The Industry People

Tuesday night I went to the Bluebird Cafe for the first time in ages. It was a benefit performance for the NSAI (Nashville Songwriters Association International) so they brought out their big guns: Rivers Rutherford, Roxie Dean, Kerry Kurt Phillips, and Bob DiPiero. Actually, the last name, Bob DiPiero is the only name I recognized, but I did recognize a lot of the songs that they played. The four of them sat in a circle and swapped songs and stories. It was a great show.
There are a few things I learned from this evening: First, the people that write the songs (at least these people) are at least 100 times more talented than the country stars that cover them. Second, though I am not at all a fan of commercial country music, I liked (most) everything these people played. Maybe it was the more intimate setting. Maybe it was because it was just a singer and his (or her) guitar. Third, and most important, if I ever got to be an Industry Person, I could be as loud and as obnoxious as I wanted. You see, one of the reasons I like the Bluebird is that they make you shut up and listen to the music. Its actually a point of pride about how militaristic the staff can be with shushing the crowd. Unfortunately, our table was near the bar, and the bar was full of annoyingly loud people for most of the evening. When we asked our waitress if there was anyway that they could be quiet, she responded that they were Industry People, and that there was nothing she could do. Don't want to upset the Industry People, she said, as if she were genuinely afraid, there could be trouble.
At first I was annoyed with the preferential treatment the Industry People received. Wouldn't a legendary place like the Bluebird want to protect its reputation at the expense of a few record company employees? I think the institution would survive. However, annoyance gradually became respect as I began to recognize their power.
So this is my new dream, to be an Industry Person. I think it would open a lot of doors for me.
Like at a crowded restaurant: "Sir, I'm sorry, but all of our tables are full. Everything has been reserved."
"But I'm an Industry Person."
A look of terror slowly fading towards awe: "Please forgive me, I am so sorry. I have a table for you right here. By the way, please be as obnoxious as possible. Nobody will mind since you're with the Industry."
I dare to dream.

Timothy McSweeney

In my continuing quest for quality non-pornographic internet entertainment I recently came across a site entitled Timothy McSweeney (www.mcsweeneys.net). Timothy McSweeney is apparently the online version of a literary journal featuring extremely left field but very funny (at least to me) essays and lists about various subjects.
Although the most recently entry, Although I Like A Good George W. Bush Joke As Much As the Next Guy, Some of Them Seem Gratuitous and Mean-Spirited, may not appeal to you hard core Republicans out there, a trip through the archives reveal some entertaining yet extremely random titles:

1. Unhelpful Clues Given by Jan-Michael Vincent During an October 1983 Taping of the New $25,000 Pyramid Where the Category to Be Guessed Was "Things You Do At a Party"
2. Thak, the Most Organized Member of the Party of Roughly 70 People Who Originally Settled North America
3. An Episode of Star Trek Tediously Written for an Audience Entirely Composed of Remote Amazon Tribesmen
4. Unfortunate Pinata Fillings
5. Things This City Was Built Upon, Besides Rock and Roll
6. Hardy Boys Novel or Death Metal Album?
7. Good Casino Ads/Bad Things for Someone to Say About Your Mom
8. Translated Thoughts and Questions That Are Running Through a North Korean Refugee's Mind When He Is Awarded Political Asylum in the United States, Settles Down, Turns on the Television, and the First Thing He Sees is a Fancy Feast Cat-Food Commercial

Enjoy, or not.

A(x) = 1/I

I'm not a fan of dating. Its something I've never been good at. This is not a new problem as it can be traced all the way back to the awkward first dates of junior high. It could be described as an affliction, but that's a little dramatic. Or it could be my thorn in the flesh, but that's a bit biblical.
Sometimes I wished I lived in some more progressive country, say India or Pakistan. I have read that in these enlightened cultures relationships are predetermined and marriages are arranged. If I did live over there I would have probably been married for years and have had six or seven kids by now. Then my biggest worry would be gathering enough goats for a dowry so my son can get that cute girl down the street.
Like most truths in life, my problem can be reduced to a simple mathematical equation. I present it as an inverse proportion, as follows: A(x) = 1/I, where A is my attraction for female x, and I is my intelligence. As you can see, as attraction goes up, intelligence goes down. Sometimes this decrease in intelligence is exponential.
I consider myself to be an intelligent person. I can debate complex topics and have literate conversations. But the moment I decide there might be an romantic interest several things happen almost instantaneously. I lose the ability to form words with more than one syllable. I make dumb, dumb, dumb decisions. Sometimes there is some drooling. In extreme instances there might be involuntary loss of bladder function.
You're thinking: That's miles beyond fascinating, but I need a real world example.
Fine. Here's a for instance: A few months ago, for some reason I became very attracted to this girl (x). By the time I asked her out for the first time, I had this big stupid crush on her (A(x)).
That's so sweet, you're thinking. No, not sweet at all. It was more like the Hindenberg right before the hydrogen was ignited. Let's review our equation. A, attraction for girl (x): Through the roof. Therefore, I, intelligence: Down the drain. It was actually quite amazing. I could see myself on a box in the supermarket, just substitute Uncle Ben's picture for mine. Call it Uncle Chadd's Instant Dumbass. Directions for use: 1. Empty contents of box into saucepan. 2. Add any hope of a lasting and meaningful relationship. 3. Observe with mounting horror. 4. Recoil as necessary.
Looking back on it with the glorious clarity of hindsight, she seemed miserable just being in the general vicinity, while I was miserable trying to make something work out. Kind of like fun, but the opposite.
So what's the answer? There are a couple of options. The first is miserable pathetic loneliness. Easy to do, but not very appetizing. The second option is much brighter: Keep trying. That's what I'm doing now, and so far so good. Attraction is rising, and so far the right side of that equation is unchanged. Keep looking for the exception to the rule, the exception that renders the equation irrelevant. Every rule has one. Maybe even this one.

Anatomy of a Call Day

Once a weekend, a little less than once a month, I get to be on call. This is my least favorite part of my job. Weekend call involves being on beeper from 7 am Saturday morning to 7 am Monday morning, being always at the ready to go in and do some emergency surgery. This also means that for 48 hours, you really can't make any other plans. In fact, the surest way to get yourself called into work is to make plans (a movie, dinner, etc.). This has worked for me on numerous occasions. So usually I take the opposite approach and don't plan anything. This makes for long days trying to find ways to fill up your time, all the while knowing that your beeper could go off at any moment. So here's how I spent the first day of my call weekend:

9:30 Wake up. Two and one half hours into call, and no pages. A good thing, since most weekend "emergency" cases go on Saturday morning. Its time to get up.
9:45 Get on the computer. Check e-mail. Waste a good bit of time playing SimCity 4. While not a big video game person, I am addicted to this game, since it appeals to my love of architecture and engineering. Both of these were close 2nd career choices and neither probably involve weekend call.
11:30 Time to be productive. Take a bunch of mortgage-related papers (there are so many of them) to Kinko's, make copies, put copies in envelope, and put into mail. Drive by new place to see what all this paperwork is for. Now I'm happier. Drop by Fat Mo's (tasty in my mouth, nasty in my tummy) to get a burger and head home.
12:30 Back home. Decide to organize my receipts, so I grab six months worth of credit and debit card receipts, utility bills, work and school papers, and start organizing. I don't know exactly why I do this. I guess I'm afraid that in the distant future some IRS agent will show up on my doorstep demanding I produce some receipt from Captain D's from last February. About halfway through I stop and think: Can life get any better than this? I ponder for a moment, a small tear forms, and I realize No, no it can't.
2:00 Organizing receipts is tiring. Time for a nap.
4:00 Head out again. I go up to Warner Park, one of my favorite places in town. Along the road at one of the higher points is a pullout. There is a clearing and you can see far across the valley. The view is quite beautiful. This is my Call Friends Who Are Out of State Place. I call a friend in Texas, and the phone is unanswered. Loser. I then call a friend in Oregon. He does answer and we talk for awhile. He's one of my best friends from all the way back in high school, so its always good to hear from him.
5:15 At Blockbuster getting a movie for the evening when the pager finally goes off. A cystoscopy with uterer stone extraction. This involves shoving a long metal rod up someone's wee-wee (wee-wee is not a scientific term) to extract a kidney stone that won't pass on its own. The excitement is nearly unbearable.
7:20 Back home. All went well with the procedure. I pick up a pizza from Obie's (yumsters) on the way home and its time to watch my movie. Sometimes, when watching a movie on my own, I'll pick out the most obscure film I can. This time its a Hong Kong flick called Koma. I like Asian horror films. Unlike American horror films, they're very unpredictable, which can make them scarier. It also means that the plot rarely makes sense. Its true with Koma, which has something to do with kidney theft. It has a few good scares, and the two lead women, especially the one who's the main kidney thief, are very attractive. I have a little thing for the Asian women. Incidentally, I also have a thing for women who can play the cello. I really don't know why.
10:10 Get on the internet, go to Google, and type in "+asian +cellist +pics". I get back several obscene pictures of Yo-Yo Ma. Now I'm very disappointed. Also, its time for bed. That pager could go off again at any moment. You get your sleep when you can.

Debt Free in 2035

I've been many things in life (student, french-fry vat attendant, front desk clerk, European playboy, Communist sympathizer, phlebotomist, lucky-in-love, astoundingly unlucky-in-love, undisputed world video racing game champion, arrested, etc.) but, until now, I have never been a homeowner. Come August 1st, that all changes.
I have purchased a home. Actually, purchased probably isn't the right word. I have somehow convinced a bank to lend me a stupid amount of money so I can have someplace to live. I'm currently living in two extremes of emotion, from euphoria to nausea and back again. I'm euphoric because I don't have to throw away money on rent, I'll be closer to work, and its a really cool place. Nauseous because of the aforementioned stupid amount of money and because I'll soon sign a thirty year mortgage to get it.
Thirty years. Most of my dating adventures don't last for more than a few months. I'm hesitant about signing a 12 month lease. The three year employment contract I signed a year and a half ago seemed monumental at the time. Thirty years. Paid off in 2035. I'm not sure Dave Ramsey would approve.
But for now euphoria reigns. I drive by it so much I suspect the neighbors think I'm stalking them. I'm mentally decorating the rooms. I'm thinking about getting a dog. I can't wait.

ps. Just wanted to say thanks for all the kind words and encouragement I got via the comments, e-mail and even over the phone for my last post. That post was one of a few I have sitting around in my draft folder just waiting for the day I'm brave (or stupid) enough to publish it. Its nice to know people other than myself actually read this thing. Thanks again.