So I get anxiety attacks. So what. So sometimes I'm standing in line at starbucks during a perfectly productive and normal day, and my mind starts racing about some particular topic, and I suddenly realize that my heart is racing, and I'm standing in a cold sweat. I have a headache within seconds, and my breathing is irregular. It's not necessarily the same thing that sets me off, but I would have to say that the large majority of these mental rampages are close to the topic of money. Not having it, but... well, not having it.
I'm drinking hot coffee now. I have been a total wuss about my cafeine intake until this Saturday.
"Single Grande No-Whip Mocha Frappucino, Please. Oh, and can you put that in a Venti cup?" That was even a step up for me. A year ago, I couldn't stand the taste of espresso, so I would get the grande caramel frappucino. Whip cream and all. Now, I've progressed beyond my wildest dreams.
"Single Grande No-Whip Mocha, Please." See the difference? IT'S HOT!!! That's the difference. I have been a clumsy fool when it comes to hot drinks for the duration of my life thus far. Now, having clearly established that I am ill-prepared for the New England winter at hand, I am taking my first steps toward full-body warmth. Hot mocha. With a shot. So I'm warm, and jittery.
A new member of my ever-swelling and contracting inner-circle of influential relationships (hereafter referred to as "Lektor") has helped with a couple of the other steps. She's begun buying me wool hats that cover my ears and are "soooo cute" on me. I've generally had a helluva time finding hats, 'cause my head is so big, it's just slightly not a planet (I feel your pain, Pluto), so the new headwear is greatly appreciated. Gloves, on the other hand, have not yet been added to my 3 ft of closet space, but should be soon.
I'm rambling, but that's mainly 'cause I have only about 3 things on my mind, and I am not allowing myself to discuss any of them here... yet. I just really want to get over this anxiety, and get back to my luscious hot mocha.
Oh, and... go out and buy the latest cd by the roots. Now. And get ready to ... well, have your face melted.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Monday, October 09, 2006
Research and Development for Rheumatoid Authritis
She's training to be a physical therapist,
and in the mean time, she's a certified palates instructor
this to say that she's incredibly beautiful
this to say that she can do the splits
this to say that she's incredibly smart and funny
this to say sharp, with her wits.
she's training for a marathon that she will never win
it's not that kind of race
it's the kind that everybody wins just for running,
and everyone cheers for everyone else
it's the kind where all the proceeds go to R&D4RA
this to say Research and Development for Rheumatoid Authritis
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She says we haven't yet figured out what causes rheumatoid authritis
but we think we've got it narrowed down to two things
it's either women's periods, or smoking
so everyone put down your cancer sticks and stop the bleeding all the time
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, what's with all the bleeding?
If you smoke, you'll never run a marathon
and that's the only way we ever raise any money for this crap
dozens of people all over Florida are suffering from this terribly disease
and all you can think about is a lousy drag
oh, and your period.
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She wants to learn spanish by the end of the summer,
'cause she's going to Brussels in the fall.
she says if you get lost anywhere in Europe, you can speak spanish and they'll help you out.
the locals will think you're local too,
and since no one likes america but americans, it works out for everyone
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, Español.
She wants to be ironic, and iconic, and funny
she wants to wear Manolo Blahnik, and make money
she wants to sip her gin and tonic,
and discuss her last colonic
and pretend that all her dark days are sunny
She wants to learn the difference between wrong and right
and feign interest in leaning to the latter
she wants me mad when she has to break a date
but when she breaks a heel, be madder.
she's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She says that she likes the cordoroy pants the best 'cause they go squish, squish when I walk.
and in the mean time, she's a certified palates instructor
this to say that she's incredibly beautiful
this to say that she can do the splits
this to say that she's incredibly smart and funny
this to say sharp, with her wits.
she's training for a marathon that she will never win
it's not that kind of race
it's the kind that everybody wins just for running,
and everyone cheers for everyone else
it's the kind where all the proceeds go to R&D4RA
this to say Research and Development for Rheumatoid Authritis
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She says we haven't yet figured out what causes rheumatoid authritis
but we think we've got it narrowed down to two things
it's either women's periods, or smoking
so everyone put down your cancer sticks and stop the bleeding all the time
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, what's with all the bleeding?
If you smoke, you'll never run a marathon
and that's the only way we ever raise any money for this crap
dozens of people all over Florida are suffering from this terribly disease
and all you can think about is a lousy drag
oh, and your period.
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She wants to learn spanish by the end of the summer,
'cause she's going to Brussels in the fall.
she says if you get lost anywhere in Europe, you can speak spanish and they'll help you out.
the locals will think you're local too,
and since no one likes america but americans, it works out for everyone
She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, Español.
She wants to be ironic, and iconic, and funny
she wants to wear Manolo Blahnik, and make money
she wants to sip her gin and tonic,
and discuss her last colonic
and pretend that all her dark days are sunny
She wants to learn the difference between wrong and right
and feign interest in leaning to the latter
she wants me mad when she has to break a date
but when she breaks a heel, be madder.
she's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.
She says that she likes the cordoroy pants the best 'cause they go squish, squish when I walk.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Of The Metaphore That Angels Fall
It's true, dear
The metaphore that Angels fall
and of all the fallen Angels found
it's you that I find
You fall for
a reason unknown to me
but a reason just the same
you didn't fall just to rhyme
And it's falling
that makes you so cold
so hard, and so bitter
and so just out of reach
I've fallen
to feel a kindred soul with you
and hope you show me what to do
to find the core of your peach.
She means broken
when she says tired
She means lonely
by uninspired
So sue me
I only wanted time to sing
I never meant to mend your wings
featherless and lame
I've no regrets
save standing at the door
and waving farewell, but well
they're regrets just the same
She means never
when she says soon
She means my eyes
by the light of the moon
A hundred thousand stars are out tonight.
And they all fall down. They all fall down.
A hundred thousand stars are shining bright.
To watch you hit the ground.
'Cause we all fall down. We all fall down.
The metaphore that Angels fall
and of all the fallen Angels found
it's you that I find
You fall for
a reason unknown to me
but a reason just the same
you didn't fall just to rhyme
And it's falling
that makes you so cold
so hard, and so bitter
and so just out of reach
I've fallen
to feel a kindred soul with you
and hope you show me what to do
to find the core of your peach.
She means broken
when she says tired
She means lonely
by uninspired
So sue me
I only wanted time to sing
I never meant to mend your wings
featherless and lame
I've no regrets
save standing at the door
and waving farewell, but well
they're regrets just the same
She means never
when she says soon
She means my eyes
by the light of the moon
A hundred thousand stars are out tonight.
And they all fall down. They all fall down.
A hundred thousand stars are shining bright.
To watch you hit the ground.
'Cause we all fall down. We all fall down.
Here's what I meant. That's what I said.
I said I wanted to say one more thing. I meant I wanted you to hear me the first time.
I said it made me want to listen more. I meant it made me want to weep.
I said tired. I meant on the verge of falling apart.
I said I liked it. I meant it made me want to love you.
I said in a few days. I meant immediately, or sooner, if possible.
I said it frustrated me. I meant I wanted to punch him in the throat.
I said we have a lot in common. I meant you remind me of my dreams.
I said there's something off. I meant I want to crawl into a cave and disappear for a month.
I said I miss you. I meant to not hurt you by admitting I'm feeling home here.
I said I hate you, and I laughed. I meant the laughter.
I said not to worry about it. I meant that if I worried more about it, I'd go insane.
I said I'd be there. I meant I feel stuck there.
I said I'd pray. I meant I wish I would have prayed before.
I said I'd call. I meant don't leave.
I said I knew a guy. I meant sometimes I feel...
I said you should have been there. I meant you should never be away again.
I said I feel trapped. I meant I feel the weight of failure for staying still.
I said I could handle it. I meant I want to be strong enough.
I said what I meant once. Now I can't take it back.
I said it made me want to listen more. I meant it made me want to weep.
I said tired. I meant on the verge of falling apart.
I said I liked it. I meant it made me want to love you.
I said in a few days. I meant immediately, or sooner, if possible.
I said it frustrated me. I meant I wanted to punch him in the throat.
I said we have a lot in common. I meant you remind me of my dreams.
I said there's something off. I meant I want to crawl into a cave and disappear for a month.
I said I miss you. I meant to not hurt you by admitting I'm feeling home here.
I said I hate you, and I laughed. I meant the laughter.
I said not to worry about it. I meant that if I worried more about it, I'd go insane.
I said I'd be there. I meant I feel stuck there.
I said I'd pray. I meant I wish I would have prayed before.
I said I'd call. I meant don't leave.
I said I knew a guy. I meant sometimes I feel...
I said you should have been there. I meant you should never be away again.
I said I feel trapped. I meant I feel the weight of failure for staying still.
I said I could handle it. I meant I want to be strong enough.
I said what I meant once. Now I can't take it back.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Smile Sample
Download the sample of Smile, the first single from my new album. Lemme know what you think.
Thanks for listening.
Meshach
Thanks for listening.
Meshach
Heaven, Hell, and the Inches (or Ions) between
I don't THINK I'm bipolar, but God, I feel like it sometimes. It seems like I'm speaking in exactly the same way that I spoke yesterday, but somehow, that's not what anyone hears.
When one person calls you an ass, don't sweat it.
Then, I go through my day, and while I interact with people I can see their expression reflect the discomfort that whatever I'm saying (or however I'm saying it) is causing them. It's like having a huge pimple on the tip of your nose, and not knowing it. Or maybe, just Oral Malodor that somehow escapes my own nostrils. (Sinuses. That's the problem.)
Now that pimple is causing me pain for no reason. Not pain. Discomfort. Whatever this thing is growing out of my face is causing me frustration and confusion, and I'm lost as to how to remove it. Should I be on medication?
Nothing will ever go as planned. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. In the end, you will most certainly be alone.
Ray Lamontagne, The Roots, MuteMath, TV On The Radio, The Mars Volta, DJ Shadow, Kasabian, and Beck have all released records recently. This is the time, I guess. A new friend, Mario Vasquez, just released his record as well, and all signs are pointing to it doing well. Meanwhile, my record is in post-production. It's slow-going, and I'm more anxious than ever to let people hear it. So, I'm uploading a small sample. Hopefully today. Not in this post, but I'll work on it.
Cornelius Rosco P Coltrane Jr. is doing well. Heartguard and a new rubber toy ball helped a lot. He's putting on weight again (somewhere around 70lbs now), and hopefully will stay healthy, obedient, and intimidating for a long time - (my only goals for his life).
My car, recently towed and rescued (long story), is now back up for sale on Craigslist. Click the enormous link on the top of this site to buy it. Please.
The real problem with Halitosis is that no one cared about bad breath until Listerine invented the word.
I'm going to buy Beck and Kasabian's new records today. That should help the funk. Not my breath (as far as I know, it's fine), just the ... other funk. The one I can't find, but everyone else sees. Hell. I need something. I had two different people yesterday comment on my being "off".
If two people call you an ass, buy a saddle.
When one person calls you an ass, don't sweat it.
Then, I go through my day, and while I interact with people I can see their expression reflect the discomfort that whatever I'm saying (or however I'm saying it) is causing them. It's like having a huge pimple on the tip of your nose, and not knowing it. Or maybe, just Oral Malodor that somehow escapes my own nostrils. (Sinuses. That's the problem.)
Now that pimple is causing me pain for no reason. Not pain. Discomfort. Whatever this thing is growing out of my face is causing me frustration and confusion, and I'm lost as to how to remove it. Should I be on medication?
Nothing will ever go as planned. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. In the end, you will most certainly be alone.
Ray Lamontagne, The Roots, MuteMath, TV On The Radio, The Mars Volta, DJ Shadow, Kasabian, and Beck have all released records recently. This is the time, I guess. A new friend, Mario Vasquez, just released his record as well, and all signs are pointing to it doing well. Meanwhile, my record is in post-production. It's slow-going, and I'm more anxious than ever to let people hear it. So, I'm uploading a small sample. Hopefully today. Not in this post, but I'll work on it.
Cornelius Rosco P Coltrane Jr. is doing well. Heartguard and a new rubber toy ball helped a lot. He's putting on weight again (somewhere around 70lbs now), and hopefully will stay healthy, obedient, and intimidating for a long time - (my only goals for his life).
My car, recently towed and rescued (long story), is now back up for sale on Craigslist. Click the enormous link on the top of this site to buy it. Please.
The real problem with Halitosis is that no one cared about bad breath until Listerine invented the word.
I'm going to buy Beck and Kasabian's new records today. That should help the funk. Not my breath (as far as I know, it's fine), just the ... other funk. The one I can't find, but everyone else sees. Hell. I need something. I had two different people yesterday comment on my being "off".
If two people call you an ass, buy a saddle.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Smile
You can cry all you want, until you're facing things
You can write a lovely song that no one will ever sing
You won't change a thing.
You can glad-hand or worse, grin to cast your spell
You can quote chapter and verse, and still be wrong as hell
You won't change a thing.
Catch me if you can, I'm falling like a star into your sky
You won't change a thing.
You can write a lovely song that no one will ever sing
You won't change a thing.
You can glad-hand or worse, grin to cast your spell
You can quote chapter and verse, and still be wrong as hell
You won't change a thing.
Catch me if you can, I'm falling like a star into your sky
You won't change a thing.
Obsoletely.
If I have any southern pride, it's very little, and deep into my subconscious. I hope it stays there. I love my heritage. I love my family. I love my home. But I'm not more "proud" to be from the south than ... not.
Being "nice" means absolutely nothing to me. When I looked up "nice" in the dictionary, I get words like "obsolete, wanton, dissolute, coy, reticent, finicy, delicacy, trivial, agreeable, socially acceptable, respectable, polite."
Not all that appealing, to me. "obsolete", "agreeable", "appropriate". In other words, "Adjustable to other people's fickle desires". I have no intention of ever again, being nice.
However.
I have to subscribe to the belief that there is intrinsic value in being a "kind" person. The difference is this. Being "nice" is meaningless. Being "kind" is being generous. Being "nice" is smiling and nodding in a conversation. Being "kind" is having empathy for someone while you're talking and engaging them to inspire confidence and trust. Being "nice" is socially acceptable. Being "kind" will get you into a lot of trouble.
You read that right.
I don't think it's because I'm from "the south". I think it MIGHT have something to do with growing up in church (though I must admit that most people in that world are anything but kind. Nice, maybe. But not kind.) But I have to learn to draw the line. Being kind is exhausting. It's involved. It's hard. It's not worth it to be kind to everyone. It's a great thought to try, but I'm learning that it's really not worth it. So here's what I propose...
Screw it. Be Kind. Just be a generous, kind, trusting person. You absolutely will piss people off. You will get hurt. You will want to stop being kind. Don't. There is no alternative to being hurt. You will be. There is no means of making everyone happy (which is what being Nice is for). When it's all said and done, there is only you. And you have to live with yourself. You have to justify to only yourself your actions. Your motives are clear as crystal to you. Your excuses are shot down when you give them to yourself.
Don't be fake.
Screw being nice.
If you can, with any energy you have, give. Be kind. It won't pay off, but that's not why you're doing it.
Being "nice" means absolutely nothing to me. When I looked up "nice" in the dictionary, I get words like "obsolete, wanton, dissolute, coy, reticent, finicy, delicacy, trivial, agreeable, socially acceptable, respectable, polite."
Not all that appealing, to me. "obsolete", "agreeable", "appropriate". In other words, "Adjustable to other people's fickle desires". I have no intention of ever again, being nice.
However.
I have to subscribe to the belief that there is intrinsic value in being a "kind" person. The difference is this. Being "nice" is meaningless. Being "kind" is being generous. Being "nice" is smiling and nodding in a conversation. Being "kind" is having empathy for someone while you're talking and engaging them to inspire confidence and trust. Being "nice" is socially acceptable. Being "kind" will get you into a lot of trouble.
You read that right.
I don't think it's because I'm from "the south". I think it MIGHT have something to do with growing up in church (though I must admit that most people in that world are anything but kind. Nice, maybe. But not kind.) But I have to learn to draw the line. Being kind is exhausting. It's involved. It's hard. It's not worth it to be kind to everyone. It's a great thought to try, but I'm learning that it's really not worth it. So here's what I propose...
Screw it. Be Kind. Just be a generous, kind, trusting person. You absolutely will piss people off. You will get hurt. You will want to stop being kind. Don't. There is no alternative to being hurt. You will be. There is no means of making everyone happy (which is what being Nice is for). When it's all said and done, there is only you. And you have to live with yourself. You have to justify to only yourself your actions. Your motives are clear as crystal to you. Your excuses are shot down when you give them to yourself.
Don't be fake.
Screw being nice.
If you can, with any energy you have, give. Be kind. It won't pay off, but that's not why you're doing it.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
Giant steps.
He doesn't know it, but he's not so big. He tries to be. Big, I mean. He tries.
To be big. To be strong. To be unbreakable. He's not unbreakable. He's not even that big.
All my life, he's tried to be big. He's tried to get bigger, stronger, tougher, scarier, more fearless. He got there.
Now, he is so afraid of not being what he's worked so hard to be... that he's not. He's afraid, and that makes him small. He's concerned, and that makes him nervous. His nerves make him vulnerable. He's far too afraid to be vulnerable.
That side of him just isn't there yet. The side of him that takes the hit when no one cares how big he is. The side of him that breaks when he feels like he can't get any bigger. The side that wakes in a cold sweat after the dream about being small. That side of him is weak. Frail. Afraid.
There is a mouse in this Giant. There is a boy wearing the crown in that kingdom. There is a traitor in his army of one.
It's him. He's so obviously afraid of only himself. And of how small only he really knows he is. Still he tries. But I know, too.
There is a part of me that sees him as me. There is a part of me that wants him to be stronger. To be unbreakable. To arrive at the invisible place he's been going to forever. To be big. Part of me wants to be big like him. But the other part knows better. The other part knows that I can be. And that scares us both.
It scares him to think that he can work his whole life to become something that I could be in a year, if I wanted to. And I'm not that big. I'm just... not him.
The other part, though. The other part of me knows that if I did, I'd be just as scared as him. The other part of me knows that if I was ever as strong, as fearless, as unbreakable as him, that we'd both crumble.
I'd lose knowing that there's always someone out there bigger than me. He'd lose everything. He'd suddenly be small. Not to anyone else. Just me.
The one who needs him.
To Be.
Big.
To be big. To be strong. To be unbreakable. He's not unbreakable. He's not even that big.
All my life, he's tried to be big. He's tried to get bigger, stronger, tougher, scarier, more fearless. He got there.
Now, he is so afraid of not being what he's worked so hard to be... that he's not. He's afraid, and that makes him small. He's concerned, and that makes him nervous. His nerves make him vulnerable. He's far too afraid to be vulnerable.
That side of him just isn't there yet. The side of him that takes the hit when no one cares how big he is. The side of him that breaks when he feels like he can't get any bigger. The side that wakes in a cold sweat after the dream about being small. That side of him is weak. Frail. Afraid.
There is a mouse in this Giant. There is a boy wearing the crown in that kingdom. There is a traitor in his army of one.
It's him. He's so obviously afraid of only himself. And of how small only he really knows he is. Still he tries. But I know, too.
There is a part of me that sees him as me. There is a part of me that wants him to be stronger. To be unbreakable. To arrive at the invisible place he's been going to forever. To be big. Part of me wants to be big like him. But the other part knows better. The other part knows that I can be. And that scares us both.
It scares him to think that he can work his whole life to become something that I could be in a year, if I wanted to. And I'm not that big. I'm just... not him.
The other part, though. The other part of me knows that if I did, I'd be just as scared as him. The other part of me knows that if I was ever as strong, as fearless, as unbreakable as him, that we'd both crumble.
I'd lose knowing that there's always someone out there bigger than me. He'd lose everything. He'd suddenly be small. Not to anyone else. Just me.
The one who needs him.
To Be.
Big.
Spin.
She walks the way a spider spins it's web.
Each step spits her foot in front of her.
It lands, and grips down.
Her body leans back in rebellion against the momentum.
The muscles of her thigh contract and whip the rest of her into place, and she spits again.
I have to wonder, "Does she drink poison like the rest of them?
Does she know what she wants?
Does she sing loudly with the radio to a hairbrush wearing her curtains like a veil?
Does she cry when she's lonely?
Does she ever let herself get lonely?
Does she suck the nectar from her day like she's diseased, and laughter is the antidote?
Does she dress to look like that?
Or does she just look like that?
Does she want to be seen?
Does she want to say hello?
Does she want me to do that for her?"
Hi.
She walks the way a spider spins it's web.
Each step spits her foot in front of her.
It lands, and grips down.
Her body leans back in rebellion against the momentum.
The muscles of her thigh contract and whip the rest of her into place, and she spits again.
I have to wonder, "Does she drink poison like the rest of them?
Does she know what she wants?
Does she sing loudly with the radio to a hairbrush wearing her curtains like a veil?
Does she cry when she's lonely?
Does she ever let herself get lonely?
Does she suck the nectar from her day like she's diseased, and laughter is the antidote?
Does she dress to look like that?
Or does she just look like that?
Does she want to be seen?
Does she want to say hello?
Does she want me to do that for her?"
Hi.
She walks the way a spider spins it's web.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Talk to strangers.
When I decided to move to New York, I started telling friends about how much I loved this city, and how desperate I was to be there. I had experienced the city only on vacation, for one week, during perfect weather, with money to spend.
Everyone who had lived there, or lived there now, told me all the things that I should expect. They told me to expect to pay more for everything. Then I got here and there were Wendy's, Taco Bell's, and Pizza Huts all over Manhattan. So... pay more if you plan to live like a New Yorker. (this is obviously excluding rent... I'll get to that)
I was told to expect to walk everywhere. What I wasn't told was that by doing so, my total number of used shoes per year would go up by about 5000%.
I was told to expect New Yorkers to be rude by everyone who HADN'T lived here. I was told the opposite by everyone who had. What I wasn't told is that "being rude" has completely different definitions for those two types of people. For people who live here, there are so many people, every day, asking you to stop walking where you're going, just essentially to waste as much of your time as possible. Selling you a cd of absolutely horrible hip-hop. Talking to you about donating to the "help this gay guy get an apartment in the lower west side" fund. Taking a survey to ask how you feel about the Wakashu tribe in Burkina Faso and their plite. The thing is, I don't have time to stop. Honestly. Because...
I was NOT told to expect for EVERYTHING to take longer to do here. If you want to go to the grocery store and buy bread, you're going to stand in line. Not wait behind a few people at the register. I'm talking about Cold War Russia stand in line. I mean, you stand in line for everything. They didn't tell me that. They didn't tell me.
You.
Will.
Wait.
In Line.
For.
Ever.
y.
Thing.
Sometimes, the lines move pretty quickly, because the stores here are used to handling long lines all day. So there are employees at "Trader Joes" (the major grocery in my neighborhood) or "Whole Foods" who simply stand at the start of the lines (about 10-15 lines form at a time - each a few dozen people deep... all day) and just direct traffic. "Sir, you can head to register 27, it's the 4 one past the 2nd pole on your left." "Ma'am, go to register 13. It's the closest to the 2nd exit door on from the right."
I was told lots of things about the city that weren't lies. Weren't really misleading, even. It's just that you really have to be here to experience it to understand. You see, if you expect to stand in line for absolutely everything, you plan for it. You never go to the store just for bread. You go with a list. You make it quick. You go with a friend, who gets in line for you as soon as you get there, and you shop quickly so you're done by the time they get to the front. You also never go with a large list, 'cause you're gonna have to carry all of it home when you're done. 4 bags, no matter how full, is pretty much the max. I am very fortunate to live near Union Square (where both of the aforementioned grocery stores are), and I still have a 15 minute walk one-way. Carrying a bag of dog food on one shoulder, and 4 bags of groceries in one hand gets old after a block. I walk about 12. About 2wice a week.
Then we get to the prices of things. Let's break this down. When I moved here, I was coming from a place where I spent about 35% of my monthly income on "home" (rent, utilities, cable, etc...), and another 45% or so on everything else (phone, car, insurance, food, etc...) and then I'd use pretty much all the rest on "gear" (new computer, guitar, paying for recording costs, etc...).
In the city, if you want to live in Manhattan, you're not going to need a car. So after all the expences add up, you get back about 20% or more that you don't have to spend now. Then, you just spend the rest on rent, right?
Sure. Except. You also need to have, on average, about 5 - 8 months rent ready. In cash. To get an apartment. You will NOT find a place for less than $1500 a month to live by yourself. Don't even look. You're going to move to Harlem, the Bronx, or MAYBE you'll find something in Brooklyn for that (again, if you're living alone). Not only that, but you need, on average, to prove an annual salary of about 40-60 times your monthly rent. That means if your rent is $1500 a month, you have to not only have about $10k to put down on an apartment, but then you need to prove that you make about $60k a year. Now, you'll make more money in New York, if you have the skill set to get a job here. However, if you don't move here with cash (which, I didn't), and your job doesn't pay for relocation (which, mine didn't), then you need what every New Yorker seems to have or have needed at some point... a couch buddy. You need a friend who will let you stay on their couch, use their shampoo, move their leftovers around in the fridge to make room for yours, tolerate your schedule, etc... for usually half the rent. (This, thankfully, I had - Matthew saved my life).
Now you're here. You've got a job, a place to stay, money coming in (and going out), and a plan (save, work, save, work, save, and save). I'm set.
Then I settled in. What No One told me about moving to New York are the subtle, psychological things that go along with it. The things that happen completely internally. The things that effect your mind. I was prepared for crowds of people being everywhere. I was prepared for loud traffic and constant distractions. I was prepared to see celebrities that eat at the same diners, and go to the same bookstores. But I wasn't prepared for the conflict.
What no one told me about New York was something that I really should have just figured out. That is: No matter what it is you want, you can find it here. Want sports? Everywhere you go, people are ready and willing to talk about the Knicks, the Yankees, the Giants, etc... Want religion? There are churches, cathedrals, mosks, synagogues, and temples everywhere. Want Entertainment? The best music, movies, art, and culture in the world finds it's way here.
What I really couldn't have gotten myself prepared for is the second part of that statement. The obvious opposite implication. That is: No matter what it is you are afraid of, you will be confronted with it here.
Afraid of conflict? People will tell you what they think, 'cause they don't have time for pleasantries when they're upset. They have somewhere to be, and they will tell you off in time to make their meeting.
Homophobic, Racist, aloof? There are flamboyant drag queens, strange "what is that?" couples, and (my personal favorite to see) Glamorous Gay Gangsters (think soft pastel colors of sports jersey's tied in knots at the stomach, drenched in Bling and Gold, talking ghetto with a lisp). There are truly intimidating thugs, built like GI Joe's, and constantly talking trash about violence to whomever is nearby. There are homeless people who will call you out and threaten you if you ignore them (but most of them are grateful if you treat them like a human). There is every cartoon-like character of every stereotype you can imagine.
Finally, there is the silence. What no one told me, and what I could not have possibly prepared myself for, is the simple majority of your day that you, out of basic courtesy for people around you (and they are ALWAYS around), are quiet. I work in an office where I share an open room with about 40 people. Not cubicles, just desks with the occasional dividing wall. I live with a roommate in a 13x15 ft apartment with a half kitchen, one bed, a futon, and a dog pin. You're never alone on the subway. You're never alone on the street. I find myself speaking about 1/2 as many words each day just because I'm simply trying "not to be loud". When I take a phone call at home, if my roommate's there, I go out into the stairwell so I can talk without disturbing him, 'cause there's no where else to go.
And somehow despite the constant crowds and the long lines, there is an unmistakable loneliness that hits you when you finally settle in. And that's where it breaks.
That's where you start becoming a "New Yorker", I think. When you learn to break through the silence with overt pleasantness and kindness and just ... talk to strangers. Standing in line at the grocery is the perfect time to talk to someone. It doesn't matter any more that they'll probably never see you again. You can see them now. So you talk to them. You talk about the weather. Because they're a human being, and if they've been here for more than a week or two, they feel the same way as you. They want contact. I want contact. I pine for community. I can't wait for Sunday so that I can make it to church and just connect with other human beings that I can count on to be there. I can't wait to go out so I can communicate with people, anyone.
I'm still in love with this city. But I feel the honeymoon ending, and I'm glad for it. I want to love it when the flame of being in love has burned out. I want to live here when I would rather be elsewhere. I want New York to keep me when I want to leave. But to get there, I've got to learn to perfect the art of talking to strangers.
Your friend and mine,
Meshach
Everyone who had lived there, or lived there now, told me all the things that I should expect. They told me to expect to pay more for everything. Then I got here and there were Wendy's, Taco Bell's, and Pizza Huts all over Manhattan. So... pay more if you plan to live like a New Yorker. (this is obviously excluding rent... I'll get to that)
I was told to expect to walk everywhere. What I wasn't told was that by doing so, my total number of used shoes per year would go up by about 5000%.
I was told to expect New Yorkers to be rude by everyone who HADN'T lived here. I was told the opposite by everyone who had. What I wasn't told is that "being rude" has completely different definitions for those two types of people. For people who live here, there are so many people, every day, asking you to stop walking where you're going, just essentially to waste as much of your time as possible. Selling you a cd of absolutely horrible hip-hop. Talking to you about donating to the "help this gay guy get an apartment in the lower west side" fund. Taking a survey to ask how you feel about the Wakashu tribe in Burkina Faso and their plite. The thing is, I don't have time to stop. Honestly. Because...
I was NOT told to expect for EVERYTHING to take longer to do here. If you want to go to the grocery store and buy bread, you're going to stand in line. Not wait behind a few people at the register. I'm talking about Cold War Russia stand in line. I mean, you stand in line for everything. They didn't tell me that. They didn't tell me.
You.
Will.
Wait.
In Line.
For.
Ever.
y.
Thing.
Sometimes, the lines move pretty quickly, because the stores here are used to handling long lines all day. So there are employees at "Trader Joes" (the major grocery in my neighborhood) or "Whole Foods" who simply stand at the start of the lines (about 10-15 lines form at a time - each a few dozen people deep... all day) and just direct traffic. "Sir, you can head to register 27, it's the 4 one past the 2nd pole on your left." "Ma'am, go to register 13. It's the closest to the 2nd exit door on from the right."
I was told lots of things about the city that weren't lies. Weren't really misleading, even. It's just that you really have to be here to experience it to understand. You see, if you expect to stand in line for absolutely everything, you plan for it. You never go to the store just for bread. You go with a list. You make it quick. You go with a friend, who gets in line for you as soon as you get there, and you shop quickly so you're done by the time they get to the front. You also never go with a large list, 'cause you're gonna have to carry all of it home when you're done. 4 bags, no matter how full, is pretty much the max. I am very fortunate to live near Union Square (where both of the aforementioned grocery stores are), and I still have a 15 minute walk one-way. Carrying a bag of dog food on one shoulder, and 4 bags of groceries in one hand gets old after a block. I walk about 12. About 2wice a week.
Then we get to the prices of things. Let's break this down. When I moved here, I was coming from a place where I spent about 35% of my monthly income on "home" (rent, utilities, cable, etc...), and another 45% or so on everything else (phone, car, insurance, food, etc...) and then I'd use pretty much all the rest on "gear" (new computer, guitar, paying for recording costs, etc...).
In the city, if you want to live in Manhattan, you're not going to need a car. So after all the expences add up, you get back about 20% or more that you don't have to spend now. Then, you just spend the rest on rent, right?
Sure. Except. You also need to have, on average, about 5 - 8 months rent ready. In cash. To get an apartment. You will NOT find a place for less than $1500 a month to live by yourself. Don't even look. You're going to move to Harlem, the Bronx, or MAYBE you'll find something in Brooklyn for that (again, if you're living alone). Not only that, but you need, on average, to prove an annual salary of about 40-60 times your monthly rent. That means if your rent is $1500 a month, you have to not only have about $10k to put down on an apartment, but then you need to prove that you make about $60k a year. Now, you'll make more money in New York, if you have the skill set to get a job here. However, if you don't move here with cash (which, I didn't), and your job doesn't pay for relocation (which, mine didn't), then you need what every New Yorker seems to have or have needed at some point... a couch buddy. You need a friend who will let you stay on their couch, use their shampoo, move their leftovers around in the fridge to make room for yours, tolerate your schedule, etc... for usually half the rent. (This, thankfully, I had - Matthew saved my life).
Now you're here. You've got a job, a place to stay, money coming in (and going out), and a plan (save, work, save, work, save, and save). I'm set.
Then I settled in. What No One told me about moving to New York are the subtle, psychological things that go along with it. The things that happen completely internally. The things that effect your mind. I was prepared for crowds of people being everywhere. I was prepared for loud traffic and constant distractions. I was prepared to see celebrities that eat at the same diners, and go to the same bookstores. But I wasn't prepared for the conflict.
What no one told me about New York was something that I really should have just figured out. That is: No matter what it is you want, you can find it here. Want sports? Everywhere you go, people are ready and willing to talk about the Knicks, the Yankees, the Giants, etc... Want religion? There are churches, cathedrals, mosks, synagogues, and temples everywhere. Want Entertainment? The best music, movies, art, and culture in the world finds it's way here.
What I really couldn't have gotten myself prepared for is the second part of that statement. The obvious opposite implication. That is: No matter what it is you are afraid of, you will be confronted with it here.
Afraid of conflict? People will tell you what they think, 'cause they don't have time for pleasantries when they're upset. They have somewhere to be, and they will tell you off in time to make their meeting.
Homophobic, Racist, aloof? There are flamboyant drag queens, strange "what is that?" couples, and (my personal favorite to see) Glamorous Gay Gangsters (think soft pastel colors of sports jersey's tied in knots at the stomach, drenched in Bling and Gold, talking ghetto with a lisp). There are truly intimidating thugs, built like GI Joe's, and constantly talking trash about violence to whomever is nearby. There are homeless people who will call you out and threaten you if you ignore them (but most of them are grateful if you treat them like a human). There is every cartoon-like character of every stereotype you can imagine.
Finally, there is the silence. What no one told me, and what I could not have possibly prepared myself for, is the simple majority of your day that you, out of basic courtesy for people around you (and they are ALWAYS around), are quiet. I work in an office where I share an open room with about 40 people. Not cubicles, just desks with the occasional dividing wall. I live with a roommate in a 13x15 ft apartment with a half kitchen, one bed, a futon, and a dog pin. You're never alone on the subway. You're never alone on the street. I find myself speaking about 1/2 as many words each day just because I'm simply trying "not to be loud". When I take a phone call at home, if my roommate's there, I go out into the stairwell so I can talk without disturbing him, 'cause there's no where else to go.
And somehow despite the constant crowds and the long lines, there is an unmistakable loneliness that hits you when you finally settle in. And that's where it breaks.
That's where you start becoming a "New Yorker", I think. When you learn to break through the silence with overt pleasantness and kindness and just ... talk to strangers. Standing in line at the grocery is the perfect time to talk to someone. It doesn't matter any more that they'll probably never see you again. You can see them now. So you talk to them. You talk about the weather. Because they're a human being, and if they've been here for more than a week or two, they feel the same way as you. They want contact. I want contact. I pine for community. I can't wait for Sunday so that I can make it to church and just connect with other human beings that I can count on to be there. I can't wait to go out so I can communicate with people, anyone.
I'm still in love with this city. But I feel the honeymoon ending, and I'm glad for it. I want to love it when the flame of being in love has burned out. I want to live here when I would rather be elsewhere. I want New York to keep me when I want to leave. But to get there, I've got to learn to perfect the art of talking to strangers.
Your friend and mine,
Meshach
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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.
I passed Monday, August 21, 2006
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@$$ Mother F@#$er who don't take no $hi2 from no body", has no idea what was waiting for him behind that big metal door. He doesn't know that there are scissors somewhere back there or some knife, that will end his sex drive for ever. He just knows there were lots of little dogs and whining cats, that he was hungry, and they all looked pretty tasty.
He weighed in at a healthy (and now official) 59 lbs. As an 8 month old, that's pretty freakin' good. He also scared the crap out of a full grown german shepherd when I wasn't looking, 'cause he wanted to play, and threw the shepherd on the ground before the owner knew what to do.
"Sorry. He doesn't mean any harm. He's just a lot more manly than your dog. But don't worry, the nice people here are gonna cut off his nuts in a couple hours, then your wussy dog will be okay."
For the record, I don't normally think like this about Rosco. When small dogs come up, I make him lie on his back so they can sniff him and so Rosco knows he's not supposed to eat them. But today I feel (and I think this is understandable) nostalgic about my dogs testicles.
The "bright side" to all of this is that he'll no longer feel the need to mark his territory while he's IN the apartment. He'll also (supposedly) be more submissive when we're walking as he won't feel the need to dominate other dogs. Then again, the down side is...
They're cutting.
Off.
His freaking.
Balls.
Rosco is a male dog.
Male dogs have balls.
Rosco, as of this afternoon, will no longer have balls.
After that, he'll only be a male in spirit and mind.
And, in that he'll (soon) not squat to pee.
That sucks.
Rosco, also known as "the bad@$$ 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.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
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.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
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:
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:
- learn to speak French (explicit)
- 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."
- 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.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
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...
... 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. 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
