I love Me Vol. I

Don't Mess Hall with Texas

2006-02-24T10:58:00.000-05:00

So here I am, bleary-eyed and complacent, sipping my coffee in Texas. We're in Austin for the tour opener, which has been moved to an indoor venue due to rain. When I arrived at the hotel last night I was happy to see an Au Bon Pain in the lobby. It's not that I love the place, but at least I knew I'd be assured of my coveted bagel and coffee this morning, which is not always easy to find on the road - especially when we're away from the Northeast. So, I awoke a few minutes ago and stumbled down to the lobby for this:

J: Hi, Everything bagel please

Girl: What's an Everything bagel?

J: An Everything bagel

G: I don't know what that is sir. I've never heard of it.

J: This is Au Bon Pain isn't it?

G: Yes sir.

J: Well, there's one in the picture, right there on the wall

G: Oh, yeah, we don't have those.

J: Ok, I'll have an onion bagel then

G: We don't have any of those either.

J: Well, what *do* you have?

G: Plain, cinnamon raisin or blueberry

J: I guess I'll have a cinnamon raisin then.

G: [takes out tiny frozen bagel from a Lenders bag]

J: Wait, *those* are your bagels? Don't you have those nice big ones that are made fresh in the back? This is Au Bon Pain right? It's French for 'oh! good bread' or something?

G: Our blueberry bagels are much bigger.

J: Ok, I'll have one of those then.

G: We're out of those.

J: Don't you have a bakery here, isn't that the point of this place?

G: Well, we make all of our own pastries and specialize in fresh croissants.

J: Ok, I'll take a croissant then.

G: We ran out.

J: Do you still have coffee?

G: Yes sir.

J: I'll take one please.

G: That will be four dollars and nine cents.

J: What's a dollar?

We're in Oklahoma on Sunday. Stay tuned...

Too Many Wafuls

2006-02-19T13:36:00.000-05:00

I went to the optometrist the other day to reorder contact lenses. (Sadly, they had no free wine, but I digress). When the receptionist asked me for my last name so she could look up my file, I said "Waful." She then asked me for my first name and I stared at her blankly.

Do you think she even contemplated my response before asking the second question?

A Buzzed Cut

2006-02-16T17:39:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I love my hairdresser. There, I said it. I'm not *in* love with her, because I don't know her that well, but man, can she cut hair. But wait, it gets better. I went in last week to get a haircut and she refused to cut it. She claimed that it looked better longer and, as a peer, she advised me not to do anything to it other than the normal "clean up" around the edges, which is only half-price. I've been going to the same hairdresser for years and I've always told her that she's essentially my target audience and thus, I trust her opinion. So, I left. But then this week it was getting a bit too long and I realized I needed to go back and have just a little bit more taken off because it was starting to get in the way at the gym and I started looking a little too ragged for my taste. So I went back in and told her I needed just a little trim. As I was sitting there, I noticed what appeared to be a glass of red wine on the counter in front of the customer next to me. Assuming it was some sophisticated hair-coloring product in a container that resembled a wine glass, I jokingly said, "Just a little off the top and a glass of merlot while you're at it." My hairdresser smiled and said "it's actually Pinot Noir, would you still like a glass?" Again, I figured she was just matching my lame attempt at humor and I said, "of course." But, then she returned with an actual glass of wine and handed it to me. I couldn't believe it. Apparently it's their new thing they do on Thursday and Friday afternoons, but it's only if you ask for it. They don't offer it to just anyone. I don't know if it's technically legal to give away alcohol at a business, but I'll never tell. I just think it's the coolest fucking thing ever. I mean, she already cuts my hair better than anyone ever has, but now free wine? C'mon.

The only problem is that you have to be very strategic about when you sip your wine so as not to get tiny little hairs falling into your glass. But other than that, it's absolutely perfect.

Came Dancin' Across the Water

2006-02-07T12:35:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I really like writing, but I haven't had much time to do it as of late. So, I've decided to post a link to my most recent article, which appeared on Jambands.com a couple weeks ago. It took hours and hours and hours, so I hope it doesn't suck.

Enjoy...

http://www.jambands.com/Features/content_2006_01_19.00.phtml

Up in Smoke

2005-10-27T16:37:00.000-04:00

For those of you that know me, my stance on cigarette smoking is fairly obvious. I hate it. It's quite apparent that it is the biggest scam on the face of the earth and a small percentage of old white men continue to make billions of dollars off of people that willingly pay to kill themselves. That part doesn't bother me because I can easily see the insanity of it and choose not to participate. BUT, I become enraged when others' second hand smoke ruins the air I breathe and puts me at risk for doing absolutely nothing. Even though I've been in California for over a week and the state has long since banned smoking in public places, the folks that work in the rock and roll biz do what they want in the privacy of their own dressing room. So, yesterday I became so enraged at the cloud of smoke in our little backstage area that I decided to take action (instead of my normal passive agressive snide commentary). When the room was empty, I removed all of the ash trays and posted signs around the room that said "No Smoking." To my surprise, nearly 12 hours later as the post-show festivities got underway, not one person smoked. Even our tour manager *who makes the rules* was leaving the room to smoke. I guess people assumed that the signs were posted by the venue or something. I was quite satisfied.

Well, that's about it for now. We're off to Vegas tonight where there will be plenty of smoke...I'm not sure if the casinos will be very tolerant of my little sign scam, but then again they have pretty fucking good ventilation in those joints.

Food for Thought

2005-09-13T16:32:00.000-04:00

Why is it that the phrase "peas and carrots" is used to describe the compatibility of two parties, but "apples and oranges" refers to the opposite? I mean apples and oranges are far more analogous in size, shape and color, while peas and carrots differ in all three categories. Who makes up these sayings and why wasn't I consulted?

Have I turned into Larry David?

and oh yeah

2005-09-09T14:45:00.000-04:00

As if I didn't already have enough nicknames, you can add "scarface" to the batch.

Although I seem to remember someone saying that chicks dig scars.

The Needle and the Damage (almost) Done

2005-09-09T12:56:00.000-04:00

This morning I had a large needle stuck in my face. It was great. Apparently that little spot on my face may be Basal Cell Carcinoma, which is a "good" type of skin cancer, meaning it doesn't spread and once you have it removed it doesn't come back. So, that's cool I guess. But anyway, I was lying there, just before the doctor stuck the needle into my face to numb the area and I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. The way my phone is set up, whenever a new message or a text message comes in, it starts by quietly vibrating and then ascends to a loud siren sound (I generally pick up the phone prior to the startling siren, which I have since I work in so many loud environments - concerts and all, but when I have a needle about to go into my face I don't usually answer my phone). Just before the doctor pricked my face, he said to the nurse "and you need to be very careful in a situation like this because the needle is very close to the eye." He then turned to me and said "this may hurt a bit and feel like a burning sensation, sorry." (mind you, I haven't even finished my morning coffee at this point). So the needle penetrated my flesh and the aforementioned phone siren went off...I was positive the doctor would be startled and stab me in the eye with the numbing needle...but he was cool under fire.

The text message? "What time does your friends' band go on tonight?"

It's my fault though. I should have turned my phone off.

So, now I have this round band-aid stuck on my face, and I don't mean Kate Hudson.

I officially hate my new roommates

2005-09-08T18:27:00.000-04:00

One of them is a neat freak and keeps throwing out things - without asking anyone. So, at first I liked it, as she was tossing old expired milk cartons and whatnot, but in the last 24 hours she has crossed the line. I came home last night to find all of the personality stripped from my living room. A couple of years ago my beloved former roommate, Katie, decorated the living room and dining room for a holiday party we were hosting. She spent many hours hanging those tiny disco balls from the ceiling, along with those paper lanters and white Christmas lights. We never got around to taking them down...well, that is until last night. Apparently the 3 new roommates had a house meeting, which I was unable to attend because I had plans. So instead of rescheduling the meeting, they had it without me and evidently decided they didn't like the decorations. They never bothered asking me or CALLING me on my cell phone. I just came home drunk to find a boring, empty living room devoid of any style whatsoever. The "funny" thing is, had they called and asked, I would have been annoyed, but I would have passive agressively said "I guess I don't mind. I mean those decorations have been there for a long time and I really like what they add to the room, but if you all feel so strongly, I guess take them down." It's just the principle of it. They should have asked.

Then today I came home and found that someone had thrown out our kitchen trash can. Yes, that is how bad the situation has gotten. Mild irony - throwing out a trash can. I'd say it's remedial irony at best...not quite flood waters causing fires, but it's still something.

Anyway, my roommates suck.

Today I started looking at new apartments.

Pressure from the Family

2005-08-27T20:45:00.000-04:00

Moments ago, the following transpired between my five-year-old niece and me.

Emily: When are you gonna get married Unlce Jeff?

Me: I don't know Emily.

Emily: Where is your girlfriend?

Me: I don't have a girlfriend.

Emily: Yes you do. I saw her.

Me: I really don't sweetie.

Emily: How come?

Me: I don't know.

Emily: You should.

Me: Time for dinner Emmy.

What is it?

2005-08-26T15:16:00.000-04:00

Do you ever crave something so badly, but not know what it is? Yeah, me too. It's sort of frustrating. It's like that time you were stoned in college and couldn't decide if you were hungry, thirsty, tired, horny, lazy, motivated, in love, out of love or paranoid all at the same time. Remember? Me neither. But in all seriousness (?), I really want something, nothing, or many things all simultaneously. I have no idea what it or they are. I think I have a love/hate relationship with ambivalence.

I'll keep you posted.

Cheers to 30

2005-08-12T15:54:00.000-04:00

You know what? I am going to totally rule the age of 30.

This is my quick attempt at optimism as I dart out the door on my way to Chicago and the symbolic, dreaded aforementioned age in less than a week.

I've had enough of the death thread, which has remained at the top of my blog for the past several months.

For those keeping score at home, my beloved uncle passed away in mid-June. The song was the last thing he ever heard.

On his death bed he told me to live a good life, meet a great girl and enjoy 30. I intend to do so. He also instructed me to use some of his leftover money to take out all of my friends for a big, expensive dinner and drink nothing but top shelf liquor. He wants me to say "this is from my uncle because he used to party pretty hard back in his day." So that should be fun.

ok, I am off to Chicago and the second trimester of my life.

A Song to Die to

2005-05-20T13:47:00.000-04:00

My eyelids grow heavy as I speak on the phone
"Maybe I'll come back as a little kitty...or a hot chick," he says
Fighting off sleep as my only uncle ponders his imminent death
We just got the news. He'll be gone in a matter of weeks.
What left is there to say except 'I love you'?
He says he'll miss the good times and watching little Tyler grow up
Then he starts to cry; for even the morphine can't quell his sorrow
Apologizing, his macho tendencies kick in, but I tell him it's ok
It's good to cry.
He thinks he'll go to sleep one night and never wake up
That's what he's hoping for - to go in peace
He's excited to see his mother again, on the other side
I tell him to give me a sign from above, or beyond
It's as if we're discussing weekend plans; surreal to say the least
It's way past my bedtime by now, but it's hard to say goodnight
Who knows when the final word will be said?
I'll sleep when I'm dead.

The next day I decide to write Uncle Donald a song to die to
It's really all I can think to do; helpless and 3,000 miles away
I'll record it and mail it off to his distant shoreline
They say hearing is the last of the senses to go
If I can hold his hand through music, I'll serenade him

Illuminated by the setting sun, I strum...
pensively.
The lyrics flow without effort
devoid of pretense

* * * *

"I remember the good ol' days
Summertime, the Oakland As
You are loved...

gentle voices growing near
gramma whispers in your ear
glowing sunlight filters downward
as your spirit dances onward

Sitting on the porch at night
taking in the sounds and sights
of old Cape Cod

gentle voices growing near
gramma whispers in your ear
glowing sunlight filters downward
as your spirit dances onward

La la la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la

As you sail away from me (keep on smiling)
As you sail away (won't you keep on smiling?)
As you sail away from me (keep on smiling)
As you sail away...across the bay, across the bay, into the sun

Playing with your Zippo lighter
In the years they called me "Dighter"
On old Cape Cod

These memories are still in reach
of playing ball on the beach
you are loved..."

Lost in Translation is "Stupid"

2005-04-26T18:02:00.000-04:00

Ok, I'm back and sleep-deprived. I don't have much time or energy to post anything too insightful (the false implication being that normally my witty candor keeps you all so riveted). But, for the 2 of you who may glance at this, I have a couple quick factoids about Japan.

1. There are just as many Starbucks there as in the US. The coffee is the same except they don't have Venti sizes (possibly due to the size of the average Asian). They also have different food selections, such as egg salad sandwiches and egg and canadian bacon sandwiches on english muffin....which I ate daily.

2. The McDonalds there are actually ok. They use better ingredients and more care goes into the food. For irony's sake, I actually had a Big Mac in Osaka. There was no post-meal coma or stomach ache (note: this may be due to the post-meal kind bud though).

3. Japanese people are the most friendly, respectful, kind, joyous people on the planet and make Americans look like fat, lazy, greedy snobs.

4. Japanese women love American men.

5. Don't ever try to buy any type of cold medicine at a pharmacy in Japan unless you are fluent in Japanese.

6. Japanese people pronouce L's as W's and R's as L's, which led to the following Abbott and Costello-esque exchange between me and a friendly Japanese girl.

Hiromi: I really like your writing.

Me: Oh, you've seen Relix?

Hiromi: Lelix?

Me: I used to write for Relix.

Hiromi: Band?

Me: No, magazine.

Hiromi: No, your writing tonight, for moe.

Me: Oh, Lighting. Thank you very much.

Hiromi: yes, your writing very good tonight.

7. The Japanese think "Lost in Translation" is stupid and is a poor representation of Japanese culture.

more later....I'm off to the Jammys

Seattle's Zest

2005-04-07T22:37:00.000-04:00

Like half of Nicolas Cage's split personality in "Adaptation" declares, "I'm a walking Cliche." Here I sit, sipping coffee in Seattle and peering out across the Pacific Ocean as a gentle, steady rain caresses the window beside me. The horizon - presumably where grey meets grey - is barely visible from here, blurred by a dense fog that sits above the bay. My life's uncertainties are serendaded by the B-52's, who blare from the stereo, telling me to "roam if I want to, roam around the world." Check. My view of the swirling water below is obscured by thousands of dancing raindrops, many of which cling to the window, sliding slowly downward like trite teardrops in a black and white film. It is a metaphor as old as the medium itself. Out on the street, hundreds of tourists gather to watch fishermen toss their catches and shovel shaved ice. Talk about a fish show. Everything about this morning personifies Seattle. Cliche indeed, yet beautifully poetic. As I peer out into the ominously textured sky, I feel as if this is a moment I will remember forever and I have no idea why.

An hour later I will buy a small travel-sized guitar to keep me company on the road. On the headstock it says "Tiny Boy." Perhaps these words will become the Boy's first song...

Remember Me?

2005-03-23T23:56:00.000-05:00

Well, this is my first post in quite some time and I'm not really sure what I have to say (how's that for an attention-grabber?). Basically, I'm forcing myself to write someting - anything. Afterall, I do have an audience of approximately 4, although at least 3 of them are travelling at the moment so perhaps I'm just pontificating for myself and what's wrong with that? Being on the road is a much more intense experience than I ever imagined...I guess that was part of the reason I chose to take a job that would allow me - or force me - to see the world. For that, I am grateful. But the aspect of this particular line of work for which I was not entirely prepared is the disruption to my personal life; the mundane minutia that makes up my daily routine. I think I had this delusion that the rest of the world - or at least *my* world - would be on hold whilst I was away....like some grandiose TiVo feature. How naive my subconcious mind was. For example, I last left town in early February and returned in early March. Life on the road is quite like the movie "Groundhog Day," with every day echoing those before it. To me, it was just like I had never left (save for my dehydrated plants soiling in their respective death beds). But the reality was an entire month had elapsed. People had gone on with their lives. Bills had piled up. My role (s) had been filled.

So here I am, disoriented, confused and attempting to readjust to my Boston life; trying to find a way to fit in again after missing the month of February and preparing to omit April as well. (I know, I know, cue the violins.) When I return it will suddenly be May and everyone will have lived another full month without my presence nor my presents (nor my puns for that matter). I don't love this.

For the time being, my blog's title is merely a remedial palindrome with no double meaning.

The pun is gone...

But, on a more cheery subject, today we welcomed my baby newphew, little Tyler Thomas Cunningham into the world. He weighed in at 7 pounds, 10 ounces and is the most adorable thing ever. I held him when he was just a couple hours old and we stared at each other for a good 10 minutes or so without either one of us crying. I think the experience was rather profound and even shocking for both of us - for entirely different reasons. The thing that I can't get over is that since that experience, his life has doubled.

On The Road Again

2005-02-08T16:39:00.000-05:00

Well now my life takes a drastic turn into the great unknown. I leave tomorrow for New York City and the beginning of a 26-day tour with moe.. (When you end a sentence with "moe." do you use two periods?) I am excited for this weekend, but this will be the longest stretch I've been on the road with the band since I took the job last April. In fact, this is the longest I've ever been away from "home" in my life I believe. I've gotten so used to my daily routine of waking up at 7:30, listeing to Howard Stern, drinking black coffee on the way to work, getting out of work at 5, going to the gym, running three miles, coming home, drinking wine with dinner, watching reruns of Sex and the City...etc. Suddenly my life will be drastically different. Once again I'll be ensconced by far too much testosterone, living with eleven other men on a bus, travelling around the country.

There are few common misconceptions about going on tour with a rock band. Let me set the record straight...

1) "You get to see the country." For the most part, this is not true. The vast majority of travelling is done in the middle of the night whilst everyone sleeps. Ninety percent of the time, you wake up in an alleyway behind a venue and walk 10 feet from the bus to the stage entrance and go to work at 9 a. m. The band members usually don't have to be at soundcheck until 3 or 4 in the afternoon, so they'll often go wander around whatever town we're in, but for us crew members, we often don't see any part of the outside world until dinner. Even then, you're usually rushing to go eat and shower all within an hour or so.

2) "You must be living the rock and roll party lifestyle." In reality, I usually finish working about 90 minutes after the show ends. Depending on the curfew of a given venue, this is generally anywhere from 12:30 - 2 a.m. Being the lighting guy, I'm literally the last person to finish workin, as we pack the truck with the lights on the very end (guess who is then the first person to unload the truck the next morning). So, our tour manager waits until I'm finished working to send home all the after show guests who are in fact "partying" backstage. If I'm lucky, I can sometimes have one drink at the after show party, but generally my presence signifies the end of the party. Fun. (Two night stands are the exception to this rule as all of our equipment is left in place for the following night's show...we all love two night stands because of this).

3) "You must stay in the nicest hotels." See number one. If we're lucky, we might stay in a hotel bed once a week, but not usually. The majority of sleeping is done on the bus. There simply are not enough hours in the day to stay at a hotel. We leave the venue at 2 a.m., go to sleep while the bus travells 6 - 8 hours to the next city, where we have to start working at 8 or 9 the next morning. Bigger, more lucrative acts have the luxury of staying in fancy hotels because A) they don't play as many consecutive nights and B) they play more multiple night stands in the same city. The Dead, for example, never play more than three nights in a row. Or, if you're Sting (and most of you are not) you fly home on your private jet EVERY night to sleep in your own bed with your wife - no matter where you are in the country. Must be nice.

But I do love what I do for about three hours every night. From the moment the house lights go down and "my" lights go up, I am entranced in the music and completely overstimulated creatively. It makes up for all the boring office work I do when I'm not on the road.

I sure will miss sleeping in my own bed though. And I will miss laughing with Ana.

Anyway, I guess this will be my last post for a few weeks. Wish me luck...

Attack of the Pink Sweaters

2005-02-01T16:56:00.000-05:00

Something quite peculiar is going on here at work today. Dozens of people are wearing pink. It's a bit eerie. I mean, what are the odds? Seriously. I know out of the five people that read this blog, at least two of you are math people (what's that like 85% of you or something?) Anyway, it's freaking me out because every time I go anywhere in the building, I see more pink. Even a GUY on the second floor is wearing a pink button-down. I used to own one, but stopped wearing it after Homer was sent to the loony bin with Michael Jackson (post black, pre-child molestation). Carol at the front desk is wearing a light pink sweater. Michelle in sales is wearing a darker pink top. Debbie in editorial is donning a hot pink t-shirt. Sheila the Intern is modeling a magenta long sleeve. And Jill, who's been on maternity leave as of late, brought her newborn baby girl in today and guess what color little Emma was wearing? Such a cliche.

But really, how is it that out of the roughly 30 people on my floor, about 17 of them show up wearing the same color? Is there a rational explanation or is it pure coincidence? Am I the only one that is perplexed by this?

Guess Who's Coming at Dinner

2005-01-14T11:02:00.000-05:00

Do you ever trigger a random memory from your childhood? We all do it. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to it, as was the case this morning. I was minding my own business, sipping coffee from my stolen coffee mug, when suddenly I was overcome by laughter and embarressment. For whatever reason, I was transported back in time to the age of ten, sitting at dinner with my family. We were at the Binnacle in Orleans, on the Cape, where they used to have the best caesar salad of all time (the restaurant has new ownership now and the salad is not nearly as good...the new best caesar ever goes to Papa Razzi in Boston). At some point during dinner, most likely after asking the waitress how large their pizzas were, one of my parents asked me the cliche yet genuine question "so, how was your day at school Jeffo?" I was telling them about science class, which was never one of my good subjects especially when math was involved. As I recall, I said the following sentence to my family: "Today was really cool. We were learning about the ocean and fish and all the little orgasms that live under water." There was a brief silence and looks of shock. Then laughter. My sister blurted out "He *knows* what that means." My parents were not angry, but rather amused by my quasi-Freudian slip. I was ten and rapidly approaching puberty. Of course I knew what an orgasm was. Sex was on my mind constantly (so much has changed in 19 years). But I certainly didn't mean to say that at the dinner table. That's all I remember.

My brain fascinates me sometimes.

No Class

2005-01-04T20:33:00.000-05:00

I officially hate flying. When I was younger I thought it was the coolest thing ever that you could go to an airport, board a big plane and then land at some other airport in another city. It was like magic. To me, the longest car ride in the world was going from my hometown of Syracuse, NY to my new home on Cape Cod. It took our family nine hours (speed limit and lots of stops). Anyway, when you're a kid nine hours is like half your lifetime and it seems like forever. I was such a cliche and would ask my dad "Are we there yet?" and he would sometimes respond "We're never gonna be *there* we'll always be *here*. It's still a pretty profound statement. (On a side note, to give you an insight to the type of family humor we had/have, whenever we'd go out for pizza, we'd ask how big the pizzas were. And then we'd judge the intellect of our server based on his or her response. If he or she said "8 slices," we knew they were a moron, because slicing something into 8 pieces doesn't tell you how big said thing is. If the server said "10 inches" then we knew they were sane. But I don't remember anyone ever saying the latter....on another side note, to fully explore this tanget, my funniest moment with an idiot waitress ever was at the Unos in Kenmore Square. I asked the cute, young waitress for a double iced cappacino and she brought me two. I laughed right in her face, which was mean, but I couldn't help it).

Back to my story. So, in my innocent, virgin mind, Syracuse, NY was nine hours away from Cape Cod. The first time I ever got on an airplane and flew from Boston to Syracuse, I couldn't believe it only took an hour. I felt like I had beaten the system. It was the coolest, most disorienting experience of all time. I loved my annual trip to Syracuse to visit my grandparents.

Twenty years later, flying sucks and let me tell you why. I always tell myself that I'll sleep on the plane. Always. I never sleep well prior to flying, most likely because the cheapest flights are at ridiculous hours of the morning for business travelers or because whenever I fly partying and or rock and roll are almost always part of the equation. But it is virtually impossible to sleep on a commercial airline. It is a conspiracy. The "flight attendants" (can someone explain why stewardess is not PC?) won't allow me to sleep. They literally find a reason to disturb me every 10 to 15 minutes. Enough with the fucking drink cart. WHO DRINKS THIS MUCH SODA IN REGULAR LIFE? On my recent trip to Vegas, they asked me if I wanted a beverage about 10 minutes into the flight. Now, I was obviously trying to sleep, and they shouldn't have disturbed me, but they did and I politely said "No thanks." Fifteen minutes later, they came by with the fucking cart AGAIN and asked "would you like another beverage sir?" I was so close to falling alseep this time too. I said, "No thanks, I'm still fine." Fast forward another 15 minutes: they come by AGAIN to pick up the trash from the other people in my row. THEN, the fucking captain comes on to tell us about the weather. Why do we care about the weather way up there? We're not going out in it. Unless our lives are in danger, please shut up and let me sleep. I don't care what city we're flying over. So then I try to doze off again and sure enough, 15 minutes later they come over the loud speaker and start telling us about the movie. The movies on these things always suck, but that's another story. Now the chicks have to come down the aisle again and offer to sell us cheap headphones for two dollars. Then the movie preview is blasted over the PA.

Don't even get me started on the screaming baby that follows me around the world. She or he or it even went to Japan with me. I don't know how it always knows exactly where I'm sitting, but have no fear, little Jessica or Mikey is always there, screaming for the length of the flight.

So my proposal is this: Make a special section in the back of the plane called No Class. Whereas people in first class get extra attention from the flight attendants, I want no attention whatsoever. Leave me the fuck alone, turn off the lights, and wake me when we get to Vegas. If I need something, I'll call you, but chances are, I can survive a plane ride without 14 cokes. I don't generally drink soda or eat little pretzels in real life, so why would I want to start now? Just lemme sleep and shut the fuck up.

I'm really a loving person by nature.

My Grandfather Slept with a Cow

2004-12-25T21:30:00.000-05:00

Literally. This morning at Christmas brunch I was telling my family how I almost froze to death on Christmas Eve because my sister and brother-in-law forgot to heat the guest room. I was on an air mattress, on a very cold wooden floor, the air inside the mattress became quite cold in the middle of the night and I awoke around 3 a.m. freezing my balls off. Turns out, the heater is on some kind of a timer and shuts off in the "play room" during the night and they aren't used to having guests in there. So I wake up and can almost see my breath. I then put on my winter coat and tried to go back to sleep, but it wasn't happening. Then I decided to go to the basement and look for a space heater, which to my surprise just happened to be sitting out in the open. "That was easy," I thought. I scurried back upstairs thinking that if I made noise it didn't matter because my little neices would just think it was Santa and I was helping to perpetuate the myth, which is even more necessary since my sister's "fire place" has no chimney. After moving any flammables away from the air mattress and securing an extension chord, I settled back into bed quite proud of myself for problem-solving so efficiently in the middle of the night. I got back under the covers and turned on the space heater....

nothing.

Ok, maybe the outlet is hooked up to the lightswitch. That must be it. Nope. Maybe the outlet doesn't work. Nope. The fucking space heater was broken. Who leaves a broken space heater out in the open waiting to be taken by some desperate freezing relative in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve?! FUCK!

I decided to go out and sleep in the living room, where there was heat, but not much. So now I'm all scrunched up on the couch, in my winter coat trying to fall back asleep. A couple short hours later, my brother-in-law wakes me up and asks if I want to go up to the neices room because they're awake now and all fired up to open their presents. So I changed beds for a third time, although this was the first time I'd actually be in a real bed. I actually slept for a solid two hours before my mom woke me up for good.

After telling this exciting story over bagels, bad omelettes and good coffee with whiskey, my grampa took me down memory lane. I felt a bit silly when he was done, and sillier because of said whiskey. In World War II, he was forced to sleep in many strange places, not limited to, but including a pile of gas cans, hay stacks, mud, and with a cow. Hell, the cow kept him warm, didn't snore or wake up, and as my dad pointed out - free milk in the morning. I may date a cow one of these days.

As for the rest of Christmas, it was actually more pleasant than I thought. Or perhaps I was just mentally prepared because I vented all my frustrations in my last blog entry. My sister and I got along great, mostly because my new step-gramma is the biggest bitch ever and I wound up looking like a saint in comparison. My sister was completely stressed out and working her ass off to host this grand gala. She didn't seem to have any fun and was constantly worrying about this or that. I felt bad for her. I don't ever want to be like that when I have a family of my own. The holidays should be a celebration not a chore. Plus, she volunteered for this. She was the one that wanted to move Christmas to her house.

Anyway, as I was leaving her house tonight I read the calendar on her kitchen wall. There was something written in on almost every day of the month. It really says a lot about her in this stage of her boring, stressful, pregnant life. While my calendar has hand-scribbled notes such as "Keller" or "Higher Ground Grand Opening" or "New Year's in Vegas," hers says things like "Walgreens" or "book club." Poor Allison: all grown up and doesn't know how to have fun.

I realized I really do love her though. I just wish she did more for herself. She needs to smoke a joint and unwind. I guess the pregnancy thing sort of rules that out, but you get the idea.

And my mom got me an Ipod. She rules.

not the brightest tool in the shed

2004-12-19T13:38:00.000-05:00

[Jeff enters the room sipping a large glass of Merlot]

Susan: Did you try the red wine or the white?

[Jeff tries not to call Susan an idiot to her face and simply points to the glass]

Susan: Red wine makes me very warm and tired and white wine makes me dance my ass off.

Jeff: So does Zinfadel make you sleep walk?

Susan: [confused] Are you being ironic?

No longer just "that guy"

2004-12-17T12:22:00.000-05:00

A funny thing is happening here at the workplace today. Suddenly everyone knows me. I no longer get the polite nod and the awkward "how are you," which is really a polite way of saying "who the hell are you?" Because, honestly, they don't care how I am. They don't even wait for my answer. They're already past me on the way to the copy machine. But today, that's all changed and let me explain how this phenomenon occured. Last night was my first official company function outside of the office, the annual holiday party. Out of the hundred or so employees that were there, I was the one chosen to play DJ for the entertainment portion of the evening - a set by a mildly amusing comdian/magician. It was only about a 15 minute committment, but hey, why did I have to work in the middle of this office partay? And, no advance warning? What's up with that. I had a date and everything. Nonetheless, halfway through my salad, my boss says, "Oh Jeff, we need you to operate the CD player. We figured you'd be perfect for it." Right, cuz no one else in the company, including the entire IT team, knows how to operate a 5-disc Sony. Oh and because I'm a lighting guy for a rock band, I must know how to run a CD player. What would they do without me? The comedian/hick/magician/chick worked me into her act saying things like "hit it Jeff" or "Ok Jeff" or "let's give it up for Jeff." In addition to this verbal abuse, I was also positioned on the side of the stage, in plain view of the entire audience.

Today, people are not only waiting for my response to "how *ARE* you?" but they are saying things like "Hey, nice job last night" or "Thanks for all your help" or "Did you have fun last night?"

So, there you have it. Now I'm known as "Jeff" instead of "that new guy." And, in the time that it's taken me to write this, three or four co-workers have no doubt passed by, looked over my shoulder and thought "Hey that's Jeff from the thing last night. What a slacker he is."

blah, blah blog

2004-12-15T18:37:00.000-05:00

What an utterly uneventful day it has been thus far. The highlights have been A) running B) an early morning call from a friend and C) hearing "Against the Wind" on the radio. That's it. Although, for some reason, it's been a good day. How does that happen? Has my life become that boring? For the last six years, I've had the privilege of working from home, sitting in my pajamas all day and writing about the music I love. I would rise around 11:20 a.m. and have my first cup of coffee by noon or one depending on which Saturday Night Live rerun I decided to watch. In the later years, Comedy Central bumped SNL for Conan, so my routine changed slightly, but I digress. My point is, I always bragged about the fact that I wasn't part of the rat race. No traffic. No weather. No alarm clock. Hell, in the cold months, sometimes I wouldn't leave the house until Wednesday. But the one thing I missed was human interaction. So now, I'm finally doing the 9 - 5 thing. My alarm goes off at 7:30. I watch the Today Show. I listen to Stern on the way to work. I arrive at the office and say things like "Morning Caroll, how are you?" or "Hi Michelle, how's it going?" or "Hey Marc, how's the baby?" I'm Mr. Joe America. I've become the antithesis of my former self. Although the whole rock star lifestyle I lead sporadically sort of saves me and my brain from going insane.

I just don't understand how everyone else does it day after day after day for their entire lives. No wonder Prozac and the like are such popular drugs. Just what in the hell do people look forward to? Golf? Book club? How do they go to work every day over and over and over again? I just don't get it.

Hey look, I've been up for almost 12 hours and haven't had a moment to myself until right now.

I wish I was filthy rich. Like I've always said, money may not buy happiness, but if you're already happy, it sure is nice to have.

Cold vs. Brisk

2004-12-14T16:58:00.000-05:00

We have officially segued into winter. I've declared it. Just minutes ago I performed the physically awkward task of taking out the air conditioner from my bedroom window. It's such a symbolic gesture and each year it occurs later and later in the year. I believe this time I've set an all time record. For some reason, I'm quite neurotic, thus my obsession with air conditioners in the first place. So my annual AC removal or installation becomes this time for reflection, and I'm not referring to the extra window pane that is revealed after the project is complete. Rather, this 5-minute *event* has turned into my own little holiday during which I recall how much my life has changed since the last time I performed said task. I also look ahead to the spring and wonder just how different my life will be the next time I waddle around with that heavy metal box with the sharp edges.

Because I say so, it is now winter in my world and I hate winter. I do quite enjoy the build up to the holidays, because let's face it, it is a cheery time and I'm a light guy, so you have to respect all of the increased electric bills and cheap Martha Stewart decorations. Plus, there are a few great Christmas songs out there and they really only get a month or so of airtime a year. Point is, after the best holiday ever, we are faced with awful champagne hangovers and a melancholy U2 song that I don't fully agree with. A lot changes on New Year's Day. The holidays are over, the gym is overcrowded with a bunch of fat people who won't last a month and there is generally nothing to look forward to until April. Even then, it could snow. This year, I'll be in Vegas for New Years, so maybe I'll get married or something. Oh the irony.

So, with no fear of sounding like a pessimist, I say enjoy the only fun part of winter while you can.

And thank god there is no hockey this year. What a joke that sport is.

Is This Thing On?

2004-12-13T19:13:00.000-05:00

It's occured to me as of late that I miss writing. When it was my profession, it became a source of stress, with every word over-analyzed to the point where it no longer felt creative. And, for some reason, whenever I get paid to do something, it becomes "work" and thus, a source of procrastination (although this hasn't happened with concert lighting, perhaps because it's such a Zen-like artform and is so IN THE MOMENT that procrastinating simply isn't possible, although if it is, I'm sure I'll discover how soon). Anyway, lately my emails have been getting longer and less robotic and I'm beginning to enjoy writing again. I've also been trying to rediscover my identity in the last few months, as pretty much everything in my life has changed. Hell, even the Red Sox won the world series.

After four months or so of soul searching, I've emerged on top, ready for the next phase of my life. I had a quasi-epiphany today, but it's so trite that it's almost not worth repeating. Here goes though: without change, you stop learning about yourself; you stop challenging yourself. It's always been very hard for me to deal with change as I'm traditionally a creature of habit (thanks dad), but lately I've been realizing that it really doesn't take much to start new habits. Suddenly I have 2 new jobs, a new collection of favorite CDs, I'm going to the gym again every night and I'm making new friends. As much as I was clinging to my "perfect life" from a year ago, that was 2003. It's time for the next chapter.

How cliche is that?