Looking Forward to the Weekend

Vacation was great. But I knew I was going to be busy when I got home... Recording, writing, rehearsing, booking, working. I'm back in the full swing of it all. And thus the thought that has occupied me for the last few days:

There's nothing inherently wrong with looking forward to a* weekend. But I will argue that there is* something wrong with looking forward to the* (as in "every") weekend - maybe not because something is wrong with the person who thinks it, but because something is wrong with "the system" the person lives in.

Why do people look forward to the weekend? Because they are unhappy at work. Why are people unhappy at work? Because the industrial revolution has brought about company processes which do not require significant, challenging contributions the the company's success, in mid- and low-level positions. (Or if the positions do, those who hold them don't know or sense it.) So let's face it: most of us are just grunts doing the work of a few wealthy, grand planners at the top of our economic food chain.

And so we come to me. I have to ask myself "Am I unhappy?" Answer: no. But then I ask "Am I happy?" Well, now, that's a tricky one. Because there has always seemed to be this balance between thanksgiving and contentment, on the one hand, and a healthy longing and striving for better. Although I want people to think of me as a happy person, I think this has been, and continues to be, a real struggle for me. And I'm hoping that in these coming months, I get a real attitude adjustment.

Swimming Against the Current

Have you ever wondered why life always feels like you're swimming against the current? Even more mysterious is the fact that this is a universal, life experience. At some point or another, we have all felt this way. But the big question is "why?" Beats me. I don't have all the answers, but I hope I can share a little bit of my own experience to shed some light on the subject:

Every weekday, around noon, I always hit a wall. In the morning, I'm full of energy, working hard - making phone calls to venues, researching new places to play, staying in touch with friends. But at noon, something changes: I begin to feel the weight of the day, and the uphill battle to stay productive begins. For me, it would be easy to say that the lack of energy is simply related to my physical condition: lack of sleep and the "food coma" syndrome are common for me. But can I say that it's all physical?

I think there really is a sort of emotional, spiritual "weight" to living. Life itself is not easy - no matter who you are or what your circumstances. And anyone who thinks otherwise is either on drugs or delusional. I find myself often singing a line from a work by the great poet by the name of John Mayer: "Gravity // wants to bring me down." This is true.

Overcoming the weight. If you don't like your job, quit. But not just because I say to. A great hero of mine once said, "Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing." --Theodore Roosevelt, Labor Day Address, 1903. Read the whole thing HERE. Every job can have meaning, but sometimes you have to uncover layers of bull to get to it.

And yes, I do think that the number one cause of this weightiness is the "9-to-5-er". Why do we endure such suffering as corporate puppets? Because we're slaves to the almighty dollar. Another good way to overcome the weight is to kill your debt. Pay it off. Do whatever it takes. Except for my student loans, I don't owe anybody anything.

Finally, go to church. Look for deeper meaning in life. Church seems to be a good place to start.

Failure Notice

So, just a few days ago, I sent out another email update to my list. Basically, it said stuff about the website, RESPROJ, The City, and my tour to the East Coast this September. Inevitably, whenever I send out an update, I will always receive bounce-back messages from email hosts like Hotmail, Yahoo, and Google, and from addresses with ".edu" at the end of them. The subject line reads:

Failure Notice

And for the first time ever, this time, I paused after reading the line. Two, simple words. Were they written to me, or were they written about the email addresses? Is this some sort of divine communication - God telling me "Your music is a failure. Stop wasting your time."?

Well, at the end of the day, reason will have her way. And she awakens my mind to understand that this is only a message referencing a bad email address. Though I have failed in many other ways (and continue to do so), I am not failing with my music. Why? Because I know that I am following, to the best of my ability, what I believe to be my life purpose. Yeah, it may sound hokey, but it's the most honest way to say it. And it's what I believe, so who can argue with that?

Smacked into Humility

Every once in a while, in life, I feel like I get metaphorically smacked up-side the head by the Almighty. If I have bad motivations, if I'm not focused on the essentials in life, or, in the most recent experience, I'm taking too much pride in myself and my own abilities.

After a nearly flawless performance yesterday morning for Bryan Middle School, in Elmhurst, IL, I botched the same set that evening, in the concert for the students' parents. And what was the one song that gave me trouble? you might ask. It was a choral-guitar arrangement of the song "Blackbird," by the Beatles.

I was feeling pretty good about myself after the morning's concert, but a recreation of the morning's perfection was never meant to be. I am confident that the evening's troubles have ultimately been for my good, to help me humbly reflect on the giver of my talents and abilities (I don't think they arose from within my own realized self, etc.), and to rely on the one who has graciously granted me the joy and privilege of performing music for a living.

I would like to thank Jessica for the opportunity to perform with her students and for her school, Shaun (for his mad "low-guitar" skillz), and Bob Rummage on drums. BTW, Bob is probably currently one of Chicago's best jazz drummers! Read a little about him here:
http://www.ntjazz.com/Jazz_Festival/2000/clinicians/rummage.htm .

Go Cubs!

So for those of you who don't know, I'm a Cubs fan. I wish the Sox all the best, but let's face it: they're just not the Cubs. And here's something else: Sox fans are fair-weather fans. A Cubs fan is always a Cubs fan.

I grew up with baseball. I grew up playing it and going to Cubs games. Of course, it helps when your dad is a true-blue North-sider. (He grew up in Andersonville and went to Amundson High.) Some of my best memories growing up happened around baseball. Especially vivid are the string of games I went to with my dad in California. We saw all five California baseball teams play in one week, going to games at four of the five Cali ballparks: the Dodgers, Padres, Angels, Giants, and A's.

And what brings back these memories? Well, last week, Megan and I scored free tickets to a game against the Padres. Two, great friends of ours had extra tix, so the four of us went together. The Cubs clobbered the struggling Padres. Even though it was freezing that night, there's just something about being at Wrigley, watching your home team play under the lights. It's magical.

Here's to America's favorite past-time...

The Infamous Giant Ice Block

Yelling at B.J. Novak

This past weekend, I was down at the University of Illinois, Urbana/Champaign, hanging out with my brother Mike. Friday night, B.J. Novak was doing a stand-up show, and we tried to go. But alas, student activities decided to move the event indoors because of the rain. We showed up a wee bit too late and couldn't get in.

We searched for another way in. We snuck, we explored, we developed the "where does that door go" complex, opening every door we saw. Finally, we tried the outside of the building and discovered that the balcony stairs lead us to the outside of the room where B.J. would be performing. Two others discovered the spot before us, and we joined them.

The show was supposed to start at 7:30 PM. It was now the bottom of the 6th inning for the Cubs. No, seriously. I didn't know what time it was, but I knew the Cubs were in the 6th - I got a text message. Passing the time, Mike and I had a short discussion about the durability of Nalgene bottles; at which point, I proceeded to toss mine over the side of the three-story balcony. My brother's jaw dropped. The bottle survived, bouncing a good five feet in the air after impact.

Retrieving the water bottle from where it landed, in the shipping dock of the Illini Union, my brother yelled out to me. "Hey, there's a giant block of ice down there!" It was the remains of an ice sculpture for some event earlier in the day. And then the idea: let's drop it from the balcony. My brother got a grip on the giant ice block and carried it up.

Moments later, a delivery truck backed into the dock. Our experiment would have to wait. When the truck left, B.J. was still not there. We were beginning to think that either 1) he wasn't going to show up or 2) he was really trying to milk the crowd by making them sit through three episodes of The Office before he began his routine. We waited for the warehouse employees to bring the shipment inside.

And then B.J. arrived in his silver, 2008 Infiniti G35 sedan. He pulled right up to the shipping dock, parked his car, and got out. The two guys we were with excitedly greeted B.J. from the railing, one floor above the dock. B.J. said nothing. With a baseball cap pull down, far over his eyes, he didn't even acknowledge our presence. I couldn't believe it.

Hoping, at the least, to salvage one, small ounce of satisfaction from meeting/seeing/hearing B.J., in disgust I addressed him myself: "Hey, can you atleast move your car!?!?! We were going to drop a giant ice block from the balcony on to the concrete, exactly where you parked!" Again, no acknowledgement.

A discussion ensued: B.J. probably had no intentions of moving his car, so our chances of dropping the ice block were lost. Now what do we do with it? I suggested we put it in front of, or next to, his car, so that B.J. can see that we were serious, and that he was being a jerk by simply not acknowledging us. But, I do understand he was pretty stressed already, and he was late for his show, etc.

In preparation for putting the ice block somewhere near his car, but in no way damaging it, I brought it down to the first floor, just above the shipping dock, where the four of us had been strategizing. A woman from building management soon poked her head out the door. "Hey, B.J. Novak just told me that there were a few hoodlums outside who said they were going to drop a giant ice block on his car. Was that you?"

Moments later, another shipping truck arrived, honking his horn in anger, at B.J. Novak for parking his car in the dock. The shipping employees came out again. "Hey, is your friend going to come back and move his car?" he said. I responded. "Actually, I don't think so. I think it would be best for you to have it towed. In fact, if you give me the phone number, I'll call for you!"

The shipping employees questioning, the truck driver honking, the ice block ten feet away from us, B.J.'s car in the shipping dock, the campus police show up. Obviously, B.J. simply misunderstood what we said, and he subsequently had the police called on us. Basically, they just carded us and told us to "Get the hell out of here." And so we did. This sounds like a pretty good Seinfeld episode, right?

After all of the commotion, Mike and I went over to Legends to watch the remainder of the Cubs game. Tied. Bottom of the 9th. (The game is away.) Home run. Cubs lose.