What a Rush

When I was a teenager, my favorite band was Rush. I also had hair — which I’d coiffed into a mini-mullet. That was not exactly my fault since it was 1987 or 1988, but it was my fault to have believed that songs like “YYZ” and “Red Barchetta” were acceptable parts of the musical landscape.

What can I say, except to offer an apology?

In entries past, I’d written about my disdain for Rush as an adult: the insipid lyrics, the untight performances, the best drummer in the world who surprisingly has no groove, the wank factor, the general uncoolness of it all, and, well, the fact that they just won’t quit. I thought of selling my entire collection of Rush CDs on Ebay, but it seemed to like too much of a hassle.

I asked a number of friends if they’d been interested in it, but everyone declined; either they owned the collection, or just got scrunched-up faces when they said they didn’t want it. Yesterday, I mentioned the disposal of the collection to someone at work. They volunteered to take the entire thing, like you’d adopt a stray dog.

This morning, I put the CDs in a doubled-up plastic bag and brought it into work. I am pleased to announce that my life is now Rush-free.

Thank you, Dinty Moore! And goodnight!

(Going Back) 10 Years Later

I moved to Boston 10 years ago. It was for a job opportunity, but in reality, it was to start a new life. At that time, I was:

1. Getting out of a very serious, long-term, co-dependent relationship.
2. Burned out from having played in a band for several years.
3. Deep in debt.
4. Owner of three pairs of pants and one pair of shoes (which had a hole in them).
5. 165 pounds (I am 6′6″).
6. Extremely optimistic that if I tried hard enough, I could change the world, or at least my eminent domain.

Over the last 10 years, lots has gone on in my life. I mean: lots. New friends, old friends, bought houses, sold houses, home studios, writing books, sister getting married, girlfriends/lovers/lovers/girlfriends, pets, career, shaved head, etc..

Strangely, it took me 9.5 years to put everything in perspective.

The beginning of my education started last November. I don’t have to detail the events, but its lasting effect is invaluable. You see, given what’s taken place in my life over the last six months, I realized that what had been missing in me was enthusiasm. I mean, mortgages and salary and “success” and routine are all important, I guess, because they are inherent to sustaining life in the middle class. But there’s a fine line between being a grown-up and going through the motions in life, like not doing or embracing what you truly enjoy.

And, to be frank, if I continued to waste every evening of my life on Instant Messenger, I had no idea how I’d be able to cope as a normal human being anymore.

Call it a pre-midlife crisis (I’m 33 years old), if you wish. But I don’t care/choose to. I think of my change in attitude as a rebirth, as a rededication. After I thought about the events of the past months, I decided to pick a handful of things that I enjoy and to take them as far as I could go with them. This doesn’t mean that I’ve given up my hope for eternal relationdom, but I’ve come to realize that people date as individuals, and if/when the time is right, things will evolve as they need to. As is always the case with me, when I fill my social calendar, I end up meeting a girl.

Between now and then? Let there be socializing. And after socializing? Let there be rock.
After the Great Head Shaving Experiment of March 2005, I started to audition for bands, but this time around, as a bassist. Note that I’ve had various (even harsh) critiques over the years about my skills — or lack thereof — as a musician, but for those of you who know me, you’re keenly aware of my persistence when it comes to things to which I’ve dedicated my resources. I will literally expend every last minute of my time or ounce of my energy to something until I’m given final confirmation of my failure. Then? I’ll regroup and work on something else.

This time around, I’m joining someone else’s band, not starting one of my own. Surprisingly, most of the auditions went really well (perhaps because I practiced? Who can say?). As of this moment, I have offers to join two bands. Both bands have major upsides. Making a choice here — believe it or not — is an unenviable position. The first band is an upstart with lots of potential. The second band is established and (I feel) is close to getting over the hump to success.

Outside of music, I have been focusing on writing, and have started to put some ideas onto a scratch pad. I’m not all that interested in working in the technical writing space these days; developing these books takes lots of time, and the market is really crowded with product right now — which makes getting a contract unnecesarily painful. I’d really like to develop a work of fiction that’s centered around my (current) fascination with dark/black comedy.

It would be poetic to say that, after 10 years, I’ve come full circle. But that wouldn’t ring true, given the fact that I now weigh 185 pounds and own six pairs of pants and four pairs of shoes. After 10 years, then, I’ve concluded that I know what I like — so I should do what I like when I’m not being so damned adult-like.

Dating is Cheaper when You’re Paying for One

To Whom it May Concern:

After the last blown date, I promptly got back on the horse and asked another girl out. I refuse to have my dating life be held captive by jackasses and flakes. I have to keep moving, keep trying, keep finding out who’s single, keep asking for phone numbers. I won’t quit, but there’s been a setback.

I got blown off by a date today, a different girl than last weekend. But it’s my fault. How? I saw the signs ahead of time and failed to cancel the date before I actually went on it… by myself.

On Thursday, my date cancelled via text message about 30 minutes before I was to get in the car (red flag #1 — when your date cancels via text message instead of just CALLING YOU). She suggested that we meet up at such-and-such-time today (red flag #2 — date cancels via text message then promptly reschedules via text message WITHOUT EVER CALLING). She also noted that she’d mail me after she got back from her trip. She didn’t contact me if/when she got back from her trip (red flag #3).

Those were three gigantic signs, and I should’ve just cancelled things entirely on Thursday night. I was a fool and I admit it. This afternoon, in Harvard Square, I stood out in the great weather and watched some street dancers near the “Out of Town News” while I waited 45 minutes for her never to show (the street dancers weren’t bad, but they were a far cry from a bottle of merlot and convenient store food that was to have been consumed in the park near Harvard Yard).

I gave up hope, then called some people and went for billiards and drinks.

Unfortunately, dear date, you did not have the courtesy to CANCEL THE DATE. It would’ve been one thing if I lived closer to the city (where I could’ve taken the T home or have done some walking in this excellent weather). It was something else entirely that you knew how far away I lived from the city. In fact, I almost stayed at home and did something else with my time. I knew that if I did this, however, you would’ve been the one calling ME from Harvard Square to ask where I was. I couldn’t bring myself to let this happen no matter how many red flags you’d waved in my direction.

So, prospective female dates, let’s make a deal. I’ll continue to pursue you, ask for your phone numbers, call you, and act in as decent of a fashion that I am capable. But in no way will I be your charity case, secret lover, or backup plan for a date or boyfriend. If you’re not interested, just say so. If you lose interest, just cancel and say that you’re seeing someone else. And in return? I will continue to act reasonably by saying pre-canned nothings like “thank you” or “sorry that it didn’t work out”. If I’m doing the aggressor/initiator thing, you should do the womanly/mature thing of providing clear rejection, as you deem necessary.

Thank you,
The Management

Ele-quette

People act weird in elevators. I’ve said this before. Whether it’s the prospects of being trapped in a window-less metal box, or it’s the close proximity factor, people exhibit strange behavior. I can’t quite put my finger on it — and given how closely everyone is packed in — I shouldn’t try to.

My recent confusion is about people who apologize when the elevator stops at their floor — and they realize that it’s already got someone inside. “Sorry”, they’ll say, before they enter the car and ride to the bottom floor. Why is this? Why why why?

Sure, I could understand an apology if you were using the elevators solely to go up or down one floor at a time. Yes, unless you have a visible physical condition, it is annoying when people stop the express car with a one-floor stop. But for those people who ride a couple of floors (at least) with you before everyone gets out, I just can’t figure why an apology should be warranted.

Maybe they just have a guilty conscience?

Hair Beware

As a hair-impaired man, I’ve been wondering why I’ve been spending $15 every 4-6 weeks for a “haircut”. Seriously. If you calculate the amount of time the haircut takes (5 minutes) against the number of times they could do it in an hour (12), my barber has been making $180/hr to mitigate the appearance of my male-pattern baldness. That’s really quite insane, or smart business, depending on whether you’re my pocketbook or my barber.

Yesterday, I bought an electric trimmer. It cost $29. I read the instructions, plugged it in, and whammo!

That wasn’t necessarily a good whammo. You see, my barber had been using the #2 trimmer setting. Apparently, the #2 trimmer setting is not a universal standard, as using the #2 setting on my new trimmer resulted in my hair being shaved down to the scalp. Ooops! In for $29, in for a pound, though, right? So, I decided to shave all of my hair off, date on Tuesday night be damned.

This morning, in my completely bald state, I read my email. My date cancelled for Tuesday night, citing a romance that had apparently blossomed over the last week. I blame Norelco.