|
19 may 2000
----- So I just sat here in bed with my little casio, running over my lead vocals over and over again, and my voice sounded just fine. I moved to the bathroom, which was recommended by T.J., and I sounded even better. So what's the fucking problem? OK, is there any way to up the ambiant decibel level by a factor of 100, and then make me try and sing without being able to hear my own voice? That would be the best way to simulate gig conditions. So now I'm considering driving down to LAX to stand at the end of the runway and rehearse. If only I had the energy... Besides, I've had quite enough of airplanes and airports this past month. Fuck it, I'll just wing it.
Is there a more appropriate time to mention this...?
Saturday, May 20, 8pm SHARP ~~~ So, if ya live in LA, or know anyone who lives in LA, tell 'em to get their asses to our gig. If they decide to come, tell them to see amaebi after the gig and he will buy you/them a drink. And, if ya don't live in LA, hop in a car or on an airplane or whatever it takes and get your ass to the gig. I will personally buy you a drink. Great incentive, huh? Yeah right. If only I could actually make a living as a musician.... ~~~ Music is my passion. Or it's the closest thing I've got. I figured that out today, sitting at my desk in Corporate America, between conference calls and in a state of "Why the fuck do I even bother?" I wasn't put on this earth to play the money game, but I can't seem to live without money. Quite converse, I know. (did I mention how cool my new Converse All-Stars are?) I refuse to completely sell myself out, so I sell out partially to pay the rent, and today I realized that it's killing my soul. But there's no foreseeable way around it. I feel disjointed and unmotivated. I sat at my desk this afternoon doing anything and everything except what I was supposed to be doing. And I felt incredibly guilty about it, to the point where I spent an extra two hours in the office trying to make up for it. Y'd think after thirty years ... I'd have an idea of where my life was going. As it stands, I'm more confused than I was at the age of six. At least back then, I was sure that I wanted to be a fireman. Who will I be when I grow up? Is this a proper question to be asking at age 31? Age 31. I don't feel that old. Maybe it's because my social skills haven't caught up with my biological years yet. In Boston, Don and Sarah made it very clear that I'm self-destructive, at least when it comes to the opposite sex. The intense exteme of "nice guy," to the point where I will turn off any potentially interested woman by being too much of a gentleman (read "wimp"), thereby insulting said female by making her think I'm not interested.... Maybe I've just forgotten how to play that game. Maybe I never knew. I've never been one to unabashedly grab someone and move in ... yes, I'm a very passive male in that respect, especially when I don't know the person that well. And yet I'm expected to go to a bar, have a great conversation, and make the first move if all is going well. Fuck that. Who am I to judge if "all is going well?" I fear rejection more than anything else. I'd sooner settle for a friendship. Does that mean I'm a coward? Or does it just mean I'm meant to be alone for the rest of my life until I find the right female who will make the first move. No, I take that back, or do I? Lordy, I'm five months out of a five year relationship, and I'm over it, moreso than my inherent sense of guilt would like me to be. Where do I go from here? How does one move forward in life when faced with an intense fear of getting hurt? Maybe I just need to start those self-defense classes again. 19 may 1999: didn't write : 19 may 1998: weight : Something about the desert and the ocean ... they're so similar in the perspective they give you. I guess I'd consider it a positive sense of insignificance. It's that sense that the world is much bigger than any one person and his/her problems, insecurites, and selfish musings
[ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
