Two Thirds of a Masterpiece is More Than Enough

I've been back on the farm for six days now, and I can say with certainty that spending a considerable amount of time here is much more enjoyable when one can go outside and sit on the porch with a cup of coffee without the threat of frostbite looming. One positive side-effect is that I've covered at least two thirds of the required reading for one my classes next semester. With two weeks left before the first day of class, I think I can safely say that I'll finish with that and be able to get a head-start on a couple other classes.

I suppose I should change the strings on my bass as well; we had our first show--holy crap!--a little over two weeks ago already. I guess time flies. Anyway, despite my halfhearted attempts at maintenance, the strings are rusting, so they have to go. The gig went very well, perhaps better than we expected, and the turnout was also surprising, considering the forecast blizzard that began in the midst of our first set. It was a learning experience, and now I think we'll really be ready to blast the roof off a place. For anyone reading this that made it, thanks for braving the weather and checking us out. For those that didn't make it, no worries; there will be other opportunities. Oh, I also got a message from Ryan, our guitarist/vocalist, that he started up a new website. Check it out and see what you think. It appears he added "Some Rare Footage" at the bottom of the main page. My bandwidth is only slightly better than dialup out here, but I waited it out and discovered that he posted a clip from one of our practice sessions; a song that pretty much came to life as you hear it there. It seems that we need to go back through some of our recordings and dig out some of those gems for polishing.

I had some things to write here other than just what boils down to a glorified Dear Diary entry. Sitting here in my old stomping grounds, a place I admittedly love to hate, there has been a constant barrage of occurrences that drag me into bouts of sappy sentimentality one minute, and then throw me into fits of rage at my perception of the general stupidity of people. I say "my perception" because there is a sliver of reason as I type this, as well as the realization that throwing everyone into the same category is at the very most untrue, and at the very least unfair. It also makes me look like an elitist snob. This snapshot came from a dynamic banner ad the other day, and I think it hints at how I've been feeling lately: as if I'm being looked down upon in a manner that reveals just how ignorant that person is.



If I have to explain the irony of this ad, then it's time for you to brush up on you're grammar.

I think I'm going to blame it on what I've been reading lately--pure Vonnegut. Between his fiction and non-fiction, there's this air of sadness even in the cheeriest of subjects. For instance, Vonnegut writes often about the need for inclusion in large groups, whether that means family or people that you treat as family--and most people know that family doesn't always treat each other very well. As soon as he makes his point about inclusion, Vonnegut's next essay discusses the suicides of his mother and sister, his father's circumstantial fade into obscurity, his son's mental breakdown and institutionalization, and how much of his own life that has been spent in isolation due to his career. Like I was saying earlier, there's a pendulum swinging to extremes and I find myself yearning to be around people only to find myself turning on my heel and beating the door down as soon as it shuts behind me. Kurt Vonnegut (Jr.) is interesting as hell, but I think this immersion in his writing is definitely affecting me.

Or is that effecting? I'm kidding...