. Today during an especially long and aggressive cardio workout, I cranked up the ol' iPod to U2's new album, which has been my little routine as of late. I always start at the same song, and push it one song further each day. During "City Of Blinding Lights" that I was amazed at how intense my workout was going, how fast I was moving along, how well the rhythm of my breathing had become with the pacing of the exercise, and how completely into the music I'd become. There was an actual moment when I lost myself in the music and the adrenaline of the workout, and for a split second, literally felt like I was flying. I felt like Superman. (Hell, when I'm working out, I am Superman (Okay, maybe just G-Man!).) I felt alive. I'm hoping I can keep up with my workout just like I'm hoping I can stick with this journal again. It's incredible how much I need these things in my life to cope right now. But I'm alive. And it feels great. Monday's Playlist: 1. George Harrison - Brainwashed 2. George Michael - Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1 3. James Taylor - Greatest Hits 4. Janet Jackson - Design Of A Decade: 1986 - 1996 5. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb 6. R.E.M. - Life's Rich Pageant |
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That's always been the double-edged sword for me where my writing and art have been concerned. When I put my heart and soul into words or on the canvas, my emotional pain become exposed wounds. Its impossible for me to deny them. I can honestly understand the concept of ignorance being bliss. One of the other things that has been weighing heavily on my mind where this website is concerned, is the concept of having an actual audience read these words, experience these things with me. That, in theory, is an amazing thing. It's the very reason I am an artist. But over the past few months, I've had some trust issues where certain sectors of my audience is concerned. As I write and share my emotional journey, I can't stress enough that I'm being completely honest and emotionally naked with my deepest feelings. I believe it takes a lot of courage to do something like this. But in the past few months, my emotional honesty has been held against me. My deepest feelings which I've opted to share with an audience, have been thrown back in my face and used against me. I put my words and dreams out there to share with people, hoping they can find something to relate to. I'm not putting my pain out there as ammunition for the world to use against me on the firing range. When these instances happened, I felt violated, emotionally raped, if you will. The analogy that keeps bouncing in my head is that I felt like I volunteered and had the courage to pose naked in front of a group of strangers, and then that grouped laughed at pointed at my naked body. Suddenly the concept of self-censorship has become an issue; it's an issue I despise. With these trust issues occupying a space in my head, once again, I question my very purpose for creating this thing and sharing these feelings. I've approached these pages less frequently as the last few months of the year wrapped up. I didn't know how or what to write about, always wondering in the back of my mind how it was going to be misread or held against me. At times, a certain sense of paranoia has crept into my writing space with me. During the holidays and the darker end of the year, as I was already trying to ignore my feelings and approach life as an empty shell, the trust issues only further pushed me away from these words and pages. Why acknowledge these feelings when they only make me sink deeper behind a mask? Why acknowledge them at all when will then will be used against me? As the holidays wagered on, and I became quite aware of my self-impose journaling hiatus, I ended up spending most of my Christmas vacation sick on the couch with a bad case of the flu and horrible pain caused by two abscessed teeth that needed root canals. The majority of my break was spent alone, feeling isolated and shut off from the world. I only sunk deeper, not really wanting to face my feelings or these pages. I found an odd sort of comfort in my little shell. But another part of me found the isolation crippling and scary as hell. I hated the safe place that I carved out for myself, the one that made it so easy to ignore the darkness, and oddly enough, began making me ignore the love around me as well. I knew what it would take for me to get out of my funk, to start facing my world again. If ignorance is bliss, I want no part of it. I'd rather feel and be raw and naked and take risks than just have a happy smile on my face like some Stepford wife, while really dying inside, if alive at all. With that realization, this website has been brought back to life. I, robot, have been granted another wish and have become a real boy once again. My inspiration is overflowing, and I feel like I've gotten over a huge hump. I think back to New Year's Eve, as I quietly cursed out 2004, never feeling so alone. But then I think of the places my mind has gone in the past few days, where it wants my art, my writing, and my website to go in the year to come, and I know that somehow, things are going to be alright. Now, as far as the trust issues that I talked about are concerned... Well, that's something I still have to figure out. That may be the real challenge for 2005. That's all for now. Sunday's Playlist: 1. U2 - Live Under The Brooklyn Bridge 2. U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb 3. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel |
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Be
Back Home Again P.S. To the December archives... When one door opens... |
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If you any questions, comments, or requests, you can contact me at: |
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Integration
For
Internal Use Only
The Secret Of
My Success
White
Out
Best Foot Forward
Declaration
Of Contradiction Of Declaration
Lost
In The Clouds
Swept Away
Exhilaration
And Fear
More
Machine Now Than Man...
The
Story Behind The Story
I Am
Superman
I,
Robot