This is the land that I love...

I think I've been in about 437829473892573295 church services that have sounded incredibly similar to that. This made me laugh so hard I bit a hole in my tongue.

I want to buy a powerbook. Does that make me racist?

• I passed Ron Rifkin (the dad from Boiler Room and the D.A. in LA Confidential) on my way to work this morning. He's really short, and appeared to be in a hurry. Then again, that may just be his "shell." I find myself frequently star struck here, but increasingly more endeared to celebrities in general. I can't really explain that, but it's true. I don't feel sympathy, or sorry for them. Just, endeared. It's hard to explain.



• Got back in touch with some old friends on myspace yesterday. Nic Vanzee and his brother Ben were my two favorite people in college. They are from St. Paul, and were Greco Roman Wrestling Coaches. That was so much fun to walk around saying. I'm not small by normal standards, but these two were/are... big. I also happen to love wrestling (though even then, I had a hard time finding people who were my size and enjoyed it, so I ended up wrestling a lot of people smaller than me - Sorry, Adam. The alternative was wrestling Ben, and that wasn't gonna happen.)
  
  Anyway, it all got me thinking, I really hate myspace, but I've been connected with like 100 old friends on that god forsaken website. I just try to think of it like the DMV, or some insurance-induced physical. You gotta do it. It's gonna suck. But if you run into friends in the waiting room, that makes it better. Not worth it, necessarily, 'cause there still should be a more acceptable alternative to getting spammed by 14 year old porn stars and terrible, terrible bands, but still... better.

Ode To Balls...

At 7:30AM today, Rosco and I walked 50 uptown blocks and 6 cross-town blocks (that's a solid hour + of walking - with a dog) to drop off Rosco at the New York Humane Society. He's getting his balls cut off. I'm not going to say he's getting "castrated" or "neutered", or "fixed" 'cause it all sounds too nice, and it sounds like someone who didn't grow up with balls made up those terms so they wouldn't have to say what's actually happening.

Rosco is a male dog.
Male dogs have balls.
Rosco, as of this afternoon, will no longer have balls.
After that, he'll only be a male in spirit and mind.
And, in that he'll (soon) not squat to pee.
That sucks.

Rosco, also known as "the bad@$$ Mother F@#$er who don't take no $hi2 from no body", has no idea what was waiting for him behind that big metal door. He doesn't know that there are scissors somewhere back there or some knife, that will end his sex drive for ever. He just knows there were lots of little dogs and whining cats, that he was hungry, and they all looked pretty tasty.

He weighed in at a healthy (and now official) 59 lbs. As an 8 month old, that's pretty freakin' good. He also scared the crap out of a full grown german shepherd when I wasn't looking, 'cause he wanted to play, and threw the shepherd on the ground before the owner knew what to do.

"Sorry. He doesn't mean any harm. He's just a lot more manly than your dog. But don't worry, the nice people here are gonna cut off his nuts in a couple hours, then your wussy dog will be okay."

For the record, I don't normally think like this about Rosco. When small dogs come up, I make him lie on his back so they can sniff him and so Rosco knows he's not supposed to eat them. But today I feel (and I think this is understandable) nostalgic about my dogs testicles.

The "bright side" to all of this is that he'll no longer feel the need to mark his territory while he's IN the apartment. He'll also (supposedly) be more submissive when we're walking as he won't feel the need to dominate other dogs. Then again, the down side is...

They're cutting.
Off.
His freaking.
Balls.

James Earl Jones is Lord Vader

holy crap this is awesome!

Please be...

• be delicate, but not fragile.
  
• be more talented than you let on.
• be more in love with your family that you care to talk about.
  
• be happy with your body, and disciplined with keeping it healthy.
• be careful to wrap criticism in encouragement.
• be graceful when you're dressed up - and when you're not.
• be a princess with tomboy tendencies.
• be in touch with a darkest side of yourself, and unafraid.
• be a baseball fan so I don't have to be.
• be unimpressed by money.
• be graceful in heels.
• be sexy in sweats.
  
• be able to appreciate the humor in the erratic.
• be a fan of corny jokes, but be disdainfully loathsome of corny art.
• be a hopeless romantic with a wild streak.
• be an ex-athlete who doesn't dwell on it.
• be committed to getting the smile from a stranger.
• be broken hearted for the unlovable.
• be the champion for the loser.
• be a rock.
• be an ocean.
• be as slow as the sunset
• be swift like a bandage.
• be able to tell the difference.
• be able to say no.
• be able to hear no.
• be able to move - a lot.
• be able to stay put.
• be happy in silence.
• be the conversation piece.
• be a queen.
• be a servant.
• be shy when you know it's sexy.
• be strong when you know it's needed.
• be funny when you don't feel pretty.
• be humble when you know you look your best.

- meshach.

Today's favorites...

I just launched BuzzGorilla as a music blog site. I plan to have several contributing writers, but as of now it's Roy Mitchel-Cardenas and I.

For those of you who know more about BuzzGorilla from earlier conversations, those features are still in the works, and WaxJelly hopes to launch that site soon. This variation is a precursor to the real thing, so enjoy.

Other than that, there isn't much news to report, so I'll leave with the following:

1. learn to speak French (explicit)
   
2. Great line that I was too chicken to use today... "Excuse me. You have a magnificent posterior, and those are my favorite jeans in the world for hugging it so tightly. Hi. I'm Meshach."
3. I'm going to see Duncan Sheik tonight, and plan to blog about that on BuzzGorilla. However, if there's any non-musical story to tell, you can, as always, look for it here.

- meshach

christmas in August?

My official wish list has begun. The following is in line on my to-buy list after Rosco's "surgery" (he gets clipped Aug 21st), paying for my record (studio costs, mixing / mastering, design, packaging...), rent (I looked at a 500 sq ft apt last week for $2400 / mo), and savings...

... but once that crap's out of the way...

• Fender Jaguar Baritone reissue
  
  This has become my dream guitar. Fender introduced its new Fender Jaguar Baritone Custom guitar in response to overwhelming requests for a contemporary version of its famous Bass VI guitar, an instrument beloved of artists from the Beatles to George Jones to Aerosmith.
  
  The Jaguar Baritone Custom combines the down-and-dirty sound of the Bass VI and the classically cool early-’60s look of Fender’s famous Jaguar guitar in one truly distinctive instrument.











• VOX AC15
  

  With years of manufacturing expertise in high quality guitar amplifier design, Vox have taken the best AC15 designs, both old and new and added a number of useful and interesting features. The result is to give you the most tonally flexible AC15 to date!

  Decades ago the AC15 stamped its tonal trademark on the rock n roll revolution. Many top performers of the era were first in line to sample its unique warm tone. People started to notice this new evocative guitar sound and soon many other new artists were using the Vox AC15.

  Today, the AC15 Custom Classic is set to become the new leader in its class. Built in Vox's vertically integrated manufacturing facility means total control of the design, the quality and the sound of your amplifier. Many processes not found in most guitar amplifier factories are employed in the factory and Vox design and manufacture their own transformers, speakers (except for the venerable VOX "Blue" & "Neodog" which are manufactured by Celestion), cabinets and electronics. All components have been designed, manufactured or selected so that the performance and sound of the AC15 Custom Classic is second to none.










• AKAI MPC1000

  The Akai Professional MPC1000 Music Production Center combines a 64-Track MIDI Sequencer and a 2-voice Stereo Digital Sampler, with 16 velocity and pressure sensitive rubber pads in a compact and rugged package that makes it ideal for carrying around.

  The MPC1000 inherits many of the major features of older MPCs such as the legendary 'feel' and 'groove' so that you can be sure that your beats and sequences swing. It also features the original MPC60’s intuitive transport and locate controls, the unique NOTE REPEAT function plus new additions such as the two Q-Link sliders that allow real-time interaction with tuning, filter cutoff, layer switching, attack and decay. Add to these a well established, friendly and intuitive user interface, two separate multi-effects processors plus a master output effects processor, resonant multi-mode filters, 4-way sample layering and velocity switching per pad, two MIDI ins and 32 MIDI channels via the two MIDI outputs, multiple audio outputs as standard, footswitch inputs for hands-free control and you have a dependable alternative to computer sequencer headaches.

  The MPC1000 comes with 16MB of on-board memory as standard that can be expanded up to 128 MB of RAM. It includes internal preset sounds in flash memory (factory sounds are user-replaceable). Standard Compact Flash is used as the storage medium. A 32MB Card is included and present testing has verified the use of up to 2GB cards. Furthermore, the MPC1000 supports the ‘Mass Storage Class’ USB standard. When connected to a Mac or PC via its built-in USB port, this implementation allows to simply drag & drop data between the computer and the MPC1000's CF card.

The legendary Roots crew, and the pageant of symbols...

I've seen The Roots on a few occasions. All in Austin. Always amazing. Last night was no exception. What WAS an exception was the general... atmosphere of the setting in which they played.

I knew that they'd be in town for 3 nights. I knew last night would be the most accessible for me, being at BB King's in Times Square. I also heard that ?uestlove would be spinning, which is something I've wanted to see for a while. So I bought my ticket online, showed up to the venue right as the doors were opening, and walked into the equivalent of a 1968 Black Panther rally. No lie. There were SEVERAL people introducing themselves on stage as "Black Panthers for life". Which is fine. Whatever. I didn't wear my "Whiteboy" t-shirt (though I was strongly tempted to before I left - again, thinking I was going to a "Roots" show), so I figured, "I'm fine".

The first group comes out, a new local act with 3 rappers and a dj. They're in uniform. First words. "Black Power!" I think, "man, this is... neat."

"Hold up those black fists. I wanna see 'em all! Black Power!"

(At this point, should I put up a very white fist? Should I NOT?!?!? Should I just squat down on the floor and start text messaging friends? Should I just turn and walk away like I'm disgusted or scared in the first 10 seconds?)

Black August turned out to be probably the best performance I've seen by the Roots (yes, I stayed until the end - all 5 1/2 hours), and also the best possible culture shock for breaking me into the New York hip-hop scene. There are DJ's who are white, culture vultures who go to hip-hop shows who are white. There are writers, photographers, and media personalities who are white in the hip-hop world. Then there are people like me. Who don't know the meanings of the Black Muslim names that are thrown around. Who don't wear hats with the tags still on, and baggy shorts that reach to the tops of perfectly cleaned shoes.

I just like the music. I REALLY like the music. ?uestlove was so on his game last night, it was frightening (so I hardly noticed). Captain Kirk Douglas has officially made me fall back in love with guitar solos again. And Malik B. (bass) is ... really snazzy.

Thought bubble on the privacy bubble

Myspace.com recently surpassed the 100 million user mark. No surprise, really, but it raises a question or two to me about the future of American politics. It may seem unrelated, but hear me out.

When I discussed the concept of myspace with my mom, her reaction was so surprising to me. It was simply one of concern for the revealing of "private" information about yourself to strangers. I tried to argue that the information that you give is completely voluntary, none of the fields are required except for valid contact info (email) so that you can manage your account. The argument defending myspace was difficult for me to make because I have loathed the site since I first saw it (way back when it was about 12 million users). However, it's not the concept of the site that bothers me, it's the execution of their concept, but that's another post altogether.

My mom made statements like "how do you know other people aren't lying about what they say on their profile?" My response was simply, "I don't. But I don't care." The reality is, I don't have anything invested in the idea that everyone online is being truthful with me. I've been burned before (which is another post for another day), believe me. But this was primarily my own lack of knowledge and experience, vs someone else's creativity in their willingness to deceive. On myspace, the most you have invested is reserved for the level to which you interact with any given person. If you add someone as a friend because of some information they put on their profile, the only thing you have invested into that "lie" (if it is a lie) is the 30 seconds it took to add them (or more frequently with myspace, the 3 browser reboots, 2 error messages, 47 ads, and 20 minutes of waiting for a page to load that looks exactly like the page you just left).

The thing that interests me about my mom's concerns versus the 100+ million people who are using myspace, is the difference in the view of privacy. The media and politics are bashing the hell out of the privacy issue because the government wants to be able to tap people's phone lines and listen in on conversations. Nothing new. Watch "enemy of the state". That was 8 years ago. The thing that's so stupid about that to me, is the same information (or more, probably) could be gathered by a few internet socialites getting paid to target people online and find information there. The point is, politicians are once again, completely behind the game when it comes to using technology.

I'm not endorsing the idea of having phones tapped illegally. I am just saying that the major issue of tomorrow is going to be the fact that people are voluntarily putting more information about themselves online everyday, and then fighting to protect their "privacy". This really isn't an issue of privacy for a younger generation though, I believe. I think it's an issue of Control.

I don't have a problem with information being out about me. I don't even really have a problem with the government wanting to know more. I don't even have a problem being told to surrender more information about myself when needed. I have a problem with NOT being told that the information is being used in a way that I didn't intend. And I have a problem with not be allowed to simply say "No." (or click, "no thanks"). It's an issue of control.

When I sign up for something using my email address, and myspace sells that email address to true.com, christiansingles.com, and other blood-sucking hack job websites that have absolutely no interest in helping humanity in any way, I have a problem with it. It's not "private data", I PUT IT ONLINE. It's just that I didn't put it online for someone else to make money by selling it. But that's exactly what happens. Myspace sold for $580 million because they were the largest, most profitable and thorough survey in human history. 100 million people listing their favorite movies and music (FOR FREE - years ago you could get paid for giving people this info), means a helluva lotta cash can be made by marketing firms who can target that audience with exactly what they want.

One day, the bubble we each live in will become so small for each of us, that people will revert from the desperation to be noticed (which is, I believe the primary tool of success for myspace and sites like it - people wanting to be known, to not feel insignificant), to the desperation to be left alone.

The celebrities of tomorrow are 18 year old girls who have 50 million downloads a week from what they do on a webcam in their room, or 16 year old boys who have weekly podcasts filming illegal activities. But when normal people become celebrities for doing nothing special at all, those people, we've seen, usually can't handle it because they don't have any sense of deserving that notoriety, and therefore can't be gracious and welcoming to the intrusion that is fame. People like Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie are great examples - celebrities by default. Talentless socialites with no gratitude for recognition. It's power without dignity. Frightening stuff.

So, keep posting pictures of yourself on flickr (I do), keep renewing your favorite music and movies list on myspace (I do), and keep subscribing to your favorite email newsletters and using credit cards online (I do), 'cause the only hope we have for privacy at this point is the notion that the sheer number of people using these technologies, and offering their information will create a sort of "white noise" that is impossible to filter completely, especially for a government that is dumb enough to TELL people they're tapping phones (don't broadcast it, genius, just do it!)

At my mom's request... pictures!

... my apt building.


Cornelius "Rosco" P. Coltrane


"Sit. Stay."

New records and the things Chris Martin and I have in common.

1. So I found some new 12" vinyls I found for pretty cheap:
   
   Kraftwerk - Trans Europe Express - Kraftwerk was a mysterious "80's band" before I started working on this record. Roy introduced me to them in the process of finding inspiration, and told me that my impression of them was off a whole decade. They sounded like a progressive 80's band, but they were doing all of that in the 70's. They were far ahead of their time, and the stuff I've heard so far... brilliant. For those of you who disagree with me on the issue, see the side note. I've got some heavy hitters on my side.
   
   Thom Yorke - The Eraser - I was one of the thousands of people who downloaded this entire record before it was released. What can I say, I'm a fan. However, once it was released, I paid for improprieties in full by getting it on 12" vinyl. i'm very excited.
   
   187 Soundtrack feat. Massive Attack, Method Man, and DJ Shadow - I actually had to look up the info for the film, as I mainly bought the record because of the DJ Shadow and Massive Attack tracks. The film looks cool too. It was made before Samuel L Jackson started really getting on my nerves. (first the star wars crap, then Freedomland, now Snakes on a Plane? Are you serious, dude?)
   
   Flight to The Moon - Actual transmissions from Appolo 11 and other flights surrounding it. Very kewl.
   
   
2. SIDE NOTE: Coldplay loves Kraftwerk
   
   In 1981, German futuristic band "Kraftwerk" released an album called "Computer World" on which they had recorded a very hooky, but far ahead of their time song called "Computer Love". The song starts with a digital (MIDI, I think) hook that you may recognize from Coldplay's "Talk" on their "X+Y" album. The hook is just as central to the coldplay tune as it was 25 years before on the Kraftwerk tune. Great melodies never die.
   
   I was very proud of myself for having discovered this, until I found an article on the song and it's influence, which contained this quote from Coldplay frontman Chris Martin...
   
   "To begin with, they were a band I didn't quite get. Then suddenly one day it clicked and it was the best music I'd ever heard. They've totally influenced us on this record. (X+Y)
   
   I think if we're going to do anything after X+Y we're going to have to retreat behind a mask. I love the idea that they're Kraftwerk but nobody really knows who they are. They're like the original Gorillaz. Or the electronic Beatles."
   
   Amen, Chris. (Can I call you chris?). Amen.
   

the following is a caption of my thoughts taken from 5am to 7:30 am today...

5:17 AM - "Rosco, for the love of God, it's 5 in the morning. Dude, you have got to SHUT THE HELL UP!!!"

5:42 AM - (finally awake) "I stink. I gotta take a shower"

6:13 AM - (out of the shower) "Holy crap! Rosco, stop freakin' whining! You stay in the same pen every night and you n... AAAOHHHHH MY GOD THAT SMELLS AWEFUL!"

6:15 AM - (tie Rosco's leash to the towel rack in the shower) "Dude, did you roll around in it? Seriously, this is disgusting. It's on everything"

6:16 AM - (run back into the bathroom after I hear a rack of shampoo and soap crashing to the ground. Tie Rosco's leash TIGHTER to the faucet) "Oh my God. I'm going to kill you."

6:32 AM - (still cleaning up. still finding footprints of feces trailing to the bathroom) "You need to take a shower."

6:35 AM - (take pen apart. bring it piece by piece to the shower and lean against wall to wash it off) "Rosco. I hate you."

6:36 AM - (gag)

6:41 AM - (place doggy bed in garbage bag along with doggy toys and rawhide) "You're just a puppy. You don't know any better."

6:49 AM - (wash Rosco with lots of shampoo) "You are gonna be such a badass dog one day. If you live that long."

7: 03 AM - (try to hide on my way downstairs with a wet dog and a bag full of laundry that smells like shit) "Dear God, please don't let this be the day that I finally see a beautiful woman on my elevator"

7:11 AM - (outside, we take the block to ponder what just happened) "Rosco, don't eat the plants. Rosco, don't jump on that person. Rosco, don't eat that little dog. Rosco, come. Rosco Come ROSCO COME."

7:19 AM - (more crap) "Sweet God almighty. How do you still have any left?"

7:20 AM - (crap again) "Okay, that's ridiculous."

7:25 AM - (head to work) "Coffee. I need coffee. I've never been to work this early. This is 3 hours before I normally go in. This is kinda good. I'll get so much done today. First, I gotta blog about this, but after that... Nah. First, Coffee"

7:36 AM - (locked out of work) "How. The. Hell. Does a company. Stay. In. Business?"

----------------------------------

The rest of the day went fine. Rosco had LOTS more to offer the sidewalk in later treks around the block. I finally got into my building to do some work at around 9:15 AM. Talked to Princess about what happened (briefly), and she said, for the 47th time, "get rid of the dog, he's too big for the city".

To this I responded, "So am I."

Besides, little dogs take craps too.

- meshach

No, I never played "with" Shaq, but I was in the same gym with him once...

Woo hoo! I'm officially done with my part of the first part of the process of the pre-mix recording and tracking of my record or EP (if nothing drastic changes, like this morning when I remixed a song and now have to email it, track by track, to Roy)!!!

I can't tell you how relieved I almost am about this process being close to being close to being almost finished. Most importantly, I'm excited about the fact that it is now in much more capable hands as Roy will be working on some of the "finishing" touches over the next couple months.

------

Yesterday was ... exciting. I loaned my car to Matthew to borrow for the week on vacation. As I only needed a car for the night, I swapped for a friend's car... hereafter referred to as "perp #1" or "my second-least-favorite go-cart". This is a long story and was a very long day, so I'll spare the details and just give you the hilights.

The Hate and I headed out at 11:30 am to pick up Roy from Newark. We got there at 12:30. It's about 9 miles away. This began our pattern of getting lost in New Jersey on the way to warped tour to see Mute Math play 4 songs. Heading back, the gas gauge read 1/4 tank, and we putted to a stop less than 2 miles from the festival, and more than 3 miles from a gas station. Got some gas from a (or THE) friendly New Jersey-ite, and headed home. Made great time on the way back until we hit traffic at the Holland tunnel, which took almost an hour just to cross a red light. We played a game where we told 2 truths about ourselves and 1 lie, and everyone else had to pick which one was the lie. Deep secrets were revealed, and there was much rejoicing when the game was over.

The 40 mile trip one way and 30 minute show turned into a 10 hour trip that left us all feeling exhausted, delirious, and dirty. The go-cart had no AC, cd player, or, on occasion, brakes. Once in the city, I proceeded to get us completely lost as I mistook Broadway for heading north when it actually goes south, and added another 30 minutes to our trip for absolutely no reason.

Beer, pizza, coffee, and a lot of walking to places that we decided not to go into once we got there, ended our night. Princess joined us for the coffee and the walking. Greg Hill was along for the whole trip (who apparently has/had deep secrets about going to the bathroom at church as a kid). He and Roy (who, for the record DOES NOT have a distant cousin in Spain) stayed at "my place" for the night, as they were flying out with the rest of the band from JFK airport this morning.

This all got me thinking, "I should really have more interesting things to talk about on my blog, but I honestly can't have many original thoughts after days like this - which seem to happen to me far too often." On that note...

.meshach.

... a case of "the Icks" (pt 4)

There is a restaurant in Union Sq called "Coffee Shop". It's name is meant to be ironic, I guess. Lots of people go there. It's trendy, hip, over priced for it's quality, and welcomes patrons from every shade of snob. At midnight tonight Princess, The Hate, and myself, having been turned away from the place we actually wanted to eat, and knowing that most every other kitchen would be closed, headed for Coffee Shop for supper. I had not before had the priviledge, and tonight was an "occasion" as I finally got paid for being in New York - a milestone for many reasons.

Our "waitress" was either an unfortunately frail and feminine man with breasts, long fingernails, and hair-extensions, or a slightly masculine girl with the social grace of Lurch (from the Adams' family) and a probable crack addiction. We couldn't decide. "Lurchess" kept staring at me (as the Hate was quick to point out), and called me "baby" and/or "sugar" when I asked for something. Alas, my charming disdain wasn't enough to get us moved out of the kiddy pool and into the adult swim area, and I was stuck in the aisle of the patio to be bumped and jarred by every passer-by, having been refused my request for relocation by the she-beast with huge feet. In the middle of it all, Princess claimed to have gotten "a sudden case of the Icks."

It was a bumping kinda day. Directly in front of my building on my way home this afternoon, I brushed shoulders with Bill Murray. He was obviously out for a jog, wearing shades, a bandana, and thigh-high blue running shorts, and humming to himself. He made eye contact as I passed, smirked, and kept humming. I didn't meet him. Never said a word. But he knew. He'd met greatness.

...
Strike that.
Reverse it.
...

I'll close tonight with a story. A short one, I hope. "The Girls" brought up tonight that though we've exchanged lots of information about our current lives, and they have each shared lots of erratic facts about college and their home lives, I haven't "expounded" on any particularly "scandolous" or "funny" stories about mine. I asked if they wanted "scandolous" or if they wanted "funny". They said both. I'm not sure I have either, and I'm not sure why I asked. So here's a random one. It's an excerpt from a book I'm working on about my parent's lives.

Princess.
The Hate.
Enjoy.

................


Looking back, it probably wasn’t that great. If I were to hear it now, I wouldn’t be impressed, I think.

Stephen was a coke-addict when he came to live with us. His life was broken, and Dad helped him fix it. At about 18, he was older than most boys we took in. No one knew he was a musician.

Stephen was sharp-tongued and street-wise. He was cool-looking, well dressed, and incredibly intimidating. Asked later to recall his first impression of Stephen, my dad said, "He was the meanest teenager I've ever met in my life. I was honestly scared of him."

We loved him immediately, even when we were afraid of him, which, for me, was pretty often. I think I was 11.

Mom plays the piano, so we’ve always had one. I don’t remember not having one close-by. Stephen just kinda sat down one day and played. If I were to hear it today, I probably wouldn’t listen for long. He would just play, and I, and a few others (we followed him around the way zombies follow the living), we would just sit and listen.

I don’t remember what he played. I do remember trying to do it myself. Only when he wasn’t there. Stephen. When he was gone, I’d sit down and just hit keys and try to “let it happen”. It was terrible. Even then.

Stephen was charismatic, tender, and intense. He was passionate about whatever he said, and he worked himself ragged, always with a smile. This isn’t to say he didn’t have his struggles.

I’d wake up late on Saturday and hear the daily publication of gossip around Stephen running away to score drugs, and come back after a night of heavy partying and some crazy story about him beating up some of the other boys. I don’t even know exactly how much of it was true, but he did seem to lapse a lot over the course of a few years.

Oh, but when he played, my God.

Still, if I heard it today, it’d probably be crap.

I remember the first day he came to live with us. We stopped at wal-mart on the way home. I don’t know why we picked him up. Most people got dropped off at our house by their P.O., some school official, a Pastor, or their parents. Anyway, he told me his brother liked to skateboard, and I immediately wished I wasn’t terrified of skateboards. Not so much the boards, but falling from them in motion. He was instantly the kind of person you wanted to please. The guy who you wished liked you. The guy who’s respect you wanted to earn. To deserve. To not need.

The same day, his first day, was the second time in my life I heard someone say something “sucks”. The first was years before when Greg Primm (a counselor at the home, and Principal of the private school), in one of his classic moves, called all the boys from the school outside. All 20 or so of us. All ages. He wanted us to stop saying things “sucked”. He said it was a perverted word. This was around 1986 (so I was about 7). I was lost, but I remember thinking, “Wow, what a great word. Why is it dirty?”

Stephen said it about my Nintendo. He couldn’t beat the 3rd level of Super Mario Bro.'s. This was about four years after I'd heard it the first time. I felt grown up. I knew what he meant.

I told on him.

I hoped when he got in trouble for saying it, he’d see the light, come back to me, and have tremendous respect for my honesty. My integrity. My conviction.

The same day, after being assigned his bunk bed, he beat the crap out of one of the guys. I don’t remember which one. I just know Stephen won the fight. As soon as the light went off, he warned the guy to stop doing something, I think smacking gum.

Well, he warned him.

I don’t think he ever got in trouble for his language that day. There were bigger fish to fry.

Stephen became a staple for our ministry. He was “the” success story. I’m sure a lot of people were jealous of him. I know I was. I didn’t know we weren’t competing. All I knew was he got a lot of attention. I mean, a lot. He was so cool, so dangerous, so smart, so sincere, so rude, so… Stephen.

Stephen professed, profaned, and pretended a lot in those first few years. But after a while, the days of his random escapades grew less frequent, and the days I’d see him volunteering to clean the kitchen for my mom, or sitting under a tree reading his Bible, or practicing his guitar grew steadily more prevalent.

My dad started asking Stephen to travel with him to churches. Dad would speak to raise money for the ministry, but the opening act would be this handsome ex-drug addict to sing a song on his guitar. This violent, institutionalized thug. This tender, sweet-spirited musician.

I knew this marked a change.

I had to make some changes too.

I had to learn to play the guitar.

Stephen loaned me his guitar to learn on. I'd go to the dorm, where he lived, and pick it up on Sunday nights. I'd keep it until Monday, when I'd have my lesson, then return it on Tuesday morning.

When Stephen died, I was about 14, I think. The guitar was given to me. A month ago, for the first time since then, I parted ways with it, leaving it in Texas with my parents while I moved to New York.

I know that, looking back, he probably wasn't some amazing musical freak. If I heard him now, I would probably be unimpressed. I'm a "man of the world" now (or so I'd like to think). I've seen it all when it comes to music and instrumental prowess. Still, sometimes when I play, I can't help but hope I'm someday able to "play like Stephen".

...

I told you. Neither scandalous, nor funny.
Meshach.

... and the Fiery Furnaces.

A few of you have asked about my sudden "change" of name. "'David Jackson' is such a simple, rock star name, why would you change it?", you ask. And I will respond, "Google David Jackson." Six or seven years from now, when you're done reading the 132,000,000 results, come back and tell me what a unique and great name it is.

Don't get me wrong. I love my name. I think it's all the things you friends of mine have said it was. I don't expect or require that many of you call me "Meshach", but the simple fact is, if you google "Meshach Jackson", you get 12 results. Most of these (8, I think) are about this kid. Big shoes to fill, I know. But I'm up for the challenge.

My logic is simple. I don't expect you to know me only as Meshach Jackson from here on out (though I just bought the domain name: meshachjackson.com), I just expect you to associate ME with that name. When you hear of Meshach Jackson doing something great, unless that something great is winning a grade school spelling bee, or preaching at 11 (well... that one is a toss up), then you should, from here on out, think of me.

Here's the story behind it. My Dad, a southern Christian minister, wanted to have 3 boys. He wanted to name them "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego" - like the story in the Bible. However, my mother talked him out of naming my older brother "Shadrach", stating the logical problem, "Do you really wanna bet on having 3 boys in a row?"

I have 4 brothers now, and 2 sisters (I was the second of three boys born in a row). My legal name is James David Joshua Jackson. I could've been named Meshach. I'm just fulfilling my dad's dream, that's all.

So, give me your opinions. Comment on how cheesy it is to change everything now. Leave me voicemails telling me to stop the nonsense.

Meshach is staying.
I like it.

I'll answer to my slave name, "David". Just like I've always answered to "James" at the DMV, hospital, court, and school. Just like I answered to "watermelon head" in Jr High. Just like I answered to "Muffin" at Camp Liberty.

But I will, from here on out, whenever I can remember, introduce myself as "Meshach" (MEE-SHACK).

Stuff I love that I'll totally understand if you don't...

To Whom It May Concern:

I realize that I have ... peculiar tastes. I like a lot of things that very few other people enjoy. Understandable. I'm a preacher's kid, I work in technology, and I have spent the huge majority of the past 10 years in the indie music scene. I'm bored by political loyalty. I'm disengaged by predictable romantic comedies. I'm generally unimpressed with pop culture.

Having said all of that, there are a handful of things that I enjoy that I cannot actually endorse for anyone else. There are sounds, sights, colors, themes, feelings, and moments that strike a nerve with me and make me grateful which, having experienced the same, you may very well have the distinct feeling that your head is going to explode. I would like to list a few of those things here, if I may, just to clear the air. (This is not a line in the sand as much as an intervention I'm performing on myself.)

• Aqua Teen Hunger Force, The Brak Show, and others - I simply can't get enough of this, and I MAY know 2 other people on the planet who share my addiction. However, here they are.
  
  
• Blonde Redhead, Bjork, Tom Waits, and others - I have no intention of converting you on this, but the way Blonde Redhead blends their poppy melodies with intimately daunting vintage tones, or the way Bjork grunts and scraps in the middle of her damn-near-perfectly articulated lyrics and flawlessly discomforting production, or Tom Waits' ... Waits... iness.
  Jeeeeeeeze.
  Can't.
  Get.
  Enough.
  
  
• Chuck Palahniuk, Quentin Tarantino, Irvine Welsh - I know. It's "violent" and "gratuitous", but they're just so GOOD AT IT! Fight Club for me, like many people, was the introduction to Chuck P's work. But Choke, Haunted, Diary, Stranger than Fiction, and a few others later, and I've gotten some strange internal callousness that won't allow me to be moved by much else.
  
  Until I see the newest Tarantino film. Exposing a new and revolting side of both Hollywood (he does Hollywood so well that it makes Hollywood look stupid) and bad guys in general, QT has made my list of the top 10 people I'd pay money to meet if I could.
  
  Trainspotting is a great movie. But the book makes "To Kill a Mockingbird" look like it was scribbled in cat urine on an alley wall. Irvine Welsh creates worlds on paper (and therefore, in your mind) that will give you jitters at night and nightmares during the day. He shows you a way that people's everyday life can progress into utter surrealist chaos. Apocalyptic on an individual level. For that, I'm grateful.

This is my post for the day. Deal with it.

Princess, Meshach, and the Hate between them... (Living in the City pt 3)

A friend of mine who, for reasons far outreaching the scope of this blog will hereafter be referred to as "the hate", came back into town tonight. She's from L.A., or somewhere nearby (but really, it's all L.A. to people who don't live there, isn't it? Just like Louisiana is all New Orleans and New York is all... okay, that one makes sense), and has spent the last month traveling the country attending weddings of close friends and family. The Hate introduced me to my first New York-based friend, hereafter known as "Princess".

Princess is from Alaska. She and the Hate are pretty much the same person when it comes to interests, and all but polar opposites in personality. It's worth noting that they are each over 5'10", and generally wear heels, standing at 6'3" or more, shadowing me, and most guys. Princess calls the three of us her "Urban Family".

"The Family" was together for the first time tonight as the Hate returned to the city from her hiatus. She quickly settled us all in for a midnight pig-out of cheesy fries, bagel and salmon, and a fat, plain cheeseburger.

The Hate has established herself as the middle sibling. Centralized in age, she's also the median in that she's nicer than me, but meaner than Princess. She's interested in design (one thing the whole Family has in common - Princess is going to Parsons for a graduate degree in Fashion, and the Hate is an innovative and inspiring photographer), she's grounded enough to bring me up to the common social graces of the New York scene, and keeps Princess leveled with her common sense and brutal honesty.

Princess has gotten involved with a Messianic Jewish Synagogue in town, and frequently discusses Israel and Jewish law as a point of reference in almost any conversation. We compromised tonight on not watching the O'Reilly Factor (my request, Princess conceded), if I don't make them watch South Park (which I will cheat on whenever I can). Instead, Princess had us watching Will & Grace, Frasier, and Golden Girls... On mute. There are still some kinks to work out in this Family, but we'll get there.

I like the idea of an Urban Family. I hope we can stay together.

... to be continued.
- Meshach.

For those who don't give a crap, skip this one...

Here's the latest:

• I found a job. I started working at fusebox.com as a Flash Developer recently, and I'm very excited about the possibilities.
• Rosco has begun adjusting to the city by repeatedly crapping and pissing in all the wrong places, and by picking on every dog that weighs less than 60 lbs in the dog park.
  
• My addiction to poker reached an all time low recently when I woke up in the middle of the night sweating because I dreamt that I caught a bad beat with my 3 Aces, losing to a full house on the river.
• I've seen Julia Styles (walking in my neighborhood), Fred Armisen (at *$'s in Union Sq), and Alan Kalter (lives 2 blocks from me) since I've been here.
• My record is coming along. I am almost in mix-down stage. We're polishing up vocals, adding a few layers here and there, and it's finally starting to sound like a record. Hopefully, this will be released sometime this fall, but we'll have to wait and see.
• For those who've been following the other posts, Dakota is definitely prego.

- more coming later.
Meshach

New York Summer Survival Checklist... (living in the city pt 2)

1. Baby Powder - Can't have enough of this covering those hard-to-reach areas. The ONLY way to prevent chaffing. What you want is a snug fitting pair o' "drawers" and your gentlemen covered in the softest white powder you can find. Absorption. That's what it's all about. Geezum, it's hot.
2. Flip-flops - Thongs, Sandals, whatever. I remember being a kid and complaining about being cold at night during the winter. My mom would always tell me to first go get some socks on (I have always hated sleeping in socks, but when it's cold... this works), and secondly, use a few blankets. "Layers, sweetie. It's all about layers". Well, beating the heat requires the exact opposite. If you can flop around in beach attire to work, go for it. However, and I can't stress this enough, don't try free-ballin' it! The guy's swimsuit is not condusive to walking 60 blocks a day (see #1 in this list).
3. Water - Not to drink, but to pour down your pants when the powder has absorbed so much sweat that you can feel the chunks of dough balling up and rolling down your leg.
4. Grappling Hook - 'Cause it's still New York, and you never know.
5. Iced Coffe / Frappucino, etc. - You don't have to slack on the stimulants just 'cause it's hot out. Get yourself a Venti Frappucino (the adult version of a slurpy - gay, but adult), and save the water for the crotch.
6. Backup Deodorant - You want 3 cans at least. #1 for home. Cake it on, get ready for it to melt. #2 at work. #3 in your gay man-purse ('cause you'll frequently find yourself needing to refresh while out).
7. An Indoor Job - Standing on the sidewalk cooking stir-fry all day long for sales reps on the go has got to be the worst job in the city right now. Second, MAYBE, to construction, but at least construction workers get to break and walk away from the heat. Go in the shade. These street vendors just go from standing over a stove to walking home in one. Bet they carry a lot of powder on 'em.