New Direction
Disclaimer: In no way am I quoting in the following blog.
I have decided to change the name of my blog to "The Liquid Kosmos." It's all part of my attempt at evolution and inspired by a recent listen to
Ken Wilber's audio session called "Kosmic Consciousness."
While it is an amazing and mind bending listen, it's really nothing we don't know. He just maps things out to make our path's make more sense.
Let me preface all of this by saying that I grasped about 1/100th of what he said, but from now on this blog will be dedicated to sharing my new discoveries. My explainations will surely be crude, but they will all be valid in my quest of understanding who I am and why I am here.
Wilber is, in essence, a philosopher who has studied all (or surely most) of the World's religions and pulled out important beliefs and similarities to create a map that brings them all together into sort of a perenial philosophy. Essentially he breaks religion down to two types; Ascending (those who believe that everything of meaning happens when we leave earth) and Decending (those who believe everything that matters happens here and now). It is far more complex than that and includes many different levels, lines, states, stages, etc, but the bottom line of it all is creating a path that gives you the best chance for growth.
My take on what he is saying is this: It's time for people to take it to the next level. The world has been moving at a very rapid pace. One where technology has given people the capabilities of doing almost anything and powerful technology in the hands of someone who isn't mentally or spiritually evolved can be a dangerous thing. Again, his philosophies are far more complex than just that and I want to make it clear that he is very much a proponent of enjoying life and getting the most out of it that we can, and at the same time genuine in his ascention.
I just now realized how difficult all of this is to articulate, but from now on, I will try to relate my daily experiences as examples of what the hell I am trying to say.
Big stars on little stages
One of the coolest things about Nashville is that you can be just about anywhere and run into a famous musician performing in a corner bar. Last night a group of friends and I were walking up to Printer's Alley and noticed there was a lot of activity in front of Jesse Zane's Nashville Nights. It's that little music club just before Printer's Alley where they have people out front, almost literally pulling you in for "great music." They usually have a marginal cover band playing Journey or the Eagles or something.
Last night they had John Rich (from Big & Rich) and Cowboy Troy and the girl with slo gin stains on her teeth wouldn't let me pass it up.
"John Rich of Big & Rich and Cowboy Troy are playing you have to come in," she said.
OK, cool.
"Seriously (grabs my arm), look they're right up there!"
Ok.
"It's John Rich & Cowboy Troy." Who? "BIG & RICH!!!"
You lost me.
"They're famous."
Oh, ok, I'll come in.
"See, look, they're playing."
Kiss me you beautiful and obnoxious red toothed woman.
In my opinion Big & Rich have played a huge role in putting country music back in the spotlight. They have this funky-crossover vibe that gave country permission to put the edge back in their music.
Anyway, it was super cool to see John Rich giving his all on a little dive bar stage for free. Especially since they just got off a big tour and probably made millions. It seems like he is everywhere. The guy never stops...
They did a super long extended version of "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy," and the crowd was in a frenzy... Well, maybe not a frenzy, but it's the first time I've ever seen people in Jesse Zane's truly excited about the music they're hearing. Usually it's a bunch of tourists who get lost and think Printer's Alley is the whole downtown.
As soon as they were done they loaded up their posse and hit the road. Must be a wild lifestyle.
I'm sure they get swarmed in most cities, but in Nashville, it's kinda like, "Hey, that's cool, John Rich and Cowboy Troy are playing."
Quick note
12th and Porter won me back... see
last post. I went in expecting to see a songwriter's night, which is ok, but was blown away by the live taping of 6 of Nashville's best rock bands.
They were making a DVD and it was pretty good stuff. The rest of the story...later.
Night.
I guess you gotta post
My readership has fallen about 25% in the last week, and that on the heels of a huge surge. I've decided to dedicate this blog to the die-hards who stick with me and read my new blogs; even when there aren't any.
Today (like most days these days) went by like a blur. I didn't even notice if it was sunny. Was it?
And now I am here and don't know what to write about because I don't really remember what happened. So, I'll talk about the future, some past, and what I wish would happen to pro sports.
Oh, I'm going to see a show at 12th and Porter tonight. I made sort of a silent vow not to go back to that place because it doesn't seem like the old 12th and Porter even though it is basically identical. I guess that tells you a little something about company culture. It's been a few months, though, so I'll give them a clean slate.
Whoever said "attitude is everything," was dead on. Today was....wait...damn, I was going to write something about work, but just remembered people from work know I blog here, so I'd better not say anything.
I see some of the Vikings got some "mistermeanor" (as the guy on the BUZZ called it) charges for the sex boat scandal. I haven't read much about it (nor really care), but I would venture that about 75% of professional athletes participate in similar activity on a regular basis. In fact, I would probably be the first to over-indulge on some craziness if I was 25 and making about 3 million a year. Forget it... I think the guys who don't do that kind of shit deserve a medal (or a psychiatric exam).
25, 30, whatever and making multi-millions... getting away with murder on and off the field... women throwing themselves at you on an hourly basis. Guys trying to start fights or have you sign something so they can sell it...people wearing your name on their clothes (by the way, after the age of about 12, i think that is really gay). I can live with a hat... or a sweatshirt, but the whole jersey is kinda creepy to me for some reason. Like, "Hi, my name is Jim, but people call me T.O. because I wear an authentic replica jersey." My only stipulation is if they are wearing the pants, too... Then, and only then, it is cool.
That topic reminds me of an earlier blog I wrote on professional coaches and what they wear. In the NFL they wear "NFL sanctioned gear." Stuff like pullovers, and lame sweaters with their team boldly emblazened on the heart. I've seen some real misses. Like the coach who is talked into wearing the "wrap-around" logo that promises to be the hot new thing. For that game, he looks like an idiot. I envision them watching game film and him saying, "what was I thinking with that pullover?" and not even watching much of the game. At least I hope that's what happens.
Who was the guy that said he wanted to wear a suit on the sidelines, but got rejected by the league? It's a shame they didn't let him... I used to dig the Tom Landry suit and hat gig.
That brings me to baseball. I think it is so damn cool that the managers wear the exact same uniform as the players. Back to my early reference... either you wear the whole uni or don't put any of it on. Baseball's the only real sport anyway.
But... basketball could EASILY overtake baseball if the coaches wore the team uniform. THAT would put people in the seats. Damn, why does that not happen? Pat Riley in a Heat uniform? That's priceless.
Which brings me to news anchors. I'm thinking blazer with the station logo on the pocket. It's been done and now is the time to bring it back. In fact, I think everyone in the newsroom should sport the look. One for all and all for one.
Rock on.
I am hung...
over. It started with a little Christmas party and ended with a cab ride and to add insult to injury I had to ride my bike to a business meeting at 9:00 this morning. It's freezing.
I don't know why the neighbor dog doesn't wanna hang with me anymore. He used to bark a lot and come over to the fence when I came home, but now he doesn't move an inch when I call his name. He just looks at me like I bore the shit out of him.
Some of my friends are at the Titans game and I'm not seeing the logic. Pro football bores me more than I bore the neighbor's dog. I love college football. The passion, the grit, the play for the love of the game stuff. But pro football is a flat-out yawner.
I used to like it. Back when Fran "the Man" Tarkington (it just now dawned on me that they stole that nickname from Stan "the Man" Musial) was playing. The purple people eaters playing in old municiple stadium. Outside in December in Minneapolis (Bloomington if you want to get specific). No heaters on the sidelines. And Bud Grant wouldn't let them wear gloves either. It was awesome. Those guys were tough.
Now we've got T.O. and a bunch of other pussy flamers leading the NFL's charge. He wouldn't have lasted one quarter on Bud Grant's Vikings. He would have cried the minute one of Tark's passes hit his hands. In fact, and I'm serious here, I think he might have died on the field if he played in that weather. Flat out over. Done deal. "I'm a pussy boy and I need attention...this playing as a team crap doesn't get me anywhere."
At least he admits he's a selfish and greedy bastard. Got that going for him.
Anyway, I did not get up early today to bash Terrel Owens. I got up early so I could take a nap, and that is exactly what I am going to do as soon as I am done writing this blog.
Night.
Ok, I was a little bitter
I made a sarcastic post about not getting any comments on my writing and the next day I had a huge spike in readership. What are you telling me? That you are intrigued by my pain and emptiness? Can't turn away from the blood and guts? Or, do you simply feel for the struggle and support of my artistic integrity? Those are the questions I hope to answer over the next 6 months. Months that I will viligantly analyze and record thoughts and theory for my new book - "The Truth and Nothing But The Truth: Bloggers." (This is, of course, a follow up to my first book - "Blogger's Greatest Hits").
So, the other day I am in line at the convenience store (yes, I have a minor fetish) and this woman in front of me is an absolute bombshell. I am in "discrete check out mode" (no pun intended) and looking for an opportunity to break the ice with this goddess. That's when I hear her speak, "You know, you look like..." Just then my chin flys up from the hi heeled boot angle anticipating a melting gaze to hit my eyes. But she is talking directly to the clerk behind the counter and finishes her sentence with, "Jack Nicholson."
I quickly gather my composure and glance in his direction. This is when I realize the grumpy, sarcastic, yet in his own way kinda friendly guy I see every day DOES kind of look like Jack.
She goes on, "I love Jack Nicholson," followed by a sexy smile and small turn to me wanting nothing more than support for her claim. I utter, "Uh, yeah, I can see it." And by this time our "grumpy, sarcastic, yet sometimes in his own way kinda friendly guy" has launched into his best, yet really bad, impersonations. "You can't handle the truth," and "Here's Johnny."
She's laughing hard and I'm getting sick to my stomach, but dig deep for some kind of antic that may steal his thunder. I'll be damned if the best thing I can come up with is a quote from Richard Gere in Officer and a Gentleman. I lean in and say "I can't leave, I've got nowhere else to go." Silence. He stopped, she looked at me like I was a nut bag, then signed her credit card slip, thanked him, and walked out the door.
I'm the next customer and he's giving me this, "Hey, what can I say, when you've got it, you've got it." Yeah, yeah, give me my change. I gave him a huge tip and walked out just in time to see her drive by and wave at "Mr. Nicholson."
Coming next time... My take on company Christmas parties why men who don't like wine go to wine bars.
My goal for this blog
I have one goal for this blog. It's not to get rich, famous, or be loved. It's not to pick up women, (although it has crossed my mind). Not to find God or make some monumental point about politics, religion, or medicine. It is simply this: To not get any comments. Thank you for helping me out.
Stuff you don't really hear
We've all heard the backhanded comment, "this neighborhood's gone to hell," but when's the last time you heard of a neighborhood going to heaven?
I can't wait to hear someone muse, "Technology is moving so slow these days."
Or maybe, "It never comes down to money."
"The shit missed the fan."
"The trouble with kids these days is that they grow up too slow."
I have heard this one before, but rarely: "Kids have it tougher today, than we did."
"The sure miss kid."
I met a singer once who was always compared to
Bob Dylan. "This guy is the second coming of Bob Dylan," the review would say. "Oh, yeah, sounds like Dylan." "The second coming." On and on the reviews would go. Finally this guy,
Dan Bern, said in an interview, "How do you know the Bob Dylan wasn't the 'first coming' of Dan Bern?"
It is a very rare day when you hear someone call a mean guy a nice guy.
And it probably won't surprise you, but most times when a person is really tall, they are not referred to as short.
Stunned
I can't comment on it, but I was floored by something I found out today.
Zombies can't climb
Trust me, I'm not a big fan of musicals, but I just got back from the Belcourt Theatre, and
"Zombies Can't Climb" is hilarious.
The setting is the church rooftop, where the characters are stuck because the village below is full of flesh-eating zombies. And of course they are safe on the roof because well, zombies...can't climb. Stick with me here, I know it sounds crazy but, this is some funny sh*t.
The whole performance was driven by basically three characters. The crazy hometown guy, the town whore, and a stranger who was lucky enough to escape the wrath of the zombies (three of which made random appearances in the front row awkwardly and unsuccessfully trying to climb up onto the stage) and get to the roof.
What made the play hilarious were the songs. It was a country/Christmas/musical and the songs were delivered on-cue at pivotal moments and the lyrics, along with the timing made me wonder who in the hell could write something so stupid. But THAT was the funny part because the characters sang lyrics like - "I'm not a whore, no more," and "We're safe for the moment cuz Zombies can't climb" with absolute conviction.
I was so moved by the music that I bought the soundtrack (which I'm kind of regretting at the moment) after the performance. I was dissapointed that the songs on the CD were slicker, more produced, and not sung by the actors (which I was assured was the case before I bought it). It's still pretty good, though. If anyone would like to hear the title track, send me an email and I will blatently send you a bootleg MP3.
I think the show runs through the 10th and I highly recommend you support it.
Tonight I'm off to see Medeski, Martin, and Wood at the Cannery Ballroom.
They received high praise from one of the guys I saw at the party last night. I'll let you know how that one turns out.
Until then my fellow world changers.
What a great party...
There wasn't much dancing and no loud music, but last night's party was loaded with personality. Nashville has some really interesting people if you know where to find them.
There is nothing better than house parties. The whole club and bar scenes have passed me by with a fury. It's always too loud and people are way to0 pre-occupied in the midst of sensory overload. Plus, I'm getting older... time and good conversation are at a premium.
Last night's attendees were: an opera singer, a fashion photographer, design instructors from MTSU and Belmont, a couple singer-songwriters, a music critic, an engineer, an architect, a singer for a swing band, and a ballet dancer. And several were hot women. There were more people there, but it's not easy to remember things when you're pounding Sam Adams.
Speaking of which, I am turning into a lightweight. I rarely drink these days and about four beers had me giggling like a little girl. I made quite an impression.
As you can imagine the conversations were pretty interesting and when I recall them, I will be sure to write them down for you.
It's another triple-gray-blanket day. Hard to motivate when it's so gloomy, but I'm heading to the gym to see if I can change the view.
The blessed saga
I can't remember a time when I've been more inspired by Christmas. I am feeling the love at levels I didn't realize existed.
There is a lot to be thankful for, but I won't go into that here. Those lists are posted all over the Internet. Today, I think it's much more important to look at why we are, at certain times, more thankful than others. In my opinion, this year's "happy fuel" is the Holiday Tree controversy.
Now, I may be reaching here, but it seemed like after 9/11 our compassion meters were running at an all time high. We were hugging strangers and burning cell phone minutes on loved ones like they were going out of style.
But since that time, the polls show a rapid decline in the "thankful numbers." Almost like an addict dives back into their habit at twice the speed when they fall off the wagon. In this case the analogy would be a lack of compassion, followed by an unusual spike in love, then a plummeting dive off the human interest cliff.
We search for sources of motivation. Something that pushes us in a direction we really want to go, but just can't seem to find a solid reason to do it on our own. The heated debate about the Holiday/Christmas Tree has put our focus in the right place again.
Sure, on the surface, it seems like a tiny quarrel, but the ground swell has reminded us that we should probably look into each other's eyes and discuss what the Christmas/Holiday/Holy season really means. It's not about a tree or semantics, it's about us. People.
Everyone is quick to blame the Mayor for creating this controversy, but I say he (or the panel who decided to call it a Holiday Tree) deserves a round of applause. The decision has brought us all out of the "holiday closet" and as the saying goes, the only bad publicity is no publicity. If nothing else, the religious debate (centered around an innocent evergreen tree) has those strings of lights burning a little hotter this year.
Yeah, I hear what you're saying, "but who has the right to call a Christmas tree a Holiday tree when it is obviously a Christmas tree!" Well, everyone has that right and everyone has the right to call me an idiot.
So scream, cry, and rejoice. You are falling back in love with yourself and fellow humans. It is a great day in Mayberry and I think I will take a stroll down Main Street and sing old Beatles' songs that make me happy, even though I'm not sure what they mean.
Convenience store miracle
Last night after work I stopped by the convenience store to get a candy bar. I was craving a Kit Kat for some reason and my desires would not go away.
What is it with these places? It seems like they are anything but convenient these days. Long lines and oppressed workers. Tonight was no different.
I patiently stood in line and watched as the lady cashier fumbled through the customers. Handling and breaking a new roll of quarters like it was a fifty pound barbell.
A smile was the furthest thing from her lips... She was beaten and miserable. Trudging through the customers like it was the final line drill of a marathon basketball practice. I felt her pain and decided to do something that would change her life at the moment. I walked behind the counter and gave her a backrub.
Not bragging or anything, but I nailed it in about 5 seconds. She was putty in my hands and the customers were the beneficiaries. The line moved steadily and the energy in the store transfered from a lottery and junk food vibe into a palace of love. The amazing powers of touch.
Smiles flowed with ease and the penny jar next to the register was ringing like a Salvation Army bucket at Christmas. I was happy with the results of my experiment.
After about three minutes, I gave her a few pats on the shoulder and she thanked me for my efforts. I calmly walked around the counter and smiled as I gave her a crisp one dollar bill for my candy bar.
She proudly put her hand across the counter with my change and I said, "keep it, you deserve that and more." Then it occured to me... these are the people who need the tips... not bartenders.
I'm calling on you to help me start a new trend. Let's drop a buck or two on the next clerk and see how it changes your life. Until then I will be dreaming of her robust shoulders.
Life at work
My boss is a visionary. I wish more people could grasp his concepts, but I guess that is the price of genious.
Our company is on the cusp of revolutionizing the industry and harnessing the energy for how people get their information. It is a daunting task, but I wouldn't want anyone other than my boss at the helm.
I see a lot of bouncers in bars wearing shirts that say, "XYZ Security, polite, but firm." I like those shirts. If there were a shirt for my boss it might say, "Brilliant, yet accessible."
Anyway, enough gushing about my boss... for now. I'm going to discuss my plans for the weekend.
Since it's Friday night at 8:00 and I just got home from work, I suppose I'd better get into something quick. I need to be in bed early tonight, so I can get some things done at the office in the morning. After that I'm judging a band contest at Belmont. I think the category is "Holiday," or I mean Christian Rock. That should take a few hours, then I'm going to the Belcourt Theatre to see a friend of mine's play. She tells me the play is a Zombie/Western/Holiday/Musical or something like that and her role is a pregnant whore. I told her, "that outta be a stretch for you," and she got mad.
Tomorrow night, I'll be at a little party with some Belmont professors. We're going to drink a lot and email the mayor about his Christmas dilemma. We've counted 57 different email addresses between the 6 of us, so he'll get an earful.
Man, I really need a Mac 17'' laptop so I can do some work at home. I spent last Saturday night working on my friend's powerbook I think I learned more about editing that night then I have in in a long time. It was more relaxed and I had time to try new things and experiment. It was a music video, too, so everything was a possibility. Thing is, I should probably get on it in the next couple weeks because I hear Mac is going to a new PC processer in January and it is almost guaranteed to have problems with Final Cut Pro 5 for while.
Ok...my friend Linda, who plays keyboard for Lisa Marie Presley wants to go to an art show tonight, so I'm gonna go put on my turtleneck and brown suede jacket.
Oh, the disparity in life
Tonight I went to this open house in Brentwood at the Governor's Club. For those of you who don't know, Brentwood, TN, like other Brentwoods (who is this Brentwood character?) is full of money. I mean, it is oozing out of these people's skin, I think. And from what I hear, it's the new Nashville money. Bell Meade is the old school, lawn jockey, 18th century kind of shit. Brentwood is artificial turf in the yard with invisible dog fences.
So, I'm driving through all of these unbelievable homes. They're lit up with fashionable "Holiday" lights and fake snow all over the lawn and french maids pressed up against front windows and high class hookers in the driveway, etc. I'm driving a BMW and the guy at the guard gate looked at me like I was from Antioch or something.
I got to the "Way" that housed the display mansion and had to park about 3 blocks down. Evidently people love to look at big houses while they drink free wine and talk about how awesome someone else will have it when they move into their castle.
I walked in through (as it turns out) the side door. I guess it was pretty obvious, but this place was a compound. It had more doors than the that one show with 3 doors to choose your prize from. Ahhh... "Let's make a deal." Ok, so I'm hoping around on one foot taking off my shoes like the sign instructed when a lady starts bitching me out for using the side door. I'm like, "Huh?".
"Here, put these on over your shoes," she says.
I look at these things and they remind me of panties. They are baby blue and I immediately put it on my head and made a funny face. She looked like she wanted to take out a steak knife and cut off my dick, but thank goodness she relented.
This place was fucking ridiculous. It has an elevator and a full kitchen outside on the patio! All I could think about was how I wished I would have started saving pennies when my mom told me to. But, hell, I'm a rebel.
The master bedroom was genuinely bigger than the condo I just bought. It is a shame this place will probably go to a family guy or something. It would be a Chevy Chase/Caddyshack kind of pad for a bachelor. Uncashed checks laying on the Steinway. Perfect.
The furnishings were unbelievable, too, but they aren't staying. There were plasma screens in just about every room. Washer and dryers on each floor. A stocked weight room. Did I mention elevator???
I had to piss so badly, but every toilet had a pretty bow tied over it. I seriously think there were 10 bathrooms and my bladder cringed at the site of every one. For the record I ended up going at a one of the porto johns on an adjoining construction site.
Where was I? Oh, it doesn't matter. The house was awesome and made me sick all at once. It's for sale: 3 million. I'm gonna have to sell a few more ads on my blog before that one becomes reality.
Coming next time... Why dating gets harder everyday and my definition of God.
