New inspirations

How sweet it is. I am so thankful that I got two hours at the rehearsal studio tonight. Because quite unxpectedly and out of nowhere, this came out of me:



Also after my massage today, I bought the following which I perused over a tasty dinner.

And another thing.....

I have not been able to get off of www.Pandora.com for like a week. I typed in "Davis Sisters" for my first search and well, it's been the most delicious hell ever since. The orgasmic "Little Girl" by John and Jackie, well...it's almost as good as the mullet picture.

Image of the week

My Norwegian buddy Harald Thune (http://www.myspace.com/haraldthune) sent this to me today in honor of my bizarre little fetish. But understand, it's not only the hair; it's the blotchy skin, the tote bag, the half-stache, the tight bleached-out jeans molding themselves to his sassy little buttocks, it's, it's...it's just the EVERYTHING.

Only thing that could make this picture better is if we got a gander at his shoes.



Come on...the shoes! I'm going crazy. What's DOWN THERE? Is he wearing mandals? Birkenstocks? Multi-colored loafers without socks? Black Reeboks? Nike Air Jordans without laces?

Oh, the choices are making me dizzy....

Living it up

I've been working on my music almost every night.

All kinds, every kind of music is seeping into me right now and I can feel a concoction developing. Hopefully it won't be one of those "blender surprises" we drank on a dare when we were little kids.

Anyway, I'm glad.

Now, if only I could sleep at night and not worry about other areas of my life.

Gardening state.

I feel as if I'm carefully tending all the little parts of me--physical, creative, professional, social...and although I could sprinkle on a little spiritual, the little garden that is me is coming along quite nicely, and will probably bloom with the spring.

I'm sleepy today due to overindulgence with Steve's wine last night. He's very generous with it and I appreciate that greatly, but sometimes I'd rather he not see that maudlin, emotional side of me. Even if you trust someone, showing the vulnerable side, well...ugh. It can make one shift uncomfortably in one's seat, that's for sure. *fidget*

We had fun on our road trip yesterday and although the destination didn't quite live up to our expectations, we'll certainly know for next time...and meanwhile, it felt great to be traveling the wild back Texas roads with a special friend like him.

This afternoon I quite unexpectedly wrote up a new bio for my EPK and my Myspace page. This one has more of a professional approach, listing my accomplishments and honors as if it's my musical curriculum vitae...which of course it is. I feel quite good after getting that done. http://www.myspace.com/carolinecasey

A little while ago, I had a wild craving for prosciutto and melon, and now having made the trip to the store and having prepared my delicious snack, I am going to lie on my bed and watch "Breathless." Later I'll whip up the remainder of the melon and prosciutto and tote it to Ashleigh's for our Sunday "Rome" indulgence. I'm actually in quite the music mood as well and *was* going to go to Jim's Country Jam at the Brentwood Tavern, but I called them and found out it's only on the first and third Sundays of each month. However, not next Sunday because apparently the Super Bowl waits for no music fan. Harrumph.

And back to....

Happy.




Must have been hormonal, or else the fun road trip that Steve and I are going on tomorrow, or else seeing people at my work take my goals seriously and genuinely help me try to achieve it.


In any case, I feel I should document this moment so that when my life sucks some night a few months or years from now and I wonder when I was ever happy, I have it right there, in color. So, here goes:






I also heard the joyful crow of my mother's approval tonight, which always wins points on my happimeter. Not that it bothers me too much when I hear her sighs of disapproval (which happens somewhat more often), but still.


In other overwhelmingly riveting, relevant news...my weekend list:

Laundry.
Dishes.
Room-cleaning.
2 items on the household chore list.
Mail Li'l R's package.
Call Two Timin' Three about recording when Li'l R comes down to Texas next month.
Put together my songwriting binder for my weekly trips to the studio.
Work on a (?) ROCKABILLYPEDIA! Heehee...just saying that "word" makes me giggle.
QC two more sections of the 1st draft of the Osteo-Arthritis Final Clinical Study Report, including referencing a 4500-page TGL (Tables, Graphs, and Lists) document.
Put together my QC binder for above-mentioned report.
Try and come up with the money to join AMWA so that I can start work towards my certification. $134.00.
Exercise twice.
Beauty Shop tonight.
Call Junie for lawyerly advice about Jon Gnagy stuff.
Get the Valiant running (now that I bought all the stuff to fix it).


*

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Hmmmm.

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Clearly this is a list that I have no intention of finishing.

Slippage

I've realized...when one is in a wonderful mood for days on end, one should never question it.

Self-doubts can be pesky, and I find myself succumbing to them a little bit.

Sigh...great.

I love modern technology.

So tonight while I was in the rehearsal space, I actually got my newest song, "Blazin' a Champagne Trail" all figured out. I knew I had to record it right that minute or it'd be lost, so I used the "voice notes" option on my phone and recorded the gist of it within the 60-second time alloted. Then I sent it to my email address from my phone. I got home and I just downloaded the WAV file and played it on my computer. Voila!

Too bad the EQ sucks with that medium, or I could actually play my songs, record them, send them, and later burn the files onto a CD without ever touching a cassette tape.

Maybe I'll play around with the EQ. I was fully amplified in the studio so maybe if I unplugged it would come across better.

Astounding

Inexplicably, the past few days my mood has been unalterably sunny (unlike the weather, o fickle fiend that weather be).

I'm getting enough sleep, laughing a lot, working hard, enjoying my work and my home time, and today I did three things that I am very proud of.

1) I hiked around Shoal Creek today. I haven't done that since 2001 when I worked at Medical Park Tower. Walking that trail on my lunch breaks took twenty pounds off me back then, and now I have been reunited with my old friend. Albeit, my old friend seems to have had some astonishingly bad plastic surgery in the six years since we were acquainted. Still, I look forward to running away, every day, now that the initial hurdle has been jumped.

2) I guided myself into a more appropriate career today at my job. Starting Friday, I'm going to start getting cross-trained into the Medical Writing field, with the intent to jump over there from what I'm doing now. While not the ultimate thing I would write about, it's still words and grammar and processes and typing and proofreading and creating and learning. And if while I am still at this company I get certified by the AMWA, I'll have no trouble getting a job again and I will eventually be able to work from home as a contractor, wherever I may end up.

3) I decided to stop letting my desire to create music get overshadowed by the many distractions that come with trying to do my music at home. You know, living with a roommate, having a computer or movies I want to see, or phone calls I want to take. So starting this evening, I have rented a little studio at Music Lab on Oltorf.

It's only $8.00/hour after 10pm, and that's usually when I get my creative spurts. Tonight I've got an hour so I'm taking all my accoutrements and I'm going to work on my new songs, honing them. Next week I've scheduled the rehearsal studio for two hours, so I'm going to try to get them all down on tape. It's time to start acting like a real musician, and although one or two hours a week sounds like a small amount, it's a huge step for me to commit to doing it, and I won't help but learn to use my studio time wisely. Maybe later on down the road I can get Tom or Steve or Brennen Leigh in there with me and we can work up some material.




I feel really wonderful right now. It's about time!

It's all an optical illusion?

So, very mysteriously, all the "Jon Gnagy" merchandise has disappeared off of the Mind Site Works website.


I guess my brother wrote them a letter, too. Damn it--we should have waited until we got our wall clocks and steins.


These were their other designs.

Oh, how I loathe you...but I'll take three, please

Instead of going to Town Lake today, I've been drinking coffee and surfing the net. And when I procrastinate like this (see last post), I often come across things that will distract me for the remainder of the day, rendering obsolete any other plans that I may have had.

Sigh.

This morning, I found that I can buy messenger bags, thongs, infant sleepers, boxer short, t-shirts, mugs, STEINS?, buttons, magnets, aprons, and even wall clocks from this website:

http://www.cafepress.com/mindsite/1116998







I don't know if this site is run by the Howard Stern folks, but I think it is. I'm going to check into the legalities of them putting my grandfather's image on all this merchandise. At the very least, even if it is legal, I deserve a free wall clock and stein.

This discovery made, I had to write a letter to the Howard Stern show. I tried to keep it a little bit incendiary (but not too much), so they wouldn't throw it away without passing it along to him.

We'll see what happens.

I *have* found out that without a doubt, the Howard Stern show has infringed on Jon Gnagy's trademark rights and violated what's known as "Right to Publicity" which in many states is a sub-section of the "Right to Privacy" law. However, both california and Texas have their own official "Right to Publicity" laws.

In California, the use of any individual's name and image for commercial(or other) is prohibited with a statute for 70 years after an individual's death. [Cal Civil Code § 3344-3344.1] In Texas, it's a statute of 50 years.

The only way the show would be able to defend themselves were if they had gotten express (and written) permission for use of Jon Gnagy's image and name from the legal executors of Jon Gnagy's estate. I doubt my Aunt Polly has done so, but I'm curious to find that out.

However, even if they were sued and they lost, they would only have to:

1) Abandon selling merchandise that used his name and image, and

2) Pay $750.00 to the estate or the amount that was gained from the use of the aforementioned name and image (whichever is more).

I'm going to talk to Junie and Mishell (my two lawyer girlfriends) and see what they think.

If I could cut the eight hours down to five....

At work, that is...then maybe I'd have time to do all I'd like to do. I've never wanted to not work at all, for I crave structure and deadlines and business. Admittedly this urge runs stronger in me mostly for the things I WANT to do, like writing or music. But I've never wanted to work non-stop on ONLY the things I want to do. With my procrastinatory nature, that approach could run my life down to virtually nothing (and in fact, has).

So, here I am with lots to love and less time to love it.

I've been out and about the past couple of days-- Beerland last night for The Ettes and various and sundry other bands, and then I also just saw the Two Timin' Three at Hole in the Wall. I was inspired--ideas ran rampant in my brain as I soaked in their sheer talent and proefessionalism and love of what they do. They asked me to sing and so I sat in...the band started playing, and like a ride on a beloved and familiar steed, I ambled right back on to the singing track.

I love it all over again.

How come I forget how much I love to sing until I sing? I suppose it must be because I also forget how much I love to write until I write, or how much I love to exercise until I've had a good workout, or dance until I've had a night of dancing, or how much I love sex until I have it it again.

Why is my physiological memory so short? Why can't it remember the things it loves to do, and galvanize my mind into doing them? Is it only a matter of habit, or does it run deeper, into less easily controlled areas of self-esteem and compulsiveness? I'd love to get to the root of this. Perhaps I shall do a month-long experiment and keep track of my well-being.

Anyway--I'm going now because it's time for a snack, a little bit of mindless relaxtion (read: Ugly Betty), a hot bath, and then blessed sleep. Ahhhh....sleep.

Une belle expérience cinématographique.

Last night I watched Bernardo Bertolucci's "The Dreamers," and I LOVED it. I'm not very up on my cinematic chops, but this one really inspired and educated me, and it's not even close to the real deal. It was a compelling depiction of politics and culture in France in 1968 (and really great sex scenes!), centering around the student-led protests and riots that ensued following the dismissal of Henri Langlois from the Cinémathèque Française at Palais de Chaillot.

As I watched the movie, I came to wholly understand the fascination that cinema holds for so many. I related so well to the teenagers' fascination with referencing obscure lines and actions from movies like "Queen Christina" or other classic films. Their games intrigued me the way I am intrigued when someone references an old hillbilly artist, or mentions someone like Goree Carter. Also appearing were Jean-Pierre Kalfon and Jean-Pierre Léaud, who in the movie delivered forceful speeches to the collected students, as they had actually done in 1968.

The soundtrack was great too; good 1960s rock and roll...not as Americans worshipped it but as Europeans worshipped it. Most independent American films depicting this era would not use so obvious an icon as Janis Joplin, but in a French film it makes complete sense.


Watching the extra features on this also educated me to the dawning of the French New Wave of cinema. I've always been sort of drawn to the look and feel of France in the 1960s, but I've never known where to start as far as movies go.

All of a sudden, I find myself obsessed with learning all I can about this artistic movement. So today, I learned and formulated a plan. Here is how I am going to educate myself:

As far as films go, I'm going to start with Truffaut--likely "Jules and Jim".

In addition, I will get Godard's "Breathless" and will see if I can find a copy of "Pierrot Le Fou".

Oh, and then Agnès Vardas I already have in my Netflix queue with "Cleo from 5 to 7".

Something from Rohmer, but I'm not sure where to start with that.

I just know I'm going to love Jacques Demy, so I'll watch the first thing I can find by him.

After that, we'll see where I'm led.

I'm also going to read some of the criticisms from Andre Bazin, and also see(somewhat less related to this) the documentary on Frank Gehry.

I plan to watch more by Nicholas Ray, Howard Hawks (I've seen quite a few of his, naturally, but there are many more I have been reticent to pick up for some reason), a few more by Orson Welles (why have I never seen "Casino Royale?").

Necesito comida por mi desayuno.

The only sounds in the house--my fingers clacking on the keyboard, coffee perking, and the hum of our heating system. I feel fuzzy-headed yet somehow calm. Chores needin' be done, store needin' be shopped, and I think I'm going to enjoy this day. It's obvious from the fact that I am taking five minutes or so to write a little "state of my mind" blog, when there isn't really anything to say. That's when I find myself the most relaxed.

Today I write some new Casey Sisters songs using the old tried-and-true formula. Should take me about two hours to write three or so. Kind of funny how little effort that band takes when I think about it. I guess it's just one of those plain old "crowd-pleaser" acts, not too taxing on the mind or heart, and lots of fun.

I want oatmeal this morning.

Sometimes you feel like a nut....

And sometimes you *still* feel like a nut.

Tired of thinking. Tired of talking. Truthfully, I just want to feel comfortable and safe, in my own mind more than anything.

I hung out with Laura for about twenty blissful minutes today. Tonight, I watched a silly girlie movie which I took way too much enjoyment in. Talked to Monica about eight times (because our phones kept cutting each other off)...attempting to discuss getting to D&J's party. Talked to Rachel about a crush she has. Things actually look good there, yay! Oh, and I talked to my cats.

I think I liked my conversation with the cats the best.


Wait...who's a nut?

I swear, I had nothing to do with it!

Look--there are plenty still around, as of yesterday on Town Lake!

I need a corner-shelf for all my mind's knicknacks.

On Yahoo! "News" earlier today, there was an article on a possible link between impulsiveness and procrastination. What I want to know is, how did they find me?

FOUR(4). That's the number of (jokingly) accusatory emails I received from random people who don't live in Texas. They all wanted to know what I did to the poor birds down here. Kind of funny how they all each thought they were funny. It's a prime example of an inverse relationship with humor: The first email was rather funny, but a second person with the same joke is less funny...and it's a downward spiral from there as the number increases. Plus today on the South 1st bridge I got dive-bombed by what appeared to be 700 or so birds. No joke. I tried to take a picture to prove my innocence, but the light turned green.

THREE (3). The number of times Justin has tried to contact me in the last two days. In my first answer, told him that I refused to give him my number, and then I didn't respond to his other "I'm single now" email. The last one asked me to go run around with him, "honky-tonkin'." I started to write back with a sentence that said "Ummm--don't see that happening," but I don't want to be mean. I just want to be left alone. I wonder if he thinks from my Myspace profile since it says "single", that I'm waiting for him or something. God, but I hope not.

THIRTY-TWO(32). The number of items I had on my list for all the things to take care of this week. Started the list (of tasks both big and small) on Sunday evening.


FOURTEEN (14). The number of items I have left to complete. This is wonderful news. Can I do anything? Just maybe, I can....

My room is clean, so that means I'm now free to mess it up again with all manner of projects. Which I plan to do shortly.

My desk is cleaned off save for the dozen of books currently being read, or about to be read. Maybe I should get off the computer and go read one? Mayhap.

My (ex?)stepmother sent me a check for $25.00 today for a small portion Jonny Pop's quarterly check from Weber. My plan is to send it back to her with a polite paragraph or two, thanking her. I refuse to get into the myriad of complex emotions that merely interacting with her creates. I'm going to simply say that I think she needs the money more than I do right now, and write about some unrelated, cheerful stuff. She won't know my true thoughts on the disjointed, assumptive, pseudo-factual, and "mired in the bitter past" words of her enclosed letter...that they made me tired, frustrated, helpless, and sad. I'm going to be sweet to her and still get my point across, because to do or imply anything else would just be hurtful. I *kind of* want to tell her never to write me a check again, but that would sound much more condescending or indignant than I mean it to sound. I'll also send her a copy of my demo.

So, then...David Beckham is joining L.A. Galaxy. Since my little "hooligan" days, soccer is the only sport which I semi-follow. I saw L.A. Galaxy play many a time back when MLS started in 1996 and I went to every Kansas City Wiz game. Truly sad, the state of American soccer. It's always been a bit of a bummer to me that major-league soccer had to completely start over from scratch in this country. That's what they get for paying more attention to Joe Namath (and, increasingly, WWF and UFC stars). Of course MLS is going to be a joke after all those years. I'd like to see them play Chelsea or Juventus. Could mean the end of American major-league soccer as we know it. Anyhow, the stuff I read today interested me. Beckham and his wee Spice-wife are the perfect "Hollywood-style" additions for a deal of this sort. Guess who's a goin' to be in picktchahs? Little Vicki, that's who. But at the same time, I'm sort of hoping his addition will lend some credibility to the U.S. soccer league. He has to know how much they suck...there's no question. He's taking a very advantageous step--basically getting into a league that he could conceivably end up running someday. Plus Little Vicki can be in picktchahs.


I'm ready to relax. I think it's reading time now.

This weekend I hope to see: Laura--she's back from Chicago and I miss her. Steve--because I almost always want to see him.

That's about it.

All my ex-somethings are rising....

WOW.

I just sent two "leave me the hell alone" emails in five minutes.

One of my exes just emailed me and asked for my number again. Consider this: the last time I had contact with him over the phone, he called me (drunk and I think high) at 4:00am, and after telling me he was being chased by his (forgive my crassness) baby-mama with a knife, SHE then started calling my number. At 4:00am. On a Monday night.

Good lord.



It's amazing how fast the "leave me the hell alone" email flew from my hands after briefly considering the most direct, yet least vicious way to get the point across.

So I reply:

Hey ______,

Not to make you mad, but I'm afraid I am not going to give you my number. The drama in your life, and mainly your relationship with ________, is nothing I want to contend with. So pretty much you shouldn't be messing with talking to me, even as a friend.

Hope your family and your new son are all doing well, in any case.

And I am doing fairly "awesome," thank you for asking. :^)


~Caroline



And then there's the other guy. While an extremely intelligent, talented and all-around pretty nifty feller, he sometimes acts a bit unbalanced and somewhat snappy--or at least, towards me.

I told him I don't really want to hang out with him, because he made me feel shitty last time I ran into him. Soooo, I guess that's that. I hope he doesn't want to "discuss" it, because frankly I just don't have the energy anymore.


When did I become so blunt? I don't regret writing either email, but still I feel guilty. Sigh.

I guess I'm just tired of interacting with people who make me feel like I'm screwed up when I am doing nothing to deserve it.

The last few days for me have been...well, what have they been like? I guess I feel like I've been trying to climb a mountain made of satin.


Projects, ideas, good things, bad things--they've been coming and going with alarming speed. I've got a weekly to-do list at my work that is running about twenty-five items long, and my personal one is running about a third longer than that. And it's not that I'm not being productive--I definitely am. It's just that the small things keep piling, fortified by the occasionally seemingly un-doable task.

I'll pat myself on the back, though. Not counting all accomplished at work (not enough but I already worked 45 minutes of overtime today and them sinuses is draggin' me, baby, draggin' me!), between yesterday and today I have:

Read a book
Practiced my Spanish a lot
Made copies of all my published writings
Sent a thank-you package to my step-grandfather.
Mailed a packet of clips to O. Rios at Rockabilly Magazine.
Watched a movie
Wrote two pages for a Swedish magazine who wanted to interview us.


...and now, on to the completion of that list.

I'm tired, and I just want to be petted. Guess I'll go pet my cats.

Digby go buh-bye.

I've made a final decision to sell my 1964 Plymouth Valiant, Digby. Sigh. I don't really want to, but I have to face the fact that I'm not going to work on him--ever, not with all the other stuff I have going on. Better to take the money I get from him and sink it into some of that, anyhow.

I had a cozy and fantastic New Year's, one of the best ever...chock-full of old videos and new belongings, which with the usual fluid conversation, added immeasurably to the sparkle of numerous hazelnut-citrus spritzers, red wine, and champagne. And yes, I *did* have a headache this morning.

So--it's 2007. I'm hoping this year will unfurl slowly and then at some point burst forth, with riotous color, the fruit of all my labors. And then I savor, and savor, and digest...and then the process, I am sure, will begin again. Such is my particular cycle of creativity.