Wait For It

In the middle of yet another long wait - this seems to be the structure of my life, now.  You've done what you can, and now you just have to sit tight.

In the meantime, I always do my best to fill time with things to do.  And then I wonder why I always feel so down when I finish up.

Feh.

D.

Cape May Memories

Sketch that I did when Yesenia & I went down to Cape May the week after Memorial Day.  My wife is a beautiful, sexy and very patient woman.

D.

What I Won't See

People keep asking me if I'm going to see Prometheus, Ridley Scott's new not-really-but-actually-yes prequel to Alien.  And I keep telling them that I won't.  There are a number of issues at play here, not least of which was that the original film was one of the taboo films of my childhood and established firmly that horror is not for me.

But now I'm an adult, and the type of horror that Scott dishes out is well within my tolerances.  So the real answer to the question of why I won't see Prometheus boils down to this: I think Scott is a lousy director.  He is simply not for me, and had made his way onto the list of directors whose films I avoid, simply because I know what he does and I don't think it's much good.

The main thing about his films is that they're astoundingly stupid.  Stylish and trying to talk about big issues, but talking about them in a brain-dead, half-drunk way, like a really handsome, well-dressed guy who got into college on a football scholarship taking his first Philosophy survey but only capable of processing the ideas as 'cool' on a stoner level.

Really, is there anyone out there that thinks Thelma & Lousie is an important feminist statement?  Or G.I. Jane?  It's quite telling that the lead player in most of Scott's films over the last decade has been professional belligerent manmeat Russel Crowe, a decent actor who clearly isn't nearly as deep as he desperately wants to be in real life.  Which is why he throws phones at people and threatens to beat up awards show producers who cut off his poetry reading.

There you go: an adult male who flies into a violent rage because he isn't allowed to finish reading a poem on a TV show in between the awards for best on-screen kiss and best sound editing.  That is pretty much the way I feel about Ridley Scott movies, in a nutshell.  When actual adults start making real science-fiction movies, maybe I'll go see them.  Until then, I'll stick with the kids films.  At least they know they're for kids.

D.

I Needed That

Ahhhhh.  Today is the last day of a week's vacation that Yesenia and I took off together.  Nothing major - started with a nice party at the house (our first party party in over a year!) on Sunday, then a lovely breakfast with John and gf Johanna on Monday - they took advantage of the guest bedroom... well, guest office with air mattress.  Then mostly lazy stuff, with a nice trip down to Cape May and a stroll down the nicely uncrowded Ocean City boardwalk on the way back.  Perfect weather, no crowds - almost a science-fiction version of the Jersey Shore.

Friday began the actual recording of the much-anticipated (only by me, but still) lost Copper Man album, Americana.  This is the project that's going to occupy much of my summer and at least a few hours of the summer of as many musicians as I know who are willing to do it.  As usual, great drummers are easy for me to come by, but guitarists are thin on the ground.  Still, given the more stripped down sound I'm going for with this, I can handle all of the rhythm guitar work and bass, and hopefully be able to drop in the ringers strategically for the three or four songs that could really use that extra guitar polish.

As mentioned, as one half of the pair of great drummers, Sean trouped in and delivered three outstanding tracks.  This being the first time Sean was exposed to the direct Dave Kopperman arrangement process - a mixture of snarky comments and completely indecipherable directives - the fact that he was able to turn in such great performances even with me as an obstacle is nothing short of miraculous.

Three songs down, twenty to go.

Saturday, Yesenia and I took a shortish-longish drive up to Highland Mills to visit a winery, one of our more favorite types of day-killers.  As we stood at the bar in the shop, making our way through the tasting flight, Yesenia asked me (not unbidden) when I had become such a wine snob.

Well, I said, it was the one-two punch of our trips together to Napa and Mendoza.  Would she want me any other way?  

She said no.  I wanted to follow up and ask her if she wanted me the way I already am, but I didn't feel like pressing my luck.

D.

Here Comes Nothing

How does one prepare for the first paid vacation in years?  I'd like to know, as next week is such an event - really, the first time I've been able to take actual paid time off in so long that I hesitate to even say.  Let's say 2007, although given that the ad agency was already pretty spotty at that point, it never really felt like I was on vacation.

Now, I can leave and other people will pick up the slack.  How sweet is that?  I wonder if I remember how to relax...

D.

More or Less More

Been attempting to gear up for recording, which (if you'll recall) is a big part of this year's creative agenda.  That is, the agenda is to actually be creative, which can sometimes fall by the wayside when you're focusing on other things.  One of the things about recording, though - while I've done plenty of the 'one man band' types of things that multitrack recording allows, I find these days I much prefer producing music as a collaborative activity.

And there's the rub: all of my collaborators have schedules that I - and they - could only describe as 'insane.'  One of the predictable byproducts of the recession is how much more companies are trying to get out of their current stable of employees, and with Edz, the drummer for both the Tappan Sea and Dave solo stuff (same person, of course) currently working nights and Saturdays, the actual creative agenda for the year hasn't quite been able to get off the ground.*

I've been able to use the time to get my own stuff in order - polishing off songs that have sat with unwritten lyrics; sussing out the pool of musicians to get some nice instrumental overdubs when the time comes; etc.  But at some point, you need the energy that comes from actually starting work, and I'm itchy. No doubt about it.

Anyway, Edz will become available in a couple of weeks, and I'm also going to track a few of the solo songs with Sean on drums shortly, so that's sorting itself out.  Oddly, I've always found strong drummers easy to come by.  It's the lack of available guitar players that's always been my achilles' carpal tunnel syndrome. What's that about?

D.

*A note of explanation, if you need: drums generally come first in multitrack recording.

Well Day

Took the day off from work this morning - was not feeling well, and figured that one of the benefits of being a full-timer is that I now don't have to risk getting other people sick.  Corporations like freelancers for the obvious reason that they save them money on benefits and the like, but a way that freelancers cost companies money is in the fact that since a freelancer gets paid hourly and doesn't get paid if they don't work - no paid sick days, in other words - a freelancer is way more likely to show up to work if they're sick, and then get all of their co-workers sick.

It's all about man-hours, people.

Back in 2010, there was a freelancer who came in complaining that her husband had some viral infection that wouldn't go away and doctors couldn't quite identify it.  Then she proceeded to come in for the next few days with an increasingly alarming cough that gradually evolved into a full-on hacking one.  And she was in the cube next to mine, which put me in a dilemma - if I got as sick as she was, would I also insist on coming in, seeing as how Yesenia and I were both working through spotty part-time work at that point?  The answer is a resounding yes.

Thankfully, I didn't catch it, and I didn't have to make that choice.  Today I can make the more ethical choice, which, if you extrapolate out to a silly degree, probably proves the idea that moral standards are a luxury of the rich, and everyone else just has to play along.

D.