There are times in life when I read Desiderata for comfort, to remind me of all things that I'm trying to be. It's a great poem, if I haven't mentioned it before... hovering halfway between new age and honest spirituality, and maybe leaning more toward one than I'm willing to admit. But regardless, it's helpful. It's serves to help me stay focused, to avoid the bullshit that my own mind creates.

But sometimes, I'm reminded of the truth beneath the surfaces that we choose to see. That the universe unfolds as it will.

Events converge and twist and wind their ways into a bigger stream. And we can choose to view those events as signs pointing us to something ahead, or misinterpret them, or ignore them altogether.

Being a skeptic is not easy, questioning everything all the time. It's awfully hard to arrive at any answers this way, for those who think it might be a good path to follow...

At any rate:

These aren't signs that are big and neon and flashing with catchy slogans. I mean, they good be, I suppose. But that would both take the fun out of it, as well as making the ignoring and misinterpreting pretty moronic.

On the one hand, my mind is trapped between the stuff of epic stories, universes created specifically to come together at the climax in a "howthefuckdidinotseethiscoming?" head-slap, and reality, cold hard facts, Chaostown, population: the human race. On the other, this is where I choose to live, holding hope in one hand carefully while I walk through the madness and horror that writhes between me and the end.

Creations. All of it. Nothing but what we put there, take away, and choose to acknowledge.

Challenges and obstacles. Tests. If you want something so badly, something that you've dreamed of since you were a child, something that fills your most vivid memories, how much will you sacrifice to obtain it? What will you gamble? How much risk will you take? How badly do you want it?

Badly enough to hope?

There is no obstacle strong enough to hold us back from what we want, if we want it badly enough to never give up.

Perhaps part of the universe unfolding as it should is eyes opening when they are supposed to?

I need a vacation. Chicago: snow, big city, blues, and, best of all, intrigue and hope for a better future.

And this summer, beach. I need to hear some waves again.

University Boulevard becomes Sunset Boulevard every day about this time. Only without the good clubs and the hookers.

It occurs to me today that, to vastly oversimplify an idea, there are three options:

1) Die before accomplishing everything that you hope to do.
2) Accomplish everything you hope before dying.
3) At the precise moment of accomplishing the very last thing on your list (give or take a few hours to enjoy the silence), you die.

Ideally, for me, it would be number three. The absolute worst thing, said the lightbulb over my head, would be number two.

This is what happens when I leave my iPod at home and am stuck listening to the last Dark Suns disc for the millionth time.

I spend my days in a blur, by and large: besides the nine or so hours that I spend at the office, working for Tha Man, there's filmmaking, music, writing, reading, and the daily crossword. Lots of plotting and planning ahead, trying to set new plates aspin while I keep the old ones balanced. And that can get overwhelming, but I've learned over the years that that on-the-edge, pre-panic feeling is what keeps me going. It's what drives me to work a little harder, a little faster, a little smarter than the people that I'm surrounded by every day.

I want to succeed, and I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my hand and a chain of hotels in my name in someone's will. Success -- whatever that may be -- takes a little more. You can bitch and moan about how unfair it is that Paris Hilton doesn't deserve it like you do, or you can press forward and do everything in your power to get there. Me, I choose the latter (with a blog so I can still participate in the former).

--

I was at my favorite bar / second home the other night, helping out with a few drinks and stocking. One of my fellow regulars asked how I managed to get behind the bar, with the implication that he wanted to do the same. And I told him what I tell everyone: Bartending is great fun, as long as it's an option. Yeah, you'll likely find me back there once a week or so, and quite happy to be there; put me back there on a regular schedule, four nights a week, and I'll not be so cheerful about it.

The whole thing started over Thanksgiving, when the guys were shorthanded, and needed an extra hand. I've got the experience, so I helped out. Since then, there's been more and more of it, and I'm happy to help -- both because it's helping out friends of mine (and the staff here is not a bunch of bartenders, but genuine friends of mine), and because it's a nice walk down memory lane. I loved aspects of bartending while I was doing it for a living: the extreme pace of a busy Friday night, the people, making new drinks on the spot with whatever's in reach, and, yeah, even the occasional bounce. But that life takes its toll, just like all others -- and besides, the challenge was gone after a while, and it became boring (like all the jobs I'll ever work).

It's nice, though, every now and then, to dip my feet back in certain pools. And I'm realizing that what most people do with exes (if they still get along, or run into them at reunions and such), I do with interests and hobbies.

--

And so, yeah, I work a lot. But I play a lot, too -- every night, as much as I can stand it physically and financially. Part of this, I;m sure, has to do with the fact that I am a night owl. Always have been, in spite of having to be at work like every other 9-to-5er. So that's when I get lax, and watch way too many movies, way too much TV (f'rex, I've watched all of season 1, half of season 4, and 1/4 of season 5 of 24 in the past week. Plus Family Guy, Lost, Numbers, Scrubs, Bones, CSI, and a few random IFC short collections) (my god I'm geek/outting myself again), read, surf, and... oh, yeah, drink.

And occasionally, like I said, it gets overwhelming. I don't think it's necessarily that I have too much to do -- I've yet to miss deadlines or have to drop projects, even after 34 years -- as much as it is the number of balls I've got in the air simultaneously. It's a lot to think about (and probably the one reason I'm such a list-maker).

But it's nice to know that I'll never get bored. Even on days when there's nothing on the TV, and nothing to talk about and no one to talk to, on days when there's not even an Evil Elmo story in the news, I'll have my plate full. At least for the foreseeable future, in a world with only 24 hours in the day.

So I've got one of those stupid 100 Things About Me memes constructed and ready to go. But it occurs to me that those aren't fun for the people that know me well, and I think you three are the only ones that ever read this pap anyway. So to anyone reading, let's help me make this interesting: leave questions in the comment section that you don't know but are generally interested in knowing (even if only for a laugh). I'll scatter them throughout the 100 list, no matter how embarrassing (since, as we all know, I'm actually immune to embarrassment), and then all the world can point and laugh along with you.

??????????????? (??)[??]

I have no idea what all that means (or meant -- it used to look all pretty and Chinese, but somehow converted over to question marks in the process of getting blogged). Chinese, I think. But the four panel photo strip is so worth seeing, because it totally puts my addiction into perspective.

"YES, you ARE a fucking idiot... but that's OK, you're human, and that's where the beuaty of humans lies, in their duality. Know that you are fallible,and continue with that knowledge and make it work..."
-Devin Townsend

Synchestra is released officially today. I've had it for a few weeks now, thanks to the joys of review copies and press credentials. As much as it's not music for everyone -- Devin's music, across the board, is very much a unique experience, not narrowly confined within genre boundaries, and often requires a lot of chewing before swallowing is safe -- I cannot recommend this disc highly enough to the general public. Of all of his albums to date (including his "alter ego" Strapping Young Lad and the sidework he's done with Steve Vai, James Murphy, and so many others), this one falls second only to Terria, which I'm not certain can be topped.

Of course, one of the reasons that I've always been enamored of Devin's work is the lyrical content. The music is brilliant; I think Devin and I both pull from many of the same inspirational wells in that sense, although Devin is far more willing to experiment and wander than I've been when writing and recording (to good effect, I should add). And though the music keeps me coming back, year after year after year (was it really nine years ago that I got Ocean Machine?), it's the lyrics that provide so many anchors initially.

Devin has struggled with bipolar disorder over the years, and his lyrics really reflect the progress of his journey. And while it's not surprising to me that I can find common ground with him in his lyrics, bearing that bipolar joy as I do, it does surprise me to see, time after time, a roughly parallel track in our outlook (at least, my outlook and his lyrical presentation).

The most striking track on the new disc is Triumph -- musically and lyrically. Pixellate is a close second, though the lyrics (on which Devin is commenting, above) don't jump out at me as clearly. But Triumph feels to me like the culmination of the first three tracks, about which Devin says

"The story is about finding certain answers to life questions as a result of going too far - 'be careful what you wish for' and the way that reacts with a sensitive mind. Humility... 'I blew it... but there's nothing I can do about it now, so let it roll.'"

And just as I've been finding a better peace with life, moving forward, I put the disc in my new car and hear the lyrics to the song, against a grinding palm-muted guitar that explodes into rhythm and cinema, "Knowing I've known more than half my share..." There's still bits and pieces of lyric that I can't quite make out, but even so, I feel a connection to the song, a safe haven in the meaning and the feeling.

"A subtle realization. 'One word - collective.' There is a sense of relief in letting it roll, an apprehensive joy, things from the past culminating in a genuine present... peace is made with the past. Brave enough to make a step."

Not since Daniel and I stopped talking have I always felt like people understood what was inside my head (which probably has a lot to do with the fact that, outside of Daniel, I've never communicated a lot of it very effectively; in all honesty, I've probably not given nearly enough credit to a lot of people in my life who deserve more on this topic). Not that Daniel necessarily did, either; in fact, I think a lot of the time, when it didn't jibe with what he believed or expected, what was in my head was summarily dismissed.

I've realized for a while that I have a tendency to only really want out of life the things that I feel like I can't have. I think that Melissa was, at least to some extent, a product (victim) of that subconscious trait; I'm 95% convinced that Neely is as well. Any bets on Jessica? That's a sucker bet, by the way.

But it was only recently that I started to understand that maybe that's true of other aspects of my life: career, hobbies, friends, family. The things in life that I've beaten, or won, or proven (at least, to myself), I can leave behind. No more challenge there. It will be much easier to never make another film after Muckfuppet, because it's turning out to be everything I expected it to be. If the Exhibit(s) ever split up, I may never play again, because this is what I wanted from music. I'll probably always be a writer, since my expectations and hopes from my writing will probably never be met. I'll probably always have a soft spot for Neely, since that's never going to happen.

And maybe that explains why I put Daniel -- or more specifically, the relationship and connection between me and Daniel -- on a pedestal. Because it wasn't really there, nearly as much as I wanted it to be.

And I owe apologies ot many people, after all this time. Wade and Richard and Andrew and Kevin, for not (rightly or wrongly) giving them enough credit; for Melissa, and Maria, and far too many others, who were prizes to be put on a shelf of memory and forgotten in the light of the next challenge. And to Daniel, even; the connection had to be severed, for my sake, for me to grow and accept myself (and, if pushed, I can even say in hopes that you would learn and grow yourself), but perhaps not in the way it was. I wouldn't change any of it; I think everything that went down needed to (and I certainly won't deny that there was a lot of it that I really enjoyed). But I do regret it, in some fashion.

Maybe there was a point at which Daniel did get what I was going through. And maybe Devin and I are leading parallel lives in a lot of ways. More likely, I'm finding anchor points, creating connections, in order to feel connected -- just like I did for fifteen years. And that's okay, either way -- the important part is where I am, where I'm going, and how I take all that has come before and apply it to all that comes ahead.

This is me, letting it roll. Brave enough to make a step into a genuine future.

I hold in my hands the uncut video from the film. Thanks to Chance's handheld work and Chris' lighting -- not to mention really great and understated performances by Melissa, Donna, and Scott -- this story looks absolutely incredible. In all seriousness, if this is the last film I ever make (following up on the threat I throw out every single time I shoot a movie), it's the perfect swan song. And like the Brits say, get out while they still like you.

Thanks to all the cast, crew, extras, and everyone who provided us with steps on the journey so far. There's still a long way to go, but the most critical bits are done, and everyone involved deserves applause, liquor, and illegal favors on my behalf.

Man, if you didn't know better, watching my excitement right now, you'd think I had just finished a three hour epic or something...

Man sues chatroom pals: I was humiliated beyond what 'no man could endure':

"'He just came in slamming on me, saying all kinds of derogatory crap: that I was a fat, bald, broke old man who sits around in a rusted wheelchair,' said Charpentier, who has a chronic back injury. 'I don't even own a wheelchair.'"

Seems to me that admitting that you hung out in AOL chat rooms for five years is humiliation enough, right?

Anyone that can tell me what the title of this post references, and why it is appropriate, wins.

The grass is always greener on the other side, unless Chuck Norris has been there. In that case the grass is most likely soaked in blood and tears.

So much more at Chuck Norris Facts. Prepare to laugh until you get a roundhouse kick to the throat.

The stairway in my office building?

It has a room number. 198A to be specific.

Seriously. Stairway, room number.

These are things that you can only notice when you're the walking sleepless dead.

Wash. Woman Suffocates Under House Clutter: "A Washington state woman who was reported missing was later found dead suffocated under a pile of debris in her home, police said.

Officers found the body buried under clothes Thursday, reported KIRO-TV in Seattle."

A Night to See the Stars Actually Wearing Clothes - New York Times: "Saturday night, though, was an unapologetic, hearty celebration, with a flashbulb-drenched red carpet entrance and awards presented in 104 categories, including best performances in a wide range of explicit acts and sexual positions. The more conventional were for best director, supporting actor and actress, screenplay and the most anticipated award of the evening: best feature.

That went to 'Pirates,' a relatively high-budget story of a group of ragtag sailors who go searching for a crew of evil pirates who have a plan for world domination. Also, many of the characters in the movie have sex with one another."

"Aw, man... you're not gonna check the trunk, are you?"

Cops hate it when you give them hints.

"Here comes the Calvary!"

How was I supposed to know, with her talking like that, that she was a former missionary?

Heh. Missionary.

No animals were harmed in the crafting of this tale. Except the ferret, and hell -- ferrets aren't really animals as much as stoles waiting to happen.

MercuryNews.com | 01/03/2006 | A mystery no longer?: "The Mystery Spot, for decades one of Santa Cruz's most alluring tourist sites, bills itself as a place where the laws of physics and gravity cease to exist.

At least one scientist has attributed the weird goings-on at the site to carbon dioxide seeping up through fissures caused by a landslide or earthquake. Flying saucer aficionados postulate that aliens once left strange metal cones deep below the earth. Others theorize that the bizarre phenomena are caused by a magnetic field, a hole in the ozone layer or an ancient meteorite."

Apparently I slept right through January, February, March. Cue Snoop, and Neely throwing open the townhouse window over a line of freshly sun-dried laundry...

The rule of three continues -- Saturday night, another good friend of mine told me that her relationship has ended. Which, as with all others, is good if you see it in the right light... but regardless, it made for a strange (but worthwhile) Saturday night. Drank, got to see a few folk I haven't in a while, got a wonderful ego boost from having four gorgeous younger women squeal (yep, squeal) my name as I walked into Bailey's, got my tab covered for no sweat off my back, and got hit in the head with a cue ball.

Yeah, it was a good Saturday night. The kind that they should all be, I think, only with less sex and drugs than I might prefer...

It occured to me yesterday, drving past a dried-ivy covered phone pole near my parent's house that my idea of perception (and a distinct non-existence of good and bad, beautiful and ugly, etc., except for inside the head of the viewer) is not impossible to analogize properly, as I had thought. All you have to do is think of photography (and I wish now that I had a camera, and had spent fifteen minutes taking pictures of that pole, to show that you can make any object beautiful or ugly with no special software). In any given moment, under any given conditions, any particular object can be photographed and captured as ugly or beautiful; the end result of the memory will all depend on what perspective the photographer takes.

And sometimes, making the moment beautiful (or ugly) requires a lot of work, a lot of moving around and keeping one's eyes peeled for the unique point-of-view that will provide the right angle and combination of light and shadow and color and shape. But for any object, I guarantee: look long enough (which doesn't require work, necessarily, as much as it requires willingness and an open mind's eye) and you'll find a way to see it as beautiful.

And what is life but a collection of moments, moments made up of objects?

Amazing to me that somehow, a full week into '06, I'm still feeling healthier and more human than human than I can remember ever feeling. It's not even euphoric anymore (although yesterday's sundown hour, driving around in the ridiculously warm air with the windows down and a little Aurore Rien playing on the stereo was perfectly post-Apocryphal in it's own moment). It's simply a good, clean, dare I say normal feeling.

It's almost like the minutes before hitting the crossroads, only calmer and with less anxiety.

I like it, myself.

Am I rubbing in the beauty of being me, or is it so far preferable to my usual (and hopefully past) Bringer of Doom and Nay that it doesn't even matter?

Yep, I know him. Craig Smith, class of 1987, RLC. If it weren't for this man, I'd not have discovered Metallica for another few years.

Etc. Some details are not necessary. For public consumption, at least...

And he did pretty well on Jeopardy, coming in second place to some Ken Jennings wannabe, a six-time (as of tonight) winner with over $100,000 in winnings. But man -- did you really not win the question about the Cure? Or Rush? Damn, Craig...

Cameras and audio recorders. Video and still.

The idea of capturing that which we experience is fascinating to me. We don't experience visuals in a frame by frame mode, but someone thought to capture a single moment in time (although, initially, that moment was actually a few minutes - no such thing as candids in the beginning). Along came the phonograph after that, and audio was captured. Quality improved over time, and then film cameras captured moving pictures, and then VHS, CD, DV...

But even the sci-fi worlds and their holograms are lacking in three of the five senses: there is no smell, no taste, no feel. And scientists have figured out how to break things that stimulate those senses into chemical components, and so you have air fresheners that smell like baked apples, candy that tastes like lemons, and materials that feel like whatever fruity thing you want to fill in here to finish the metaphor.

So much of what makes a memory is more than sight and sound, though. Photographs are great, and listening to tapes of myself and my kid sister when we were toddlers is fun, and watching the old videos of my first wedding and early gigs with bands is a great walk down memory lane. But not really; these things are reminders, but nothing more.

I stood outside the building today, taking a smoke break and watching the cars whip past on University. It's very much a spring day -- low 60s, an occasionally gusty dry breeze coming through city streets. The air is fairly clean, not heavy or unusally poisoned today. The sun was beginning to set -- that hour before moment where you can almost look directly at the sun itself, shadows falling soft and hazy. And I pulled out my camera phone to capture it, and realized that it was pointless. Not that the sunset wasn't beautiful, but rather that the sunset wasn't what was worth capturing.

I can pull out pictures, and they bring back memories. Not just of people, but of specific times and places in my life. There is a series, for instance, of Maria and Cassidy; I was in the first week or two of my relationship with Maria, and Cassidy was brand new, to me and to the world. I can fill in the blanks in between those pictures, and on some levels I can recreate that hour or two, as we sat in my den in the apartment on 18th Avenue and enjoyed the summer day, Cassidy playing with the tiny Piglet doll that outsized him and crawling all through the holes in Maria's jeans.

But as much as I can recreate about that moment -- even as much emotion as I can recall, and almost feel again -- it's not the same. I do remember that, during that one hour, I had the same feeling (more than emotion, more than senses -- a combination of the two, and then something more) that I had standing on the sidewalk earlier, the same as I had driving around Southside a few years ago on a perfect fall day, the same as many Mondays around the time I first met Melissa. It's a perfect feeling -- I'm not sure that I'm even capable of putting it into words. Not too much nor too little; not happy, but definitely content. It's like a very mellow high, maybe. A feeling of promise and hope. Knowing that you're headed in the right direction, or maybe just facing it.

These are the things that make the promise of a virtual reality so interesting to me. Sure, creating realistic environments from your deepest imaginations is intriguing, but not nearly so much as recreating those moments from your life that put you in that perfect, indefinable moment. And even if not recreating them exactly, playing with the variables until you can put together the exact combination of parts to make the puzzle fall into place at will.

Throw all the cameras and 24 tracks away. I'll gladly give up making movies and multitracked music in return for a camera that captures every detail of a single moment in time, and allows me to revisit that moment on command.

I've spent the entire day reading other people's various and sundry Top 10 lists: Top 10 CDs, Top 10 books, 10 Most Annoying People, 10 Things I Accidentally Ate... And I find myself swept up in the moment, caught up in the joy of preserving one's memories forever by posting them for all the world to see.

Actually, I'm killing the last 30 minutes at work, and really needed something to jar me out of the non-writing funk I've been in lately. Whatever. Not like more than three people are reading this anyway, and two of those three are just here looking for my post on Gabby Gingras.

So at any rate, these are my 10 most memorable bits of 2005. Most memorable, because they're what pop into my head at this moment, 3 days into 2006; in no particular order, because I hate playing favorites with my own neural connections...

10. Haver, Jen, and Christina. One was only a few days, thanks to the wonderful timing of the new year, one was a lot of fun while it lasted, and one was the source of one of the funniest things James Brown will ever say.

9. Insomiactive Productions. I've done freelance work for the past five years or so, but this is the first year that I've ever deposited more than four checks for over $2000. Good times.

Unless someone from the IRS is reading this. In which case, that was all a dream. A very, very nice dream.

8. Return of the Honda. Finally, I'm driving a car that I will enjoy again. I genuinely feel like I can contentedly drive a giant metal can with wheels, as long as it gets me from point A to point B (preferably with a decent stereo, but that'll just get stolen within 6 months anyway). Now, though, I don't have to, and admittedly, it's kinda nice. It's the first time in my 34 years that I've ever had to worry about a car payment, but it's worth it, to have a car that I chose for myself.

7. Wedding Bells (Someone Else's, Not Mine). Let's see: groomsman for Andrew, and videographer for Dan. Oh, and I started 2005 in Cincinnati with Haver for a wedding of one of her friends. All of the weddings were actually kinda nice, especially since i never once was asked to say, "I do." Andrew's really stands out, because his family is wonderful peoples.

6. The Exhibit(s). Back in the studio for the first time in years (since Daniel and I stopped speaking). On stage more than a bunch (and still not enough). Chance and Eric and Carlos are the best batch of guys I could ever hope to play with; we do almost nothing of mine, and I don't even mind, because we're playing music for the sake of playing, instead of thinking that a bunch of 30-somethings in Birmingham might have a hope fo getting signed.

Yeah, that's a stab at someone.

5. Acceptance. This is an end of year thing -- much like the car -- but maybe the one thing that will stick with me for a long time. There's a joy to self-awareness, but sometimes even that isn't enough. You have to be willing to not only realize things about yourself, but to accept that those things, and other situations in your life that aren't in your power to control or change, are what they are. There was a lot of that toward the end of 2005, about Neely and Melissa and Ann, about myself and romantic entanglements, about my outlook on life (and life philosophies in general). And I suddenly felt a lot better about a lot of things.

Still not real happy about missing JESUS IS MAGIC, though.


4. Music, Books, and More. Damn, it really was good year for a lot of entertainment. Nothing life-changing in movies, but a lot of great reading (ANANSI BOYS, SOCK - though technically 2004, I read it in January -- the end of the DARK TOWER series, HAUNTED) and music (ALIEN, DARK SUNS, OCTAVARIUM, REAL ILLUSIONS) kept me going all year long.

3. Vai. I think I almost managed to forget this one, somehow. I've gotten a chance to interview a lot of people while working for Birmingham Weekly, including Norah Jones, Tenacious D, and a billion others. In March, though, I spent an hour on the phone with Steve Vai, talking about all sorts of things (including a lot of stuff that never made it into the eventual article). And then there was the show in Birmingham in March, at the Boutwell ballroom, in front of what had to be less than 250 people. Amazing, intense; easily the best show I've ever seen.

2. Spreading the Disease. It was a good year for progress for me. I was published in a national magazine for the first time, saw my website business grow a lot, made three films, was accepted into Sidewalk for the fourth year in a row (six if you count scripts). I met a lot of folks, saw a million faces, and I rocked them all. In spite of all the times I felt like I was moving backwards (or staying in place, at best), I was moving forward the whole time.

1. Muckfuppet. Yeah, no one saw this coming.

The best part is that it should make my 2006 list, also. Assuming I get anything done on it this year, that is...

Without giving in to that trite and timeless concept that the first night of any given year is indicative of how the rest of the year will turn out (does a year suck if your New Year's Eve went poorly? Not in my memory), I will say that, at the very lest, 2006 has started well. Surprisingly so. In fact, a stark turnaround from the beginning of any year previous, and a blinding contrast to anything I expected.

So, yeah, there's that...

Have I really planned a day full of football tomorrow? Jeezus....