Monday Morning - so fun it makes my face hurt

Reticence had nothing to do with it. Really, truly, I was simply and profoundly affected by the weather. The drizzle outside was enough of a departure from the sunny status quo to send me into a maddeningly deep and dark downward spiral, albeit a brief one. I sat somber and morose, working on nothing and yet working to stay looking busy. What a sad charade - actually even a little embarrassing - and not the least bit beneficial, for anyone. I mean, here I was, in a climate all but unchanging in its awesomeness, and I still manage to slip into some abject pit of despair at a moment's notice. At least the rain would help clear away the smog, I thought, and yet somehow this was still slightly depressing. What was worse was that the rain had made this morning's drive to work even less convenient than usual. Drivers here have a habit of freaking the fuck out when the road starts to shine - the seldom-seen effect of precipitation on pavement. Still, I had a sneaking suspicion that my temperament was less-than temporary - it was logical to assume that I had been working up to feeling under the weather. I had been writing too much, drinking, and surreptitiously smoking out of my apartment's kitchen window, so at this point I was merely looking for an excuse to emote. I looked out at the grey, thought for a moment about how everything looked less sexy under its new-found coat of shit-water, and imagined God with a gravy boat.
My eyes wandered over to the girl in the BMW next to me. I fell in love with her for as long as the streetlight would allow, and was abruptly brought back to reality by a blasting car horn. I had yet to change my Missouri license plates over to the coveted California tags, so my fellow road-warriors took every opportunity to remind me I was in the way.

a nu derection

Alright - two things:

Hey Ladytron - stop making sexy music that means nothing. Or better yet, keep making it. Make albums, audiobooks, self-help cd's, and disseminate your product throughout the globe. May it serve as a constant reminder that vanity just doesn't sound right. Give me Elmore James, Townes Van Zandt, Dylan, or anybody else with even a moticum of sophomoric melancholy. Your metallic tunes stupefy and entrance, making cool guy think it's the shit. E.g. "Ladytron is huuuge in L.A. - what - you haven't heard of Ladytron?!"

Second thing: Who wants to do a podcast?

Consumerism

Listen - I don't want to be made a target - but I will open myself up for a bit a criticism - just on this issue:

Why is it that the only stuff I ever feel driven to write about is 'the cool?' I truly don't get it. Not that any of these faux-philosphical files are 'cool,' but it's the intent to write about such vain and unimpressive observations which are just that; vague blatherings that describe little and scream of indecision. There is loads of other stuff - more substantive, more interesting - that people write about everyday. I can't even seem to keep my thoughts on one subject, or write from the same perspective for long enough to make this whole mess make sense. I suppose I could ask for direction; take suggestions - but no one will know better than me about what I should write.

I'm not looking to pigeonhole myself, I promise (I think). But the direction of this whole project has always been uncertain. What if I decide to write about a music group that I think is doing great things? Would anyone be interested in reading that?

Back, After a Short Break

Nothing really intelligent to spew from the depths of my bitter, hollow shell. I am in training right now for my new job, passing my intelligence onto the youth of this nation so that others may question the system, fight the oppression - even if it's only seen being imposed onto others, and stop listening to the lies of old, dead, white men.

I'll be back from now on to ramble and rebel rouse. For now, just take this nugget of wisdom from ole Al Einstein.

"Any fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction."

Then again, didn't he help create the nuclear weapon?

-Thanks, Management.

The Betters

In light of recent events - and even my more recent musings, I got to thinking. I don't presume to be the purveyor of all things altruistic. Benevolence, mental buoyancy, optimism – all that bullshit has its time and place, right? I find it far easier to write what comes to mind, whether that be the despondent dialogue of my darker side, or that sanguine shit that I’ve been spewing as of late.

So - as a turning of the tide - allow me to curmudgeon. I promise to make it justifiably worth your time – not that old-man brand of expostulation – but the kind that needs to be heard. At the very least, it deserves to be heard. Some think the memoir of a ne'er-do-well a ‘testament to dead ideas,’ but they're not whose ear I'm seeking. I'm aiming at the folk who need to hear a social commentary on why we ought to throw out our extended-dance mixes and settle down to some sensibly irresponsible, time-tested rock and roll.

I’m sick of the soulless techno travesty – I want to champion something worthwhile. More on this soon.

-IE

Foreword for the book yet to be written

My name is Ryan and I live in Cincinnati.

Now – you’re probably looking for a premise. I'm happy to report that you will find no such substantive shit in these shallow pages, save the occasional invigorating encounter with the opposite sex, or vivid depiction of a fetching first listen. And while this sad bastard saga will bemoan love loss, the agony of enduring shitty people and their terrible taste, and undoubtedly document gin-drunk diatribes, there is also a lighter side. Because, for all my elderly idiosyncrasies, I’m really just a young man trapped in an even younger boy’s body. A Zevon. And cliché as it may be – fuck you – it’s true.

-IE

Art is Hard

The fact is - sometimes I write these posts and they're easy. Sometimes, they're redundant. My intention is to always provide probing, introspective shit that doesn't necessarily revolve around my current mood or immediate impulse. I sit, think, drink (coffee), and type...usually. But today, I received a prompt from a friend of mine (an assignment, as she called it). She is a promoter for a music label, and after she found out that I have been writing (however briefly) in a blog and on my own, she requested my "services?" yeah - she definitely requested my services (wry grin). This is more like how it actually went: after I begged her to ask me my opinion, she obliged.

ANYWAY - she wants to know about the public perception of the music industry. Since she is so close to the various moving parts of the machine, I suppose she has lost touch with how the "dude" seeks and finds new tunes. She is still very plugged in - I mean, it's her job to have impeccable taste and to know what's popular - two characteristics that don't always coincide. But a healthy dose of perspective is always helpful, so I sat and started to type like I generally do: reasonable rationale soaked in cynicism, and topped with the anecdotal, "but this is all gonna change," so as to avoid any real conflict with anyone anywhere.

After rereading, I realized that no one wants to hear me apologize for my opinions. So, I began to rewrite, criticizing big corporate labels for refusing to accept that their industry is undergoing far-reaching, impactful changes, and simultaneously criticizing those who advocate indiscriminate piracy. Let's face it, some ignorant music thieves have the strange idea that they are just stealing from stinking rich record companies. Conversely, others assume they're helping obscure artists 'get noticed' by making countless copies of their EP.

To further complicate the matter, no other artistic medium has been this thoroughly hacked, passed around, and fundamentaly dismantled; making it difficult to establish precedent.

I have, however, found one common thread. Albeit a bit platitudinous, I think that - even amongst all the money-grubbing - all parties can agree on one thing: the greater good.

All we hear from musicians is that the desire to make music overrides everything else – they are called - that there’s a compulsion to create – so why can't we all just focus on the one common thread? Sure, there are different blends, contrapuntal creations, and music made that goes in entirely different directions. But does that rule out the possibility of all positively pursuing musicality? Maybe we can't do it - peace and harmony sure seem a long way off - but then again, good music is better than nothing.

-IE

Hey alright

Today has been a tough one. I woke up bitter, and have really only continued to snarl as the first few hours of my day have trickled by: I forgot to take out the trash (perhaps my subconscious at work), dropped my lunch (a few times), bumped my head, found out I got ripped off online, and am now on a caustic conference call (the fact that I'm writing this now should be considered a testament to their inefficacy).

That said, I still recognize a few important facts:
I am in charge of a number of things in my life - namely - my thoughts and actions.
At any one time - if things get too crazy - I can jump off this carousel and do something else.
Finally - in the meantime - I will endeavor to do the things that make me happiest. You should too.

-IE

This Coupon is your Ticket

Solid walls create a soundbox. I am a bat and can feel the size of the room by the reverberations of the voices of the two tiny, cutesy women chatting. I wish I could go invisible. In this moment, the desire is without nefarious intentions. It is merely that I would rather not be factored in to my fellow humans' considerations.
Now that I am an adult, I better understand prefering to be a Spectator. Watching in place of doing. Televisions allow us to be invisible to the doers; but they know we are there and are performing for our benefit. Atheletes, actors... Lassie is the only one who rings true, and he was only in it for the biscuits.

Let's all be in it for the biscuits.
If we are really good, maybe we will balance them on our nose first.

Taking Personal Inventory

Moving, it seems, is both cleansing and stressful. As I begin to pack, and wax poetic, on the property that has become the basis for he who is now 'me' over the past twenty-three years, I am reminded of who I have been, who I never was, and that which I attempted to become.

The Person I Never Was and The Person I Tried to Be: Books that were purchased years ago and never opened, gifts I have received and never incorporated into my life, pictures of old friends and girlfriends stuffed into the nooks and crannies, more than a few unopened-yet-inscribed Bibles (strange the amount of people who give these as graduation gifts to atheists and agnostics - I'm sure they meant well), day-to-day calendars left un-flipped, a gently weeping/dust collecting guitar and amp, vacation souvenirs I never looked at after purchasing, and a plethora of other useless items that were never a part of who I ever became.

These collected/long forgotten items have reminded me of the waste that is accumulated, and the money that went out the window to collect such waste. In my new life in the American South I hope to collect fewer items, expunge any waste that seeps through the cracks, and use my time to refine who I actually am, thereby not waltzing with any new versions of "The Person I Never Was and the Person I Tried to Be".

-Thanks, Management.

The Birthday Paradigm

Following the theme of having no theme at all, I thought I'd write a bit on the phenomenon of designating days for the celebration and exaltation of certain causes. It's my birthday today, so it seems fitting to take a moment and dictate some thoughts. Here are my top three birthday observations:

1. Self-indulgence, like all things, should be observed in moderation. I think taking one day out of the year to celebrate one's self is still a considerably safe distance from narcissism.

2. My sense of humor continues to change. Currently, I would say my brand of chuckle resembles a blend of the naïve prepubescent schoolboy and the sardonic centenarian. I hope that not's too vague, or wierd.

*Trying to type life-altering shit can, in fact, be noted as a “proving task.” That said, while my musings are anecdotal at best, I strive to preserve these pithy encouragments. There's no guarantee that any of this content will affect you, but I can't account for the opposite.

3. This day, and everyday, I vow to champion the properties of life - and the good life, at that. There's something I can celebrate no matter the day.

-IE

Say this aloud:

"I, am a valuable resource. An unconquerable mammoth with magnanimous moral make-up."


Ehh? Come on, you feel better. If not, at least you can laugh at yourself, or me.


-IE

Wordplay

Seriously - I have no intention of writing in cryptic phrases, or nonsensical paradox - however, I still might.

Very frequently, I find myself trying to decipher whether I am enamored with a person, or merely in a situation; sometimes I have to consider if this infatuation is with a person in a particular situation. I imagine all three rest - at any given time - at about a 33% probability, so separating the charlatans from the confirmed culprit, can be quite the conundrum.

*Comforting tidbit: there are worse problems.

-IE

Sweet

Always enjoy little youtube gems: Watch THIS!

-IE

A new day

And a new lease on life.

I toured a teen crisis center today - a place for teens to come when they are subject to abuse, estrangement, or if they have left home voluntarily and can't find another home. It was pretty wild. I know sensory perception is the last we should rely on during experiences like these, but I couldn't help to focus on the smells; I touched everything; my eyes were scanning the rooms. It was a barricaded, educating, homeless teen house. They had case workers, therapists, and a teacher on staff. Their kitchen was the kind where massive amounts of the same types of cheap food are kept and eventually cooked, broiled, skewered - any way to reintroduce the same old ingredient. The basketball goal was broken; so was most of the furniture. By all accounts, this place was nasty, but I never stopped thinking that it was also invaluable. You see, the shelter is filled most nights. With stringent staffing requirements and procedural policy in place, they are only allowed to have a ratio of 6:1 teens to staff on at any time. The kids are kind - the staff is overworked - everyone - everyone - is thankful. For the staff - it's just another day at the office - things are hectic, personal, and professional - but the kids simply see things differently.

To say I was humbled is too much - I didn't feel arrogant or proud before - but something about seeing this whole institution propped up just to provide rubber mattresses and showers for people - real people - changed my perception. Perhaps a paradigm shift is from what I am reeling now.

-IE

And the name - it stays. For now, at least.

-IE

And Now

For something to be so open-ended, it almost seems like we (hehe - we) have nothing to say. I do not want to sound cryptic or to portend for even a moment that meaningful and impacting ideas will be discussed and revealed here - (to be so young and to presume so much!) but merely to begin to stake a claim to a meager portion of the seemingly boundless land of webpinions. Obviously there are loads of folks perpetually revisiting the humblest of diaries dutifully drafted by online literati - but that is different. For most intents and purposes, this will remain a mundane contribution; one not likely to be found in the future chronicles of online kurmudgeoning. Void of vituperation - unless necessary, of course - we will seek to edify, enlighten, and endear ourselves (hehe - our) to that greater, better, sweeter, goodness.

-IE

First order of business

I move to change the lame moniker and mission statement of this inane blog. No vampiring please, only constructive criticism. Okay, go.

-IE