Americanisms
If you use Americanisms just to show you know them, people may find you a tad tiresome, so be discriminating. Many American words and expressions have passed into the language; others have vigour, particularly if used sparingly. Some are short and to the point (so prefer lay off to make redundant). But many are unnecessarily long (so use and not additionally, car not automobile, company not corporation, court not courtroom or courthouse, transport not transportation, district not neighbourhood, oblige not obligate, rocket not skyrocket, stocks not inventories unless there is the risk of confusion with stocks and shares). Spat and scam, two words beloved by some journalists, have the merit of brevity, but so do row and fraud; squabble and swindle might sometimes be used instead. The military, used as a noun, is nearly always better put as the army. Gubernatorial is an ugly word that can almost always be avoided.
Other Americanisms are euphemistic or obscure (so avoid affirmative action, rookies, end runs, stand-offs, point men, ball games and almost all other American sporting terms). Do not write meet with or outside of: outside America, nowadays, you just meet people. Do not figure out if you can work out. To deliver on a promise means to keep it. A parking lot is a car park. Use senior rather than ranking, rumpus rather than ruckus,and rumbustious rather than rambunctious.
Put adverbs where you would put them in normal speech, which is usually after the verb (not before it, which usually is where Americans put them). Choose tenses according to British usage, too. In particular, do not fight shy—as Americans often do—of the perfect tense, especially where no date or time is given. Thus Mr Bush has woken up to the danger is preferable to Mr Bush woke up to the danger, unless you can add last week or when he heard the explosion.
Prefer doctors to physicians and lawyers to attorneys. They rest from their labours at weekends, not on them and during the week their children are at school, not in it.
In an American context you may run for office (but please stand in countries with parliamentary systems) and your car may sometimes run on gasoline instead of petrol. But if you use corn in the American sense you should explain that this is maize to most people (unless it is an old chestnut). Trains run from railway stations, not train stations. The people in them, and on buses, are passengers, not riders. Cars are hired, not rented. City centres are not central cities. Cricket is a game not a sport. London is the country's capital, not the nation's. Ex-servicemen are not necessarily veterans. In Britain, though cattle and pigs may be raised, children are (or should be) brought up.
Make a deep study or even a study in depth, but not an in-depth study. On-site inspections are allowed, but not in-flight entertainment. Throw stones, not rocks, unless they are of slate, which can also mean abuse (as a verb) but does not, in Britain, mean predict, schedule or nominate. Regular is not a synonym for ordinary or normal: Mussolini brought in the regular train, All-Bran the regular man; it is quite normal to be without either. Hikes are walks, not increases. Vegetables, not teenagers, should be fresh. Only the speechless are dumb, the well-dressed smart and the insane mad. Scenarios are best kept for the theatre, postures for the gym, parameters for the parabola.
Grow a beard or a tomato but not a company. By all means call for a record profit if you wish to exhort the workers, but not if you merely predict one. And do not post it if it has been achieved. If it has not, look for someone new to head the company, not to head it up.
You may program a computer but in all other contexts the word is programme.
Try not to verb nouns or to adjective them. So do not access files, haemorrhage red ink (haemorrhage is a noun), let one event impact another, author books (still less co-author them), critique style sheets, host parties, pressure colleagues (press will do), progress reports, trial programmes or loan money. Gunned down means shot. And though it is sometimes necessary to use nouns as adjectives, there is no need to call an attempted coup a coup attempt or the Californian legislature the California legislature. Vilest of all is the habit of throwing together several nouns into one ghastly adjectival reticule: Texas millionaire real-estate developer and failed thrift entrepreneur Hiram Turnipseed...
Do not feel obliged to follow American fashion in overusing such words as constituency (try supporters), perception (try belief or view) and rhetoric (of which there is too little, not too much—try language or speeches or exaggeration if that is what you mean). And if you must use American expressions, use them correctly (a rain-check does not imply checking on the shower activity).
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
You said it, lady....
DAVID BROOKS TAKES ON HIPSTER PARENTS
David Brooks must be envious of his globe-trotting colleagues on the Times Op-Ed page, because for this Sunday's column, he did some traveling of his own. But instead of reporting from Africa or Asia, or even an undercovered corner of poor America, Brooks crossed the river to spy on Brooklyn, N.Y., parents in their native habitat. Amusingly, he returned from his foray into the belly of the beast with a derisive, damn-kids-these-days rant reminiscent of the 1958 chart-topper "Yakety Yak." "The hipster parent trend has been going on too long and it's got to stop," Brooks complains. ("Yakety yak! Don't talk back.")
In trademark Brooks style, the column defines hipster-parent culture by its shopping list (or what Brooks assumes is its shopping list). The piece makes mention of "inevitable hummus snacks," "pastel-free wardrobes," "'Anarchy in the Pre-K' shirts" and parents who eschew Disney and instead "force-feed Brian Eno, Radiohead and Sufjan Stevens into their little babies' iPods." (Infant iPods, now nearly ubiquitous!) The cultural stereotypes come complete with cutesy names: On a particular parenting Web site, Brooks observes that "stay-at-home Martyr Mommies trade gibes with their working mom frenemies." And, rather inconsistently, Brooks bitches that hipster "parents ... refuse to face that their days of chaotic, unscheduled moshing are over" while lamenting in the same piece that these parents are overly conscientious: "Highly educated parents trade tips about the toxic dangers of aluminum foil ... high-achieving types try to restrain their judgmental, perfectionist tendencies with self-mockery." Nothing says "My rock 'n' roll dreams are interfering with my ability to be an adequate parent" like concern for your kid's nutrition and health, no?
Of course, Brooks isn't expressing concern over values or responsibility; he doesn't seem worried that any child is being harmed by the hipster lifestyle. If he posited that there'd be tangible consequences for parents who resist the traditional trappings of responsible adulthood, or for kids encouraged to revere Joey Ramone rather than Barney, that might be more interesting. But Brooks is focused on aesthetic and material culture. It's not that he's alone in his annoyance; self-conscious hipsters, and self-conscious hipster parents, strike many onlookers as obnoxious. But without any analysis of the phenomenon, Brooks' column is just a costume piece. And a dated costume piece at that: His whole point is that the trend isn't new. "It's been nearly three years since reporters for sociologically attuned publications like The New York Observer began noticing oversophisticated infants," he yawns. Why, then, does the topic merit space in this Sunday's Times?
Maybe Brooks was light on material this week. Maybe he just learned about "frenemies" and the iPod and couldn't wait to show off his street cred. But here's another theory: Maybe he's experimenting with getting his own fuddy-duddy sensibility to rub off on his subjects. In this week's column, Brooks writes that the major "sign that the hip parenting thing has jumped the shark [is that] the movement got its own book." But what could be a bigger sign that the movement's moment has passed than its appearance in a clunky Brooks column? If anyone were to have a Midas touch for uncoolness, wouldn't it be this guy? In a certain way, it's kind of inspired.
-- Page Rockwell
http://www.salon.com
David Brooks must be envious of his globe-trotting colleagues on the Times Op-Ed page, because for this Sunday's column, he did some traveling of his own. But instead of reporting from Africa or Asia, or even an undercovered corner of poor America, Brooks crossed the river to spy on Brooklyn, N.Y., parents in their native habitat. Amusingly, he returned from his foray into the belly of the beast with a derisive, damn-kids-these-days rant reminiscent of the 1958 chart-topper "Yakety Yak." "The hipster parent trend has been going on too long and it's got to stop," Brooks complains. ("Yakety yak! Don't talk back.")
In trademark Brooks style, the column defines hipster-parent culture by its shopping list (or what Brooks assumes is its shopping list). The piece makes mention of "inevitable hummus snacks," "pastel-free wardrobes," "'Anarchy in the Pre-K' shirts" and parents who eschew Disney and instead "force-feed Brian Eno, Radiohead and Sufjan Stevens into their little babies' iPods." (Infant iPods, now nearly ubiquitous!) The cultural stereotypes come complete with cutesy names: On a particular parenting Web site, Brooks observes that "stay-at-home Martyr Mommies trade gibes with their working mom frenemies." And, rather inconsistently, Brooks bitches that hipster "parents ... refuse to face that their days of chaotic, unscheduled moshing are over" while lamenting in the same piece that these parents are overly conscientious: "Highly educated parents trade tips about the toxic dangers of aluminum foil ... high-achieving types try to restrain their judgmental, perfectionist tendencies with self-mockery." Nothing says "My rock 'n' roll dreams are interfering with my ability to be an adequate parent" like concern for your kid's nutrition and health, no?
Of course, Brooks isn't expressing concern over values or responsibility; he doesn't seem worried that any child is being harmed by the hipster lifestyle. If he posited that there'd be tangible consequences for parents who resist the traditional trappings of responsible adulthood, or for kids encouraged to revere Joey Ramone rather than Barney, that might be more interesting. But Brooks is focused on aesthetic and material culture. It's not that he's alone in his annoyance; self-conscious hipsters, and self-conscious hipster parents, strike many onlookers as obnoxious. But without any analysis of the phenomenon, Brooks' column is just a costume piece. And a dated costume piece at that: His whole point is that the trend isn't new. "It's been nearly three years since reporters for sociologically attuned publications like The New York Observer began noticing oversophisticated infants," he yawns. Why, then, does the topic merit space in this Sunday's Times?
Maybe Brooks was light on material this week. Maybe he just learned about "frenemies" and the iPod and couldn't wait to show off his street cred. But here's another theory: Maybe he's experimenting with getting his own fuddy-duddy sensibility to rub off on his subjects. In this week's column, Brooks writes that the major "sign that the hip parenting thing has jumped the shark [is that] the movement got its own book." But what could be a bigger sign that the movement's moment has passed than its appearance in a clunky Brooks column? If anyone were to have a Midas touch for uncoolness, wouldn't it be this guy? In a certain way, it's kind of inspired.
-- Page Rockwell
http://www.salon.com
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I think I want junk food.
3500 words, 5 hours of writing and 10 hours of successful procrastination, and my "Rockabilly Encyclopedia" is done! I sure got sick of it, though. My back and shoulders are aching and tender and want some rubbing. my writing is what it is. It's spelled correctly and the list of bands is sound, but the writing itself definitely hits on the annoying side. Exactly how many times can I re-write "this band rules and has worked hard and I like them" without sounding repetitive?
I lied about liking some of the bands,too...but whatever.
I want to go eat junk food, but I have a tribute piece for Kirk Rundstrom to write.
I'm tired...sooooo tired.
I lied about liking some of the bands,too...but whatever.
I want to go eat junk food, but I have a tribute piece for Kirk Rundstrom to write.
I'm tired...sooooo tired.
Yep.
Can't remember the last time I saw 4:51AM. So this is it.
Sometimes what you think is just the thing you need to make you feel right has just the opposite effect. Extract, extract, extract...yuck.
Ummm...but I haven't done 'shrooms or anything, I promise.
Sometimes what you think is just the thing you need to make you feel right has just the opposite effect. Extract, extract, extract...yuck.
Ummm...but I haven't done 'shrooms or anything, I promise.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
if I had a wristband, ya da da da da da da....
Wed Mar 14
Charlie Louvin: The Parish 8pm
Mountain Goats: Emo’s Main 11pm
Willowz: Flamingo Cantina 12am
IV Thieves: Buffalo Billiards 12am
Brothers and Sisters: Room 710 1am
Thu Mar 15
Oxbow: Emo’s Annex 8:30pm
Hacienda Brothers: Whisky Bar 11:20pm
Shapes and Sizes: Emo’s IV 11:30pm
Reigning Sound: Red 7 11:45pm
Okkeril River: Mohawk Patio 12:45am
Peelander-Z: Molotov Lounge 1:00am
Fri Mar 16
Muck & the Mires: Blender Bar at the Ritz 8:50pm
The Clutters: Habana Calle all damned night
The Woggles: Habana Calle all damned night
The Ugly Beats: Habana Calle all damned night
The Mullens: Habana Calle all damned night
Paul Collins Beat: Habana Calle all damned night
The Cynics: Habana Calle all damned night
Tiger! Tiger!: Habana Calle all damned night
Sat Mar 17
The Black Hollies: Uncle Flirty’s 10:30pm
The Moog: Lambert’s 11:00pm
Detroit Cobras: Red Eyed Fly 11:30pm
The Stooges: Stubb’s 12:30am
Balkan Beat Box: Habana Calle 1:00am
Sun Mar 18
The Raunch Hands: Beerland 10:00pm
Charlie Louvin: The Parish 8pm
Mountain Goats: Emo’s Main 11pm
Willowz: Flamingo Cantina 12am
IV Thieves: Buffalo Billiards 12am
Brothers and Sisters: Room 710 1am
Thu Mar 15
Oxbow: Emo’s Annex 8:30pm
Hacienda Brothers: Whisky Bar 11:20pm
Shapes and Sizes: Emo’s IV 11:30pm
Reigning Sound: Red 7 11:45pm
Okkeril River: Mohawk Patio 12:45am
Peelander-Z: Molotov Lounge 1:00am
Fri Mar 16
Muck & the Mires: Blender Bar at the Ritz 8:50pm
The Clutters: Habana Calle all damned night
The Woggles: Habana Calle all damned night
The Ugly Beats: Habana Calle all damned night
The Mullens: Habana Calle all damned night
Paul Collins Beat: Habana Calle all damned night
The Cynics: Habana Calle all damned night
Tiger! Tiger!: Habana Calle all damned night
Sat Mar 17
The Black Hollies: Uncle Flirty’s 10:30pm
The Moog: Lambert’s 11:00pm
Detroit Cobras: Red Eyed Fly 11:30pm
The Stooges: Stubb’s 12:30am
Balkan Beat Box: Habana Calle 1:00am
Sun Mar 18
The Raunch Hands: Beerland 10:00pm
I wish I could take all the time off I wanted.
Sigh...http://www.actionpackedevents.com/Oneida%20Fest%202007.htm
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Feed my damned mind already! And fer nuthin'....
You know, think it's time to get a new email address just so I don't have to deal with:
1) spam
2) THE MOST RIDICULOUS ARTICLES FOR PEOPLE WHOSE IQ IS UNDER 50 THAT I'VE EVER SEEN!
You know what else makes me mad? That I now have to pay $50.00 a year to get the special New York Times (now called "Select") online publications. That stuff used to be fodder for scads of inspirational blogs and other tidbits for me. Is it worth it to spend the fitty dollah?
Maybe...that is, if I get enough money AFTER I sell my car and AFTER I write the article.
It just seems a waste to spend $50.00 on something that does nothing but feed my mind and make me spend more time on the computer and of course there's YouTube and Village Voice and umpteen other online websites to go to in order to feed my brain...but it's soooo damned good at feeding my little soul regularly and comprehensively. And simultaneously make me go on about the evils of having such power over the people. So carefully crafted to appeal to those with a higher IQ then the Yahoo! crowd, it is.
I know, I know...I'm ranting.
But if I am forced to read one more frickin' headline or see one more frickin' picture or hear through the grapevine about one more frickin' minute detail of that woman or her people or her life, I'll...I'll....
And anyone who reads this knows exactly which woman I'm talking about. That's how much mainstream media pollutes our everyday consciousness.
BUT--spring is coming and that can cheer me considerably. And maybe a trip to Mexico.
Off to the gym for the third time since Tuesday. Wahoo! When am I going to start weighing 120 pounds already?
1) spam
2) THE MOST RIDICULOUS ARTICLES FOR PEOPLE WHOSE IQ IS UNDER 50 THAT I'VE EVER SEEN!
You know what else makes me mad? That I now have to pay $50.00 a year to get the special New York Times (now called "Select") online publications. That stuff used to be fodder for scads of inspirational blogs and other tidbits for me. Is it worth it to spend the fitty dollah?
Maybe...that is, if I get enough money AFTER I sell my car and AFTER I write the article.
It just seems a waste to spend $50.00 on something that does nothing but feed my mind and make me spend more time on the computer and of course there's YouTube and Village Voice and umpteen other online websites to go to in order to feed my brain...but it's soooo damned good at feeding my little soul regularly and comprehensively. And simultaneously make me go on about the evils of having such power over the people. So carefully crafted to appeal to those with a higher IQ then the Yahoo! crowd, it is.
I know, I know...I'm ranting.
But if I am forced to read one more frickin' headline or see one more frickin' picture or hear through the grapevine about one more frickin' minute detail of that woman or her people or her life, I'll...I'll....
And anyone who reads this knows exactly which woman I'm talking about. That's how much mainstream media pollutes our everyday consciousness.
BUT--spring is coming and that can cheer me considerably. And maybe a trip to Mexico.
Off to the gym for the third time since Tuesday. Wahoo! When am I going to start weighing 120 pounds already?
You know, think it's time to get a new email address just so I don't have to deal with:
1) spam
2) THE MOST RIDICULOUS ARTICLES FOR PEOPLE WHOSE IQ IS UNDER 50 THAT I'VE EVER SEEN!
You know what else makes me mad? That I now have to pay $50.00 a year to get the special New York Times (now called "Select") online publications. That stuff used to be fodder for scads of inspirational blogs and other tidbits for me. Is it worth it to spend the fitty dollah?
Maybe...that is, if I get enough money AFTER I sell my car and AFTER I write the article. It just seems a waste to spend $50.00 on something that does nothing but feed my mind and make me spend more time on the computer..but it's soooo damned good good at it!
Harrumph.
BUT--spring is coming and that can cheer me considerably.
Off to the gym for the third time since Tuesday. Wahoo! When am I going to start weighing 120 pounds already?
I
1) spam
2) THE MOST RIDICULOUS ARTICLES FOR PEOPLE WHOSE IQ IS UNDER 50 THAT I'VE EVER SEEN!
You know what else makes me mad? That I now have to pay $50.00 a year to get the special New York Times (now called "Select") online publications. That stuff used to be fodder for scads of inspirational blogs and other tidbits for me. Is it worth it to spend the fitty dollah?
Maybe...that is, if I get enough money AFTER I sell my car and AFTER I write the article. It just seems a waste to spend $50.00 on something that does nothing but feed my mind and make me spend more time on the computer..but it's soooo damned good good at it!
Harrumph.
BUT--spring is coming and that can cheer me considerably.
Off to the gym for the third time since Tuesday. Wahoo! When am I going to start weighing 120 pounds already?
I
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
February Stars
I love that song--"February Stars." I never was a fan of the Foo Fighters and never will be, but I'll always love that song.
I got the break I needed as Steve and I gallivanted throughout central Texas this past weekend. Stops included Luckenbach, Comfort, Kerrville, LBJ Homestead/Johnson City, Pedernales State Park, and a glorious evening spent in Fredericksburg. That is, if I can block out of my mind the gargantuan slab of unforgiveness, covered by a bedspread, that we were forced to sleep upon. I came home and sweet-talked my own crappy mattress for a half hour after that one.
I was hit by a strong sense of disconnection with the world on Monday, and something as simple as a tenderly beautiful dream that upon awakening dashed my hopes so much that it shot me into a funk that lasted until...well, I still have it, actually.
I mean there are always niggling things on my mind that I don't voice and probably should, but I have to say...I'm thinking I may have to make a physical change with my BCPs. Some folks say that Ortho Tri-Cyclen should be called "Ortho Try-Psycho," and I've been having issues with mine on a physical and maybe emotional level for the past three months.
I got a full eight hours' sleep last night, and I intend to this evening as well. Things are super-busy at work, and I'm trying to maintain a schedule that allows me to eat, grocery-shop, work out with Gretchen, relax, hone my brain, and work on music articles. So far I'm doing most of that but not as much writing and definitely not as much enjoyable brain-honing as I want. I wish I could be as wonderfully puttery as Steve and delve more deeply into books and music as much as I'd like. I'm happy to know him partially because he inspires me to do so and because he does it himself. But somehow it always seems my hours get eaten away so that I always have to go to sleep, or clean up after myself, or do something else that needs doing.
My personality confounds me sometimes. It's such a weird mixture of obsessively detailed and and artily, snarkily free-floating. Here's a prime example: I make up a detailed list (sometimes I even break the items down into approximate time frames it would take to complete them and write this next to each one). On the list is written things like "do three pages of Da Vinci exercises", "work out with Gretchen", "work on flyer for so-and-so's band", "take shower", "plan tomorrow's outfit (so I don't have to get up early and make decisions)"; "read a book." After having made the list, I sit there and stare at it a while. I then half-heartedly do a couple of the things on the list and then I get irritated with myself that I'm even making up a list of things to do, and more irritated and pissy that my own relaxation is being 'scheduled.' Then I rebel against my own authority and go play SIMS or hop on Myspace for an hour or two. I'd ground me if I thought it would do any good.
Of course, as everything in my life, it's only a phase that I go through. The next week I'm 'work bunny' or 'play bunny' again. I've ocasionally wondered if I'm manic/depressive but I've been told adamantly and categorically by multiple trained mental professionals that I'm nothing of the sort and have in fact no identifiable neurotic or psychotic issues. I don't *really* believe I have that anyway, but this cyclical rotation can make me feel like a wee piebald hamster in the plastic ball of life.
I think I'm going to go get some sleep now, and maybe tomorrow after big ol' work day number 81, I'll come home and work on my article after another little go at the gym (I'd like to repeat what I did tonight sans the abdominal exercises).
Mostly, however, I'd like to see myself post on a blog something that I'm interested in that doesn't have anything to to do with my life except that it's an idea or concept that I'm interested in. Wouldn't that be a nice change? I think so ,too.
In the long run, my goal is to get rid of my little long face. I deserve happiness, by golly!
I got the break I needed as Steve and I gallivanted throughout central Texas this past weekend. Stops included Luckenbach, Comfort, Kerrville, LBJ Homestead/Johnson City, Pedernales State Park, and a glorious evening spent in Fredericksburg. That is, if I can block out of my mind the gargantuan slab of unforgiveness, covered by a bedspread, that we were forced to sleep upon. I came home and sweet-talked my own crappy mattress for a half hour after that one.
I was hit by a strong sense of disconnection with the world on Monday, and something as simple as a tenderly beautiful dream that upon awakening dashed my hopes so much that it shot me into a funk that lasted until...well, I still have it, actually.
I mean there are always niggling things on my mind that I don't voice and probably should, but I have to say...I'm thinking I may have to make a physical change with my BCPs. Some folks say that Ortho Tri-Cyclen should be called "Ortho Try-Psycho," and I've been having issues with mine on a physical and maybe emotional level for the past three months.
I got a full eight hours' sleep last night, and I intend to this evening as well. Things are super-busy at work, and I'm trying to maintain a schedule that allows me to eat, grocery-shop, work out with Gretchen, relax, hone my brain, and work on music articles. So far I'm doing most of that but not as much writing and definitely not as much enjoyable brain-honing as I want. I wish I could be as wonderfully puttery as Steve and delve more deeply into books and music as much as I'd like. I'm happy to know him partially because he inspires me to do so and because he does it himself. But somehow it always seems my hours get eaten away so that I always have to go to sleep, or clean up after myself, or do something else that needs doing.
My personality confounds me sometimes. It's such a weird mixture of obsessively detailed and and artily, snarkily free-floating. Here's a prime example: I make up a detailed list (sometimes I even break the items down into approximate time frames it would take to complete them and write this next to each one). On the list is written things like "do three pages of Da Vinci exercises", "work out with Gretchen", "work on flyer for so-and-so's band", "take shower", "plan tomorrow's outfit (so I don't have to get up early and make decisions)"; "read a book." After having made the list, I sit there and stare at it a while. I then half-heartedly do a couple of the things on the list and then I get irritated with myself that I'm even making up a list of things to do, and more irritated and pissy that my own relaxation is being 'scheduled.' Then I rebel against my own authority and go play SIMS or hop on Myspace for an hour or two. I'd ground me if I thought it would do any good.
Of course, as everything in my life, it's only a phase that I go through. The next week I'm 'work bunny' or 'play bunny' again. I've ocasionally wondered if I'm manic/depressive but I've been told adamantly and categorically by multiple trained mental professionals that I'm nothing of the sort and have in fact no identifiable neurotic or psychotic issues. I don't *really* believe I have that anyway, but this cyclical rotation can make me feel like a wee piebald hamster in the plastic ball of life.
I think I'm going to go get some sleep now, and maybe tomorrow after big ol' work day number 81, I'll come home and work on my article after another little go at the gym (I'd like to repeat what I did tonight sans the abdominal exercises).
Mostly, however, I'd like to see myself post on a blog something that I'm interested in that doesn't have anything to to do with my life except that it's an idea or concept that I'm interested in. Wouldn't that be a nice change? I think so ,too.
In the long run, my goal is to get rid of my little long face. I deserve happiness, by golly!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
I am in sore need of some downtime.
I must need a few days in a row of downtime, because I'm about here:
Work has got me running steady for nine to ten hours a day right now, and I *still* feel like I could be doing a better job. Sigh.
I have a Rockabilly article to write, plus something for Whoopsy!. I have songs to get on tape and somehow transfer to CD for the Spain trip. I have SO MANY personal things I want to do to make my life more enjoyable...writing exercises, painting, refurbishing, working out, cooking and eating better food. I have a back patio to organize and bills to pay and SxSW to plan around/for and credit to build and relationships to work on and all the time, happy thoughts I must think.
A few weeks ago I chose to live each night of the week as if it were a weekend. How come that only works for a little while? If certain life responsibilities must be assumed in order to be able to shirk them with little consequence and total abandon, then where does one draw the line? And pray tell...where *do* the hours come from?
I think I should take a bubble bath and light a candle. It's cold outside and this is Valentine's Day, so somehow that seems like the perfect thing to do (short of getting a relaxation massage and doing lots of hugging/cuddling).
Work has got me running steady for nine to ten hours a day right now, and I *still* feel like I could be doing a better job. Sigh.
I have a Rockabilly article to write, plus something for Whoopsy!. I have songs to get on tape and somehow transfer to CD for the Spain trip. I have SO MANY personal things I want to do to make my life more enjoyable...writing exercises, painting, refurbishing, working out, cooking and eating better food. I have a back patio to organize and bills to pay and SxSW to plan around/for and credit to build and relationships to work on and all the time, happy thoughts I must think.
A few weeks ago I chose to live each night of the week as if it were a weekend. How come that only works for a little while? If certain life responsibilities must be assumed in order to be able to shirk them with little consequence and total abandon, then where does one draw the line? And pray tell...where *do* the hours come from?
I think I should take a bubble bath and light a candle. It's cold outside and this is Valentine's Day, so somehow that seems like the perfect thing to do (short of getting a relaxation massage and doing lots of hugging/cuddling).
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Whoo.
I'm exhausted. I've been having a great time with Rachel and getting much accomplished. Today we planned, we shared, we strummed, we sang. We even (and this is a beaut) put in a couple of hours in watching "Rhinestone." Yes, the one starring Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton.
Then again, I could always look at it as "research". You know...research on what not to wear AND what not to sing, with such startlingly ideal examples such as "I Don't Want to Fall in Love (I Just Want to Fall in Bed)", and "Drinkenstein."
Oh yeah, baby...keep 'em coming.
I am glad Rachel's here. When she's here things feel normal, plus my cats have someone else to lie on top of for a change.
Tomorrow, recording.
Then again, I could always look at it as "research". You know...research on what not to wear AND what not to sing, with such startlingly ideal examples such as "I Don't Want to Fall in Love (I Just Want to Fall in Bed)", and "Drinkenstein."
Oh yeah, baby...keep 'em coming.
I am glad Rachel's here. When she's here things feel normal, plus my cats have someone else to lie on top of for a change.
Tomorrow, recording.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Wha...?
It's odd--this week I have been in a very productive mode. I've been the busiest of little bees; exercising my body a LOT, eating well, getting enough sleep, accomplishing two days' work into one at my job, practicing singing a lot, getting chores done, visiting with friends, relaxing with French films (which I will go into more detail about at some point here).
I've been completely satisfied with all of this...haven't felt anything lacking, haven't felt manic or overemotional and over-thinkie, even. I've been sort of coasting along, with time and energy aplenty for all that I need to do. Such a strange feeling! Abnormal, really.
Then about two o'clock this afternoon, I don't know...I ran out of mental energy. Inexplicably it all seeped away unnoticed, and I lost the ability to focus on my job, then at home afterwards it continued on its peterishly downward spiral. I have now devolved into a spacey,yawny, uninspired little rag doll.
Tonight I was supposed to try and go to one or two shows (at least if I didn't get the house straight for Miss Rachel, who arrives tomorrow). However rather than attend these, I decided it would be okay to stay in and ready the place for Rachel's arrival. But instead of cleaning the bathroom, the kitchen, and so on, all I've been doing is knowingly, WILLINGLY, playing on the computer and watching network television. I can't think in a straight line and find the idea of even writing out a task list well nigh insurmountable. I want to go out and see Sue Moreno play; I want to go to Target and get beverages for Li'l R and me this weekend. And all I'm doing is writing about how I want to do this or that, and not doing it. *flog*
I think, perhaps, I need my bed for an extra hour tonight? I'm not expecting the rush of accomplishment that I've had for the past four or five days, but I do hope I regain just a little bit of focus. HELP!
Ugh...I am sore and drained. Why?
Perhaps my new therapist will help me shed some light on it. I start seeing her Tuesday--first time I've seen anyone since the fall of 2005.
I've been completely satisfied with all of this...haven't felt anything lacking, haven't felt manic or overemotional and over-thinkie, even. I've been sort of coasting along, with time and energy aplenty for all that I need to do. Such a strange feeling! Abnormal, really.
Then about two o'clock this afternoon, I don't know...I ran out of mental energy. Inexplicably it all seeped away unnoticed, and I lost the ability to focus on my job, then at home afterwards it continued on its peterishly downward spiral. I have now devolved into a spacey,yawny, uninspired little rag doll.
Tonight I was supposed to try and go to one or two shows (at least if I didn't get the house straight for Miss Rachel, who arrives tomorrow). However rather than attend these, I decided it would be okay to stay in and ready the place for Rachel's arrival. But instead of cleaning the bathroom, the kitchen, and so on, all I've been doing is knowingly, WILLINGLY, playing on the computer and watching network television. I can't think in a straight line and find the idea of even writing out a task list well nigh insurmountable. I want to go out and see Sue Moreno play; I want to go to Target and get beverages for Li'l R and me this weekend. And all I'm doing is writing about how I want to do this or that, and not doing it. *flog*
I think, perhaps, I need my bed for an extra hour tonight? I'm not expecting the rush of accomplishment that I've had for the past four or five days, but I do hope I regain just a little bit of focus. HELP!
Ugh...I am sore and drained. Why?
Perhaps my new therapist will help me shed some light on it. I start seeing her Tuesday--first time I've seen anyone since the fall of 2005.
Keep them rejections slips a-comin'....
http://2007.sxsw.com/music/festival/
Sigh.
*****************************
Dear Caroline Gnagy,
Thank you for submitting music to SXSW in consideration for a
showcase. This year, SXSW Music received and reviewed almost 8000
submissions. Unfortunately, this means that we must turn down many
artists. With that in mind, we will be unable to offer Caroline Casey
a showcase this year. Please be assured that your materials were
given full consideration. We wish you the best in your musical
pursuits.
Sincerely,
SXSW Music Festival staff
****************************
I didn't expect to get in whatsoever, but still, there's always a pang when getting a nice "Thank You for Playing, Please Try Again Later" letter.
Teehee...I wonder what kinds of responses this form email gets. O, to be a fly on the wall.
Sigh.
*****************************
Dear Caroline Gnagy,
Thank you for submitting music to SXSW in consideration for a
showcase. This year, SXSW Music received and reviewed almost 8000
submissions. Unfortunately, this means that we must turn down many
artists. With that in mind, we will be unable to offer Caroline Casey
a showcase this year. Please be assured that your materials were
given full consideration. We wish you the best in your musical
pursuits.
Sincerely,
SXSW Music Festival staff
****************************
I didn't expect to get in whatsoever, but still, there's always a pang when getting a nice "Thank You for Playing, Please Try Again Later" letter.
Teehee...I wonder what kinds of responses this form email gets. O, to be a fly on the wall.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Music, Mars, & Muscles
I'm sinking into a very self-protective mood as of late. Withdrawing as necessary, but just wholeheartedly trying to make myself happier. It's amazing how easy it is to do, if I just listen to what my soul is telling me. Stop. Breathe. Listen. Breathe. Gently put myself into motion. Ignore those pesky little voices, and do only for me.
I really need that right now. I feel like I'm tryin' to climb that old satin mountain again.
Tonight unfolded in a lovely way. Brennen asked me to join her for a few at the Evangeline Cafe where she played from 6 to 8, so I went. Met a very sweet fellow who played bass with her, and hopefully I'll get to use him if and when I ever play out in Austin again. We talked for a while afterward about what else? Music...which rather than getting old, is actually always refreshing.
Also refreshing was the little cup of red beans & rice I ate while there, and the unexpected company of several people who I don't really see much these days--Buck, Veronica, Sergio, and I also met Sue Moreno who is here in Texas from I think--Holland? She's playing a few shows in the U.S. At least she kind of recognized me--I think I'm getting out of the rockabilly circuit for too long, but still people surprise me. They booked a show in El Paso. Hmmm...I guess I'd better find out where she's playing if it's worth the money, like Buck said.
I caught the tail end of Veronica Mars over at Monica's afterward--and talked to her which made me feel a lot better about some aspects of my life. She has a very straightforward approach to life that I don't have.
Sometimes when I talk to her about my personal issues I end up thinking, "Well, that may be the way I SHOULD handle it, but it's not going to be the way I DO handle it." And then sometimes her spine of reinforced steel rubs off on me with good results, like tonight.
I'd like to be more of a "I don't take no shit from no-BODY" kind of woman. I admire that so much. If only I were less sensitive to others' needs and wishes...then it would be no problem. Of course I am who I am, and though I love myself, I will always feel more complete with love from others. Kind of sucky when I think about it.
It's 10:15pm now and I'm going to do a small session of weight training here in a minute, take a hot bath, and immerse myself in music essays, egyptian cotton sheets, and kitty-cats for the rest of the night.
I really need that right now. I feel like I'm tryin' to climb that old satin mountain again.
Tonight unfolded in a lovely way. Brennen asked me to join her for a few at the Evangeline Cafe where she played from 6 to 8, so I went. Met a very sweet fellow who played bass with her, and hopefully I'll get to use him if and when I ever play out in Austin again. We talked for a while afterward about what else? Music...which rather than getting old, is actually always refreshing.
Also refreshing was the little cup of red beans & rice I ate while there, and the unexpected company of several people who I don't really see much these days--Buck, Veronica, Sergio, and I also met Sue Moreno who is here in Texas from I think--Holland? She's playing a few shows in the U.S. At least she kind of recognized me--I think I'm getting out of the rockabilly circuit for too long, but still people surprise me. They booked a show in El Paso. Hmmm...I guess I'd better find out where she's playing if it's worth the money, like Buck said.
I caught the tail end of Veronica Mars over at Monica's afterward--and talked to her which made me feel a lot better about some aspects of my life. She has a very straightforward approach to life that I don't have.
Sometimes when I talk to her about my personal issues I end up thinking, "Well, that may be the way I SHOULD handle it, but it's not going to be the way I DO handle it." And then sometimes her spine of reinforced steel rubs off on me with good results, like tonight.
I'd like to be more of a "I don't take no shit from no-BODY" kind of woman. I admire that so much. If only I were less sensitive to others' needs and wishes...then it would be no problem. Of course I am who I am, and though I love myself, I will always feel more complete with love from others. Kind of sucky when I think about it.
It's 10:15pm now and I'm going to do a small session of weight training here in a minute, take a hot bath, and immerse myself in music essays, egyptian cotton sheets, and kitty-cats for the rest of the night.
Monday, February 5, 2007
One swell foop!
What a crazy busy night after a very productive day. All in all, I had better sleep like a baby tonight. I've done a lot and I'm ready for beddie.
I:
Burnt 400 calories in 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer
Got a full-on clinical massage for my neck and upper body (Alyson is insanely good at this!)
After the massage at Alyson and Shane's, Shane and I lay down some possibilities for The Casey Sisters' weekend recording session with the Two Timin' Three. Got 14 songs on to a CD and we'll see what happens! Some of them are so one-off that I think we can get four to six done this weekend and it'll be nothing but fun (likely liquor, but mostly fun).
Sigh...sometimes I wish those boys were about ten years older than they are.
And now--off to go bastardize a certain 1962 crossover hit that I'll heretofore refer to as "My Boy's Lollipop."
I:
Burnt 400 calories in 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer
Got a full-on clinical massage for my neck and upper body (Alyson is insanely good at this!)
After the massage at Alyson and Shane's, Shane and I lay down some possibilities for The Casey Sisters' weekend recording session with the Two Timin' Three. Got 14 songs on to a CD and we'll see what happens! Some of them are so one-off that I think we can get four to six done this weekend and it'll be nothing but fun (likely liquor, but mostly fun).
Sigh...sometimes I wish those boys were about ten years older than they are.
And now--off to go bastardize a certain 1962 crossover hit that I'll heretofore refer to as "My Boy's Lollipop."
Sunday, February 4, 2007
My eyeballs hurt
I should not spend so much time on a computer. Its place in my life shifts frequently in terms of convenience, education, and overall usefulness, but has an inverse relationship with the quantity of my creative endeavors.
Damn.
Today (after three years) I finally bought myself a new pair of running shoes. They were $70.00 shoes marked down to under $30.00 (which is probably about $22.00 more than they cost to manufacture). I wish I didn't have to buy athletic shoes simply because they seem to me to be matching transcendent laced up by-products of corporate greed, perfected by having married nicely into fashion geared towards the average slack-jawed yokel...but I digress. And could also say the same thing about Big-E Levis or bakelite.
Eh...at *least* I didn't go for Nikes or Reeboks.
Last night Steve and I watched "Downtown 81" (lovely), "Johnny Guitar" (chock full of great buttes(!), plus the forever immortalized "snap n' shout", courtesy of an exceedingly grating character named "Emma") . We also watched a documentary which sounded superb and like it might be a bit of a brain-stretcher. I mean, it had Burroughs and Brion Gysin and the Master Musicians of Joujouka. What's not to stretch? It was called "Destroy All Rational Thought" and I have to say, I think they did THAT very well. That is to say, they destroyed it in a way only a hipster can. Basically I found it low on substance and high on pretentiousness--a very "I'm cool; you're not" sort of film. The older footage and interviews were pretty cool but I think everyone outside of The English Channel could have done without the "Who's Who" of Irish hipster rockers. I had it at Bono, thank you very little.
I found a website which talks about this documentary and sums it up quite nicely:
http://blogs.epicindia.com/leapinthedark/2006/12/dvd_review_destroy_all_rationa.html
And he agrees with me:
**Far too often while watching Destroy All Rational Thought I found myself thinking that people were trying too hard to establish their "cool" credentials instead of being concerned about the art that was being displayed or the artist himself.**
And bless Steve's heart, he had bought a bottle of Absinthe--complete with an absinthe spoon. There are very few people I could enjoy all that with--old westerns, New York art scene movies, beat writers and musicians, absinthe, Guinness, plus cactus migas for breakfast.
*
*
Ok, I can't really think of *anyone* besides him that would even be up for that.
I need to get off this thing and clean my room while watching a movie, and then go to sleep.
Damn.
Today (after three years) I finally bought myself a new pair of running shoes. They were $70.00 shoes marked down to under $30.00 (which is probably about $22.00 more than they cost to manufacture). I wish I didn't have to buy athletic shoes simply because they seem to me to be matching transcendent laced up by-products of corporate greed, perfected by having married nicely into fashion geared towards the average slack-jawed yokel...but I digress. And could also say the same thing about Big-E Levis or bakelite.
Eh...at *least* I didn't go for Nikes or Reeboks.
Last night Steve and I watched "Downtown 81" (lovely), "Johnny Guitar" (chock full of great buttes(!), plus the forever immortalized "snap n' shout", courtesy of an exceedingly grating character named "Emma") . We also watched a documentary which sounded superb and like it might be a bit of a brain-stretcher. I mean, it had Burroughs and Brion Gysin and the Master Musicians of Joujouka. What's not to stretch? It was called "Destroy All Rational Thought" and I have to say, I think they did THAT very well. That is to say, they destroyed it in a way only a hipster can. Basically I found it low on substance and high on pretentiousness--a very "I'm cool; you're not" sort of film. The older footage and interviews were pretty cool but I think everyone outside of The English Channel could have done without the "Who's Who" of Irish hipster rockers. I had it at Bono, thank you very little.
I found a website which talks about this documentary and sums it up quite nicely:
http://blogs.epicindia.com/leapinthedark/2006/12/dvd_review_destroy_all_rationa.html
And he agrees with me:
**Far too often while watching Destroy All Rational Thought I found myself thinking that people were trying too hard to establish their "cool" credentials instead of being concerned about the art that was being displayed or the artist himself.**
And bless Steve's heart, he had bought a bottle of Absinthe--complete with an absinthe spoon. There are very few people I could enjoy all that with--old westerns, New York art scene movies, beat writers and musicians, absinthe, Guinness, plus cactus migas for breakfast.
*
*
Ok, I can't really think of *anyone* besides him that would even be up for that.
I need to get off this thing and clean my room while watching a movie, and then go to sleep.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Teeth. Brain. Heart.
Today I found a dentist, a therapist, and a good band.
And, ummm...chocolate-covered macaroons at Central Market.
http://www.myspace.com/monogram
And, ummm...chocolate-covered macaroons at Central Market.
http://www.myspace.com/monogram
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Melon-choly Caroline owns up
I'm just saying that because I had some canteloupe with my supper (a goat-cheese mushroom quesadilla).
As my exceedingly active day draws to a close, I find myself tiring, and my mind is turning to thoughts of friendship and romance. I don't often allow myself to think long on this subject, lest I get teary-eyed. Friendship, romance...shouldn't the thought of those make me smile happily, or at least, wistfully? Hmmm...more often than not, I find myself frowning. Something always seems to be amiss.
Perhaps as optimistic as I am in my life, I find myself a true non-believer in lasting love, in lasting *anything*. At least, where my own life is concerned. And that's probably why I don't like to think too long on it. It seems as elusive as a lifelong search for religious meaning (which for me will probably be a lifelong search). I have no trouble being utterly happy for others who find faith in their God, or in love...I fully believe it's possible for them, simply because they believe in it. I don't think they are fooling themselves, as I so often do with me.
I'm thinking of old boyfriends and lovers and wondering how they are now. Just because I don't want a particular person in my everyday life doesn't mean that I don't want to talk to them on occasion. I still love them, and I miss them and the certain patterns of interaction we had. I need to remind myself that some of them (the more physically connected ones) would not be good for to resume interaction with. This thought makes me sad.
Some of the people I'm thinking of tonight I have turned my back on, and others have turned their back on me. When I think about other humans and my relationships' waxings and wanings, all that really is clear is that there is pain involved in both acts. It sounds dramatic, I suppose--but most of the time that's what happens. So much energy, so much interaction is given to one person, that when the connection and love blossoms, eventually there isn't anything left to give.
What? To "run out of love?" I don't believe that can happen--but at the same time (and I HATE to admit this) that's about all I think is finite when it comes to me and other humans. All the happy and sad moments there are that you could experience together at some point seem to have already happened. Any future connections with whichever person don't seem likely to exist again...ever. And so, with this unreasonable, fickle "faith", what do I do? I pack my bags and go.
This thought also makes me sad.
Of course when some of the happier memories come to mind, somehow the big picture of the "not right for me" person fades and I'm left with a memory of how they smelled, or the magic of a shared kiss, or reminiscence of the world falling away as both get wrapped up in the presence of the other. A memory of the connection between we two stays palpable. When I think of people I love, I am amazed how different every person, every connection was. If I slide back into the memory of those moments, it's visceral to me. Literally. I get a strong pang deep inside myself, just as if I were experiencing it again.
So that's it, then. Something's got to give way. I cannot in good conscience ignore these patterns for a lifetime. Sometimes just owning up to the fact that I am capable and all-too-ready to push people away would be helpful. I'm all too ready to assume my life will, in the end, be just me. I assume, predict even, that I can't be settled with anyone at all, because I will never *really* be settled. For the record, "settled" to me, means not so much white picket fences and "best friends 4-ever" lockets, but rather having faith that another friend will be unswaying, unswerving when it comes to me. I know, however, that until I am unswaying, unswerving, TRULY, with myself, that those thoughts will remain. Until then, I guess I can't be unswaying, unswerving to the, either.
Does this, too, make me sad? You bet it does.
I think it's about time to succumb to minor-keyed dreams.
As my exceedingly active day draws to a close, I find myself tiring, and my mind is turning to thoughts of friendship and romance. I don't often allow myself to think long on this subject, lest I get teary-eyed. Friendship, romance...shouldn't the thought of those make me smile happily, or at least, wistfully? Hmmm...more often than not, I find myself frowning. Something always seems to be amiss.
Perhaps as optimistic as I am in my life, I find myself a true non-believer in lasting love, in lasting *anything*. At least, where my own life is concerned. And that's probably why I don't like to think too long on it. It seems as elusive as a lifelong search for religious meaning (which for me will probably be a lifelong search). I have no trouble being utterly happy for others who find faith in their God, or in love...I fully believe it's possible for them, simply because they believe in it. I don't think they are fooling themselves, as I so often do with me.
I'm thinking of old boyfriends and lovers and wondering how they are now. Just because I don't want a particular person in my everyday life doesn't mean that I don't want to talk to them on occasion. I still love them, and I miss them and the certain patterns of interaction we had. I need to remind myself that some of them (the more physically connected ones) would not be good for to resume interaction with. This thought makes me sad.
Some of the people I'm thinking of tonight I have turned my back on, and others have turned their back on me. When I think about other humans and my relationships' waxings and wanings, all that really is clear is that there is pain involved in both acts. It sounds dramatic, I suppose--but most of the time that's what happens. So much energy, so much interaction is given to one person, that when the connection and love blossoms, eventually there isn't anything left to give.
What? To "run out of love?" I don't believe that can happen--but at the same time (and I HATE to admit this) that's about all I think is finite when it comes to me and other humans. All the happy and sad moments there are that you could experience together at some point seem to have already happened. Any future connections with whichever person don't seem likely to exist again...ever. And so, with this unreasonable, fickle "faith", what do I do? I pack my bags and go.
This thought also makes me sad.
Of course when some of the happier memories come to mind, somehow the big picture of the "not right for me" person fades and I'm left with a memory of how they smelled, or the magic of a shared kiss, or reminiscence of the world falling away as both get wrapped up in the presence of the other. A memory of the connection between we two stays palpable. When I think of people I love, I am amazed how different every person, every connection was. If I slide back into the memory of those moments, it's visceral to me. Literally. I get a strong pang deep inside myself, just as if I were experiencing it again.
So that's it, then. Something's got to give way. I cannot in good conscience ignore these patterns for a lifetime. Sometimes just owning up to the fact that I am capable and all-too-ready to push people away would be helpful. I'm all too ready to assume my life will, in the end, be just me. I assume, predict even, that I can't be settled with anyone at all, because I will never *really* be settled. For the record, "settled" to me, means not so much white picket fences and "best friends 4-ever" lockets, but rather having faith that another friend will be unswaying, unswerving when it comes to me. I know, however, that until I am unswaying, unswerving, TRULY, with myself, that those thoughts will remain. Until then, I guess I can't be unswaying, unswerving to the, either.
Does this, too, make me sad? You bet it does.
I think it's about time to succumb to minor-keyed dreams.
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