Friday, November 15, 2002
Ok, so this counds completely stupid . . . fruity fruit flies? who chooses these things to study? I dunno, I mean what's the prupose? The only thing more stupid sounding could be this . . . Oh yeah, my office is right by the women's bathroom . . . and some lady just got CLOCKed in the head by the door, OUCH !!! I hope she's alright . . . :O
Right on with your right on . . . so today is Friday, and I'm a bit closer to the deadline for that paper. But I feel like a long road stretches out ahead of me still.
I tutored last night, and learned again how valuable that service really is, even though those getting the tutoring may be unawares. I mean who can blame them: sixth grade, are you really concerned about career choice or your future? more likely you're concerned with what's for dinner, any good shows on TV, how cool will tomorrow's field trip to the zoo be . . . stuff like that. It just became painfully apparent that these kids need some real help, and given half a chance, well it's better than no chance. Their bad situation isn't my fault, and so I can't feel too bad about where they are. What I can do is continue tutoring, and so I will. OK, I'm stepping off the soap box now . . .
They had free (sorta) breakfast today in the building. A conference on 3rd floor had the full breakfast spread, The food was cold and everybody from the conference was in the conference rooom heavy into their pre-conference chitter-chatter. Occasionally you get a hairy eyeball (not Curt Connolly) from the person who cooordinated the event, suggesting that if your'e not part of the conference then bugger off and leave that food alone. But then the rationale of a hungry man comes through: Hey, everyone form the conference is in THERE, this food is cold and there's lots of it. What does that say about our society when we have excesses and don't share with those who are without? what kind of message are we sending the children (although that argument is one to use cautiosly: nobody wants to be known as the man who hid behind a child... )? And the flow of counters to the question, "What are you doing with that food?" (which never came anyways) continued until, smiling with my filled plate, I got back on the elevator and returned to my office. But nobody said anything to me aobu it. In reality, I doubt if anybody would've said much . . . if anything it would've been, tell the folks on your floor to hurry up and get some before the caterer's cart it all away. That's usually how it goes, once the intended guests/recipients have been fed, it's a free for all for all in the building.
I tutored last night, and learned again how valuable that service really is, even though those getting the tutoring may be unawares. I mean who can blame them: sixth grade, are you really concerned about career choice or your future? more likely you're concerned with what's for dinner, any good shows on TV, how cool will tomorrow's field trip to the zoo be . . . stuff like that. It just became painfully apparent that these kids need some real help, and given half a chance, well it's better than no chance. Their bad situation isn't my fault, and so I can't feel too bad about where they are. What I can do is continue tutoring, and so I will. OK, I'm stepping off the soap box now . . .
They had free (sorta) breakfast today in the building. A conference on 3rd floor had the full breakfast spread, The food was cold and everybody from the conference was in the conference rooom heavy into their pre-conference chitter-chatter. Occasionally you get a hairy eyeball (not Curt Connolly) from the person who cooordinated the event, suggesting that if your'e not part of the conference then bugger off and leave that food alone. But then the rationale of a hungry man comes through: Hey, everyone form the conference is in THERE, this food is cold and there's lots of it. What does that say about our society when we have excesses and don't share with those who are without? what kind of message are we sending the children (although that argument is one to use cautiosly: nobody wants to be known as the man who hid behind a child... )? And the flow of counters to the question, "What are you doing with that food?" (which never came anyways) continued until, smiling with my filled plate, I got back on the elevator and returned to my office. But nobody said anything to me aobu it. In reality, I doubt if anybody would've said much . . . if anything it would've been, tell the folks on your floor to hurry up and get some before the caterer's cart it all away. That's usually how it goes, once the intended guests/recipients have been fed, it's a free for all for all in the building.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
Ok some good stuff today and some bad stuff, all relative to hearing and the ears. Seems you need BOTH (good and bad) to keep you honest (you need both ears to hear real well).
So here's the bad news or the bad scene rather: A knock on the door . . . I'm seated at my desk and can't see who's at the door what with the shelving unit in the way. Bossman is out of town so I don't know who it could be.
Me: "Si' . . . come in . . . " (Door slams shut)
X: "Nice personals ad, Dickhead."
Me: "I guess you were looking in the personals . . . hmmm."
X: "Yeah, the date on it was the best part. You're a jerk."
Me: "Yeah, I guess you were, uhmmm, looking in the personals."
X: " Celebrity I most look like: Jack Skellington? uh-huh! And the best lie ever told was about that National Merit Scholars picture in your yearbook? You suck . . . "
See, there's nothing quite like gnawing on your typing foot in the AM. How do you explain when a vestige of your former life (running a personals ad) comes back to haunt you. What happened was this: I get an email notice that I can place a free personals ad. So I did. Apparently, even without a photo of myself, I put enough recognizable info in it, that if a certain someone finds it (not the beautiful charming and witty stranger girl you hope will email, you but the one you hope WON'T see it, but then they did) then you're in hot water. Well, you look like a jerk because the post date precedes the break date. So it's not hot water, but more like jerk sauce sautee:
"Hi, my name is Matt, I'll be your jerk today. Our soup special is Sloppy Covering-your-tracks Joe, and our dessert is Poor Timing Pudding.
Maybe you'd like a nice agitator for starters?" Needless to say, I got no sympathy for my lack of repsonses to said personals ad.
The only consolation I have is the break preceded this incident. I still feel like a jerk though . . .
. . . and now the good news . . .
I have this kooky dream last night, or this morning rather, because I awoke from it a bit before the alarm. And I awoke with a song in my head. Hmmm... gotta like that. :P Somebody was singing to me in my dream. Well take my word that it was good and no I didn't drive my roommates crazy or bother them by singing in MY sleep. So that event turns into a song, completed, by 8 AM. Granted it doesn'thave all the intricacies of whatever it's final thing may be, but the framework and LYRICS are all set. That's the hardest part for me are the lyrics. So I have a new song.
There you have it: the good the bad, let's just hope there's no ugly . . .
So here's the bad news or the bad scene rather: A knock on the door . . . I'm seated at my desk and can't see who's at the door what with the shelving unit in the way. Bossman is out of town so I don't know who it could be.
Me: "Si' . . . come in . . . " (Door slams shut)
X: "Nice personals ad, Dickhead."
Me: "I guess you were looking in the personals . . . hmmm."
X: "Yeah, the date on it was the best part. You're a jerk."
Me: "Yeah, I guess you were, uhmmm, looking in the personals."
X: " Celebrity I most look like: Jack Skellington? uh-huh! And the best lie ever told was about that National Merit Scholars picture in your yearbook? You suck . . . "
See, there's nothing quite like gnawing on your typing foot in the AM. How do you explain when a vestige of your former life (running a personals ad) comes back to haunt you. What happened was this: I get an email notice that I can place a free personals ad. So I did. Apparently, even without a photo of myself, I put enough recognizable info in it, that if a certain someone finds it (not the beautiful charming and witty stranger girl you hope will email, you but the one you hope WON'T see it, but then they did) then you're in hot water. Well, you look like a jerk because the post date precedes the break date. So it's not hot water, but more like jerk sauce sautee:
"Hi, my name is Matt, I'll be your jerk today. Our soup special is Sloppy Covering-your-tracks Joe, and our dessert is Poor Timing Pudding.
Maybe you'd like a nice agitator for starters?" Needless to say, I got no sympathy for my lack of repsonses to said personals ad.
The only consolation I have is the break preceded this incident. I still feel like a jerk though . . .
. . . and now the good news . . .
I have this kooky dream last night, or this morning rather, because I awoke from it a bit before the alarm. And I awoke with a song in my head. Hmmm... gotta like that. :P Somebody was singing to me in my dream. Well take my word that it was good and no I didn't drive my roommates crazy or bother them by singing in MY sleep. So that event turns into a song, completed, by 8 AM. Granted it doesn'thave all the intricacies of whatever it's final thing may be, but the framework and LYRICS are all set. That's the hardest part for me are the lyrics. So I have a new song.
There you have it: the good the bad, let's just hope there's no ugly . . .
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
From mike melczak:
a poetry
The Toy Maker
a toy-maker made a toy wife and a toy child. he made a toy house
and some toy years.
he made agetting-old toy, and he made a dying toy.
the toy-maker made a toy heaven and a toy god.
but, best of all, he liked making toy shit.
russel edson, 1976
OK, so who is Russel Edson? Is he for real? yes . . . although I had to ask Mr. Google, because one never knows for sure with melczak, he's crafty like that. I think he likes to keep us on our toes. :)
a poetry
The Toy Maker
a toy-maker made a toy wife and a toy child. he made a toy house
and some toy years.
he made agetting-old toy, and he made a dying toy.
the toy-maker made a toy heaven and a toy god.
but, best of all, he liked making toy shit.
russel edson, 1976
OK, so who is Russel Edson? Is he for real? yes . . . although I had to ask Mr. Google, because one never knows for sure with melczak, he's crafty like that. I think he likes to keep us on our toes. :)
For the Sondre Lerche guy . . . go to the KCRW link and give him a listen. also, check back there next week to give Tahiti 80 a listen, there pretty good for a bunch a frogs .... i saw them play Club Cafe last week when my friend Sarah Lentz opened for them. (check out Sarah at www.sarahlentz.com)
OK, I'm gonna try to do some repairs/adjustments to this page, see how it goes.
Class yesterday: I actually learned something! The concept of ideological hegemony is kinda cool. It's one of the one syoou know about, but didn't know you knew about.
Hegemony is a form of social control. It's a form of apparent social consensus created by dominant social groups in order to maintain a status quo, even if that status quo is inequitable.
Ideology is a system of values or beliefs that shape how we interpret the world and our behavior towards other people.
So . . . Ideological hegemony is thus a system of values or beliefs that appear to be shared by consensus with other folks and is maintained by "consensus" even if it's not equal. Now, run with that one for a sec, and see where you go . . . and then come back to me with it. Consider how this works in relations to thing slike prupose of schooling, religion, race, politics and how the media fits in to these things. It's knida sticky/stinky and it may sting. Sounds like something you'd find in the desert? Hmm... you may be in the desert. (not directed at those parties who actually DO live in the desert, just speaking metaphorically about our culture).
In the menatime, or for when you come back, check out Sondre Lerche (pronounced "sondruh lair-kay")... he's a young Norwegian guy who's got some good pop sensibilities. He sounds vocally like Donovan, Jeff Buckley, and then musically like he went to the Beatle academy. Other alums of the Beatle academy include Liz Phair, Eliot Smith, Dave Matthews and Beck. There's a ton more, but these are some fave's of mine, and you'd recognize any alums pretty quickly.
Class yesterday: I actually learned something! The concept of ideological hegemony is kinda cool. It's one of the one syoou know about, but didn't know you knew about.
Hegemony is a form of social control. It's a form of apparent social consensus created by dominant social groups in order to maintain a status quo, even if that status quo is inequitable.
Ideology is a system of values or beliefs that shape how we interpret the world and our behavior towards other people.
So . . . Ideological hegemony is thus a system of values or beliefs that appear to be shared by consensus with other folks and is maintained by "consensus" even if it's not equal. Now, run with that one for a sec, and see where you go . . . and then come back to me with it. Consider how this works in relations to thing slike prupose of schooling, religion, race, politics and how the media fits in to these things. It's knida sticky/stinky and it may sting. Sounds like something you'd find in the desert? Hmm... you may be in the desert. (not directed at those parties who actually DO live in the desert, just speaking metaphorically about our culture).
In the menatime, or for when you come back, check out Sondre Lerche (pronounced "sondruh lair-kay")... he's a young Norwegian guy who's got some good pop sensibilities. He sounds vocally like Donovan, Jeff Buckley, and then musically like he went to the Beatle academy. Other alums of the Beatle academy include Liz Phair, Eliot Smith, Dave Matthews and Beck. There's a ton more, but these are some fave's of mine, and you'd recognize any alums pretty quickly.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
OK, the last few days have been rather interesting.
I have recently become a free agent, a loose cannon, or whatever you want to call it. There was no bad air, no bad blood, just one of those things where the fire sorta flickers out. There was no invisible hand (for you laissez faire economists), and no, there was no hand that belongs to another woman snuffing out the candle. It just went out.
Right, so this happens Thursday. Friday I go out, and according to some wierd social phenomenon, perhaps pheromones are at play here, or who knows what ... the ladies were Friendly. It;s like they knew that I;m in the window period (one leg slung over the sill if you will) between a broken relationship and being out there on the field. So what gives? why do they pay atteniton when you're in that space that makes you 'hands off'? Why? All I know is it'll be a little while ya know til the renovations are complete, and until then, I'm laying low.
Yeah, so jumping to yesterday (Monday). I wake up from this dream having no idea what to expect of the day to come. In the dream, I'm playing in a play. It's a minor part, I'm in like two brief scenes, maybe I'm Lady MacBeth's milkman or something, but they give me a cool costume, and then AND THEN after all the rehearsals, they cut my scenes on opening day, entirely. "Oh, you watch the show from the wings, Matt. Just stay out of the way. And hang the costume up when you're done wearing it." Sheesh!!! Can you believe it? well it was my dream and some unknown character squashed it. Se if I EVER cast them in a feature length dream of mine again. anyways, I digress. The show goes on, it's marvelous, it's enough to make you weep tears of joy, or at least make you say "Dang!" if you're not under the influence. SO the shows over, I drop off my costume, and leave with Madge and Marty, who were in the show. And on the drive home, I'm feeling dejected and they suggest that i buck up, because it wasn't MY show, it wasn't MY costume and if they didnt' keep me in it, no sweat. It's their show and their loss. Theres' better things to come that i'll have a hand in, including stuff with MAdge and Marty. And I wake up for work.
So at work, i get email saying that as of Saturday, Madge and Marty are still hep to playing an open mic gig at the Rex Theater.
And I should come play some songs too. So I ask if that's still going on, no word in response. nothing till I get home and call madge and she calls back. So while I'm waiting, I sit and play the piano a bit, a knock on the door: It's Jim;s buddy Justin. He;s a cool cat. We chat about politics and education, and Jim comes down and I start some dinner, offer them some, they both decline. Another knock on the door: there's Gabby. she says, hey whatcha makin' Dunegan? Spencer steaks in a pan, rice, spinach. And so I offer her some, she accepts. In the interim, Madge calls, says "We;re on, i'll see you at 7:30. Marty's coiming a bit after." So, hanging out with everyone usptairs later, I haven't really said anything to anybody outside of jim and justin that I'm gonna go to the Rex later. (They do open mic night there Mon - Wed., but I havne't done a open mic since last fall, and an impromptu-song-thinger (that doesn't really count) at Quiet Storm last spring is all i've done as far as playing out since... ) Gabby says, Somebodys knocking on the door, so I go to answer, figuring it must be madge. It's Gabby's friend Autumn with her guitar. I just met autumn like a few days before. Didn't even know she played guitar. She says, yeah, I'm going to open mic later tonight. Huh, how funny cuz so am I? so long story longer, madge and ;marty and autmumn and I go down to play, all get along royally, have a lot of fun, are all well recieved, and are all thinking about getting together to play sometime. Oh yeah, and that Autumn girl can sing and write songs that kinda mess with you, in that who-dares-to-be-so-honest sorta way. But they're good. huh who knew? So hopefully, ther'ell be more good news to follow on that front.
I have recently become a free agent, a loose cannon, or whatever you want to call it. There was no bad air, no bad blood, just one of those things where the fire sorta flickers out. There was no invisible hand (for you laissez faire economists), and no, there was no hand that belongs to another woman snuffing out the candle. It just went out.
Right, so this happens Thursday. Friday I go out, and according to some wierd social phenomenon, perhaps pheromones are at play here, or who knows what ... the ladies were Friendly. It;s like they knew that I;m in the window period (one leg slung over the sill if you will) between a broken relationship and being out there on the field. So what gives? why do they pay atteniton when you're in that space that makes you 'hands off'? Why? All I know is it'll be a little while ya know til the renovations are complete, and until then, I'm laying low.
Yeah, so jumping to yesterday (Monday). I wake up from this dream having no idea what to expect of the day to come. In the dream, I'm playing in a play. It's a minor part, I'm in like two brief scenes, maybe I'm Lady MacBeth's milkman or something, but they give me a cool costume, and then AND THEN after all the rehearsals, they cut my scenes on opening day, entirely. "Oh, you watch the show from the wings, Matt. Just stay out of the way. And hang the costume up when you're done wearing it." Sheesh!!! Can you believe it? well it was my dream and some unknown character squashed it. Se if I EVER cast them in a feature length dream of mine again. anyways, I digress. The show goes on, it's marvelous, it's enough to make you weep tears of joy, or at least make you say "Dang!" if you're not under the influence. SO the shows over, I drop off my costume, and leave with Madge and Marty, who were in the show. And on the drive home, I'm feeling dejected and they suggest that i buck up, because it wasn't MY show, it wasn't MY costume and if they didnt' keep me in it, no sweat. It's their show and their loss. Theres' better things to come that i'll have a hand in, including stuff with MAdge and Marty. And I wake up for work.
So at work, i get email saying that as of Saturday, Madge and Marty are still hep to playing an open mic gig at the Rex Theater.
And I should come play some songs too. So I ask if that's still going on, no word in response. nothing till I get home and call madge and she calls back. So while I'm waiting, I sit and play the piano a bit, a knock on the door: It's Jim;s buddy Justin. He;s a cool cat. We chat about politics and education, and Jim comes down and I start some dinner, offer them some, they both decline. Another knock on the door: there's Gabby. she says, hey whatcha makin' Dunegan? Spencer steaks in a pan, rice, spinach. And so I offer her some, she accepts. In the interim, Madge calls, says "We;re on, i'll see you at 7:30. Marty's coiming a bit after." So, hanging out with everyone usptairs later, I haven't really said anything to anybody outside of jim and justin that I'm gonna go to the Rex later. (They do open mic night there Mon - Wed., but I havne't done a open mic since last fall, and an impromptu-song-thinger (that doesn't really count) at Quiet Storm last spring is all i've done as far as playing out since... ) Gabby says, Somebodys knocking on the door, so I go to answer, figuring it must be madge. It's Gabby's friend Autumn with her guitar. I just met autumn like a few days before. Didn't even know she played guitar. She says, yeah, I'm going to open mic later tonight. Huh, how funny cuz so am I? so long story longer, madge and ;marty and autmumn and I go down to play, all get along royally, have a lot of fun, are all well recieved, and are all thinking about getting together to play sometime. Oh yeah, and that Autumn girl can sing and write songs that kinda mess with you, in that who-dares-to-be-so-honest sorta way. But they're good. huh who knew? So hopefully, ther'ell be more good news to follow on that front.
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