Where my heart is....

I just watched the Carter Family documentary from PBS.

Wow.

As far as documentaries go, I've seen better, but to their credit no film could really tell their story. I said, NO FILM COULD REALLY TELL THEIR STORY. Ya hear that, Hollywood? How about you don't even try?

Anyway. As I watched it, I felt the familiar visceral tug of yearning, excitement, and blind determination roil and rise within me until they bubbled out so fast I had to pause the recording and pace back and forth, trying to gain control of my thoughts again.

What I want, well...it's been done before, I know. There will always be those that do it better than I. But still, I know in my heart that it is what I love--all other possibilities fade in comparison.

I need to shout out to the world my love of music and the soul-deep magic it brings to me.

I need to write.

I need to make music and the history of it a very central part of my life. If I don't, I will feel as if I have let myself down. I know this in my heart. I want this so badly for my life that I am fighting back tears as I write this silly blog.

I must immerse my life in the two. Writing. Music. Make music of my writing. Write about my music. Write about my life and the constant juxtaposition of the two.
I must not get caught up in whether this man or that man is giving me the love I deserve, whether this girl likes me or whether I got a good review or if I'm overweight or if I'm broke. None of that matters.


I have a good start, as I have been darting in and out of this knowledge for almost twenty years. I also have been dallying with the dance of life and love,and that's all well and good...but most of all I need to ensure that I do not lose sight of my goal. I must continue to write articles about the things that I love, no matter how trivial they may sometimes seem; no matter how swamped my teleconferences and numerous daily duties get.

I must get my own space again, physically, where I can delve into my creative being without one thought for another's well-being. I casn write songs all night and clean at 8AM on a Saturday morning. I can mutter and pace and sloth if I must. I must censor my relationships with television and the computer. I must rediscover that which is truly me, and will always be.

You know me...just a rockin' and a-rollin'....

I wish I could write about all that happened over SxSW, but it gets fairly overwhelming if I attempt to gather my thoughts about it.

I saw:

Los Straitjackets w/Big Sandy
The Alarm Clocks
The Reigning Sound
Mary Weiss
The A-Bones
Sam the Sham
The Cynics
Paul Collins Beat
Peter, Bjorn, & John
The Stooges
The Clutters
The Woggles
The Mullens
The Ugly Beats
Muck & the Mires
Dirty Fuzz (*gag*)
The Jungle Rockers
The Beasts of Bourbon
The Detroit Cobras
The Waco Brothers



SxSW was great fun but as usual I got "The Crud". To my credit, this time I doubt it was really the dreaded SXSW strain since I came down with it so early on and I had taken precautions. I've been sleeping lots. Trying not to let this go bronchial, and taking lots of Emergen-Cs.

I've also been spending some time emailing my friends and ummm....working up a version of "War" for the Dandy Lyons spectacular on March 30th. So far I've determined that my version of this should be entitled "Big Ball of Suck."

In other news, I briefly flipped through channels tonight and noticed a VH1 special entitled "Lindsay Lohan's Most Shocking Moments." They made a TV show out of this????

I quit American society.

New song

In the midst of cleaning, I just stopped and write an extremely depressing song called "Unlovable Loser." Woo! I mean, the protagonist? Pathetic. Me? Never.

Yay. More songs.

*

*

It's getting to be time I wrote a happy one, damn it.

Cah-razy!

Mmmm...bed....kitties....Swedish cheese.

Oh, wait! Whiskey...Norwegian friends...countless opportunities to poke fun at feather-haired, blazer-sporting film guys.

How ever will I choose?

In the end, The latter won out. But as late as I got down to Casino el Camino to meet Tor and Magne, I got a fantastic parking spot and had enough time to have a ball without having more than two drinks and without getting "downtownies" overload.

Today I exercise, purge myself of books and other belongings, do a spot of laundry, pick out some songs to work on, and maybe eat some tasty and healthful food.

I found out that the Skatalites are playing tonight and although Tommy McCook and Roland Alphonso joined that great ska band in the sky many years ago, they are still undoubtedly the best live ska act that I've ever seen. Doreen Schaffer, Lloyd Knibbs, and Lester Sterling are still keeping things cooking. I believe I shall go and let all my friends know and of course, Tor and Magne and Richard and Steinar will come, because they squealed like wee girls and jabbered in unintelligible Norwegian when they heard about it last night. Of course all Norwegian, when jabbered, is well nigh unintelligible to me...so we'll just forget I said that.

In the meantime, I'm drawing on my battle gear and starting pull myself into the frenzy that is SxSW. A heartening conversation with Laura yesterday assured me that even if the Shim Shimmy Go Go Girls don't put in an appearance at the official SxSW showcase of the Woggles/Cynics/Ugly Beats/Reigning Sound, there are still ample opportunities to enjoy each of these bands at some of the day shows. Plus Muck & the Mires are here; they're our buddies from Boston who won the Little Stevens Garage Contest last year. And of course, I think I will have to *ahem* be very ill on Friday March 16th, because the Stooges are playing at Waterloo and well, I need to see some of the Raw Power for myself.

So yay!

Although, I *really* would like to see Mary Wells sing with the Reigning Sound backing her up. Good lord, what joy! I'll have to see what sort of finagling I must do in order to achieve that.

And now...elliptical trainer, more coffee, maybe a tasty smoothie and a burrito later on.

Sometimes there are no other words.

Ugh.

Arrgh.

Blecch.

Ew.

Tsk, tsk.

Hmmmph.

Bleargh.

*flick*

Sigh.

I leeched this one from the New York Times. Heehee...

There is even a doily! How I adore doilies.




HELLO, SUCKER
By William Safire


I would suggest moving back,” said President Bush, from the cab of a yellow Caterpillar tractor at the company’s East Peoria, Ill., plant. “I’m about to crank this sucker up.” He started the engine, watched a puff of smoke belch from the stack, steered the machine around the assembly line and announced, “That was fun,” as he got off.

The local press caught the carefully staged symbolism of a dynamic economy and global demand for American construction equipment, not to mention more well-paying jobs thanks to a free-trade policy. But the message that got through to language mavens around the English-speaking world was that another new meaning had been accepted, at the highest level of government, in the saga of a great old English word.

All of us who cavorted at the bee’s-knees speak-easies in the 1920s, swilling bathtub gin and waving feather boas to the tune of the “Charleston,” fondly recall the image of Mary Louise (Texas) Guinan perched atop a stool in the middle of the El Fay Club in Manhattan, greeting every wide-eyed “big butter-and-egg man” from out of town with her trademark shout, “Hello, sucker!”

That roughly affectionate use of sucker was derived from its meaning of “simpleton; a gullible mark often fooled, hoodwinked, swindled or otherwise easily taken advantage of.” The metaphoric source, the Oxford English Dictionary informs us, is that of a young mammal before it is weaned from its mother’s teat, calling to mind a picture of a suckling pig. The great lexicon’s earliest citation in this sense is from an 1838 Toronto Patriot: “It’s true that pigs has their troubles like humans ... constables catches ’em, dogs bite ’em, and pigs is sometimes as done-over suckers as men.”

That sense of gullibility was exemplified in several famous American sayings, like “Never give a sucker an even break,” falsely ascribed in the 1880s to the showman Phineas T. Barnum by a rival impresario. The Barnum biographer A. H. Saxton credits Paper Collar Joe Bessimer, a notorious confidence man, with “There’s a sucker born every minute, but none of them ever die.” To be fair, the bumptious Barnum never claimed coinage; indeed, according to the Columbia World of Quotations, he later thanked his envious rival for the publicity. (P. T. Barnum is legendarily remembered for suckering his circus customers with a sly exit sign, “This way to the egress,” which enticed paying visitors to leave a crowded tent in the hope of seeing a live egress, presumably a caged female eager.)

Paper Collar Joe’s born-every-minute aphorism lives: in a segment about outlandish gifts on ABC’s “Good Morning America,” Diane Sawyer recently admitted buying a “Memory Pillo,” confessing, “Because if there’s a sucker born every minute, I’m the sucker born in my minute.” In the 1936 film “Poppy,” W. C. Fields first said, “Never give a sucker an even break,” which reinforced the sense of a sucker being a born “loser.”

Other senses of the word live on inside longer locutions: vampires, always a popular attraction in horror movies, are bloodsuckers, and media pundits, proliferating madly in the blogosphere, present their views in what we like to call thumbsuckers.

Even so, many feel slightly uncomfortable using the verb suck or a noun built on it. In a column about teenage slang a few years back, I reported that the term being used to describe what we used to call soul-kissing, or French kissing — a pleasurable form of osculation, if somewhat sloppy — is now sucking face. Some readers found that phrase to be unsuitably descriptive, even odious, and urged that its users be banished to tonsil-hockey’s penalty box. The same adult distaste is shown toward such innocent childlike derogations as “Algebra sucks.”

I ran this hidden concern past Grant Barrett, editor of Oxford’s excellent political etymology, “Hatchet Jobs and Hardball,” a host of the KPBS public-radio show “A Way With Words” and whose “Double-Tongued Dictionary” is available at www.doubletongued.org. “While it is debated regularly,” he e-mails, “some linguists and lexicographers do think that sucks, as it is currently used, such as ‘Algebra sucks,’ without a direct object, is probably not derived from longer forms.” Obviously, other language scholars disagree and are free to send their always profound comments to one another on the American Dialect Society listserv because I must use my remaining space to deal with this question: Is there anything unduly suggestive or remotely lascivious about Bush’s “I’m about to crank this sucker up?”

Not to anyone with clean hands and a pure heart. Here is Harry Smith, paragon of media virtue, on the CBS “Early Show,” displaying a large, expensive toy named PlayStation 3: “We’re going to show you how this sucker works.” And here is Representative Phil Gingrey, Georgia Republican and a stalwart of the right, on a Democratic bill ordering Medicare to negotiate for lower drug prices: “It’s a loss for our seniors; we need to kill this sucker dead.” And reaching back to 1969, John Denver’s rendition of the romantic lyrics “You dun stomped on my heart and mashed that sucker flat.”

Sol Steinmetz, member of Olbom (On Language’s Board of Octogenarian Mentors), is the voice of calm sagacity: “Sucker in this context is a slang term that uses the standard word sucker for any unspecified thing, and is synonymous with other terms like dojigger, bugger, gizmo and others for ‘a machine or contraption.’ ”

If the reader will move back, I will zip this column to my copy editor in New York as soon as I can find the right thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit, whoozadingy or sucker to hit on this weird ergonomic keyboard.

From our friends at The Economist.

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).

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

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.

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.

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

I wish I could take all the time off I wanted.

Sigh...http://www.actionpackedevents.com/Oneida%20Fest%202007.htm

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?

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

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 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).

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.

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.

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.

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.