The Nostalgia Tour

I have been criticized, fairly I think, that what I write here is not representative of who I am, that there is much more to me and my experience than gets represented here.  This is true, I believe, for a couple of reasons.  First, I tend to write when I am bothered by something, or have been wallowing in self pity or despair, or when I am angry about something, or when I have been awash in nostalgia for times long past, untouchable and crystalline.  If I’m feeling good, if all is right in my world, I usually am too...

Let em know

Look, we all know the statistics, right?  We know that the chances are we will never make it, we most likely will not ever be the breakout.  The success stories are the exception, not the rule.  Sometimes this is written as a cautionary message; manage your expectations, don’t get your hopes up, believe in success, prepare for failure.  Don’t, in other words, quit your day job.  This is sometimes presented as a reason to not even pursue a dream; you can’t make money in music, in art, in writing; you can’t earn a living as a comedian or an actor....

When the Bill Comes Due

I have been working on a project, a retrospective of the Lolligaggers, the band I was once in.  And I have found that revisiting the past through memories and discussions with old friends has dredged up some old stuff, stuff that I am not really interested in having dredged up, and it is sometimes uncomfortable for me.  I have an idea for this thing that could be great, a book, maybe, and a podcast, and an exploration of the creative drive, letting the band serve as a stand in for every band, every creative venture that doesn’t serve as a...

Because. That’s Why.

Something that I have always loved about punk is the DIY culture of it; that we don’t want or need your help.  It’s tough and it’s more work, but we are free. I realized that a lot of my work stems from anger, and a lot of anything I have done, come to that.  My songs were driven by anger, at myself, at injustice.  Stupid, self indulgent idealism. I remember fighting with my first girlfriend, and I was so mad that things were hard, that nothing worked like it did in stories, that relationships were work.  It pissed me off; I...

In Which I Allow Myself a Moment of Whining and Self-Pity Before Getting Back to Work

I have been in a loop, a snake eating its own tail.  I’ve got work to do, words to write, people to help. I’ve got pending requests and approaching deadlines, and all I can do is sit here and watch internet videos of people falling down, or getting bit by geese. This is not block, which I am convinced is not real, but is a word used by someone who doesn’t understand their own story.  I’ve got stories that I understand.  They are there, all queued up, I’ve got ten days to complete a tricky bit of storytelling, a strange...