First up, Advertising: September 9th is the day after my birthday and I’m playing at the Double Door with Ratasucia and the Swayback from Denver. Come out and let’s party, as it will be my birthday party. You guys are all invited. Don’t be a dildo, come hang. Okay, back to the ‘prepared’ remarks.
Hey yall. It’s been a busy week for me. I started off in the studio with a photographer who was documenting some of the recording process and staying on my couch. He left and about 2 hours later a different photographer showed up to stay on my couch and shoot my promo shots and album cover. I’ve also been up to my dick in getting this goddamned movie up and running (for those of you not aware, I wrote and directed this movie a couple of summers ago and it’s finally getting up to speed to be sold, trotted around to festivals and ultimately ignored), I had to go deal with my kid’s new school (nothing weirder than going to a school event as a parent. It’s vastly more pressurized than going as a kid), the muffler fell off my car, I got a blowout outside the place that sells the three-holed skimasks I needed for my photoshoot, and I changed a tire on the street, only to show up to the photo shoot covered in sweaty grime. A hobo sat at my table at the coffee place. I couldn’t find a model to help realize the vision of the album cover until about fifteen minutes before the shoot started, I haven’t slept in years, my wife got captured by pirates Wednesday night and I’m kind of panicking about if I can, in fact get this record recorded and mixed and up to speed before its imminent and quickly approaching release date. I’ve been inundated with writing projects (which is WAY better than not having any work, but still…makes for a busy week) And my daughter has stopped napping entirely and she’s only 1. That’s bullshit on a grand scale, folks.
This is, I’m acutely aware, a long-winded list of ‘first world’ or ‘white people’ problems. I didn’t at any point this week have to drink water that was full of dysentery because I was so thirsty. I didn’t have to choose which of my children would live and which would die. I didn’t lose my possessions in a methlab explosion and I didn’t accidentally shoot of my toe in a drunken celebration of the dog days of summer (though meth explosions and toe shooting are decidedly ‘white guy’ problems if we’re being honest). No one is threatening to kill or imprison anyone I love and even at the lowest point of the week I have a family and friends and all of you, my lovely Dogs of War to keep me company. That’s pretty cool. As my daughter sits in the back room just skwawking away like some kind of caged pteranodon, (something that usually drives me absolutely up the fucking wall) I’m pretty stoked. Today is Friday, there’s nothing goin on this weekend, I did all my work for the week and I’m ready to chill. It seems like it’s been forever since I just had a quiet weekend at home, which is shockingly lame when you consider that I don’t hardly do shit that’s even remotely interesting that doesn’t take place on the internet…sigh.
In fact, that’s a weird thing. I’ve been dreaming on the internet lately. Like, my dreams are of me looking at websites. That’s probably a sign that it’s time to stop with the internet a little, eh? I mean, I’ve read all the articles about ‘tech addiction’ and I don’t think it’s any stretch to say I fall into that category. It’s hilarious though, because it’s like being an alcoholic that only drinks wine coolers. I don’t really know how to use the internet but I compulsively check my email and look at like 4 websites that I know about. Then I put my phone down for about five minutes and then I do the whole thing again. This goes on all day and when I’m done, I go to bed and dream about doing it some more. What a pathetic existence my life has deteriorated into. I used to talk to people face to face that weren’t three or the tired, wary parent of a three year old. I used to be able to sit and wait for the bus without compulsively surfing the internet or talking on the phone. Ditto for taking a dump, walking to the liquor store, making it through a lull in conversation at the lunch table, eating breakfast, standing in line at the butcher, and even typing this. As I sit here and type this rambling stream of consciousness that’s pretty much an unreadable apology for why I haven’t posted more this week, I’m STILL surfing the internet (or the tiny little cove of the internet that I know about) and carrying on shitty IM conversations and generally acting like a fucking mental patient. It’s not enough for me to type up a soliloquy with the 2 distractions of my yelping daughter and the blasting cartoons that my son is watching. No, I need to have three vacuous conversations going and pore over a bunch of different news outlets and twitter feeds too. What the fuck?
Does anyone remember silence or meditation or not having any sort of connection to anything and not feeling weird about that? I kind of want to get rid of my cel phone and throw this computer into the sea, BUT then all the things that I’m ‘working towards’ kind of dry up and die. The internet has made it possible for me to work closely with experts and specialists that I wouldn’t otherwise have access to and (for example) package, market and sell a movie without living in NYC or LA. It would be pretty fucking stupid to stop that shit now, right? Now that everything is done and pretty much ready to go? That’s the addiction. That’s like when you say “well, I’m gonna quit smoking, but I’m not quitting until after my sister comes next month. That’s just stupid self-sabotage because I’m definitely gonna smoke then” as though there’s EVER gonna be a time when you, an addicted smoker, aren’t gonna be tempted to smoke. There’s ALWAYS something on the horizon that makes for an easy excuse as to why you’d stay complacent. There’s no way out except getting scared and yanking the band aid off and just walking the fuck away. It’s the only way out of EVERYTHING.
Anyway, I’m not gonna figure this all out today. But seriously, come to that show. It’s the day after my birthday. I’m gonna be 22. Come party!