23 february 2000
funk me


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Streets are flooded, the rehearsal studio parking lot looks like a swimming pool, and there is "tornado-like activity" in Anaheim.

Now, what exactly is "tornado-like activity?" My guess is it's what happens when a big conical funnel of high-speed wind dances through an unlikely area, destroys a couple of houses, and the government is too cheap to give any kind of federal relief funds to the victims.

"But sir, my house is in shambles."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but it wasn't a tornado. It was 'tornado-like activity.' Only tornadoes qualify for federal aid. Hey look, news cameras!"

Toto, let's get our asses back to Kansas.

"conical funnel" -- isn't that redundant?



~~~

I dreamt last night that an airplane crashed into our offices in Malibu. I was standing outside on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, and saw a plane circling over PCH. Actually, it looked more like a flying fishing boat with red, white, and blue paint. (wow, just realized it was a color dream) There was a big sputter, like a car about to lose its muffler, a puff of black smoke came from the tail, and the plane headed straight for me. In a panic, I ran inside, screaming "plane crash!" but nobody would listen. I stood there and watched through the window at my impending doom. At the last minute, the plane veered, its right wing hitting the window right where my face was. But the glass didn't break. It was more like a giant person walking by and bumping their elbow against the window in greeting. The plane skidded into the canyon behind our offices. I ran outside. The rescue workers were already there. I asked if I could help. The head guy told me there was no-one on the plane. It was radio-controlled and went berserk. I stood there and watched as they pulled the plane out of the canyon. The right wing almost hit me again on the way out. When the head guy saw this he started screaming at me to get away, that a civilian has no place at a crash scene, and shoved me away ...

... and I realized I had overslept again. And it was pouring rain outside. In the shower, I thought about the dream. Remotely triggered by the Alaska crash no doubt, but probably more directly by a huge car crash yesterday afternoon right outside our offices. It was almost a flashback to the day of the plane crash. I looked up in the air from our building's courtyard. 2, 4, 7, 11 ... all the news-copters were circling. I headed across the street to my favorite dive bar to catch it on TV. A 70 year old woman lost control of her car, knocked over two telephone poles, and landed upside-down in the embankment. They were trying to get her out with the Jaws of Life. Frightening. Out back in the parking lot, a bunch of gawkers were lined up, giraffing to grab a good look at the Real Live Action. I walked out front, looked up and flipped off the news-copters, and came back inside to my martini.

I wonder if they got the woman out of her car ok ...

And I just spent a good fifteen minutes surfing the local news sites. Nothing. Nada. She must be ok. They only report bad news, right?



~~~

For some reason I grabbed Genesis to listen to on the way to work in the pouring rain this morning. "Invisible Touch," a fourteen-year old collection of synth and drum-machine dominated compositions recorded during the height of Phil Collins' mid-80s "look at the cute overgrown cabbage patch doll" popularity period. Then again, I shouldn't knock it. I bought the cd, and many like it, in 1986.

So I'm crusin' Highway 101 through the downpour, still in my I-haven't-been-awake-for-an-hour-yet bad mood, when Phil starts singing ... "Now I wanna make a living and I'm feeling just fine. I know just what I gotta do. Play the game of happiness and never let on that it only lives on in a song ...." And I thought, well, that just about describes it. It generated my first smirk of the day.

But then, when I pulled into the parking lot, I checked the lyric sheet and found out the actual first part was -- "Now I'm one with the living and I'm feeling just fine."

Well, that kind of fucked up what I was thinking ...

At least I now have this new file on my computer desktop, aptly named in retrospect, since I'm using this computer a helluva lot at work, and I wouldn't want the boss looking over my shoulder and seeing "resume" beneath an AppleWorks document icon.

Am I too old to quit my job and look for something better?

Am I too old to quit my job and become a full-time musician?

(speaking of which, we're playing again on saturday. free tickets at www.groaningmona.com)

I think I've been in such a funk lately because I'm finally confronting the question of what-I-really-wanna-be-when-I-grow-up ...

Of course, I waited until I grew up until I decided to think about that question.

Or maybe I just haven't grown up yet. What the fuck does "grown-up" mean anyway?

If it's my life as it stands now, I don't want it. The real question is, what _do_ I want? And everytime I try to answer that I get immobilized with fear, a fear that eventually fades into a downright funk.

I have faith that I'll get through this without backing away from the Real Issue. It's gonna be a painful ride, though. Growth is like that, I guess.



~~~

two years ago: hiatus: whining like a self-pitying brat. some things never change, huh ....

one year ago: buying roses.

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