I’m getting too old for this sh..

So, I find myself in a hilarious situation. Bear with me as I ramble…

A long, long time ago I was a working musician. By working I mean I did manage to work in bands that made money. Not real money, mind you. But when you are twenty something, a hundred bucks cash in your wallet at the end of a weekend is an amazing intoxicating head trip.

My bands were too loud and played too fast to too few people. Too bad. I loved it.

I am a drummer and when I was younger, I loved beating the hell out of my kit. Rebelling against all oppression that I neither felt nor had in my life. But alternative music bands are supposed to be “hurting, artistic and smarter than everyone”. Right? I played along anyway.

My bands through my 30s were mostly cover bands because at the time no one wanted to hear your original songs. And most importantly, no pub owner was gonna pay you to play songs that no one has ever heard. Made sense to me, business-wise. And I didn’t really care.

I had been in original bands where the deafening silence following the last note of one of my masterpieces was a real kick in the metaphorical nuts. I like to say those gigs were humbling and character building. You might say that gigs like that are torturous and soul swallowers. Potato \ Potato…

My first band is still, by far, my favorite. I was in high school and decided to form a band. My best friend Eric and I recruited a guitar player, bass player and a keyboard virtuoso. We became a solid little unit through our college years. Writing songs, winning band competitions and the like… One day, as all bands do, we decided we were done. Our five year mission had lasted seven and that was that.

I moved to Florida, got a real job, got married and had a kid. Eric worked his way through daytime television and recently won a daytime Emmy for best supporting actor. The rest of the troop stayed in the area, got real jobs and got married. Life as we know it.

I kept in touch with three of the four former band mates. For the last ten years three of us would get together and quickly write songs and record them in the basement. For strictly our own amusement. And some of the recordings are hilarious.

Then, last year, something odd happened. My former band mates / current constant friends Jim and Ron would write some songs with me that I actually really like. Really really like. We decided to invest in proper recording equipment and casually produce and record these new songs. And they sound pretty darn good IMHO.

At my current big boy job, my friend / coworker Paul has offered to sing on the new songs. He’s an overgrown goofball of a man with an amazing voice built for soul music. He fits in perfectly with our Foo Fighters / Stone Temple Pilots sound. Ok, not really but I’m afraid Eric has outgrown us a tad. He does fit in with us every other way. Forty something, balding, spare tire sporting goof balls who can still kinda play their instruments.

We have decided to record and post music online for public consumption. IF we can make a few bucks while having a good time with our hobby. Why not?!?

We know we are not going to be famous. We know we are not going to play out or tour. We know the chicks won’t be falling all over us (?). We know we are not kids rebelling against anything or anyone.

We are adults with a hobby. We are mature. We are dignified. We are family men with careers. We are who we are. The boyhood dreams in fantasy rock and roll world have long since dissipated. We are men.

Now if you will excuse me, I need rejoin an email argument over band names and photo sessions…

Until the next time, keep the dream (whatever it may be) alive.

Bloog!

I’m on vacation…

I had thought that I wanted to blog while I was on vacation. Maybe I suspected that I would have tons of time to reflect on my life. Maybe I worried that after a couple of days I would want to mentally escape from extended family members (not true in the least by the way). Maybe I hoped I would be flooded with creative inspiration that would fill my soul with lyrics and sonnets…

None of these things are happening.

Instead, I have found myself enjoying being a full time parent (at least for the week). I knew I missed seeing the offspring’s deep blue eyes everyday. What I hadn’t realized was how much her daily absence has shaken me to the core.

I miss her little voice. I miss her big sense of humor. I miss her sharp observations. I miss her laugh. I miss getting “daddy hugs”. I use to get these things on a daily basis.

In another blog, at another time, I will write about the first three years of her life and how much this little miracle changed me forever. After all the living I have done, it took one little soul to melt the ice that led to my heart.

I am surrounded by beautiful beaches, cold drinks, warm sunlight, lazy afternoons and hundreds of beachside distractions.

All I want to do is soak up my daughter’s presence for as long as humanly possible. That other stuff is nice and all, but SHE is the one thing bringing me joy on this vacation.

Until next time, hug your kids (if you got them).

Bloog!

Pressure

So, I have discovered as I age (gracefully, mind you… #not) that I handle pressure differently. Do I handle it better? My psych degree has over twenty years of dust on it, but I believe I do.

I will not bore you with the details. I will not use this forum to bemoan “The Fantastic Woe of John”. Let’s just say that I am juggling several issues that my younger self would’ve met head on with panic and stomach ailments,

As I look at the situations I am currently dealing with, I visualize this:
I am standing hip deep in murky water in the turbulent ocean. My legs frozen in place as if a thousand hands are holding me back from moving forward. On the shore I see a sunny day and smiles. I want to ride a wave out of this and land safely on that shore.

My younger (dumber) self would’ve written lonely, whiny songs better suited for Staind. I would’ve shaken my fist at the sky and cursed the rain. I would’ve wallowed in juvenile, self centered pity and begged people to dare to understand what I am going through.

Jeesh. What a Drama Queen.

Today I look into the smile of my daughter, and I see hope. I laugh at the literal pile of crap that tries it’s best to anchor me in place.

I don’t know how this happened. I didn’t plan on this change for the better. I didn’t seek counseling to retrain my brain (in this area). I just woke up one day, and there I was.

And I like the new me. I think I’ll get to that precious shore following safely in his wake. No deep messages here. No wonky self exploration. Just a realization that all will be well soon. And that’s good enough for me.

Until next time, be good to yourself.

Bloog!