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May 24, 2005
look sharp
so, i was scheduled to work at halcyon sunday morning, and i made sure i got there early enough to open everything up, and to seize control of the stereo system.
in any decent good coup d'etat, the military junta/pissed populace/cia operatives posing as locals capture the radio and television stations. as we all know from our current administration and the 24 hours news outlets, if the t.v. and radio says someone's in control, the populace will acquiesce with a minimum of fuss.
i made a weak, momentarily successful attempt on saturday morning, and got to open with some stuff from ian moore's most recent album, "luminaria," and was about to roll to some other stuff, when a grouchy and late frank came in and took over the music. he played the usual assortment of hideous noises that has earned his selections the title of Worst Music Ever. think of a comfy coffeehouse at 9:30 on a saturday morning. a nice mocha latte, the paper, sunlight wafting in through the old windowpanes.
the insistent pump of latino club music, broken up occasionally by shakira. loud. at, like, 8 on the volume dial.
it ain't right for a coffeehouse. it ain't right for mammals, or really any animal with ears and the sense not to poop on itself.
so sunday was my day. i loaded up a playlist on the ipod. radiohead, aimee mann, anthony hamilton, blind boys of alabama, carole king, the cardigans, chris cornell, coldplay, sharon jones and the dap kings, the shins...
as in the more dull coup d'etats, the regime in power fell without a fight. frank dragged through the door minutes before we opened, unarmed, without a single cd. i allowed him to add to the playlist. he was able to find some of the only club music on the iPod - an inexplicable and interminable club mix of madonna's remake of "beautiful stranger." he was also pacified by some gwen stefani, which i had no objection to.
the morning went slowly, which was a good thing. customers filtered in slowly. they liked the music. people were staying, bobbing their heads, rather than the running and the screaming and squirting of blood from the ears. it was a good thing.
one girl came in, ordered her stuff with a genuine and lovely smile, kicked off her shoes and set up shop in a comfy chair near the front, where she was joined by a friend.
at some point, she came for a refill, and asked who was playing - it was anthony hamilton, the accoustic version of "comin' from where i'm from" that billy had turned me on to. she dug it. i was impressed.
she stayed until just before two, and came up to the counter as we were getting ready for the shift change. she handed me her cd, and introduced herself as sarah sharp, and said she liked our music.
my brain clicked. but... slowly. i played it off smoothly...
"duuurrrrrrrr. uh... i think i've heard of you?"
as it turns out, i should have. she's blowin' up not just around austin, but everywhere. she gets play on kgsr and other stations that occasionally play actual music. she just got back from cannes, where a movie she wrangled music for and that features one of her songs was shown.
i gave the album a listen, but it didn't catch me, probably because by that time, i could barely stay awake to drive home at 3 in the afternoon. but when i woke up sunday night, i gave it a real listen, and liked it, but found that it continued to grow on me over the next day. heather suggests that i'm being unconsciously swayed by the fact that in the picture on the back of the album, she seems to be offering me a chip well-doused in salsa at what appears to be maria's taco express. mmm... chip... maybe there is something to that.
at any rate, last night, i went to her show at momo's. granted, it was apparently a bit impromptu and not publicized much at all, but it seemed like the small crowd was made up primarily of friends and family, which, i have to say, just means a lot of people are really missing out.
with just her and a guitarist named "buffalo speedway" and a guitarist/keyboard player named dave, she completely sold me. k.d. lang singing "crying" and "till the heart caves in," finally hearing peter gabriel sing my all-time favorite song, "mercy street," aimee mann singing "invisible ink," tori amos... and now, sarah sharp singing a song called "surrender," are the concert moments that moved me to tears.
incredibly beautiful vocals with some of the most delicately nuanced turns and shifts i've ever heard from a vocalist, with deceptively simple songwriting. you need to see this.
this saturday night, she opens for patrice pike at momo's at 8:30. it's the only thing i know for certain i'll do this weekend, and i hope some of you will join me...
Posted by Rob at 10:52 AM | Comments (2)
here we you go
when i was a kid, i heard about the mid-life crisis, heard about successful men, with beautiful wives and kids, going nuts, trying to recapture something they felt they had missed.
how silly, i thought.
this morning, i called in, not even feigning sickness, but just taking a day, a vacation, to get myself together.
i slept until 2:00. went home, watched the several weeks' of shows, left and ran errands, walked kammi's dogs, my eye on my watch, trying to calculate the fastest way back, instead taking the bataan death march, the dogs and i so tired, so worn, by the time we got back home.
went to see sarah sharp at momo's - more on her to come tomorrow. remembered the vow not to drink this week, ordered the lone star, and another, listened to her sing, heard the words, cried, a little, there on my lonely side of the bar. talked to her afterwards, handed her the anthony hamilton cd she had asked about sunday morning at halcyon, left hand, engagement ring, wedding band adorned, gracefully accepting the gift.
went to halcyon, andrea, leora, adam there, i sat, and drank, and wrote, the words faster than i could scribe, the tears faster than i could hold back, dropping on the paper.
i decided to stay for the cleaning, grabbed a rag and wiped down walls and baseboards, threw down shots with my friends, moved furniture, with frank, with leora, watching her work, deciding to be as strong as me.
after, going to eric's house for pabst blue ribbon and a game of catchword, finding the piano, sitting at it to find heart, finding it sadly out of tune, later, brain fighting to stay in the game.
to 7-11 with nancy, eric's roomie, grab the chocolate milk and fire hot cheetos, say goodbye to her on the corner, walk home down congress, feeling the newness and curious familiarity, but taking forever to get home, stumbling with my little bag, the wino quaffing quik, dropping his cheetos on the sidewalk, in the middle of south congress, picking them up, swaying, eating them with the joyous practicality and oh-so practical joy of a child.
stumbling home, past the ambulance idling, up the stairs, to here.
where am i? where am i going to? which world wants me? which world do i want? which will have me?
tonight, i sleep in my bed, with my cats, my world in sleep, but nothing more, my stomach a mess, tomorrow as a lawyer looming.
come sleep, take me, please, take me.
Posted by Rob at 04:59 AM | Comments (0)
May 19, 2005
clarification
umm... if it's not obvious, i was completely drunk when writing last night.
i, uh... just thought i'd point that out...
thank you. as you were.
Posted by Rob at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)
May 18, 2005
with, without
8:05 pm
mom made excuses to my cousin in korea. all pretty much made-up, grasping at straws.
why? why not? not because i don't want the responsibility, as she claimed. not because i don't want, because, my god, i do. not because i don't try, because i do, and not too hard, either - i've always been a social sponge, watching, recognizing,learning, adapting, perfecting.
and yet, i don't feel like acting, and when i don't feel it, i don't.
i am loved. yeah, there's pride in that. at my birthday, a couple dozen people showed up, diverse as any census-derived cross-section. the kid that gave up dreams outside himself to work instead on being liked, loved, has met that one goal, realized it at 36.
if i die today, the quantity of quality friends stand as the greatest accomplishments, the best measure of a good and worthy life.
but then, why? why not me? why the gap, this void, just there? wanted, loved, but not that much, just... so.
i believe this is the struggle of most lives, of every life, not just mine. but this one is mine that i have to live, they are my eyes that i catch in the mirror every morning, every night.
i'm so far past being able to t imagine it all, to imagine love and passion and yes, need, to remember those feelings with empathy for the me that once felt them.
but at the same time, increasingly, i feel it's just there, near mygrasp, my sight, so close.
i'm doing the right things, not because they're the "right" things, but because i believe in them, and finally, am living them. i'm around more and more of the right people, those that get me, that understand where i've been, where i am, and where i need to be. (and for that, i thank you all - for all that you've given me).
i'm finally meeting people without the lawyer label pinned, driven with a stake, to my chest. instead, i meet them, as me, black t-shirt, jeans, not as disguise, but as, finally, skin.
soon, please.
-------
10:35 pm
i miss not working here, right now. i see my friends clearing tables, serving, calling out orders, putting and pulling dishes from the auto-chlor.
adam slings alcohol; a good guy, himself now abstinent, drinking no more.
mike, the friendly and kind kid, but without a sold work ethic yet - he's a project.
leora, beautiful as always, tonight, though, something else in pigtails. the nod to youth adds the touch of vulnerability, more so when matched with the sweetest smile too rarely seen. new york, manager, maturity maybe too soon, all manifest the guarded heart, the rarity of that deeper smile. i fear often for her covering all of that under the shell of indifference and occasional disdain - an opus of line and beauty and depth, covered over by a clumsier hand.
in a glance's corner, i see, i think, sandra bullock in her. she is not amused, but she should be flattered. strength, humor, and a vulnerability that is nothing to be ashamed of... a woman, a human being to be admired.
home. i find a home here.
-------
10:47 pm, heading home
i straddle universes. i liveone where i doubt, self-loathe, disbelieve. i live another where i believe, i know the value of a heart is absolute. maybe i know the latter less of the time, not so closely, but still, when i know, i see someone that sees me for who that latter part of me believes i am, could be.
tonight, though, once again, doubt makes a mockery of faith.
Posted by Rob at 11:29 PM | Comments (0)
May 17, 2005
filling in the blind spots
pictures and the entries they should have gone with. think of it as one of those lazy clip compilation episodes of your favorite show.
there are always more stories
Posted by Rob at 10:15 AM | Comments (0)
May 10, 2005
hamsandwich, the prince of ihop
bored and hungry coworker:
to noodle, or not to noodle? that is the question that is upon us in this, our hour of lunch.
bored english major response:
To noodle, or not to noodle? that is the question --
Whether 'tis nobler in this hour to suffer
The flings and dribbles of ramenous noodles,
Or to take cash against the pangs of hunger,
And by dining out, end them. -- eat here, -- go out --
No more; and to go out, to say, we end
The hunger, and the thousand unnatural chemicals
Ramen is heir to; tis a gustation devoutly to be wish'd. -- eat here, --go out --
Go out, perchance, to gorge. Ay, there's the rub;
For in such scheme of lunch, what foods may come
When we have shuffled off this microwave's coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Trudy's of so long life.
For who would bear the dehydrated noodles,
The sandwich's sogginess, the leftover's decay,
The fat of fry-ed chips, the bake-d lays,
The microwave's line, and the churns
That curdled mayonnaise of our stomachs make;
When he himself might his Flatus make
With a chili burger? Who would TV dinners bear
To wince and hack through a stale burrito,
But that the dread of spending a pfennig,
That undiscovered money, which once spent
Shall never return, puzzles the will;
And makes us rather heat the Lean Cuisines we have,
Than eat enchiladas we know not of?
Thus, poverty doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of complexion
Is sicklied over with the pallor of malnutrition;
And lunch times of great fun and amusement,
With this regard the boredom crushes away,
And fade into the day -- Soft taco, now!
mmm... pancakes...
Posted by Rob at 12:40 PM | Comments (0)
reentry
a long, blurred time. sleep and drink and work and worry and push and hope.
tonight, the long day's end a long night, with leora and emily at the coffeehouse.
afterwards, we went to whisky bar, just a handful of huddled groups of friends, and us at the bar, leora dancing in her chair, full of 23's life, emily chatting up the boys.
i danced in my chair the way men do, maybe a little more, because i don't like to do as most men do.
new car, cheaper, more fun, beaten on the northwestern face by hail and therefore paid for, now sporting the simple black and white bumper sticker that claims only, "MEAN."
new home, amidst the coolness and promise of the area presumptiously named "SoCo."
the job at the coffeehouse, after a day of shilling for law, at night in black t-shirt and jeans, pushing coffee and cookies.
am i just the oddity? trying too late to shoehorn a 36 year-old lawyer into a life he left forsaken? i feel so much more at home, but at times, so much more alone.
it's not a matter of age - many of the girls i work with date men my age, but they're men who have chosen the path i always longed for but lacked the will to live.
lone star and whiskey, a parliament light glowing, and a d.j. spinning tracks in a half-empty bar. a black t-shirt so real, so disguising.
the bike ride home, reliving the years as promising cyclist. singing loud in a voice aging and unused. and now, here, sending words into space, hopeful signals, an invitation, an SOS, the signature glow of reentry from the vacuum, the rush towards earth through the abrasion of ever-thickening atmosphere, the flames licking up around the windows, surrounding me, a momentary fireball in the night, a streaking spark, but no impact.
Posted by Rob at 02:21 AM | Comments (0)
May 09, 2005
time to make the donuts
je suis fatigue.
tired. so very tired. long weekend. much work. work today. coffee shop tonight. work tomorrow. coffee shop tomorrow night. did not get enough sleep over the last week. must be more disciplined. must drink more coffee when at work, smoke less crack after work.
blog coming soon. maybe tomorrow. yes, tomorrow.
please stand by.
Posted by Rob at 05:06 PM | Comments (0)
May 04, 2005
center point
the effort to catch up continues...
saturday, 4/30/05, 1:23a.m.
thank god for the iPod.
i wavered, wobbled, away from center point, into kerrville, ahmet's headlights following close behind me.
there have been five towns named "center point" in texas, and one named "centerpoint." all but one are relics, marked only by cemeteries and churches, barely discernable agglomerations of rural homes.
the surviving center point, the site of morgan and amanda's wedding, in which ahmet and i are groomsmen, sits in the hill country some two hours from austin. initially called "zanzenburg," the town boasted an estimated population of 800 in 1984, which dropped to 623 in 1990. i can't find any modern-day estimates, but i'm not sure that either residents or outsiders really care about the numbers.
about 10 miles out, the highway pierces the modern world again - an explosion of gas stations and holiday inns and cracker barrels shock and awe the driver's eye that had grown accustomed to rural darkness.
still, it's all relative.
we pulled into the econolodge, which ahmet suggests we pronounce "eck-oh-no," the pseudoeuronunciation providing the barest of defense against the stark realities of the seemingly ancient motel. on the other hand, pronouncing it "free" helps a lot, too.
past the bus and the eighteen-wheelers idling in the parking lot, we glide silently. ahmet splits off to take a different course to the back of the building, and i park in front, decide to walk first to the glowing gas station megaplex next door.
no sidewalks, so i step onto the highway's small shoulder. tractor-trailer rigs blow past. all around in this little valley, lights beckon to weary drivers, but they're short-lived, dying quickly into the emptiness. the emptiness is the kind you feel, that you hear like the hum of mechanically reproduced silence.
America. this is it - it's as much about the spaces between and their waypoints as the metropolitan endpoints, as much about these center points as about los angeles or new york, or even austin.
i feel U2 in my head, feel like i'm there with them on black and white film, sitting with four irish guys on a hillside in mississippi, awed by the realization of scale and scope.
"into the arms of america."
i realize that i don't travel on my own much because my loneliness travels with me, turns the potential of out there into something overwhelming, a looming emptiness.
snacks in hand, i head to my room. i pull away the covers of one of the beds, both of which are concave, hollowed-out in their middles, as if still bearing the weight of all the nights, all the lives that stopped there.
i catch myself in the mirror, and i see ugliness - unflattering truth in unflattering light.
i've one friend that is particularly, preternaturally beautiful. the other night, she showed me the pictures stored on her digital camera, including some self-portraits. the camera captured a good deal of the beauty, but then she showed me two or three shots in which she didn't even look like herself. she looked sallow, haggard, hopeless. no doubt tricks of the lens and of light, catching her at the wrong angle, distorting the truth. but maybe, just maybe, it was the camera catching a glimpse of her self-perception in that moment, a self-portrait in a moment of doubt and despair, dorian gray rendered in real-time.
i think of her, and those pictures, about what my own heart and mind project, versus what the true reflection of light reveals, versus what the kind and understanding eye might see in me.
i feel the need to affirm this, to act on the small victory of positivity. i change clothes, leave the room at 1:00am, and walk to the nightclub that i had noticed clumsily appended to the motel. i go forth with wavering conviction in my poor intentions.
ahmet and i had asked where the action was in the greater center point/kerrville metropolitan area. we were told of a sportsbar in kerrville that would likely be closed, and of another bar. we were given directions that ended in, "it's the place with the confederate flag painted on the front."
a pause.
"actually, you probably shouldn't go there."
no one had mentioned or warned us away from the hotel nightclub, so it would just have to do. the thump grows exponentially as i pull open the door to the "Solid Gold Nite Club and Taqueria Jalisco." there's no one at the small stool and table directly in front of the door, but as i turn right into the club, i'm startled by a very short, but yet imposing, slightly older black man with an earpiece, his body language clearly set to "obstruct by any means necessary."
"five dollars."
I look over his head at the dance floor, populated entirely and solely by a tremendous woman working an impossibly scrawny but well-dressed guy like a bathtowel. i hear voices, but can't see anyone.
i want to laugh, or at least raise an eyebrow in amusement, but i'm too tired for conflict, and the troll could very well kick my ass.
back in my room. it's all for the best. i write. the cell phone vibrates atop its kleenex ook barrier on the nightstand. it's the mysterious waco caller - i think it's the same number i've gotten late-night text messages from: "i love you;" "i fucking hate you."
this time i get a voice. she's drunk, there are other people around her.
"what are you doing?"
"chillin' at the hotel. you?"
she hangs up. wherever she is, i feel, or imagine, that she's in her own lonely place, alone in a group of people, or at home in her room.
i think of this, i write this line, shut off the iPod and light, and go to sleep.
Posted by Rob at 04:27 PM | Comments (0)