Last night was $4 martinis. An extremely cost effective way to get drunk and homesick and experience your first psychotic girl episode in years. Awshummmmmm.
Hope you all have stellar weekends.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Leo
I saw The Aviator last night.
Thoughts:
1. It was stylistically all over the place. Very uneven. I would give anything to have the old Martin Scorsese back.
2. It was overambitious. I wish he'd made this movie 15 years ago. I wanted the entire film to be like the meltdown scenes. In this movie, they stood out as old-school Scorsese, which was great, but then the movie would revert back to overused conventional crap. Blah.
3. It didn't have much depth.
4. It didn't really have a beginning. Or a good story arc.
5. I kept thinking it was over, but it never was!
6. The Howard Hughes character didn't make sense - he had no emotional depth whatsoever - sometimes he was neurotic, sometimes not. Sometimes OCD, sometimes not. Sometimes germaphobic, sometimes not. Very inconsistent. Without explanation. Did I care? No.
7. I still, apparently, have a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. His eyes are so blue. I wanted him to be more nuts. I wanted psychotic camera angles and fucked up music and, well, I guess I just wanted it to be Taxi Driver. I thought, however, he handled greatly what he was given.
8. Cate Blanchett is exquisite.
9. And you can imagine how thrilled I was to see Jude Law! Delicious. I spent the rest of the movie wondering if he would reappear.
10. The star cameos, though, were a little distracting. Rufus Wainwright? Gwen Stefani? What? Willem Dafoe? YES!
11. The editing was atrocious. It seems like they didn't get all of the footage they needed, and then just threw things together. There was one scene in which Howard Hughes and his recently hired 15-year-old girlfriend were at a table discussing the future of TWA with somebody or other. I don't really know, because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying because the editing was killing me! The girl was eating ice cream, and the spoon kept disappearing, or she'd have it, and then it would be in a different place. Howard Hughes was sipping coffee, and the same thing was happening. He's be drinking it, and the shot would be over-the-shoulder and the coffee was gone!!! And its nominated for best editing! Wtf!??!
12. The period piece-ness and epic-ness were nice. People love a good epic. This is the only explanation as to why it is nominated for 11 academy awards.
13. It had the token gory Scorsese scene, although it caught me off gaurd because I forgot I was watching a Scorsese film. You know the kind - blood all over the face, loud sounds of violence, that sort of thing. I wish the entire movie had been like that.
14. The story, though, man! Does anyone know anything about Howard Hughes? I need to pick up a biography or at the very least do some reading today. I don't know how much of the movie was true. I don't know much about him at all, other than the fact that he funded my research at UMass and thanks to him I got $1000 for writing my senior thesis. The idea of an eccentric, brilliant billionnaire who throws money around without thinking into inventions and movies thrills me. Does this happen anymore? What ever happened to the rich and neurotic eccentric who pursues his passions without consequence? What happened to inventions? Have we stopped evolving? This guy was nuts - he's like "Build a bigger plane!" and didn't care if it was practical or cost effective or possible. He was focused and obsessive and could be, because he had money, which gave him complete freedom. It's also weird to think of a time when there weren't passenger planes, and how some nut job was like "We could fly people across the Atlantic!" and people were like "Noooooo! It cannot and should not be done!"
15. This was a harsh review, and far more harsh than I actually felt. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you really want to see it, I wouldn't discourage you either. It's a very interesting story, and the acting is superb.
I guess 2 out of 5 stars. Well, maybe 3 out of 5. Yeah. 3 out of 5 stars.
Thoughts:
1. It was stylistically all over the place. Very uneven. I would give anything to have the old Martin Scorsese back.
2. It was overambitious. I wish he'd made this movie 15 years ago. I wanted the entire film to be like the meltdown scenes. In this movie, they stood out as old-school Scorsese, which was great, but then the movie would revert back to overused conventional crap. Blah.
3. It didn't have much depth.
4. It didn't really have a beginning. Or a good story arc.
5. I kept thinking it was over, but it never was!
6. The Howard Hughes character didn't make sense - he had no emotional depth whatsoever - sometimes he was neurotic, sometimes not. Sometimes OCD, sometimes not. Sometimes germaphobic, sometimes not. Very inconsistent. Without explanation. Did I care? No.
7. I still, apparently, have a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. His eyes are so blue. I wanted him to be more nuts. I wanted psychotic camera angles and fucked up music and, well, I guess I just wanted it to be Taxi Driver. I thought, however, he handled greatly what he was given.
8. Cate Blanchett is exquisite.
9. And you can imagine how thrilled I was to see Jude Law! Delicious. I spent the rest of the movie wondering if he would reappear.
10. The star cameos, though, were a little distracting. Rufus Wainwright? Gwen Stefani? What? Willem Dafoe? YES!
11. The editing was atrocious. It seems like they didn't get all of the footage they needed, and then just threw things together. There was one scene in which Howard Hughes and his recently hired 15-year-old girlfriend were at a table discussing the future of TWA with somebody or other. I don't really know, because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying because the editing was killing me! The girl was eating ice cream, and the spoon kept disappearing, or she'd have it, and then it would be in a different place. Howard Hughes was sipping coffee, and the same thing was happening. He's be drinking it, and the shot would be over-the-shoulder and the coffee was gone!!! And its nominated for best editing! Wtf!??!
12. The period piece-ness and epic-ness were nice. People love a good epic. This is the only explanation as to why it is nominated for 11 academy awards.
13. It had the token gory Scorsese scene, although it caught me off gaurd because I forgot I was watching a Scorsese film. You know the kind - blood all over the face, loud sounds of violence, that sort of thing. I wish the entire movie had been like that.
14. The story, though, man! Does anyone know anything about Howard Hughes? I need to pick up a biography or at the very least do some reading today. I don't know how much of the movie was true. I don't know much about him at all, other than the fact that he funded my research at UMass and thanks to him I got $1000 for writing my senior thesis. The idea of an eccentric, brilliant billionnaire who throws money around without thinking into inventions and movies thrills me. Does this happen anymore? What ever happened to the rich and neurotic eccentric who pursues his passions without consequence? What happened to inventions? Have we stopped evolving? This guy was nuts - he's like "Build a bigger plane!" and didn't care if it was practical or cost effective or possible. He was focused and obsessive and could be, because he had money, which gave him complete freedom. It's also weird to think of a time when there weren't passenger planes, and how some nut job was like "We could fly people across the Atlantic!" and people were like "Noooooo! It cannot and should not be done!"
15. This was a harsh review, and far more harsh than I actually felt. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you really want to see it, I wouldn't discourage you either. It's a very interesting story, and the acting is superb.
I guess 2 out of 5 stars. Well, maybe 3 out of 5. Yeah. 3 out of 5 stars.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Suit
I went to listen to Douglas Coupland talk last night at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square. I don't know why I was expecting him to be wearing a suit. I suppose its because he's successful, but really, he's a nut. I should have known that from his writing. Why would he be wearing a suit?
Some thoughts:
1. His new book, Eleanor Rigby, sounds cool, at least based upon the excerpts that he read.
2. I am thrilled that he is currently working on a sequel to Microserfs! It is called J Pod, and he read from it last night. Bonus! He read a part in which the protagonists start talking about Ronald McDonald, and decide that it would be funny to write personals-style letters to Ronald McDonald to explain why they would be the ultimate mate for him. It was very funny. I can't wait.
3. Douglas Coupland is a spazz and very normal. The most bizarre thing about him is that his reading-out-loud style sounds exactly like his speaking-style, so I kept getting confused as to what was being read vs. what was not being read. Very casual, very spastic. I wonder if he always read out loud that way, like in elementary school. I hate reading out loud. See previous posts about ulcers and neuroses. The thing about reading out loud in school is, though, when you get that post-traumatic-stress-blocked-the-experience-out thing, you have no idea what's going on because you essentially missed everything from the part you read. Then you are confused and can't catch up, on top of being traumatized. Awesome.
4. The Q & A was weak - only three questions - but the third person who asked a question was like "I saw you about ten years ago and you were talking about how the 30's were the best years of your life. Can you reflect, now that you're in your 40's, on that?" He then went on to say that the 30's are, in fact, the best years. He said "And 26 is the worst year. Anyone? Does anyone agree that was the worst age?" Preach on. So true. 26 was the worst year ever. He still feels that the 30's were great, and that 40 is too close to death and people treat you as such. He told some 40's related anecdotes, but said "You know, amongst people in their 50's and 60's, the age that they think of themselves in their minds is 33 or 34." Interesting. So things pretty much peak at 33 or 34, which is scary. Only 4 or 5 more years!!!! And then stagnation.
Hmmmmm. Well, I'm not sure how old all of you readers are, so I'm not sure that we have data on this yet. I wholeheartedly agree with Douglas Coupland that 26 sucked, as did 27. For me, I think my early 20's were the best - the first two years out of college. Man. I loved that. And I have also liked 28, and think 29 will be even better. I feel like most people probably like the college years best. But man, 11 was awesome!
Some thoughts:
1. His new book, Eleanor Rigby, sounds cool, at least based upon the excerpts that he read.
2. I am thrilled that he is currently working on a sequel to Microserfs! It is called J Pod, and he read from it last night. Bonus! He read a part in which the protagonists start talking about Ronald McDonald, and decide that it would be funny to write personals-style letters to Ronald McDonald to explain why they would be the ultimate mate for him. It was very funny. I can't wait.
3. Douglas Coupland is a spazz and very normal. The most bizarre thing about him is that his reading-out-loud style sounds exactly like his speaking-style, so I kept getting confused as to what was being read vs. what was not being read. Very casual, very spastic. I wonder if he always read out loud that way, like in elementary school. I hate reading out loud. See previous posts about ulcers and neuroses. The thing about reading out loud in school is, though, when you get that post-traumatic-stress-blocked-the-experience-out thing, you have no idea what's going on because you essentially missed everything from the part you read. Then you are confused and can't catch up, on top of being traumatized. Awesome.
4. The Q & A was weak - only three questions - but the third person who asked a question was like "I saw you about ten years ago and you were talking about how the 30's were the best years of your life. Can you reflect, now that you're in your 40's, on that?" He then went on to say that the 30's are, in fact, the best years. He said "And 26 is the worst year. Anyone? Does anyone agree that was the worst age?" Preach on. So true. 26 was the worst year ever. He still feels that the 30's were great, and that 40 is too close to death and people treat you as such. He told some 40's related anecdotes, but said "You know, amongst people in their 50's and 60's, the age that they think of themselves in their minds is 33 or 34." Interesting. So things pretty much peak at 33 or 34, which is scary. Only 4 or 5 more years!!!! And then stagnation.
Hmmmmm. Well, I'm not sure how old all of you readers are, so I'm not sure that we have data on this yet. I wholeheartedly agree with Douglas Coupland that 26 sucked, as did 27. For me, I think my early 20's were the best - the first two years out of college. Man. I loved that. And I have also liked 28, and think 29 will be even better. I feel like most people probably like the college years best. But man, 11 was awesome!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Fear Not Conquered, But I Am Still Alive
My.
Well.
Hmmmmm.
So.
Yeah.
The open mic.
Right.
I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.
I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.
Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.
The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.
The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.
There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.
I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.
Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.
Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.
The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.
The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.
The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.
The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.
OK.
The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."
Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"
Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!
Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.
First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.
Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.
Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!
Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.
Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.
Yeah.
So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"
The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.
Shit.
I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.
D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"
It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.
Except....
I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.
He said "I really liked your stuff."
WHAT!??!?!
I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.
He said "You have a nice contralto."
Right. Contralto.
I'm like "Sorry?"
"Contralto?"
"What?"
"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."
Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."
Awwwshummmmmm.
And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"
And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"
"No?"
"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.
I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"
"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."
I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"
"Yeah, probably."
"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"
"Cool."
Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.
D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.
I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.
My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.
Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.
I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?
People. What is the point? Please remind me.
I am going to go back next week. There are good things:
1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.
Bad things:
1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.
But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.
I should do it.
This entry was so long.
I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.
Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.
OK. I should eat.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!
Well.
Hmmmmm.
So.
Yeah.
The open mic.
Right.
I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.
I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.
Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.
The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.
The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.
There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.
I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.
Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.
Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.
The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.
The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.
The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.
The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.
OK.
The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."
Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"
Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!
Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.
First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.
Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.
Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!
Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.
Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.
Yeah.
So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"
The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.
Shit.
I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.
D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"
It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.
Except....
I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.
He said "I really liked your stuff."
WHAT!??!?!
I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.
He said "You have a nice contralto."
Right. Contralto.
I'm like "Sorry?"
"Contralto?"
"What?"
"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."
Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."
Awwwshummmmmm.
And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"
And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"
"No?"
"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.
I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"
"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."
I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"
"Yeah, probably."
"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"
"Cool."
Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.
D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.
I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.
My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.
Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.
I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?
People. What is the point? Please remind me.
I am going to go back next week. There are good things:
1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.
Bad things:
1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.
But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.
I should do it.
This entry was so long.
I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.
Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.
OK. I should eat.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!
Monday, January 24, 2005
Ulcer
Right now:
1. Trying to get over irritable morning commute. I tried a new trajectory this morning and, again, met with bizarre placed snowbanks that had me backtracking away from my destination at least four times. I almost got run over by a truck. I had to let two L trains go by before there was space for me. Bench Buddy said "It's awesome to live in Brooklyn, but it's at times like these that you realize that nobody cares about Brooklyn." Preach on. Irritable.
2. Trying to suppress open-mic induced ulcer. Every time I think about it my stomach flares up and I feel like I am going to vomit. It's not for 9 hours, but already I am freaking out. I suspect this will be the sort of thing where they call out "Leah" and I pretend like I am not there. I'll look around with everyone else and shrug my shoulders and wonder why this person signed up and left prior to being called! How dare they give up such a valuable opportunity?
3. Trying to convince myself that my impulse buy just now was the right thing to do. I got an email from NYU about this class - basically, you go and preview movies before they come out and then the professor interviews the director or star or both. Very cool. Very New York. The problem with this is that you don't know what the movies are, so you're paying lots of money to potentially see awful movies. I think, however, that bad movies could be worthwhile if you get to listen to Bruce Willis discuss the badness afterwards. There are screenings on Tuesday nights and then random ones on the weekends, and you could also get invited to premiers and other previews. And you might be invited to participate in focus groups. I wouldn't be agonizing over this except that money is tight these days. But, again, why live in NY if you're not going to do things like this?
4. Trying to forget ulcer by doing things such as writing blog.
5. Trying not to fantasize too hard about proposed collabo between Bench Buddy and myself in which we would perform Brick by Ben Folds at the open mic. Bench Buddy would sing in the style of Bright Eyes. I would not have an ulcer because all eyes would be on Bench Buddy.
This ulcer really needs to cease. As a kid, I'd have ballet and piano recitals and feel like this every time. One time I dropped and broke a plate the morning before a piano recital because my hands were shaking so badly. My family would always say "It's so cute - you can tell you're nervous because your foot shakes." Yes, cute, thank you. Thanks for noticing I was having a meltdown on stage and thank you even more for pointing it out. The problem with doing an open mic is that your meltdown can be two-fold - you can fuck up on the keys and in your voice. I could forget the words. My voice will quiver. My hands will be shaking. What if I forget the song completely? I think I might write down the words just to be safe. I am playing a long song so that I'll have time to acclimate over time. Maybe the first two minutes will be a disaster, but hopefully I'll be comfortable by the third minute. Man. My voice shakes a lot when I do karaoke, but only the first song. Only the first time. Maybe this first open mic will be a disaster but all future ones will be stellar. Maybe it will be such a disaster that I'll never want to do one again. Maybe it will be ok because I can look at the piano or close my eyes and I'll feel like I am at my own piano, alone. Karaoke is tough because you are forced, usually, to look at the people, and you're constantly thinking "Do they think I suck? Do they want to leave? Can they tell I'm having a meltdown?"
I should stop having an ulcer because I might not even be able to play. This could be the sort of open mic where people are rabid and they all get there an hour early and scramble to sign up. I am going to get there half an hour early, just so I can have a drink, see what's going on, decide if I really want to do this.
Is it true that there are people who don't have stagefright? Is it true that some people like public speaking?
Bench Buddy said he started smoking to deal with doing standup comedy.
I really wish I smoked. I wish I wasn't so anxious. I wish I wasn't challenging myself like this. I wish I had more confidence. I wish I had a beta blocker.
Sigh.
OK. I am going to do some math. I am glad to have that out of my system. Thank you, readers, for putting up with my self-indulgence.
1. Trying to get over irritable morning commute. I tried a new trajectory this morning and, again, met with bizarre placed snowbanks that had me backtracking away from my destination at least four times. I almost got run over by a truck. I had to let two L trains go by before there was space for me. Bench Buddy said "It's awesome to live in Brooklyn, but it's at times like these that you realize that nobody cares about Brooklyn." Preach on. Irritable.
2. Trying to suppress open-mic induced ulcer. Every time I think about it my stomach flares up and I feel like I am going to vomit. It's not for 9 hours, but already I am freaking out. I suspect this will be the sort of thing where they call out "Leah" and I pretend like I am not there. I'll look around with everyone else and shrug my shoulders and wonder why this person signed up and left prior to being called! How dare they give up such a valuable opportunity?
3. Trying to convince myself that my impulse buy just now was the right thing to do. I got an email from NYU about this class - basically, you go and preview movies before they come out and then the professor interviews the director or star or both. Very cool. Very New York. The problem with this is that you don't know what the movies are, so you're paying lots of money to potentially see awful movies. I think, however, that bad movies could be worthwhile if you get to listen to Bruce Willis discuss the badness afterwards. There are screenings on Tuesday nights and then random ones on the weekends, and you could also get invited to premiers and other previews. And you might be invited to participate in focus groups. I wouldn't be agonizing over this except that money is tight these days. But, again, why live in NY if you're not going to do things like this?
4. Trying to forget ulcer by doing things such as writing blog.
5. Trying not to fantasize too hard about proposed collabo between Bench Buddy and myself in which we would perform Brick by Ben Folds at the open mic. Bench Buddy would sing in the style of Bright Eyes. I would not have an ulcer because all eyes would be on Bench Buddy.
This ulcer really needs to cease. As a kid, I'd have ballet and piano recitals and feel like this every time. One time I dropped and broke a plate the morning before a piano recital because my hands were shaking so badly. My family would always say "It's so cute - you can tell you're nervous because your foot shakes." Yes, cute, thank you. Thanks for noticing I was having a meltdown on stage and thank you even more for pointing it out. The problem with doing an open mic is that your meltdown can be two-fold - you can fuck up on the keys and in your voice. I could forget the words. My voice will quiver. My hands will be shaking. What if I forget the song completely? I think I might write down the words just to be safe. I am playing a long song so that I'll have time to acclimate over time. Maybe the first two minutes will be a disaster, but hopefully I'll be comfortable by the third minute. Man. My voice shakes a lot when I do karaoke, but only the first song. Only the first time. Maybe this first open mic will be a disaster but all future ones will be stellar. Maybe it will be such a disaster that I'll never want to do one again. Maybe it will be ok because I can look at the piano or close my eyes and I'll feel like I am at my own piano, alone. Karaoke is tough because you are forced, usually, to look at the people, and you're constantly thinking "Do they think I suck? Do they want to leave? Can they tell I'm having a meltdown?"
I should stop having an ulcer because I might not even be able to play. This could be the sort of open mic where people are rabid and they all get there an hour early and scramble to sign up. I am going to get there half an hour early, just so I can have a drink, see what's going on, decide if I really want to do this.
Is it true that there are people who don't have stagefright? Is it true that some people like public speaking?
Bench Buddy said he started smoking to deal with doing standup comedy.
I really wish I smoked. I wish I wasn't so anxious. I wish I wasn't challenging myself like this. I wish I had more confidence. I wish I had a beta blocker.
Sigh.
OK. I am going to do some math. I am glad to have that out of my system. Thank you, readers, for putting up with my self-indulgence.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Blizzard of '78
Yesterday afternoon I was feeling a little nostalgic for Boston when I spoke with my parents about the upcoming storm - they were stuck in apocalypse-level traffic on their way to Home Depot with the rest of the world to get plastic or something for their windows. I thought "Man, I wish I was there! I wish I was freaking out about a snow storm, and frantic about being stranded! I wish I could look forward to feet of snow and hours of shovelling with my neighbors, who would say things like 'We haven't seen anything like this since the blizzahd of '78!'"
Former Roommate Peachz said today that the good folks of MA actually got more snow than the Blizzard of '78!, which, again, makes me feel slightly sad.
But not really, because the moment I stepped out this afternoon to buy groceries I had more rational thoughts such as "I HATE SNOW! Why don't people freaking shovel? And why, when they do, do they shovel it onto the goddamn sidewalk? Where am I supposed to walk?" It took me at least 2x the time it normally takes to walk around. It was the sort of thing where you're walking on a sidewalk and then the open area just ceases and becomes a giant snowbank and you have to turn around.
This is mystifying, because we didn't really get that much snow. At most a foot, but I think it was more like six inches with a really inefficient shovelling job.
My journey to the grocery store was of the sort where you're walking in snowbanks and falling over every few feet because your ankles are twisting on the weird terrain, and then you get snow in your sock and have to deal with it for an hour.
Although, this experience reminds me of an idea I had for a movie in which two people meet while they are navigating their ways through snowbanks. Like the girl is walking and the boy has already turned around because he encountered a random snowbank mid-sidewalk, and they sort of crash into each other and are isolated from the world by a 7-foot pile of snow. I think that's cute. Well, not really, but when this sort of thing with the random snowbank would occur in Boston I'd fantasize about some dude also being trapped and we could laugh about it together instead of my just being irritable and pissed off and having to turn around and backtrack for five minutes. Unfortunately its a romantic comedy type idea, and I have no use for romantic comedies, so the idea will never be more than an idea.
Aside from the snow, the weekend was lovely. I did NOTHING! and therefore got many things done.
Many, many things.
The Loft is now a Sparkly Loft, the Cat is Happy, the comics are compiled and submitted for further evaluation, the music has been practiced and is (gasp!) ready for performance tomorrow night should I get to the open mic in enough time to sign up, and a dent has been made in the phone calls.
I did not go to see Aviator, because of the snow. Wimp move, yes, but I had other things to do and the idea of sitting in a movie theater for three hours with snow in my sock and soaked to the core and freezing just didn't seem appealing.
I am feeling domestic lately. I think its the, ahem, blah, um, boyfriend thing. It could be because he cooks and I feel like a deadbeat and a miserable excuse for a woman, or because it just makes me feel settled and like I should be doing things like cleaning and contemplating the colors of walls and cooking. Either way, I cooked tonight!
Now. When I first graduated from college I was all about cooking. I cooked a few times a week. I tried recipes (granted, most of them turned into complete and utter disasters - the ones I recall most fondly are the carrot ginger soup that ended up all over the kitchen and would actually be a very good recipe for cinema vomit should you ever need some! and the potato leek soup that ended up being mashed potatoes and the cheesy potatoes my mother makes that didn't even make it past "melt the butter in the bottom of the pot and then add cheese" because something AWFUL happened to it without explanation) and ate well. I brought lunch to work. I made homemade pasta. I made sauces. I cooked fairly regularly for about two years and then got distracted by other things and stopped.
I didn't cook for the entirety of my stay at my last apartment, which was three years. THREE YEARS! I think I may have made one calzone, scrambled eggs on the weekends, and boiled pasta twice. I cooked little things for parties and pot lucks, but never actually cooked for myself. I don't know why. I think I lost interest, in either cooking or in myself.
Each year one of my New Year's resolutions is COOK MORE. Or, COOK AT ALL.
This wasn't one of my resolutions this year, because I knew it wasn't going to happen. But because of domestication or the blizzard or free time or all of those things, I decided to COOK! I know, I know. You can't believe it. I made a tomato mozzarella basil olive oil salad and potato gnocchi with sage butter parmesan sauce. And it was GOOD! DELICIOUS even!!! Roommate had some. Her mind was blown.
I am so happy. I don't know why. Why? Cooking isn't a big deal, but I guess it is for me. I feel so satisfied. And full. Yummmmmmmmmm,
So that's that. It was a good weekend of nothing. Very non-New York, but still good.
I am not looking forward to leaving the Loft tomorrow. The snow. Ugh. And more on the way. I am bringing extra socks to work. I am going to have to wear boots. I freaking hate winter boots. HATE THEM. I hate being the person with the change of clothes. I wish I hate boots that could double as regular shoes. But those are tres cher, and there is no more money these days.
Hope you are all surviving the snow if you are somewhere where there is snow! And if you don't have snow, well, you suck.
Former Roommate Peachz said today that the good folks of MA actually got more snow than the Blizzard of '78!, which, again, makes me feel slightly sad.
But not really, because the moment I stepped out this afternoon to buy groceries I had more rational thoughts such as "I HATE SNOW! Why don't people freaking shovel? And why, when they do, do they shovel it onto the goddamn sidewalk? Where am I supposed to walk?" It took me at least 2x the time it normally takes to walk around. It was the sort of thing where you're walking on a sidewalk and then the open area just ceases and becomes a giant snowbank and you have to turn around.
This is mystifying, because we didn't really get that much snow. At most a foot, but I think it was more like six inches with a really inefficient shovelling job.
My journey to the grocery store was of the sort where you're walking in snowbanks and falling over every few feet because your ankles are twisting on the weird terrain, and then you get snow in your sock and have to deal with it for an hour.
Although, this experience reminds me of an idea I had for a movie in which two people meet while they are navigating their ways through snowbanks. Like the girl is walking and the boy has already turned around because he encountered a random snowbank mid-sidewalk, and they sort of crash into each other and are isolated from the world by a 7-foot pile of snow. I think that's cute. Well, not really, but when this sort of thing with the random snowbank would occur in Boston I'd fantasize about some dude also being trapped and we could laugh about it together instead of my just being irritable and pissed off and having to turn around and backtrack for five minutes. Unfortunately its a romantic comedy type idea, and I have no use for romantic comedies, so the idea will never be more than an idea.
Aside from the snow, the weekend was lovely. I did NOTHING! and therefore got many things done.
Many, many things.
The Loft is now a Sparkly Loft, the Cat is Happy, the comics are compiled and submitted for further evaluation, the music has been practiced and is (gasp!) ready for performance tomorrow night should I get to the open mic in enough time to sign up, and a dent has been made in the phone calls.
I did not go to see Aviator, because of the snow. Wimp move, yes, but I had other things to do and the idea of sitting in a movie theater for three hours with snow in my sock and soaked to the core and freezing just didn't seem appealing.
I am feeling domestic lately. I think its the, ahem, blah, um, boyfriend thing. It could be because he cooks and I feel like a deadbeat and a miserable excuse for a woman, or because it just makes me feel settled and like I should be doing things like cleaning and contemplating the colors of walls and cooking. Either way, I cooked tonight!
Now. When I first graduated from college I was all about cooking. I cooked a few times a week. I tried recipes (granted, most of them turned into complete and utter disasters - the ones I recall most fondly are the carrot ginger soup that ended up all over the kitchen and would actually be a very good recipe for cinema vomit should you ever need some! and the potato leek soup that ended up being mashed potatoes and the cheesy potatoes my mother makes that didn't even make it past "melt the butter in the bottom of the pot and then add cheese" because something AWFUL happened to it without explanation) and ate well. I brought lunch to work. I made homemade pasta. I made sauces. I cooked fairly regularly for about two years and then got distracted by other things and stopped.
I didn't cook for the entirety of my stay at my last apartment, which was three years. THREE YEARS! I think I may have made one calzone, scrambled eggs on the weekends, and boiled pasta twice. I cooked little things for parties and pot lucks, but never actually cooked for myself. I don't know why. I think I lost interest, in either cooking or in myself.
Each year one of my New Year's resolutions is COOK MORE. Or, COOK AT ALL.
This wasn't one of my resolutions this year, because I knew it wasn't going to happen. But because of domestication or the blizzard or free time or all of those things, I decided to COOK! I know, I know. You can't believe it. I made a tomato mozzarella basil olive oil salad and potato gnocchi with sage butter parmesan sauce. And it was GOOD! DELICIOUS even!!! Roommate had some. Her mind was blown.
I am so happy. I don't know why. Why? Cooking isn't a big deal, but I guess it is for me. I feel so satisfied. And full. Yummmmmmmmmm,
So that's that. It was a good weekend of nothing. Very non-New York, but still good.
I am not looking forward to leaving the Loft tomorrow. The snow. Ugh. And more on the way. I am bringing extra socks to work. I am going to have to wear boots. I freaking hate winter boots. HATE THEM. I hate being the person with the change of clothes. I wish I hate boots that could double as regular shoes. But those are tres cher, and there is no more money these days.
Hope you are all surviving the snow if you are somewhere where there is snow! And if you don't have snow, well, you suck.
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