Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
New Poly Styrene Single!
The first single from Poly Styrene's much-anticipated comeback album, Generation Indigo, was released this week. If you haven't heard it yet, here's the clip.
Poly, of course, is the former lead singer of X-Ray Spex, one of the first wave of UK Punk bands back in 1977, and has recorded only sporadically in the years since. Generation Indigo is scheduled for release March 28. This first single, "Virtual Boyfriend," is promising, although it takes awhile to get going. Once it kicks in, though, it latches very comfortably into your brain. There is a nice little nostalgic New-Wavey feel to it. Not bad, though falling just a bit short of the mark set by her Christmas single, "Black Christmas" (which will not be on the album), and the track "Thrash City" that was previewed on her Facebook fan page a couple of weeks ago (which will be).
Looking forward to the full album, and interested in your thoughts on the single:
Poly, of course, is the former lead singer of X-Ray Spex, one of the first wave of UK Punk bands back in 1977, and has recorded only sporadically in the years since. Generation Indigo is scheduled for release March 28. This first single, "Virtual Boyfriend," is promising, although it takes awhile to get going. Once it kicks in, though, it latches very comfortably into your brain. There is a nice little nostalgic New-Wavey feel to it. Not bad, though falling just a bit short of the mark set by her Christmas single, "Black Christmas" (which will not be on the album), and the track "Thrash City" that was previewed on her Facebook fan page a couple of weeks ago (which will be).
Looking forward to the full album, and interested in your thoughts on the single:
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Back Where I Belong
"You know where dreams like that will take you.
In any event, it makes no difference now.
This is for the times you told me everything would go wrong.
This is for the way you put me back where I belong..."
- "Back Where I Belong" by Dumptruck
Image via WikipediaI've been writing a lot lately, I'm pleased to report. Very little of it, you will notice, has ended up being posted here. I want to change that, but it's not easy - for me anyway. Writing is both a very extroverted and an extremely introverted exercise. There are things I write for public consumption and things I write that are for no one's eyes but my own. I suppose that's true for many people, but somewhere along the way last year, the two became so tangled for me that writing of almost any kind came to a near cessation (not a good thing at all, considering much of the work I do for my employer consists of copy and content writing!), and time was needed to sort things out and restart the machine.
As I noted here earlier, one thing that I did that really allowed the words to begin flowing again was to consciously remove all of the constraining Rules of Writing that I was forcing myself to follow in hopes of finding my way back to the place where I can write freely and happily. One Rule I have not yet been successful in letting go is the notion that whenever I write, for whatever purpose, that I must write about something. I must have a subject! Where is this sentence or paragraph or essay or marketing piece or journal entry going? Define! I must define! Have you any idea how restrictive that is?
There was a time back in my school days when I wrote short stories for my friends. They were always written in very free form, stream-of-consciousness style. I seldom used constructs like paragraphs or plot or, at times, even punctuation. I started at a point and just wrote, and let the words take me wherever they wanted to go. The resultant pieces would be beautiful patchwork quilts of phrases and images and characters. Some characters would recur from story to story; some would appear briefly and then never again; rarely would the same characters end the story they had begun. I wrote until the words stopped, and when they did I knew I was done. One friend described reading them as akin to reading the transcript of a bizarre dream, with unrelated scenes melting into one another and non-sequitors abounding in a complete loss of logical direction. Yet, when you are within a dream like that, actually dreaming it, it all somehow seems to make perfect sense.
I miss being able to write like that. Over the years, that disappeared, in part I think because the OCD that at times clouds my thinking also clouds my writing, telling me it must be perfect and must follow strict, orderly rules, or else it is not good. I have tried to sit down and purposefully write in that style again, but the words do not come as they once did. I know why, of course: I'm trying rather than simply doing. I'm trying to force the process rather than allow it to happen. It's the writing equivalent of trying to push a wet noodle uphill through jello.
So I am trying to get back where I once was. Back to a place where I can write more freely, without writing about anything in particular. Back where I belong. To do so, I am undertaking some writing exercises. The Six Word Sunday posts I've started here are a part of that. I am making use of Write Or Die, a fantastic and highly recommended tool for just getting words out on the paper. I am challenging myself to write in formats I am completely and utterly uncomfortable in (poetry, script writing, narrative fiction, et al.) and I am submitting those pieces to various places for publication under assumed names or anonymously or, when brave or comfortable or drunk enough, under my own name, just to see what happens - just to put it out there.
I would like to begin posting more free-form things here in the hopes that I might get some feedback from you, both supportive and constructively critical. Or, if it's complete crap, tell me that. But I need the feedback, and I know my readership here is not the most vocal. Many a post goes un-commented upon around these parts! But this time, I am asking for your help. Your input will be extremely valuable. Deal?
In any event, it makes no difference now.
This is for the times you told me everything would go wrong.
This is for the way you put me back where I belong..."
- "Back Where I Belong" by Dumptruck
Image via WikipediaI've been writing a lot lately, I'm pleased to report. Very little of it, you will notice, has ended up being posted here. I want to change that, but it's not easy - for me anyway. Writing is both a very extroverted and an extremely introverted exercise. There are things I write for public consumption and things I write that are for no one's eyes but my own. I suppose that's true for many people, but somewhere along the way last year, the two became so tangled for me that writing of almost any kind came to a near cessation (not a good thing at all, considering much of the work I do for my employer consists of copy and content writing!), and time was needed to sort things out and restart the machine.As I noted here earlier, one thing that I did that really allowed the words to begin flowing again was to consciously remove all of the constraining Rules of Writing that I was forcing myself to follow in hopes of finding my way back to the place where I can write freely and happily. One Rule I have not yet been successful in letting go is the notion that whenever I write, for whatever purpose, that I must write about something. I must have a subject! Where is this sentence or paragraph or essay or marketing piece or journal entry going? Define! I must define! Have you any idea how restrictive that is?
There was a time back in my school days when I wrote short stories for my friends. They were always written in very free form, stream-of-consciousness style. I seldom used constructs like paragraphs or plot or, at times, even punctuation. I started at a point and just wrote, and let the words take me wherever they wanted to go. The resultant pieces would be beautiful patchwork quilts of phrases and images and characters. Some characters would recur from story to story; some would appear briefly and then never again; rarely would the same characters end the story they had begun. I wrote until the words stopped, and when they did I knew I was done. One friend described reading them as akin to reading the transcript of a bizarre dream, with unrelated scenes melting into one another and non-sequitors abounding in a complete loss of logical direction. Yet, when you are within a dream like that, actually dreaming it, it all somehow seems to make perfect sense.
I miss being able to write like that. Over the years, that disappeared, in part I think because the OCD that at times clouds my thinking also clouds my writing, telling me it must be perfect and must follow strict, orderly rules, or else it is not good. I have tried to sit down and purposefully write in that style again, but the words do not come as they once did. I know why, of course: I'm trying rather than simply doing. I'm trying to force the process rather than allow it to happen. It's the writing equivalent of trying to push a wet noodle uphill through jello.
So I am trying to get back where I once was. Back to a place where I can write more freely, without writing about anything in particular. Back where I belong. To do so, I am undertaking some writing exercises. The Six Word Sunday posts I've started here are a part of that. I am making use of Write Or Die, a fantastic and highly recommended tool for just getting words out on the paper. I am challenging myself to write in formats I am completely and utterly uncomfortable in (poetry, script writing, narrative fiction, et al.) and I am submitting those pieces to various places for publication under assumed names or anonymously or, when brave or comfortable or drunk enough, under my own name, just to see what happens - just to put it out there.
I would like to begin posting more free-form things here in the hopes that I might get some feedback from you, both supportive and constructively critical. Or, if it's complete crap, tell me that. But I need the feedback, and I know my readership here is not the most vocal. Many a post goes un-commented upon around these parts! But this time, I am asking for your help. Your input will be extremely valuable. Deal?
Monday, February 7, 2011
New Wave for the New Week #110
They're everywhere
And my mind describes them to me..."
That particular bit of paranoid nonsense is the chorus of one of the most wonderful one-hit New Wave obscurities in the genre's history, the 1980 single "Lawnchairs" by Our Daughters Wedding. ODW was among that early batch of synthesizer bands who had not succumbed to the Europop glossiness of the New Romantics, but instead were plinking away robotically and winking ironically at those listening to their off-kilter lyrics and skittish melodies.
Keith Silva, Layne Rico and Scott Simon started playing together in San Francisco in the late seventies, trying their hand at guitar-based Punk, but found little success. By 1979 the three had reunited in New York City and agreed to get the band back together, but this time they replaced the guitars and drums with synths and rhythm machines. They built a following among fans of like-minded bands such as Mi-Sex, The Units and Silicon Teens, and in 1980 had their first two singles out on the independent Design label; first "Nightlife," then their cult favorite, "Lawnchairs."
In 1981 they were picked up by the EMI label and released an ep, Digital Cowboys, which, in typical major-label fashion, contained a re-recorded version of "Lawnchairs." This new, far more polished and far less appealing version of their "hit" was quickly issued as a single to replace the earlier version. EMI was moving the band toward a more commercial sound, smoothing the rough edges and making their music more accessible to the MOR crowd. The track "Target For Life" showed promise, though.
ODW's first and only full-length album, Moving Windows, soon followed, showing even more potential. They found themselves on tour with Orchestral Manouevres in the Dark, The Psychedelic Furs, and other such MTV-approved New Wave bands, and they might have found similar success had they not had a severe falling out with the bigwigs at EMI. The label pulled support for the record, which quickly sank into obscurity, and that was the end of Our Daughters Wedding
All of ODW's records fell out of print, but in 2006 very nearly all of their recordings, including both versions of "Lawnchairs," were collected for a CD release, Nightlife: The Collection. Missing only one album track and a few b-sides and obscurities, it is as complete a discography of ODW as you could hope for. Unfortunately it, too, is now out of print and fetches high dollars if you can find it. You'll have better luck tracking down the vinyl - just be sure when you find the "Lawnchairs" single you have the 1980 Design records version, not the EMI re-release from a year later!
There is no video clip for "Lawnchairs," just the audio-only clip below. Enjoy this obscure New Wave gem!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
New Wave for the New Week #109
Cover of Tubeway ArmyThink, for a moment, of what defined the stereotypical New Wave sound, circa 1979/1980: Early, metallic-tinged synthesizer bloops. Choppy, robotic rhythms. Deadpan vocals. Themes of alienation and separation. Now think how that came to be the blueprint that most people think of when they think of New Wave. It can be traced back, essentially, to one monster hit single - one of the most successful New Wave records ever released: Gary Numan's "Cars."Gary Numan, both as a solo act and as part of his earlier band, Tubeway Army, was the personification of the New Wave to most of mainstream America. Really, "Cars" had no business being a hit single. It was totally unique when it was released in 1980. Nothing else sounded like it. Sure, you had Devo experimenting with electronics, but they were filtering actual melodies through those synths and keyboards. The B-52's were delivering on the herky-jerky rhythms, but they were clearly having a blast and inviting everyone to dance.
No, Numan was different. Melody, such as it was, was stunted at best. His vocals were mostly monotone; when there was palpable emotion it was brooding and morose. It was as if he had arrived via time machine from some 1960's Italian sci-fi movie's vision of the year 2000, where machine had all but replaced man and everyone wore unisex Logan's Run jumpsuits. His music was the soundtrack of our inevitable dystopian demise. Yet, it was somehow insanely catchy.
Numan's earliest singles with the Tubeway Army were punkier affairs. At the time going by the name "Valerian," Numan's strongest artistic influences - Bowie, Bolan, etc. - are more readily identifiable on guitar/bass/drum singles like "That's Too Bad," "O.D. Receiver," and "Bombers." (These early singles were collected and re-issued as The Plan in 1983, later expanded with demos and unreleased recordings for CD release many years later.). By the time Tubeway Army's self-titled debut album was released in 1978, however, he had rechristened himself as "Gary Numan," and begun to bring rudimentary synths into the mix.
That first album is simply stunning. Opening with "Listen To The Sirens," which pretty much laid out the ground rules for the rest of the decidedly cold LP ("We don't wish to be your friends/We won't ever call again") and burbling away with themes of unwanted solitude and alienation ("My Shadow In Vain," "Are You Real?," "Every Day I Die"), it would be the opening salvo in a three-year string of amazing records.
1979 brought about Replicas, another masterpiece, this time credited to Gary Numan + Tubeway Army. Guitars of any sort had essentially disappeared, and Numan's lyrics were becoming more icily claustrophobic and removed. Standouts like "It Must've Been Years," "You Are In My Vision" and the utterly magnificent "Me, I Disconnect From You" helped to refine Numan's alien approach. In the UK, Numan enjoyed his first smash hit with the album's lead single, "Are 'Friends' Electric?"
The stage was set for Numan's mega-hit. Later in that same year his next album, The Pleasure Principle, dropped the Tubeway Army name completely, and despite some often overlooked excellent supporting tracks ("Metal," "M.E.") this was a one-track pony. "Cars," which is probably right now percolating away in your mind's ear, was as big as a single could get in those days.
Numan rang in 1980 with another of his finest singles, "I Die: You Die." Originally intended to be a non-LP single, it was included on later pressings of that year's Telekon. Although by no means a bad album, Telekon's songs showed a clearly tiring Numan, who had by now released four albums in three years and had been touring incessantly. 1981's Dance was a bleak affair with nothing much to recommend it, and by the time 1982's I, Assassin arrived, Numan was beginning to sound very forced...and very dated.
Throughout the second half of the 1980's, Numan released several albums on his own NUMA label, trying to recapture the early magic while simultaneously exploring more atmospheric, almost ambient sounds. His experimental work with early samplers was interesting, but never caught the public ear, and Numan soon faded away. An attempted comeback album in 1989 was not successful.
Today, the music of Gary Numan and Tubeway Army that was once labeled "futuristic" is now almost anachronistic, but for those of us who were there the preferred term would be "nostalgic." So enjoy a couple of clips of what the future once sounded like. Two of his best: First up, an audio-only clip of "It Must've Been Years" from the Tubeway Army days. Second, the clip for his last great single, "I Die: You Die." Enjoy!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
You Really Oughta Read More...
Since I've been away, however, I thought it would be a good time to highlight some of the more recent additions to the blogroll in a post where more folks are likely to see them and, hopefully, go visit and check them out. So here are 10 sites that I currently visit regularly, and suggest you do as well:
RCRD LBL - Simply one of the best free & legal sources for music on the Internet. The folks at RCRD LBL offer both streaming and downloadable mp3s from artists both classic and cutting edge, representing a wide variety of genres and styles. Their staff of writers do an excellent job on the editorial side, and you can spend hours surfing from one artist to the next. Great place to find the next big thing, as well as rediscover some old favorites.
...tapewrecks... - You know that box of old cassette tapes collecting dust in the back of your closet or on a shelf somewhere? The box where most of them are missing inserts or cases, but you know one or two of them have you and your high school buds jamming on them? Well, Tom Quinn is digitizing them and sharing them with the world. Demo tapes, self released cassettes, reel-to-reel cacophonies, bands that never made it and for good reason - they're all here in glorious lo-fi, with explanatory notes and commentary.
The ModPopPunk Archives - Not a blog per se, but rather a sort of online museum of classic and current music in the mod, power-pop, punky vein. Their mp3 of the Day (which does not change daily) usually features an obscure classic, while their Record of the Month (which hews much closer to its stated schedule) will point you in the direction of something new. Recent RoM's have included Protex, The Mother's Children and The Van Buren Boys - all excellent and highly recommended. Their mp3 archive is a treasure trove not to be missed!
The Ouro Bros. and the Never-Ending Tour - Jeremy Bentley (he draws) and Jeff Burkholder (he writes) have combined efforts on an outstanding webcomic following the exploits of Stan and Balthazar Ouro, sibling musicians on the road. Bentley's own experiences as a drummer inform the situations our boys find themselves in, giving the story a ring of familiarity to anyone who has ever been on tour and an admittedly exaggerated peek behind the curtain for those who've always wondered. Both artist and author add commentary to each episode describing process and inspiration - the online equivalent to director's commentary on a DVD.
Thinking Too Hard - When she isn't busy editor-in-chiefing over at IndieInk.org, Becky Tsaros Dickson is writing some of the most powerful first-person prose currently online. Deeply introspective and unflinchingly direct, her words are at turns nostalgic, despairing, furious and celebratory - often all four within just a few sentences. The emotion in her work crackles off the screen and pulls you into the center of her electrical storm, leaving you exhausted but wanting more. I also recommend picking up her first book, I Could Tell You Stories.
All Things Considered - Another of my favorite writers on the 'Net these days is Gina Collia-Suzuki. The self-described "frightfully serious art historian and incredibly silly novelist" authors no less than five blogs, my favorite of which is All Things Considered - "All Things" in her world being books, art and the goofiness of daily life. (I'd add only music and baseball to make "all things" a complete list; I'll forgive her the baseball, she being British and all, but I think music a necessity!) Her wonderfully dry sense of humor permeates even the most didactic of her works; her incredible ability to find herself in the oddest of situations (get to know the stories about her abhorrent neighbors) provides her with fertile foundation for her storytelling. She has four books currently available on Amazon. Go! Purchase! Enjoy!
k-rina - Cristina Rad, a/k/a k-rina, a/k/a ZOMGitsCriss, is one of the more intriguing personae to be found online these days. There is an old saying that you will never make friends talking about politics or religion. Well, friends be damned, politics and religion are what this Romanian wants to discuss, and she is rather opinionated at that. But she doesn't just bluster; this is a bright, educated woman who will challenge you to examine your own opinions while defending hers. Either that, or she'll just piss you off. And then she'll turn around and post about making pancakes or cleaning house. Her blog goes hand-in-hand with her YouTube channel. Check 'em both out.
Dynamyk's Ridiculous Digital Scrapbook - Mike "Dynamyk" Miller has set up a wonderful Tumblr blog in which to show off his outstanding graphic work, as well as the occasional random thought or phrase. Mostly, though, its images captured via camera or iPhone (he's been big on the Instagram app lately). Gifted with a sharp eye and a sharp sense of humor, his pictures tell little mini-stories; taken as a whole, his blog is a pictorial diary - a chance to see the world through another's eyes.
Random, Personified - My other favorite Tumblr blog of the moment belongs to Liz Money. If you are into geeky gadgety tech-y stuff at all, you've no doubt encountered Liz Money online somewhere: she hosted The Money Shot for TheGadget411.com reviewing, well, gadgets; she currently co-hosts The BangItOut Show podcast for NewOrleansTech.net; she can be found livening up just about every social networking platform imaginable. Here she collects and shares all sorts of goofy, fun things she finds from all around the Net. Sure to put a smile on your face.
The Lancast - Speaking of podcasts, I would be remiss if I didn't insist you subscribe to the best damn podcast in Central Pennsylvania, The Lancast. For over a year now, David Moulton and Daniel Klotz have been podcasting weekly about Lancaster and the people in and around it. Their interviews with community leaders, local characters, and visiting personalities are always both insightful and entertaining. They capture the flavor and personality of Lancaster very well, both by advertising community events and by sharing the stories of the people who make up our town. Out-of-towners, I urge you to listen, too - you'll gain a greater understanding of the land that spawned my world view, and you just may be inspired to come visit!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Back In Flesh
Reports of this blog's death have been, as they say, greatly exaggerated. It's been awhile, and I have to say the break was much-needed and more reinvigorating than I expected it would be, but the blog is back!
I very much appreciate your understanding of the need I had to put this away for a few weeks. Been in one of those phases where I began to question myself as a writer. I write, both for fun and for profit, but in the last few months of 2010 it felt really forced. It wasn't fun anymore. Every word I wrote felt less like an expression of self and more like an assignment. The only thing that kept me going was doing the New Wave for the New Week entries here, and much as love to put those pieces together and I thrive on the feedback they generate, I must admit I had begun to burn out on them. Perhaps, I thought, that series had run its course. And, if NW4NW was done, was I done? Could it be that, contrary to the cliched insistence of every self-professed writer that he or she has a book inside them just waiting to come out, I had fulfilled my potential through a series of snarky reviews of 30-year-old bands? Had I said everything I wanted - needed - to say?
I joined a local writers group in hopes finding both support and inspiration; both were offered to me in greater quantities than I expected. Yet I still lacked the fire - that feeling that I don't just want to write, but that I must write. That drive had been gone for some time, and, in typical misguided fashion, I was seeking an external impetus to write. I had forgotten the words of Bukowski:
You can look around the Internet and you'll find a thousand and one so-called "blogging experts" and "writing coaches" who will tell you that everything I do in this blog is wrong: I do not have a singular focused subject matter; I tend to blurt and post rather than carefully write, edit, and rewrite; my posts are too long; I don't do enough lists; blah, blah, blah. If you spend much time in the online writing community at all, you are inundated with their "rules" for "proper" writing, especially on the Internet. Schedule your posts! Make yourself accountable! Focus your subject matter! Write to a specific audience or a specific person! Well, I was never one for following rules, but when I found myself uninspired, I also found myself lured to those experts' siren song. Predictably, I crashed on the craggy shoreline.
When I decided to free myself of the externally-imposed shackles I had locked myself into, represented in my world by that looming January 10th deadline, something happened. Suddenly, I felt freedom. I no longer had an "assignment," and the blog, rather than being something that demanded my time and energy, slowly returned to being a potential outlet for sharing what I enjoy. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night with blog post ideas, and returned to leaving tablets around the house so I always have somewhere to jot those ideas down when I get them. I returned to writing in a daily journal that is meant only for myself - something I haven't done in years, but was always, for me, fertile ground for planting those early germinations of ideas that need some time to develop before they are ready to be harvested into actual pieces ready for public consumption. I returned to wanting to write because I want to write, not because I really ought to be writing. I returned to writing for me, not for anyone else. I returned to having that inner drive that Bukowski describes so well.
And so now, it is "truly time." And I am back. And the blog is back. And, I hope, you'll be back to read what I write. But even if some of you decide not to come back, I will write. After all, I am a writer.
Fitting song, and source of this post's title:
I very much appreciate your understanding of the need I had to put this away for a few weeks. Been in one of those phases where I began to question myself as a writer. I write, both for fun and for profit, but in the last few months of 2010 it felt really forced. It wasn't fun anymore. Every word I wrote felt less like an expression of self and more like an assignment. The only thing that kept me going was doing the New Wave for the New Week entries here, and much as love to put those pieces together and I thrive on the feedback they generate, I must admit I had begun to burn out on them. Perhaps, I thought, that series had run its course. And, if NW4NW was done, was I done? Could it be that, contrary to the cliched insistence of every self-professed writer that he or she has a book inside them just waiting to come out, I had fulfilled my potential through a series of snarky reviews of 30-year-old bands? Had I said everything I wanted - needed - to say?
I joined a local writers group in hopes finding both support and inspiration; both were offered to me in greater quantities than I expected. Yet I still lacked the fire - that feeling that I don't just want to write, but that I must write. That drive had been gone for some time, and, in typical misguided fashion, I was seeking an external impetus to write. I had forgotten the words of Bukowski:
So You Want to Be a Writer by Charles Bukowski
if it doesn't come bursting out of youAnd so my promised return date for the blog, January 10, arrived...and it wasn't yet "truly time." So, I apologize to you, my readers, not for not being ready on the 10th, but for setting a date in the first place. I still hadn't learned that it cannot be forced when I capriciously declared a specific day for my return. I was listening not to my own internal muse, but to external guides who, despite their best intentions, can never tell me, me individually, me internally, how to do this.
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
You can look around the Internet and you'll find a thousand and one so-called "blogging experts" and "writing coaches" who will tell you that everything I do in this blog is wrong: I do not have a singular focused subject matter; I tend to blurt and post rather than carefully write, edit, and rewrite; my posts are too long; I don't do enough lists; blah, blah, blah. If you spend much time in the online writing community at all, you are inundated with their "rules" for "proper" writing, especially on the Internet. Schedule your posts! Make yourself accountable! Focus your subject matter! Write to a specific audience or a specific person! Well, I was never one for following rules, but when I found myself uninspired, I also found myself lured to those experts' siren song. Predictably, I crashed on the craggy shoreline.
When I decided to free myself of the externally-imposed shackles I had locked myself into, represented in my world by that looming January 10th deadline, something happened. Suddenly, I felt freedom. I no longer had an "assignment," and the blog, rather than being something that demanded my time and energy, slowly returned to being a potential outlet for sharing what I enjoy. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night with blog post ideas, and returned to leaving tablets around the house so I always have somewhere to jot those ideas down when I get them. I returned to writing in a daily journal that is meant only for myself - something I haven't done in years, but was always, for me, fertile ground for planting those early germinations of ideas that need some time to develop before they are ready to be harvested into actual pieces ready for public consumption. I returned to wanting to write because I want to write, not because I really ought to be writing. I returned to writing for me, not for anyone else. I returned to having that inner drive that Bukowski describes so well.
And so now, it is "truly time." And I am back. And the blog is back. And, I hope, you'll be back to read what I write. But even if some of you decide not to come back, I will write. After all, I am a writer.
Fitting song, and source of this post's title:
Monday, December 27, 2010
TWIWGTS GREATEST HITS #1 -
Table For One
[That's What I Was Going To Say is on a brief hiatus during the holidays. Regular posting will resume on Monday, January 10. In the meantime, please enjoy this countdown of the ten most popular posts in the blog's history. Today we present #1, Table For One, originally posted May 21, 2010.]
"They're calling all the shots
They'll call and say they phoned
They'll call us lonely when we're really just alone..."
- "Oblivious" by Aztec Camera
Twitter exchange recently between @blurdmuliebrity and myself:
That got me thinking: which category do I fall into? I don't think of myself as "lonely," but am I? I don't feel lonely, at least no more so than I imagine everyone does at some point or another, but then again...
"Marriage is a Wonderful Institution,
Being a 43-year-old, reasonably healthy, heterosexual male who has never been married puts me in a minority, sociologically speaking. Of course, good-intentioned people who believe that no one else could possibly be happy or content with their lives unless they are lived by a certain prescribed set of standards are always quick to ask, "Well, what's wrong with ya?"
The answer: "Nothing."
"Uh-huh," they nod, looking perplexed as they give me the once-over in search of glaring flaws.
It's just that I have no pressing drive to get married just for the sake of being married. Not that I haven't had the opportunities. In fact, there have been points in my life where I thought I found her, but history has shown that had I taken that plunge then, I would likely be just another divorce statistic now. That's not what I want. When and if the right woman comes along, yes, I'd like to marry. To this point in my life, I haven't found her.
Nope, nope, yep.
You think they looked perplexed about the still being single thing? This one really blows people's minds! I have a harder time rationalizing this one, though. Literally, the only thing that keeps from having a driver's license is that in 43 years, I've never gone through the process.
I walk a lot, I arrange for rides with friends or family, I use public transportation. I don't "miss" driving because I've never driven. I save a lot of money that would otherwise go to auto insurance, gas, repairs, upkeep. I've gone this far without driving, what would I need with it now?
I have not gone to any of the previous reunions, and my rationale has always been the same:
"Those who were my friends are still my friends; those who were marginal I could find if I needed to; the rest I didn't like back then and they didn't like me, so why would I want to see them?"
This reunion is a bit different. This reunion is occurring in a post-Facebook world.
When I joined Facebook over a year ago, I was stunned to find the first people reaching out to me were high school classmates - literally, people who I had probably not thought of very much at all since grabbing my diploma and heading off to college. Even more stunning, they were folks who, if they remembered me at all, I would not think would have remembered me fondly.
Almost two-thirds of our graduating class is on Facebook now, and I have connected with many of them. What has amazed me is that some of my classmates who, back then, would scarcely acknowledge I existed, are now among the people I most look forward to interacting with online. I've had to reassess my own judgments and perhaps let go of a grudge or two, and as a result I've found that more than a few of those who I would have put in the "why would I want to see them?" category before have turned into really neat folks.
Of course, not all of them have. It seems every high school class has those who are still living their lives as though we were all still back in school. They never left their cliques, they never expanded their world, they never opened their minds. Their lives apparently peaked when they were 18, and that's the world they want to hold onto. They were snobs, bullies, jerks then, and they remain unchanged.
So, when the question has invariably come up, "You going to the reunion?," I find myself unable to rely on my pat answer. Now there are a group of folks who I would like to see again - those who I have reconnected with online and found common ground today that didn't exist back then. But is my wish to see these folks in person stronger than my distaste for seeing those who judged and tormented me 25 years ago, and are likely to judge and torment me now?
Social anxiety can range from mildly annoying to fully debilitating, and while mine fortunately falls toward the less severe end of the spectrum, it's still a formidable demon to fight. People who have never dealt with anyone who battles social anxiety, and who don't deal with it themselves, have no concept of what it does to a person. It is not simple shyness or introversion. It is a real fear, a gripping fear, that stops you from being in even those social situations that you want to take part in.
Some friends invite me out for dinner and drinks, or a group is getting together to go to a concert or to a ballgame. Maybe some friends are having a party and would like me to be there. Whatever the situation, I go through the same process: I happily say yes, I'd love to join in. Then, little by little, the fear starts creeping in. What if I do or say something embarrassing? What if they all laugh at me? What if there are people there I don't know, and
they think poorly of me? What if this is all a set up to trap me into some sort of public humiliation? The anxious thoughts spiral out of control like that, each leading to the next more irrational, more frightening thought.
This is where my friend OCD kicks in. I was diagnosed with mild OCD several years back. Again, I'm fortunate that it falls to least severe end of the possible spectrum, but it's there nonetheless. In my case, OCD manifests more in obsession than in compulsion: the racing thoughts with no basis in reality - thoughts that do not bear even the most casual scrutiny, but thoughts that I can't always stop. OCD and social anxiety often go hand-in-hand, with one feeding the other. The physiological response is an adrenaline rush, and that "oh my God" feeling in the pit of the stomach. As I said, it's a very real, gripping fear.
And so, I begin to desperately look for a way to bow out of the invitation. I find myself hoping something comes up - bad weather, illness, whatever - that is just cause for either the event to be canceled or for me to easily say "sorry, can't make it." What is strange about this process is that while I am going through it, it's as if the rational, clear-thinking part of me is watching it happen, fully aware that it is irrational, fully aware that it is an anxiety/OCD response, and yet unable to shut it off.
Sometimes the rational side wins. I literally force myself out the door to whatever the event is. And you know what? Invariably, once I'm there, I find myself having a great time. And why not? I'm with friends taking part in enjoyable activities! If there are new people there, I tend to make new friends. I'm a surprisingly charming person. If they don't like me, that's OK too - their loss. Invariably, when it's over, I can't believe that I ever had an ounce of anxiety going in.
When the anxiety wins, I spend days kicking myself. Why the hell didn't I go? Why did I let that irrational fear paralyze me? Why do I stop myself from being around people?
I can't tell you exactly how or when it all changed. That's the thing about anxieties - they creep up on you; they build slowly over time. I know that it did change, however, because at some point in my mid-thirties I looked around and said, "Where is everyone?" I had slowly turned myself into a hermit, steadily letting friendships atrophy. (You know, if you turn down or cancel enough invitations, people tend to stop inviting you to hang out with them.) Dating came to a near standstill: it's hard to take a woman out when you yourself are not comfortable going out among people in the first place.
I had become one of those folks who, if I did go out, would be eating dinner alone.
The demon that is anxiety and OCD is a cunning foe, constantly whispering in your ear, forever rationalizing it's existence. It's a siren song that requires constant vigilance to resist. Have you noticed a pattern in the items I've discussed in this piece? My still being a bachelor at age 43? My having never learned to drive? My having never attended one of my high school reunions?
In each case, I have at my disposal a seemingly perfectly plausible rationalization; a ready answer for all the questions that are regularly thrown at me. And, in each case, those "rationalizations" fold under the most casual scrutiny.
Because the most casual scrutiny reveals the flimsiness of my rationales, I tend not to scrutinize them. When @blurdmuliebrity made her comment, especially about being able to tell the lonely from the nonlonely among those who dine alone, I immediately wondered if she would be able to tell which category I fell into. Then the thought: Do I know which category I fall into?
Naturally, anyone would rather be among those who are alone, which suggests a choice in the matter, than among those who are lonely, which suggests a far worse lot in life. Surely, I'm among the alone, right? I suddenly found in my mind that those rationales were not only subject to casual scrutiny, but that I had put them under a microscope. Flimsy? Hell they're weak as water.
Of course I want a wife! Of course I want someone to share my dinner (and my thoughts and my world) with! You know what stops me from going out and finding her? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
Of course I should learn to drive! That in itself would open so many more restaurants to go to where I could share my meal with someone. You know what stops me from doing it? That damn irrational fear. That fear of failing and in turn being judged, mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
Of course I want to go to my 25th high school reunion! There are people I really want to see again, and to hell with those with whom I will never get along. You know what stops me from going? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
I don't think I mentioned yet that @blurdmuliebrity happens to be a bartender, and in that role I have no doubt she's seen her share of the alone - and the lonely - patronizing the establishment where she works. Good bartenders have a sense of their clientele. Good bartenders also happen to be fairly insightful amateur therapists.
A woman I knew several years back and was very fond of was an artist. She made a piece for me that I treasure greatly. It's a simple chunk of rock into which is inscribed the following:
"Man, like every other animal, tends to be passive. Unless goaded by circumstance, scarcely does he take the trouble to reflect upon his condition."
That Twitter exchange from the other night has goaded me into some self-reflection, the way a good therapist would. The writer in me demands that I express that self-reflection in words, and the blogger in me says "Share it!"
So there it is. Now, I have two choices: change, or continue. I don't know yet which path I'm going to take. Change at 43 is tough, but certainly not impossible. Either path I follow, I will continue to fight the demons of anxiety and OCD, so neither will be a cakewalk. Decisions, decisions. I need my strength - maybe a good meal.
Table for one, please.
________________________________________
Also read this related post to read more ramblings:
10/2/10 - Fighting the Demons Again
"They're calling all the shotsThey'll call and say they phoned
They'll call us lonely when we're really just alone..."
- "Oblivious" by Aztec Camera
Twitter exchange recently between @blurdmuliebrity and myself:
@blurdmuliebrity: Seeing people eating alone in a restaurant makes my heart hurt.
@berutt: Why? I do it all the time.
@blurdmuliebrity: You can always tell the lonely ones from the nonlonely ones and it's sad.
That got me thinking: which category do I fall into? I don't think of myself as "lonely," but am I? I don't feel lonely, at least no more so than I imagine everyone does at some point or another, but then again...
"Marriage is a Wonderful Institution,
but Who Wants to Live in an Institution?" - Groucho Marx
Being a 43-year-old, reasonably healthy, heterosexual male who has never been married puts me in a minority, sociologically speaking. Of course, good-intentioned people who believe that no one else could possibly be happy or content with their lives unless they are lived by a certain prescribed set of standards are always quick to ask, "Well, what's wrong with ya?" The answer: "Nothing."
"Uh-huh," they nod, looking perplexed as they give me the once-over in search of glaring flaws.
It's just that I have no pressing drive to get married just for the sake of being married. Not that I haven't had the opportunities. In fact, there have been points in my life where I thought I found her, but history has shown that had I taken that plunge then, I would likely be just another divorce statistic now. That's not what I want. When and if the right woman comes along, yes, I'd like to marry. To this point in my life, I haven't found her.
Drive, She Said
Nope, nope, yep.
You think they looked perplexed about the still being single thing? This one really blows people's minds! I have a harder time rationalizing this one, though. Literally, the only thing that keeps from having a driver's license is that in 43 years, I've never gone through the process.
I walk a lot, I arrange for rides with friends or family, I use public transportation. I don't "miss" driving because I've never driven. I save a lot of money that would otherwise go to auto insurance, gas, repairs, upkeep. I've gone this far without driving, what would I need with it now?
It Came in the Mail
I have not gone to any of the previous reunions, and my rationale has always been the same:
"Those who were my friends are still my friends; those who were marginal I could find if I needed to; the rest I didn't like back then and they didn't like me, so why would I want to see them?"This reunion is a bit different. This reunion is occurring in a post-Facebook world.
When I joined Facebook over a year ago, I was stunned to find the first people reaching out to me were high school classmates - literally, people who I had probably not thought of very much at all since grabbing my diploma and heading off to college. Even more stunning, they were folks who, if they remembered me at all, I would not think would have remembered me fondly.
Almost two-thirds of our graduating class is on Facebook now, and I have connected with many of them. What has amazed me is that some of my classmates who, back then, would scarcely acknowledge I existed, are now among the people I most look forward to interacting with online. I've had to reassess my own judgments and perhaps let go of a grudge or two, and as a result I've found that more than a few of those who I would have put in the "why would I want to see them?" category before have turned into really neat folks.
Of course, not all of them have. It seems every high school class has those who are still living their lives as though we were all still back in school. They never left their cliques, they never expanded their world, they never opened their minds. Their lives apparently peaked when they were 18, and that's the world they want to hold onto. They were snobs, bullies, jerks then, and they remain unchanged.
So, when the question has invariably come up, "You going to the reunion?," I find myself unable to rely on my pat answer. Now there are a group of folks who I would like to see again - those who I have reconnected with online and found common ground today that didn't exist back then. But is my wish to see these folks in person stronger than my distaste for seeing those who judged and tormented me 25 years ago, and are likely to judge and torment me now?
The Demons Inside
Social anxiety can range from mildly annoying to fully debilitating, and while mine fortunately falls toward the less severe end of the spectrum, it's still a formidable demon to fight. People who have never dealt with anyone who battles social anxiety, and who don't deal with it themselves, have no concept of what it does to a person. It is not simple shyness or introversion. It is a real fear, a gripping fear, that stops you from being in even those social situations that you want to take part in.
Some friends invite me out for dinner and drinks, or a group is getting together to go to a concert or to a ballgame. Maybe some friends are having a party and would like me to be there. Whatever the situation, I go through the same process: I happily say yes, I'd love to join in. Then, little by little, the fear starts creeping in. What if I do or say something embarrassing? What if they all laugh at me? What if there are people there I don't know, and
they think poorly of me? What if this is all a set up to trap me into some sort of public humiliation? The anxious thoughts spiral out of control like that, each leading to the next more irrational, more frightening thought.This is where my friend OCD kicks in. I was diagnosed with mild OCD several years back. Again, I'm fortunate that it falls to least severe end of the possible spectrum, but it's there nonetheless. In my case, OCD manifests more in obsession than in compulsion: the racing thoughts with no basis in reality - thoughts that do not bear even the most casual scrutiny, but thoughts that I can't always stop. OCD and social anxiety often go hand-in-hand, with one feeding the other. The physiological response is an adrenaline rush, and that "oh my God" feeling in the pit of the stomach. As I said, it's a very real, gripping fear.
And so, I begin to desperately look for a way to bow out of the invitation. I find myself hoping something comes up - bad weather, illness, whatever - that is just cause for either the event to be canceled or for me to easily say "sorry, can't make it." What is strange about this process is that while I am going through it, it's as if the rational, clear-thinking part of me is watching it happen, fully aware that it is irrational, fully aware that it is an anxiety/OCD response, and yet unable to shut it off.
Sometimes the rational side wins. I literally force myself out the door to whatever the event is. And you know what? Invariably, once I'm there, I find myself having a great time. And why not? I'm with friends taking part in enjoyable activities! If there are new people there, I tend to make new friends. I'm a surprisingly charming person. If they don't like me, that's OK too - their loss. Invariably, when it's over, I can't believe that I ever had an ounce of anxiety going in.
When the anxiety wins, I spend days kicking myself. Why the hell didn't I go? Why did I let that irrational fear paralyze me? Why do I stop myself from being around people?
It Wasn't Always Thus
I can't tell you exactly how or when it all changed. That's the thing about anxieties - they creep up on you; they build slowly over time. I know that it did change, however, because at some point in my mid-thirties I looked around and said, "Where is everyone?" I had slowly turned myself into a hermit, steadily letting friendships atrophy. (You know, if you turn down or cancel enough invitations, people tend to stop inviting you to hang out with them.) Dating came to a near standstill: it's hard to take a woman out when you yourself are not comfortable going out among people in the first place.
I had become one of those folks who, if I did go out, would be eating dinner alone.
The demon that is anxiety and OCD is a cunning foe, constantly whispering in your ear, forever rationalizing it's existence. It's a siren song that requires constant vigilance to resist. Have you noticed a pattern in the items I've discussed in this piece? My still being a bachelor at age 43? My having never learned to drive? My having never attended one of my high school reunions?
In each case, I have at my disposal a seemingly perfectly plausible rationalization; a ready answer for all the questions that are regularly thrown at me. And, in each case, those "rationalizations" fold under the most casual scrutiny.
The Therapist Behind the Bar
Because the most casual scrutiny reveals the flimsiness of my rationales, I tend not to scrutinize them. When @blurdmuliebrity made her comment, especially about being able to tell the lonely from the nonlonely among those who dine alone, I immediately wondered if she would be able to tell which category I fell into. Then the thought: Do I know which category I fall into? Naturally, anyone would rather be among those who are alone, which suggests a choice in the matter, than among those who are lonely, which suggests a far worse lot in life. Surely, I'm among the alone, right? I suddenly found in my mind that those rationales were not only subject to casual scrutiny, but that I had put them under a microscope. Flimsy? Hell they're weak as water.
Of course I want a wife! Of course I want someone to share my dinner (and my thoughts and my world) with! You know what stops me from going out and finding her? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
Of course I should learn to drive! That in itself would open so many more restaurants to go to where I could share my meal with someone. You know what stops me from doing it? That damn irrational fear. That fear of failing and in turn being judged, mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
Of course I want to go to my 25th high school reunion! There are people I really want to see again, and to hell with those with whom I will never get along. You know what stops me from going? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.
I don't think I mentioned yet that @blurdmuliebrity happens to be a bartender, and in that role I have no doubt she's seen her share of the alone - and the lonely - patronizing the establishment where she works. Good bartenders have a sense of their clientele. Good bartenders also happen to be fairly insightful amateur therapists.
A woman I knew several years back and was very fond of was an artist. She made a piece for me that I treasure greatly. It's a simple chunk of rock into which is inscribed the following:
"Man, like every other animal, tends to be passive. Unless goaded by circumstance, scarcely does he take the trouble to reflect upon his condition."
That Twitter exchange from the other night has goaded me into some self-reflection, the way a good therapist would. The writer in me demands that I express that self-reflection in words, and the blogger in me says "Share it!"
So there it is. Now, I have two choices: change, or continue. I don't know yet which path I'm going to take. Change at 43 is tough, but certainly not impossible. Either path I follow, I will continue to fight the demons of anxiety and OCD, so neither will be a cakewalk. Decisions, decisions. I need my strength - maybe a good meal.
Table for one, please.
________________________________________
Also read this related post to read more ramblings:
10/2/10 - Fighting the Demons Again
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