For the second day in a row, I have been tempted - sorely tempted - to ask my office mate if perhaps there's some other track on that gospel CD that he might enjoy listening to. As it is, it's only by great force of will, and a distinctive and colorful internal sountrack, that I don't have "I pray for you, you pray for me" running through my head constantly now.
Y'know, I'm a great admirer of Jesus, but some of His fans give me the willies.
A cruel man would've put "How the Great Satanic Glory Faded" on repeat before he went to lunch. Fortunately for everyone, I am not a cruel man.
February 03, 2004
February 02, 2004
Punching Judy
Once again, Katha Pollitt is dead-on, in a Nation article about the media's dumbass treatment of Dr. Judith Steinberg (AKA, if you're a neocon/Neanderthal/Dave Sim, "Mrs. Howard Dean").
January 27, 2004
Lo, I am Become Fripp, Destroyer of Chords
Check it out - Big Tony has put the first downloadable musical content on TiaJ, and it's wicked cool and Crimsoid. A bit more "That Which Passes..." than "Larks' Tongues" (for the benefit of all three readers who know what the hell that means), so you're spared the twisted wailing dissonance of the true prog conoisseur - for now, heh heh - but weird chords and undanceable time signatures we can do you.
And since we don't have comments up on the Thing site yet, go to his blog and tell him how much you like it.
And since we don't have comments up on the Thing site yet, go to his blog and tell him how much you like it.
January 24, 2004
"Ten forgives all kinds of sin, from ten begin again-o"
My thirtieth birthday starts in a little over an hour and a half. I'm okay with that, and more than okay - my twenties were a good decade, but I think this one's going to be even better.
Stacy and I had a great talk about this over dinner last night; she asked me what turning thirty meant to me, and I wasn't quite sure at first how to answer that. I've said lately that mostly it just feels like an accomplishment, which is about half-serious. But the answer I came up with after turning it over for a couple of minutes was that it feels like permission to have a second childhood. I think that you spend about twenty years trying to become sufficiently grown up and assert your dignity, until you get to an age where you discover it's not important to be dignified after all. It's a little like going to the Zen monastery in order to learn that you had what you really needed the whole time.
So - happy birthday to me, very shortly. We had plans to go to Philly today, and changed our minds when the snow got serious this morning - we'll probably go next weekend instead. It worked out nicely, as I got to stay home and read comics while the world outside was spread out in wintery beauty. A fine way to say goodbye to my first youth, and welcome gladly in my second.
Cheers. And, in true hobbit fashion, I wish all of you many happy returns.
Stacy and I had a great talk about this over dinner last night; she asked me what turning thirty meant to me, and I wasn't quite sure at first how to answer that. I've said lately that mostly it just feels like an accomplishment, which is about half-serious. But the answer I came up with after turning it over for a couple of minutes was that it feels like permission to have a second childhood. I think that you spend about twenty years trying to become sufficiently grown up and assert your dignity, until you get to an age where you discover it's not important to be dignified after all. It's a little like going to the Zen monastery in order to learn that you had what you really needed the whole time.
So - happy birthday to me, very shortly. We had plans to go to Philly today, and changed our minds when the snow got serious this morning - we'll probably go next weekend instead. It worked out nicely, as I got to stay home and read comics while the world outside was spread out in wintery beauty. A fine way to say goodbye to my first youth, and welcome gladly in my second.
Cheers. And, in true hobbit fashion, I wish all of you many happy returns.
January 22, 2004
A Wind-Age, a Wolf-Age, Before the World Ends
It's cold out there. Blustery January Fimbulvitr weather. Bleak and pale.
And I turn thirty in three days.
That's all for now.
And I turn thirty in three days.
That's all for now.
January 11, 2004
Mind the Gap
So I spent some time last week lurking about the message boards for the newly-formed Interstitial Arts Foundation, and finally decided to introduce myself and hopefully join a conversation or two over there - the result of which was this week's moment of Fanboy Dorkgasm when I saw that Ellen Kushner had not only said "Hi" but had nice things to say about my RPG.net columns. (My intro post is here, with her response immediately following.)
Which is really quite cool - Swordspoint was a significant find for me back in the summer of '91 (!!), not only because it's such a beautifully-written novel and opened my eyes to the potential of fantasy (which it is, and did), but also because that was right about the same time I was getting serious about my coming-out process, and positive literary models for bisexual men seemed an unheard-of thing. (This was before we had Alan Cumming to make it all seem cool again; you young pups don't know how good you have it.) To read a novel that not only had a bi male hero presented as the most natural thing in the world, but a whole culture in which that was the norm... well, it was a Big Thing. And while it's certainly possible I might have turned out with a healthy attitude about my own ambiguous orientation without writers like Kushner, Gaiman, Barker et al creating works that didn't make me feel like a freak, that stuff sure didn't hurt. (And I think that there's probably a little seed of Jenny Haniver somewhere in all that, too. Jenny is infinite, she contains multitudes.)
So having one of my heroes open up her message to me with "it's an honor" was a real high point of my day.
And check out the IAF's site too - it's a very cool organization with some very interesting ideas. Makes me anxious to get to work with producing some properly interstitial work for Thing in a Jar, which you'll note Patrick has fiddled with so it's got a wee bit of content at last.
Much of the rest of my day was spent pounding the crap out of my thumb with a tack hammer in the interest of getting my new Ikea bookshelves assembled; I sit amidst them now as I write this, already laden with books (in various stages of organization) that I think were glad to be liberated at last from boxes. As am I, to have them be so.
Which is really quite cool - Swordspoint was a significant find for me back in the summer of '91 (!!), not only because it's such a beautifully-written novel and opened my eyes to the potential of fantasy (which it is, and did), but also because that was right about the same time I was getting serious about my coming-out process, and positive literary models for bisexual men seemed an unheard-of thing. (This was before we had Alan Cumming to make it all seem cool again; you young pups don't know how good you have it.) To read a novel that not only had a bi male hero presented as the most natural thing in the world, but a whole culture in which that was the norm... well, it was a Big Thing. And while it's certainly possible I might have turned out with a healthy attitude about my own ambiguous orientation without writers like Kushner, Gaiman, Barker et al creating works that didn't make me feel like a freak, that stuff sure didn't hurt. (And I think that there's probably a little seed of Jenny Haniver somewhere in all that, too. Jenny is infinite, she contains multitudes.)
So having one of my heroes open up her message to me with "it's an honor" was a real high point of my day.
And check out the IAF's site too - it's a very cool organization with some very interesting ideas. Makes me anxious to get to work with producing some properly interstitial work for Thing in a Jar, which you'll note Patrick has fiddled with so it's got a wee bit of content at last.
Much of the rest of my day was spent pounding the crap out of my thumb with a tack hammer in the interest of getting my new Ikea bookshelves assembled; I sit amidst them now as I write this, already laden with books (in various stages of organization) that I think were glad to be liberated at last from boxes. As am I, to have them be so.
January 06, 2004
Or, What You Will
Today is Epiphany, observed in some traditions as honoring the Gifts of the Magi (in some parts of the world, it's a bigger deal than Christmas for the giving of gifts). There are a lot of different customs associated with Epiphany and Twelfth Night (technically the night before), but one of the most interesting to me is the electing of the Bean King - a bean is baked into a cake, and whoever finds it is made king for the night. This makes it one of those curious fool's-season holidays that celebrates the inversion and, in a sense, subversion of the normal order of things, which is probably where the connection with Shakespeare's play (full of chaotic inversions, clever paradoxes, and unsettling epiphanies) comes in.
Will Shetterly (who is, like me, a Unitarian, though he's a much better writer) made an interesting post last month about the symbolic meaning of the gifts of the Magi; there's also some follow-up here. Much food for thought.
In any case, may your own gifts of revelation be rich and rewarding on this dark, chilly night, whatever star you find them under.
Will Shetterly (who is, like me, a Unitarian, though he's a much better writer) made an interesting post last month about the symbolic meaning of the gifts of the Magi; there's also some follow-up here. Much food for thought.
In any case, may your own gifts of revelation be rich and rewarding on this dark, chilly night, whatever star you find them under.
January 05, 2004
Semiotic Man Ink
Happy Birthday to Umberto Eco today.
Some excellent quotes from his work here (and check out the one on terrorism from 1978!), but in the light of US-VISIT, I thought this terribly appropo, from The Name of the Rose:
For what I saw at the abbey then (and will now recount) caused me to think that often inquisitors create heretics. And not only in the sense that they imagine heretics where these do not exist, but also that inquisitors repress the heretical putrefaction so vehemently that many are driven to share in it, in their hatred for the judges. Truly, a circle conceived by the Devil. God preserve us.
Well said, Professor. Many happy returns.
Some excellent quotes from his work here (and check out the one on terrorism from 1978!), but in the light of US-VISIT, I thought this terribly appropo, from The Name of the Rose:
For what I saw at the abbey then (and will now recount) caused me to think that often inquisitors create heretics. And not only in the sense that they imagine heretics where these do not exist, but also that inquisitors repress the heretical putrefaction so vehemently that many are driven to share in it, in their hatred for the judges. Truly, a circle conceived by the Devil. God preserve us.
Well said, Professor. Many happy returns.
December 31, 2003
Last Chance to Evacuate
Little over an hour left of '03 now. I've spent the evening hanging out with my lovely wife and Caren, getting pleasantly buzzed, having a laid-back New Year's Eve. Laid-back is good.
A little melancholy, a little relieved. So it goes.
Still, pretty good year.
Much love to you all.
Little over an hour left of '03 now. I've spent the evening hanging out with my lovely wife and Caren, getting pleasantly buzzed, having a laid-back New Year's Eve. Laid-back is good.
A little melancholy, a little relieved. So it goes.
Still, pretty good year.
Much love to you all.
December 29, 2003
Twenty-Nine, Thirty, Thirty-One
Three days left of '03. Weird.
Good Christmas. Especially good post-Christmas get-together out on the Hill with Jeff and Matt and Patrick and Bernice. Much wine was drunk, and certain plans were made.
It was nice coming home to our own house, but everything there is to do is more than a little overwhelming. It still feels like home-in-progress. Frustrating sort of limbo, being half moved in. I just want to unpack and be effing done with it.
On top of this (or possibly because of it), the post-holiday blahs have set in early. This is a phenomenon so consistent that I wonder if there shouldn't be some way of actively honoring it rather than just enduring it. I think a lot of predictable depression and melancholy might be weathered better by not pretending it isn't going to happen.
Anyway, that's how it stands in the year's denoument. At least the days get longer from here.
Three days left of '03. Weird.
Good Christmas. Especially good post-Christmas get-together out on the Hill with Jeff and Matt and Patrick and Bernice. Much wine was drunk, and certain plans were made.
It was nice coming home to our own house, but everything there is to do is more than a little overwhelming. It still feels like home-in-progress. Frustrating sort of limbo, being half moved in. I just want to unpack and be effing done with it.
On top of this (or possibly because of it), the post-holiday blahs have set in early. This is a phenomenon so consistent that I wonder if there shouldn't be some way of actively honoring it rather than just enduring it. I think a lot of predictable depression and melancholy might be weathered better by not pretending it isn't going to happen.
Anyway, that's how it stands in the year's denoument. At least the days get longer from here.
December 23, 2003
The Grey Havens
Well, I'm off for three days to WV, where the missus and I will be visiting family and doing the Xmas cheer thing. Happy holidays to all and sundry.
Updates on the weekend, when I return. Till then - slán. Tip back a cup of something warm and lovely in the meantime, and here's hoping you get lots of presents.
Well, I'm off for three days to WV, where the missus and I will be visiting family and doing the Xmas cheer thing. Happy holidays to all and sundry.
Updates on the weekend, when I return. Till then - slán. Tip back a cup of something warm and lovely in the meantime, and here's hoping you get lots of presents.
December 22, 2003
Come the New Sun
Happy Solstice to all and sundry - sources disagree whether it was last night or tonight, but in any case, lighting a candle or two in honor of Sol Invictus can't hurt.
Patrick writes more on this over at newly-bloggified Thing in a Jar. Go forth and comment.
For my own thoughts on this, I wrote up a midwinter blessing three years ago that pretty much sums it all up for me:
The long night is almost here. As each of us prepares for our personal celebrations of the winter holidays, let me send all of you my thoughts and blessings - a bit of cheer to keep with you at the winter's darkest hour.
Remember that, whatever holiday we honor, sacred or secular, festive or ceremonious, we also gather together to keep light in the darkness, reminding us that day and warmth and light return, and that death and bleak winter are necessary for the turning of the Wheel. Remember this in the colors of the season:
Remember it in deep red, color of blood and wine, for the sharing of life and joy and hearth with your best-loved, and the ties of hearts' blood and shared cups binding you together; and for the fire of vitality coursing in you and around you, even at the darkest of times.
Remember it in green, color of life and the earth, for the tenacity of evergreen trees in the cold winter, for the promise of summer's return in its time, and for the web of life that ties us all to each other and the world.
Remember it in silver and gold, for the richness of lives filled with good things, material and otherwise; and for light, sun's gold and moon's silver and the million glittering stars, honoring that which both lights your path and awakens you to the vastness and glory of creation.
And remember it in white, the pure white of new snow and winter skies; the white of blank canvases for new beginnings in a new year; of transcendence and spirit and intangible things; and of the pure light of the returning sun, about to be reborn and ascend, full of cleansing and possibility.
To all of you, my love and best wishes. May the coming year bring you richness and joy, and may you be merry and in good company always. You are in my thoughts.
If I don't get another chance to say so, happy holidays to you all, and my love. Keep the fires lit tonight.
Happy Solstice to all and sundry - sources disagree whether it was last night or tonight, but in any case, lighting a candle or two in honor of Sol Invictus can't hurt.
Patrick writes more on this over at newly-bloggified Thing in a Jar. Go forth and comment.
For my own thoughts on this, I wrote up a midwinter blessing three years ago that pretty much sums it all up for me:
The long night is almost here. As each of us prepares for our personal celebrations of the winter holidays, let me send all of you my thoughts and blessings - a bit of cheer to keep with you at the winter's darkest hour.
Remember that, whatever holiday we honor, sacred or secular, festive or ceremonious, we also gather together to keep light in the darkness, reminding us that day and warmth and light return, and that death and bleak winter are necessary for the turning of the Wheel. Remember this in the colors of the season:
Remember it in deep red, color of blood and wine, for the sharing of life and joy and hearth with your best-loved, and the ties of hearts' blood and shared cups binding you together; and for the fire of vitality coursing in you and around you, even at the darkest of times.
Remember it in green, color of life and the earth, for the tenacity of evergreen trees in the cold winter, for the promise of summer's return in its time, and for the web of life that ties us all to each other and the world.
Remember it in silver and gold, for the richness of lives filled with good things, material and otherwise; and for light, sun's gold and moon's silver and the million glittering stars, honoring that which both lights your path and awakens you to the vastness and glory of creation.
And remember it in white, the pure white of new snow and winter skies; the white of blank canvases for new beginnings in a new year; of transcendence and spirit and intangible things; and of the pure light of the returning sun, about to be reborn and ascend, full of cleansing and possibility.
To all of you, my love and best wishes. May the coming year bring you richness and joy, and may you be merry and in good company always. You are in my thoughts.
If I don't get another chance to say so, happy holidays to you all, and my love. Keep the fires lit tonight.
December 17, 2003
December 16, 2003
Last Night on Maudlin Street
Well, now it's done. We moved the last of our stuff out of the old apartment last night and said our goodbyes to our old home. It was a bit sad - that place was ours for five years, and it's hard to let it go and move on, even though our new home is quite wonderful. Farewells are hard, better place or no.
Weirdly, it looked much smaller without all our stuff in it. Partly I attribute this to Stacy's superior natural sense of feng shui, though I also suspect our presence had something to do with it. I don't know if that makes any sense or not.
Anyway, it's done now. Our last few hours in our last (let's hope) apartment. Turned in the keys at the office on the way home. I hope it's as good to its next owners as it was to us.
Stacy's not feeling so well today, and came home halfway through the day. We've both been tired and stressed, adjusting to a new sleep schedule and a long commute; I'm not surprised something nasty took the opportunity when her defenses were down. Send some good energy her way.
And, finally, a small development: Thing in a Jar now has a cover page. Just a logo so far, but I'm all about setting the stage for style over substance. (Indeed, why stop now?)
Well, now it's done. We moved the last of our stuff out of the old apartment last night and said our goodbyes to our old home. It was a bit sad - that place was ours for five years, and it's hard to let it go and move on, even though our new home is quite wonderful. Farewells are hard, better place or no.
Weirdly, it looked much smaller without all our stuff in it. Partly I attribute this to Stacy's superior natural sense of feng shui, though I also suspect our presence had something to do with it. I don't know if that makes any sense or not.
Anyway, it's done now. Our last few hours in our last (let's hope) apartment. Turned in the keys at the office on the way home. I hope it's as good to its next owners as it was to us.
Stacy's not feeling so well today, and came home halfway through the day. We've both been tired and stressed, adjusting to a new sleep schedule and a long commute; I'm not surprised something nasty took the opportunity when her defenses were down. Send some good energy her way.
And, finally, a small development: Thing in a Jar now has a cover page. Just a logo so far, but I'm all about setting the stage for style over substance. (Indeed, why stop now?)
December 14, 2003
"A Place Not Found on Any Map"
So - we are now moved into the new place, as of yesterday (moved as in "almost all our stuff is now here," not as in "unpacked and living like normal people," but so it goes).
Friday night it felt like it was never going to happen; last night it felt like it was hardly real. We are now residents of Edgewood, in our own house - too weird for words. But it already feels like home, even surrounded by boxes. I think this place wanted to be taken care of, and it's welcoming us in.
Our cable got installed this morning (Hooray!), allowing me to have an opportunity to blog and whatnot, and fueling the fires of procrastination for our unpacking efforts. I'm okay with that, though. It's Sunday, we're home, all is well.
Aaaaaah.
So - we are now moved into the new place, as of yesterday (moved as in "almost all our stuff is now here," not as in "unpacked and living like normal people," but so it goes).
Friday night it felt like it was never going to happen; last night it felt like it was hardly real. We are now residents of Edgewood, in our own house - too weird for words. But it already feels like home, even surrounded by boxes. I think this place wanted to be taken care of, and it's welcoming us in.
Our cable got installed this morning (Hooray!), allowing me to have an opportunity to blog and whatnot, and fueling the fires of procrastination for our unpacking efforts. I'm okay with that, though. It's Sunday, we're home, all is well.
Aaaaaah.
December 11, 2003
Under Deconstruction
Those of you who have been checking in on Tony's blog may have seen that there's some coolness in the works, in the form of the up-and-coming website Patrick's been kicking off for the three of us to do projects and weirdness and whatnot on. The fun will commence at thinginajar.com as soon as we all get some time to devote to it.
(Credit for that name goes, ultimately, to Spyder, her with the disturbing craft projects and all, whose reaction to our newly-christened domain was "I love you people.")
There's nothing there yet but a line of virtual bumblebee tape, but Watch This Space for updates. And expect a great deal of loopy strangeness coming from that quarter in the months ahead.
Those of you who have been checking in on Tony's blog may have seen that there's some coolness in the works, in the form of the up-and-coming website Patrick's been kicking off for the three of us to do projects and weirdness and whatnot on. The fun will commence at thinginajar.com as soon as we all get some time to devote to it.
(Credit for that name goes, ultimately, to Spyder, her with the disturbing craft projects and all, whose reaction to our newly-christened domain was "I love you people.")
There's nothing there yet but a line of virtual bumblebee tape, but Watch This Space for updates. And expect a great deal of loopy strangeness coming from that quarter in the months ahead.
December 10, 2003
Black Tape on a Blue Girl
I noted with some wide-eyed shock that yesterday's new Suicide Girl was a Porcupine Tree fan from Long Island with blue-streaked hair who goes by Angel.
Dammit, Spyder, if you can't keep these people inside your head... well, I'm not going to be held responsible for the consequences, is all I'm sayin'.
I post this in the full understanding that I have totally busted myself. "What were you up doing last night, sweetie?" "Um, packing boxes..."
I noted with some wide-eyed shock that yesterday's new Suicide Girl was a Porcupine Tree fan from Long Island with blue-streaked hair who goes by Angel.
Dammit, Spyder, if you can't keep these people inside your head... well, I'm not going to be held responsible for the consequences, is all I'm sayin'.
I post this in the full understanding that I have totally busted myself. "What were you up doing last night, sweetie?" "Um, packing boxes..."
Suffer a Sea-Change
I feel about nine times better today than two days ago. Some emergency therapy helped, as did the support of all you good folks. Thank you; it means the world.
I think a lot of it has to do with this week of transition - the big change and all the hundred things that have to get done for it to happen on schedule. In a few days all that will be over, though.
I went up to the new place Monday night and felt so good about walking in (even empty, it seemed to welcome me home) that a whole lot of my anxiety dissipated. Plus, it's hard to feel too sad standing under a clear cold December sky on the night of a bright full moon. I think something wanted to let me know that it was All Going to Be Okay.
And even before that, I was driving up listening to The Highbury Working and "The Angel Highbury" came on just as the lights of Baltimore appeared on the horizon, which I took for some sort of Sign. Listened to the Tallis Scholars sing "Spem in alium" on the way home (very possibly the most beautiful piece of music written by anyone, ever) and felt very much that all shall be well.
Of course, what I really want to be doing is writing, the withdrawal from which is affecting me in some very odd ways. But I suppose I'd rather suffer separation anxiety from my novel than be sick of looking at the damn thing, which sort of happened last year. Does this make me a Real Writer now? Seems a bit of a mixed blessing. But I guess I knew that already.
I feel about nine times better today than two days ago. Some emergency therapy helped, as did the support of all you good folks. Thank you; it means the world.
I think a lot of it has to do with this week of transition - the big change and all the hundred things that have to get done for it to happen on schedule. In a few days all that will be over, though.
I went up to the new place Monday night and felt so good about walking in (even empty, it seemed to welcome me home) that a whole lot of my anxiety dissipated. Plus, it's hard to feel too sad standing under a clear cold December sky on the night of a bright full moon. I think something wanted to let me know that it was All Going to Be Okay.
And even before that, I was driving up listening to The Highbury Working and "The Angel Highbury" came on just as the lights of Baltimore appeared on the horizon, which I took for some sort of Sign. Listened to the Tallis Scholars sing "Spem in alium" on the way home (very possibly the most beautiful piece of music written by anyone, ever) and felt very much that all shall be well.
Of course, what I really want to be doing is writing, the withdrawal from which is affecting me in some very odd ways. But I suppose I'd rather suffer separation anxiety from my novel than be sick of looking at the damn thing, which sort of happened last year. Does this make me a Real Writer now? Seems a bit of a mixed blessing. But I guess I knew that already.
December 08, 2003
Down Here
Black mood continues apace. It's getting hard to tell if it has to do with something real, something imaginary, something real but minor that I've inflated to tragic proportions, or just the fucking weather. But in any case, I've been bleakly unhappy for nearly a week now, and see no end in sight.
Also really did something unpleasant to my back this weekend, for that extra dose of crappiage. "Throbbing" is not always a good word, you know.
Whine whine whine bitch grumble moan.
Anyway.
Even though high
I am blue
blue as sky
cobalt hue
and if the sun falls
I fall too
to the sea
seeking you
and if extinguished I'd be happier
than alone on fire and free
would you then stay
down here
with me
And that's about it. Off to sulk in private now. Aren't I a beacon of light? Thanks, I'll be here all week.
Black mood continues apace. It's getting hard to tell if it has to do with something real, something imaginary, something real but minor that I've inflated to tragic proportions, or just the fucking weather. But in any case, I've been bleakly unhappy for nearly a week now, and see no end in sight.
Also really did something unpleasant to my back this weekend, for that extra dose of crappiage. "Throbbing" is not always a good word, you know.
Whine whine whine bitch grumble moan.
Anyway.
Even though high
I am blue
blue as sky
cobalt hue
and if the sun falls
I fall too
to the sea
seeking you
and if extinguished I'd be happier
than alone on fire and free
would you then stay
down here
with me
And that's about it. Off to sulk in private now. Aren't I a beacon of light? Thanks, I'll be here all week.
December 04, 2003
The Hook
This has not been a good week, for a variety of reasons, none of which I'll bother you folks with. The upshot has been a two-day cloud of despair that's been hanging over me and, among other things, resurfacing all my doubts and fears about the worth of my work.
Well, no, that's not it. My work is something I feel pretty good about, by and large. My doubts have to do with the suspicion that I am exactly the right combination of neurotic and stubborn to assure that I will never be much more than a talented amateur. Part of me is okay with this. The other part is taking the opportunity to indulge in a bit of self-loathing over what a hugely messed-up dork I am.
(Other people talk about "fear of rejection" in such a way that I always think we mean different things by it, because it seems they mean "it's difficult and hurts my feelings" and I mean "it fills me with soul-crushing, panic-attack-inducing phobic terror." Nothing has ever, ever made this better for me, especially not the notion that, hey, you just have to learn to deal.)
None of which is anyone's problem but mine. Just venting. My apologies. Normal service will resume as soon as we figure out what the fuck that means.
This has not been a good week, for a variety of reasons, none of which I'll bother you folks with. The upshot has been a two-day cloud of despair that's been hanging over me and, among other things, resurfacing all my doubts and fears about the worth of my work.
Well, no, that's not it. My work is something I feel pretty good about, by and large. My doubts have to do with the suspicion that I am exactly the right combination of neurotic and stubborn to assure that I will never be much more than a talented amateur. Part of me is okay with this. The other part is taking the opportunity to indulge in a bit of self-loathing over what a hugely messed-up dork I am.
(Other people talk about "fear of rejection" in such a way that I always think we mean different things by it, because it seems they mean "it's difficult and hurts my feelings" and I mean "it fills me with soul-crushing, panic-attack-inducing phobic terror." Nothing has ever, ever made this better for me, especially not the notion that, hey, you just have to learn to deal.)
None of which is anyone's problem but mine. Just venting. My apologies. Normal service will resume as soon as we figure out what the fuck that means.
December 02, 2003
Blues of the New Bards
Sometime today, if it hasn't happened already, the link to the right that reads "Dan on MP3" will cease to function.
This is because MP3.com (note absence of link) is undergoing what in the world of business might be termed a "reorg," which when I went through it meant they fired your ass and made you reapply for your own job. This isn't far afield of that. Which means that, for the nonce, I am a folksinger without an online home. I can't imagine I'll want to go back to MP3.com when it becomes whatever strange beast it will in its new incarnation; this is only the last and most dramatic of several changes made over the last few years that turned what used to be a great artist-friendly site for exposure and community into something that someone apparently hopes will make them wealthy in a hurry.
It's a damn shame, too, since for me MP3.com was the means by which I got the single best fan letter I may ever hope to recieve, from Tom Ligotti, in response to my song "Good Tom-Go-Lightly" (which was written about him, and about which he said, among other things, that "it's clear you understand your subject in a way most others never will"; I still get that out and look at it from time to time when I'm having a day of Doubting the Work). I can't imagine I'm the only one to have made a connection like that, which was a reward more real and priceless than any amount of cash I could hope to make from doing what I do. It's very sad that the kind of folks who want to turn online music services (and the artists who contribute to them) into money machines will never, ever get this.
When the insanity of getting into the new house is done with, I'll probably be looking into signing up on IUMA.com, which others have spoken highly of. I actually tried to do this a couple of months ago, and the site thought I already had, which might only mean that my future self is going to come back in time any minute now and give me the password. In any case, I'll update as it happens.
And this will hopefully coincide, too, with some new developments in the way of cool musical projects (which is what you call it when you're two or three guys with computers, because it's hard to think of that as a "band"). But no more of this just yet. As the Crims say - "we'll let you know."
Sometime today, if it hasn't happened already, the link to the right that reads "Dan on MP3" will cease to function.
This is because MP3.com (note absence of link) is undergoing what in the world of business might be termed a "reorg," which when I went through it meant they fired your ass and made you reapply for your own job. This isn't far afield of that. Which means that, for the nonce, I am a folksinger without an online home. I can't imagine I'll want to go back to MP3.com when it becomes whatever strange beast it will in its new incarnation; this is only the last and most dramatic of several changes made over the last few years that turned what used to be a great artist-friendly site for exposure and community into something that someone apparently hopes will make them wealthy in a hurry.
It's a damn shame, too, since for me MP3.com was the means by which I got the single best fan letter I may ever hope to recieve, from Tom Ligotti, in response to my song "Good Tom-Go-Lightly" (which was written about him, and about which he said, among other things, that "it's clear you understand your subject in a way most others never will"; I still get that out and look at it from time to time when I'm having a day of Doubting the Work). I can't imagine I'm the only one to have made a connection like that, which was a reward more real and priceless than any amount of cash I could hope to make from doing what I do. It's very sad that the kind of folks who want to turn online music services (and the artists who contribute to them) into money machines will never, ever get this.
When the insanity of getting into the new house is done with, I'll probably be looking into signing up on IUMA.com, which others have spoken highly of. I actually tried to do this a couple of months ago, and the site thought I already had, which might only mean that my future self is going to come back in time any minute now and give me the password. In any case, I'll update as it happens.
And this will hopefully coincide, too, with some new developments in the way of cool musical projects (which is what you call it when you're two or three guys with computers, because it's hard to think of that as a "band"). But no more of this just yet. As the Crims say - "we'll let you know."
What? No Asian Spice?
It's that time again over at Andy's blog - another list has been posted of proposed candle scents to horrify and amuse. This one may even be better than the last time.
I think Urinal Cake has potential, myself.
It's that time again over at Andy's blog - another list has been posted of proposed candle scents to horrify and amuse. This one may even be better than the last time.
I think Urinal Cake has potential, myself.
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