So, yeah, it's been awhile, huh? I guess when a friend calls to see if everything is okay because I haven't posted in some time, it's time to check in again.
I've written a few times about my concern about the cost of my job and it seems to have taken root. Yes, the money it pays dries the sweat come bill time but it also has dried my creative drive that I'm struggling now to revive. After the 10-hour days and 50-hours a week of work, I don't much feel like sitting at a computer, picking up a pen, a phone or a book, or diving into some personal film or theater project that would require even greater levels of energy and commitment. At first I raged against this, frustrated by the sapping of these energies. Then complacency settled in, all nice n' comfy. Granted, we were doing some fun, interesting things with the free time we had but recently I began to hear a distant whisper. A small, quiet voice on the verge of being forgotten. It reminded me I'm stuck here in the mud, nice mud though it may be, and that I needed to do something, find something that can occupy my atrophying creative side. I needed to find some inspiration, something to reignite those fires of mine.
In the past I always seemed to stumble across something to inspire me when I needed it. Seeing an actor I admire, reading a passage in a book or article that was particularly relevant to my struggles, discovering a certain lyric in a song, something to wake me up and push me on into the fray. It wasn't as though I consciously went looking for them, they just found their way to me. Maybe they're always there and I catch them at a point where I'm more open and aware. Lately, after a lot of the same ol' same ol', things have been coming in waves.
We traveled to Boston a few weeks back to watch the Red Sox take on the Yankees in Fenway Park, my first time seeing the rivalry on the home field. We saw our first David Ortiz homerun in person - with four RBI to boot - as well as our first live Jonathan Papelbon save. While not exactly inspiring, it was great fun to let loose the passion of watching a Sox/Yanks game without having to worry about dodging hurled beer and invectives at Yankee Stadium. What was also pretty cool was that later, after the game, we were strolling the streets of Boston looking for a place to eat when we came upon the Four Seasons hotel. There were flashbulbs going off, covering some event. As we passed by, not ten feet away, was the object of all the photographers attention, David. Ortiz. Big Papi! Arguably the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox history and one of my favorite ballplayers. He was there for a book launch event and was standing right freakin' there for photo ops. In our time in NYC we've seen countless celebrities, some pretty cool sightings, that we take in casual stride. But I've never seen a ballplayer and certainly not one of my favorites. I turn into an 11-year old when it comes to baseball, jumping, cheering, taking any losses hard. When we saw Papi, I stopped in my tracks and my near-girlish cry of "Holy shit!" pierced the relative quiet. I just stood there and watched until he went inside the hotel a few moments later. It was like when I was six or seven and saw my second grade teacher in a grocery store. I couldn't comprehend. I thought she lived at school and ate in the cafeteria. What was she doing shopping for food? Must be the same thing with ballplayers, right? I was like a kid the rest of the night, so jazzed by seeing him.
The next three nights we saw The Frames. Rabid fandom occasionally has its perks. We originally had tickets to see them here at Town Hall. Then, when we realized that the Sox/Yanks series in Boston coincided with a stop on The Frames tour, we got got tickets to see them in the Boston suburb of Somerville. Then, a random check on The Frames messageboard had a little post announcing a "secret fan appreciation" gig at The Living Room, an intimate Lower East Side joint, the night after the Somerville gig and the night before Town Hall.
The Boston crowd was more demonstrative, which was good. I like standing and singing and whooping it up. The crowd, at first stayed in their seats. The set started quiet and then would rev up and quiet down again. By the time they reached the last third of the show just about everybody was on their feet and I was no longer one of the only goofballs jumping around and singing and having a grand old time.
We raced back to NYC to get to the Living Room gig. There's no bad seat in that house since it's pretty much the size of a living room, but we managed to get seats down close, maybe six feet from the stage. After years and years of seeing many mega U2 gigs, it's a cool perspective shift now that we're seeing smaller acts where everybody gets a great seat. The Frames come on and do more of an acoustic gig - if they played "Revelate" it might level the neighborhood. About 2/3 of the way through they decided to mix it up a bit, straying from the setlist. Glen called an old friend up to read a short story, a cool Jim Carroll-esque piece about working at a Grand Union after shooting up heroin, with the band playing softly behind him. Then they played some b-sides and for their final song, Glen asked what we wanted to hear. While a number of great suggestions were shouted out ("Headlong"!), I got his attention and asked for "Heyday." There was a moment of his considering it while the audience called out more titles. He came back to "Heyday," turning to the band, repeating the name of the song. Then he turned back to me. "Whoa. That might be a little ... too intense for this room. We'll play it tomorrow. Are you coming tomorrow?" I told him we would be there. "All right, we'll play it then." They closed out with "Mighty Sword" and as they leave the stage, Glen pats me on the shoulder, saying "Thanks. Tomorrow." Cool enough, yeah? The space had a bar out front and the band was hanging out there, talking to friends and fans. My wife and I ended up in conversation with Colm, the violinist. We had a great talk for a while. We then started talking with Glen for a bit before he was apologetically whisked off for an interview.
I've written a few times about my concern about the cost of my job and it seems to have taken root. Yes, the money it pays dries the sweat come bill time but it also has dried my creative drive that I'm struggling now to revive. After the 10-hour days and 50-hours a week of work, I don't much feel like sitting at a computer, picking up a pen, a phone or a book, or diving into some personal film or theater project that would require even greater levels of energy and commitment. At first I raged against this, frustrated by the sapping of these energies. Then complacency settled in, all nice n' comfy. Granted, we were doing some fun, interesting things with the free time we had but recently I began to hear a distant whisper. A small, quiet voice on the verge of being forgotten. It reminded me I'm stuck here in the mud, nice mud though it may be, and that I needed to do something, find something that can occupy my atrophying creative side. I needed to find some inspiration, something to reignite those fires of mine.
In the past I always seemed to stumble across something to inspire me when I needed it. Seeing an actor I admire, reading a passage in a book or article that was particularly relevant to my struggles, discovering a certain lyric in a song, something to wake me up and push me on into the fray. It wasn't as though I consciously went looking for them, they just found their way to me. Maybe they're always there and I catch them at a point where I'm more open and aware. Lately, after a lot of the same ol' same ol', things have been coming in waves.
We traveled to Boston a few weeks back to watch the Red Sox take on the Yankees in Fenway Park, my first time seeing the rivalry on the home field. We saw our first David Ortiz homerun in person - with four RBI to boot - as well as our first live Jonathan Papelbon save. While not exactly inspiring, it was great fun to let loose the passion of watching a Sox/Yanks game without having to worry about dodging hurled beer and invectives at Yankee Stadium. What was also pretty cool was that later, after the game, we were strolling the streets of Boston looking for a place to eat when we came upon the Four Seasons hotel. There were flashbulbs going off, covering some event. As we passed by, not ten feet away, was the object of all the photographers attention, David. Ortiz. Big Papi! Arguably the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox history and one of my favorite ballplayers. He was there for a book launch event and was standing right freakin' there for photo ops. In our time in NYC we've seen countless celebrities, some pretty cool sightings, that we take in casual stride. But I've never seen a ballplayer and certainly not one of my favorites. I turn into an 11-year old when it comes to baseball, jumping, cheering, taking any losses hard. When we saw Papi, I stopped in my tracks and my near-girlish cry of "Holy shit!" pierced the relative quiet. I just stood there and watched until he went inside the hotel a few moments later. It was like when I was six or seven and saw my second grade teacher in a grocery store. I couldn't comprehend. I thought she lived at school and ate in the cafeteria. What was she doing shopping for food? Must be the same thing with ballplayers, right? I was like a kid the rest of the night, so jazzed by seeing him.
The next three nights we saw The Frames. Rabid fandom occasionally has its perks. We originally had tickets to see them here at Town Hall. Then, when we realized that the Sox/Yanks series in Boston coincided with a stop on The Frames tour, we got got tickets to see them in the Boston suburb of Somerville. Then, a random check on The Frames messageboard had a little post announcing a "secret fan appreciation" gig at The Living Room, an intimate Lower East Side joint, the night after the Somerville gig and the night before Town Hall.
The Boston crowd was more demonstrative, which was good. I like standing and singing and whooping it up. The crowd, at first stayed in their seats. The set started quiet and then would rev up and quiet down again. By the time they reached the last third of the show just about everybody was on their feet and I was no longer one of the only goofballs jumping around and singing and having a grand old time.
We raced back to NYC to get to the Living Room gig. There's no bad seat in that house since it's pretty much the size of a living room, but we managed to get seats down close, maybe six feet from the stage. After years and years of seeing many mega U2 gigs, it's a cool perspective shift now that we're seeing smaller acts where everybody gets a great seat. The Frames come on and do more of an acoustic gig - if they played "Revelate" it might level the neighborhood. About 2/3 of the way through they decided to mix it up a bit, straying from the setlist. Glen called an old friend up to read a short story, a cool Jim Carroll-esque piece about working at a Grand Union after shooting up heroin, with the band playing softly behind him. Then they played some b-sides and for their final song, Glen asked what we wanted to hear. While a number of great suggestions were shouted out ("Headlong"!), I got his attention and asked for "Heyday." There was a moment of his considering it while the audience called out more titles. He came back to "Heyday," turning to the band, repeating the name of the song. Then he turned back to me. "Whoa. That might be a little ... too intense for this room. We'll play it tomorrow. Are you coming tomorrow?" I told him we would be there. "All right, we'll play it then." They closed out with "Mighty Sword" and as they leave the stage, Glen pats me on the shoulder, saying "Thanks. Tomorrow." Cool enough, yeah? The space had a bar out front and the band was hanging out there, talking to friends and fans. My wife and I ended up in conversation with Colm, the violinist. We had a great talk for a while. We then started talking with Glen for a bit before he was apologetically whisked off for an interview.
The next night you could tell they were ready for a great gig. The audience was into it, but respectful. We had decent seats to start with but then there were a lot of corporate no-shows, so we ended up with even better seats. They were blistering. The band really wound the audience up and were approaching the last song. He played the first few chords of "Heyday" and I went nuts, jumping around and my wife and I singing at the top of our lungs, as were the more ardent fans familiar with the song. Glen spotted me in the audience, smiled big and gave me a point while he was playing (yes, I am now a 13-year old girl). The song really gets a crowd going and ends a night perfectly. Someone came over and thanked me for getting them to play it. We filed out and then circled back to see if the band would be out there. Colm saw us and came over and gave us both a hug (?!) and we talked some more about the gigs, Mic and their coming back in the Fall. Later we saw Glen but then a gaggle of girls descended. I said a brief thanks for "Heyday" and he said a quick your welcome before he was ushered off to the bus that was taking them to Philadelphia for the next night's gig (which I was trying to convince my wife we should go to, but to no avail).
This wasn't necessarily inspirational, it was just cool and a little surreal to be sorta hanging out with these people whose work I've really admired for a while. It takes them off the pedestal and sets them on the ground, one of us, just guys doing what they love, not for fame, not for adulation, just that it's all they ever wanted to do and found a way to do it ... Well, maybe there was a little inspiration in there after all.
But the the events that really started the rekindling of my fires happened soon after all this. More hanging out and talking with more people whose works inspires me. And that will have ...
to be continued.
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