Yes, I Am Alive

I've been a terrible blogger lately. I apologize. I could probably come up with excuses but instead I will just you know that I am indeed alive and eating unrecognizable vegan Indian food cooked by the clone of Chaz Bono.

Scene: Community kitchen Sunday potluck
Me: *staring at gloppy brown stuff* So...What is this?
Clone Of Chaz Bono: It's gluten-free and eco-friendly!
Me: *thinking to self* I think I'm talking to a girl but she has a beard...I'm so confused...

I will admit that I ate a very meaty sandwich in my room when I left the potluck. It had cheese on it and everything. Don't tell anyone.

More interesting and relevant updates to come...

Don't Judge A Book By It's Cover...

Important things first:

I found my cat mug. I know that some of you were worried.


It was laying in the communal sink first thing yesterday morning. I gave it a very thorough scrubbing and made preparations to kill the fatted calf in celebration. I tried to ask it what happened, but it remained silent and refused to tell me of it's misadventures. Silly cat mug.

I'm just glad it made it home safely.

In other news, I almost cried last night when my studio guy blew me off yet again. The story this morning is that he fell asleep and forgot that we had a meeting planned. I guess it's understandable and I plan on forgiving him, but I've had a rough time working with musicians lately and last night's incident didn't help my frustration.

It didn't help to discover that Amanda Palmer played a ninja gig in town last night. It was free and I missed it because I was busy waiting around not checking Twitter. I actually didn't find out about the show until this morning and it made me want to crawl back into my bed.

I love music, but I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with musicians. I know, I know, I am a musician and there's probably something wrong with me too. And I really don't mean to offend anyone, so take everything I say with a serious grain of salt. But it seems to me that all musicians have that one obnoxious trait that you just have to deal with if you plan on working with them.

Take the guy that stood me up last night, for example. He's a great musician and I'm pretty sure he's genuinely a nice person. I think we're actually sort of good friends. He's got a great ear and loves to pretend he's George Martin throughout the recording process (meaning that sometimes perfectly manicured symphonies show up in my tracks).

So what's the catch? He's flaky! And maybe it's just karma getting me back for my own ongoing state of mild flakiness, but he takes the flaky thing to a whole new level. This is not your average "I'm a couple days past the deadline" kind of flaky. This is the "I went to Kansas for a month and forgot to tell you" kind of flaky. This is the "It will be done on Tuesday... no, Saturday... no, next Tuesday... no, next Saturday..." kind of flaky.

There was a point where didn't hear from him for weeks and I decided that I should just start throwing songs at other people. After all, the halls are full of creative-types here. Surely someone could help me out.

So I examined the list of local suspects and came up with the following options:

1. Pretentious Art School Hipsters That Wear Matching Ponchos And Ride A Vespa.
The Good: They have a really expensive microphone and will record for cheap.
The Bad: Their skills seem mediocre at best and they really like editing nature sounds into the background of tracks. Also, they think they are the hottest thing to ever set foot in Portland. Probably has something to do with the matching ponchos.

2. Guy Who Was Supposedly Kicked Out Of Portugal. The Man For Being An Alcoholic.
The Good: He's experienced.
The Bad: Um, he's an alcoholic.

3. Sensitive Singer-Songwriter Guy With Schizophrenic Tendencies.
The Good: He's very efficient, talented, etc.
The Bad: He appears to have a very significant mental illness.

4. Guy Who Appears To Be In His Own Solar System And Probably Has Some Form Of Asperger's Syndrome.
The Good: Charges ridiculously low prices and is secretly a sound-mixing genius.
The Bad: Conversation is difficult. Also, he's a bit unpredictable.

I chose Option 4, mostly because The Poet had a hunch about it and I've learned by now that he's right about things. For example, if he tells you not to go to Texas with your friend and her cousin, you better stay home because it's all a front for a drug smuggling operation. Anyway, he kept saying "Why don't you try Option 4? I think you should just give Option 4 a try..." At first I was too busy trying to make plans with The Pretentious Art School Hipsters to give it much thought, but that wasn't going in the direction I wanted it to go and I thought "Well, I've got nothing to lose..."

So I rounded up a buddy (there was no way I was going into that room alone) and handed my newest song to this guy.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, here's my song.
Him: Cool. *loads it onto the computer* So didja have a lovely day today?
Me: Yeah, it wasn't raining. How was your day?
Him: *spaced out look* *smile* Great! I was picking up candy wrappers downtown! I found some real cool ones!
Me: Okay...

He also informed me that though he plays guitar, he considers his main instrument to be the gourd flute.

This is not going to work, I thought to myself. I'm going to have to make things work with those hipsters.

It was at that moment that the project finished loading into Logic and he began flying around on his computer like he was controlling the Star Trek Enterprise.

And less than a week later, he handed me three tracks that actually sound pretty good. Consider my mind blown.

Don't judge a book by it's cover, boys and girls.

Will figure out how to upload said tracks and share them with you soon.

In the mean time, I've got more tracks to finish, a flaky musician to track down, and a couple of music videos to shoot.

Oh yeah, and somewhere in there I need to figure out grocery shopping.

I also need to fix my sink, which is a big, rusty, clogged-up, uncooperative mess. I brush my teeth in the shower these days...

You know you want my life. :P

Not Dead

Ack. I have been neglecting this sphere of blogs and I deeply apologize. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about - it's that I've had too much. I sit down and open up a new post only to stare at the blank window, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of things I want to report in on. But I'm determined to get over that and post something.

It won't be a very long post. I am exhausted. It's been a strange week. An exciting, nerve-wracking, weird little week. Things are lining up, I think. Or maybe I'm just being overly optimistic...

Meaning my album is almost done (I think?).

Ack. It went from a 5 track demo to a 7 track demo and now I think I'm going to make it a full length album. It would be easier to just have a 7 track demo, but that's such an awkward track number for a CD. I'm almost there - I'm just going to have to make it the real deal.

Blah blah blah. This can't be interesting at all. It's just all I've been thinking about and stressing about... Therefore, it's what I am writing about.

I'm going to bed. More tomorrow.

In the meantime, keep a lookout for my cat mug. It's gone missing.


That is all.

All Caffeinated And Prepared To Be Awkward

Uh oh. I'm having a work party with a couple of friends in a coffee shop. We're all typing away on our laptops, jamming out to the Queen they're playing and generally minding our own business when in walks this guy I haven't seen in about three years. Were we friends back in the day? Totally. I think so. We worked on a lot of student films together. I thought he was cute but he always had a serious girlfriend. Anyway, he's sitting in the shop now. I think he saw me? I have no idea if he recognized me. I think he did? He's with that girl that he's now married to. I don't think she ever liked me. Probably because I spent a lot of time with him during the production of our various films. Gah, at one point I was going to hang off of a cliff with a camera for this boy. I wonder if he remembers that. I think he's one of the few people who actually got jobs in the film industry after college. He graduated a year before I did so it's been an eternity since I've even thought about him. He's sitting at the back table with his wife and some other chick. I'm being so neurotic about this. I should just go say "hi"? I want to say "hi." But I don't want to have to talk about what I've done since college. Heck, I'm probably not even the same person I was in college. Maybe he didn't recognize me. After all, my hair is longer. And here I am on a couch between The Fonz and The Poet next to one of the Hipster Gnomes in the comfy chair. I'm completely out of context. Maybe he really doesn't recognize me. He's sitting next to the bathroom. I sort of have to pee. Okay, that's a lie. I really do have to pee. I just drank a bunch of coffee and now I legitimately have to pee. Do I walk to the bathroom and casually say "hi" on the way? What if he stops me and we have a conversation and by the end of it I almost pee my pants? I'm being way too neurotic about this... The Fonz told me to just do it and get it over with. "In my experience, it's always awkward running into people," he said. "You just have to acknowledge them and move on." The Poet came late to the party so he doesn't know what's going on. I feel like I've already over-talked it so I'll tell him the story later. Hipster Gnome is engulfed in his headphones. Gah. I wish that guy would just recognize me and approach me. But I probably look intimidating over here with my menagerie of artsy fartsy friends. And he's married. "There's no reason for him to talk to you very long if he's married," The Fonz stated. He does have a good point. Though it's not like I'm going to proposition him or anything. I just want to be like, "Hey, we went to school together..." Maybe I don't need to do that. Maybe it's time to leave all of that college stuff in college. Besides, I can't for the life of me remember his wife's name. I could probably find out by Facebook-stalking him right now, but what if he walked by and saw his Facebook page up on my screen. I'm sitting against a wall, he can't possibly see what's on my screen. But still. It's the principle of it all. Which leads me to the realization that if we are friends on Facebook we should probably at least wave at each other in real life. I assume we're friends on Facebook. I've deleted a lot of people post-college but I don't think I would delete him. Maybe he deleted me. After all, I have been known to get carried away with band-promotion and that's totally grounds for deletion. Right? I should check and see if we're still Facebook friends. But that involves looking at his page while he is in the same room. I refuse to do that, as I mentioned earlier. In other news, I still have to pee. I have to pee with increasing urgency. It's a long walk home, I'm going to need to use that bathroom. Maybe I'll just awkwardly walk right to the bathroom and then greet him on the way out. Pop out of the one-person unisex stall and announce that we went to college together...DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME??? This is ridiculous. He's going to leave with his entourage soon and then I'll just have to feel really awkward. Yep, there he goes...he's getting up, clearing his table...scratching the back of his head, walking to the door, opening the door... The Fonz is leaving too. He's talking to me just as this guy exits the premises. Now The Fonz is laughing at me. "You missed your chance! How awkward! There he goes!" The Poet is clueless. I told him he can read all this when I'm done typing it. Ack. Sometimes, I feel like the female reincarnation of Woody Allen. Except he's not dead yet. But still. I'm too neurotic for my own good. Maybe I just need to move to another town and then I won't have to deal with these kinds of scenarios.
Okay boys and girls, I still have to pee like a race horse. I'll post this first. Wam BAM!
*End transmission*

New Music Video And A Free Song For YOU

So it's been a busy but exciting week. I've been slowly getting my act together in the rock and roll department. I'm not really sure what happened, but somewhere in there I realized I needed to stop waiting for things to happen and start making things happen.

That being said, I spent the majority of the past week immersed in a music video project. It was designed to be a fairly simple shoot, but it quickly evolved into hours of filming myself singing the song in various outfits and settings. I covered myself in blue face paint and rode the community elevator up and down in the middle of the night. I borrowed an old button-up shirt from someone and wore it backwards like a straightjacket. I recruited a few friends to be in it (including The Mad Scientist, who's performance as The Mad Evil Doctor is unbelievable). I put on a flashy dress and we all danced around in the basement..

I also met a few of my new neighbors while tromping around the hallways dressed as a crazy person. I really know how to make a good first impression sometimes.

But anyway, after spending three days meticulously editing the whole thing together, I'm ready to show it to you guys. I'm pleasantly surprised with how it turned out (it looks like it actually had a budget behind it!) and I hope you guys like it.

Here it is, just in time for Halloween...



To celebrate the release of the video, I'm giving the song away for free on Bandcamp! To get the song, click here, then click "Buy Now." It will ask you to name your price. There's no minimum so you can snag the track for free! I think you just have to put in your email address and join my mailing list. Anyway, I encourage all of you to grab the song, load it on your iPod, jam out to it in your car, get your friends really drunk and make them listen to it, etc. Basically, just enjoy it. And spread the word.

That's all for now. Peace and love.

Attack Of The Bad Art

I'm angry.

Somebody took down my "Poop In A Bucket" signs.

I'm sure it was someone from The Management. They've been showing the place to a lot of new people lately and it probably looks bad for business.

Honestly, I'm surprised the signs lasted this long.

Ironically, a new show opened up in the gallery tonight that is really just two steps away from being "Poop In A Bucket."

This is a show about eggshells.

This is beauty.  

This is art.  

This is the product of someone who had to eat a lot of omelets.  

Eggshells.  This is about eggshells.  

I will end my commentary before it becomes too scathing...  

Instead, I will show you pictures of my other favorite art show... "When A Friend Is Sometimes A Stranger."

Now, I feel bad making fun of this one because it was created by someone I actually really like.  But there's no denying the fact that this exhibit is nothing but large Sharpied outlines of hipsters on butcher paper with a pretentious title slapped onto it.  I'm going to state the obvious and say that I made that kind of art in the first grade.

The question is - if these things can pass as legitimate art, why is The Management so quick to hate on "Poop In A Bucket"??? 

I guess the title isn't artsy enough.  I should have called it "When A Bucket Is Filled With Excrement."

Contacting The Living

So things have been quiet around this blog lately. I've been out of my normal blogging routine and all the hits I've gotten in the past week have been from electronic cigarette companies wanting me to write reviews on their products because I hang out with a bunch of smokers. Even though these cigarettes can be programmed to taste like everything from pastries to cocktails, I just don't think my blog is the right place for that.

I also think that it makes more sense to just eat a pastry, drink a cocktail, and smoke a cigarette than to mess around with a nicotine-dispensing gadget that supposedly tastes apple fritters and margaritas. But maybe that's a very twentieth century mentality.

Plus, I don't even smoke, so the whole issue of electronic vs. real cigarettes is fairly irrelevant on this blog.

But I digress. I am in my favorite cafe with a large piece of pie and I did not come here to write about the evolution of smoking equipment.

Funny how I was invited out to two different clubs tonight and I chose to wear a turtleneck and update my blog in a coffee shop while stuffing my face with chocolate espresso pie instead. I don't know if this means I'm growing up and becoming more responsible or if it just means I'm suddenly a really boring person. It probably doesn't mean either of those things - it just means I wasn't in the mood to stay out all night at some scuzzy dance club and end up having to be the sober one that drives everyone home at the end.

Gah - I am the boring/responsible one. When did that happen and how do I make it stop?

Responsible or not, I did partake in some interesting shenanigans last week. I have an alliance of sorts with The Night Manager Nerd (my mother always told me to make friends with people who have keys...I don't exactly know if she meant go talk to girls at Pizza Hut for them when they're too shy to do it themselves so that they end up with a hot date and are forever indebted to you, but whatever), so I cornered him when he was outside my window drinking beer and asked him for a favor.

Me: This is going to sound weird, but I'm going to ask you for a favor...

Night Manager Nerd: What's up?

Me: Can you let me into The Chef's old room?

Night Manager Nerd: Uhhh...

Me: I know he moved out yesterday, but they haven't rented the room again yet and he asked a few of us to go in there after he left and perform a cleansing ceremony. You know, with candles and all that crap. But there will only be a few of us and we'll clean up.

Night Manager Nerd: Well, I suppose I can unlock the door and then pretend not to know about it if anything happens...

Me: Cool, thanks!

The cleansing ceremony was a story that The Poet had helped me make up before I went to talk to The Night Manager Nerd. The Chef did not leave a last will and testament that involved hosting a seance in his old room. But we were bored and we missed him, so we decided to say goodbye to him the Blue Mountain way.

Let me back up a little bit.

The Blue Mountain Institute was founded by The Chef and The Fonz last spring. Inspired by The Big-Haired Feng Shui Lady (who made color-coded maps of the building for everyone in an attempt to get us all onboard with Feng Shui), The Blue Mountain Institute was an ongoing joke that threatened to become a reality at various public events. It mocks the new age movement and is just downright absurd. For example, different branches of The Blue Mountain Institute include Eye Contact Therapy (where The Fonz stares at you for ten minutes) and Rebirthing In The Shower Room (a ceremony involving a slip 'n' slide and a lot of ketchup).

There is also a branch for Contacting The Living.

This was The Chef's favorite. He used to make us laugh so hard by sitting at the kitchen table and pretending to contact someone who was in the next room. Maybe you'd have to be there to appreciate it, but it was always hysterical.

So there we were - me, The Fonz, The Fallen Nun, and The Poet - armed with our candles in an empty room that once held an eccentric painter. We passed around a single can of Pabst and solemnly stared at the candles.

The Fonz: Can you hear us, Chef?

Me: I'm getting a reading...

The Fonz: Me too...ohmmmm...

Me: He's somewhere...

The Fonz: A train...a plane...

Me: He's somewhere and he's drunk!

The Fonz: He's drinking a six pack of Rolling Rock!

The Poet: Why do we only have one beer???

The Fallen Nun: *obnoxiously plays an accordion*

I feel as though The Chef would be very proud to know that we attempted to contact him.

I have contacted him in a more reliable, traditional way (email) and learned that he made it to Finland. He's done painting and is going to concentrate on his musical career.

An image of him screaming "LOVE, LOVE WILL KEEP US TOGETHERRRRR" out the window through a cardboard tube immediately came to mind with the words "musical career," but you've got to give him credit for going out and doing stuff. I spend a significant amount of time daydreaming about foreign countries and rock tours and spontaneous leaps of faith, but I am yet to actually make these day dreams happen.

Someday. Things will happen.

Gah. And the award for the weirdest blog post goes to... (drum roll) this lovely thing that you are reading.

Ah well. At least it's not about cigarettes.

This Is Not A Dress Rehearsal

It's been a weird week. Forgive me if this post is more sentimental than most. A year ago, I moved into this wacky artist's community along with a whole hoard of eclectic strangers. Now, leases are ending and people are moving.

Ten. Ten people are moving from my floor. It feels as though the rapture came and left me behind.

The Poet is left behind too, along with The Fonz and The Dancer. Also, The Mad Scientist is still in his laboratory becoming the next Edgar Allen Poe. But the mass exodus of neighbors was dramatic and a bit depressing.

This week seems like a series of scenes from a film:

The Chef making dinner for us one last time and announcing that life is not a dress rehearsal.

A party/impromptu recital in the basement, where bottles of wine were passed around in circles and a boy played the piano while The Chef yelled "THIS IS NOT A DRESS REHEARSAL."

Sticking my head out the window and waving farewell to a hipster gnome who is moving to New York City. My next door neighbor stuck her head out the window too and I felt like we needed to start singing about how we weren't going to pay last year's rent.

Eating donuts with The Chef and The Poet outside on the picnic table late at night, listening as The Chef told us we needed to get out of town, make art that represented our personal truths, and live our lives as if we might die tomorrow.

Finding a six-page typed manifesto under my door (courtesy of one of my writer friends), recapping the year and encouraging everyone in their various artistic endeavors.

Going out to a bar with a big mess of people and laughing about all the things we've experienced together over the past year.

Waking up early to give The Chef a big hug before he bumbled off to Finland. This was the cherry on top of a very bittersweet week and the catalyst for the inevitable water works display that was destined to happen at some point. He even left a note addressed to the community, saying that he was leaving behind his beloved "sound sculpture" (yes, that would be the air mattress with train whistles and pan flutes shoved in it...) as a gift to the community.

Raiding the workshop after The Chef left and rescuing some of the paintings he left behind:

It's strange how The Chef hasn't even been gone for twelve hours and the place already seems strange and lifeless.  His room is empty and all that's left behind is an obnoxious air mattress and some bad paintings of Elvis.  A lot of cool people left this week, but I'm going to miss The Chef the most.  He was a great encouragement to me from the very beginning, not to mention my daily comic relief for an entire year.  I know he's the sort of person that can't stand to live in the same place/city/state/country for more than a year, but it's still sad seeing him disappear into the sunset like that.

"Peace and love," he said as he turned to walk down the hall for the last time.  "Good luck, rock on, love you guys, peace out."  I stood there next to The Poet and tried not to cry.  

I felt like the season finale of this sitcom had come to an end and the credits were rolling somewhere on some cosmic screen.  I guess all I can do is take all my memories and move on to next season's episodes.

This is not a dress rehearsal.  

My New Concept Album

I'm working on a concept album entitled "Seen And Heard On 82nd Avenue." Naturally, it's based on things I've seen and heard while both sitting on my front stoop and looking out my window.

Tracks include:

• "Is That Guy In The Park Sleeping Or Dead?"

• "Imma Shoot You!"

• "No I Don't Have A Cigarette And I Know That's Not What You Really Mean"

• "I Don't Care How Hot It Is Out Here - When You Look Like THAT, You Shouldn't Wear THAT!"

• "Wait Up, You B@#$% A$$ M@#$&% F@#$&%!"

• "Heyyy, Do You Folks Have Gaaanja?"

• "Somebody Get That Girl Off Of That Bicycle And Into Rehab"

• "Man With Turrets Waiting For The Bus"

• "Sorry, I Don't Have A Lighter"

• "Seriously Guys, I Do Brain Imaging For The Government!"

• "The Bus Stop Is NOT A Urinal!"

• "Here Come The Cops!"

• "Imma Cut You!"

• "We Are Not Being Abducted By Aliens" (this track is simply the sound of the bus stop being power-washed at 2am)

This album will surely come with a panoramic photo of the scenic 82nd Avenue. It will also come with a parental advisory warning.

You will LOVE it.


P.S: This is all a joke, in case you couldn't tell...

P.P.S: My neighborhood isn't really as bad as I just made it sound... I mean, I wouldn't recommend it to tourists, but I've never been beaten up or mugged.

P.P.P.S: I think I'm probably a city person, but I might be needing a break from the city soon. Can you tell? :P

More Reflections And Stuff...

Oh man. I'm currently at Peets Coffee inhaling a pumpkin spice latte and it's the best coffee-related drink I've had in ages. It officially feels like Fall now. It's weird to think that just last week there was a major heat wave. The air has shifted since then and that distinctive Fall smell has returned. The infamous Portland rain has made a few cameos in the weather report and I've even felt the need to wear sweaters a couple of times.

Personally, I'm glad it's fall again. I'm a true Oregonian in that I secretly hate sunshine and live for a good gloomy overcast day. And I would always rather be too cold than too hot (because really, you can always put on more clothes to warm up when it's cold but can you only take off so many clothes to cool down when it's hot), so breaking out my long sleeved shirts again was sort of exciting.

Also, Fall is by far my favorite of all the seasons. Winter is too depressing, Spring is too optimistic, and Summer is just too darn hot and frankly overrated. But Fall contains a sort of delicate beauty that makes me want to drink too many lattes and write bad poetry about leaves or something.

Fall does bring a certain element of nostalgia along. Maybe it's one of the things that is packaged in that crisp autumn air. It's undoubtedly a season of change, but it's also a season with a distinct set of memories.

This year seems especially nostalgic. A year ago, I was getting ready to move to the city and live with a bunch of wacky artists. I was meeting everyone for the first time. I was building friendships, making alliances, learning who to watch out for, and feeling completely accepted and supported as a creative individual.

A year later, I'm still here, existing in this big bohemian mad house made of brick. And it's been quite the year - I think I have enough material for one thousand sitcom episodes and a few feature films. But the times are changing. People are changing. People are leaving. I keep saying I want to leave too but I don't know where I want to go.

We had The First Of The Last Suppers last night in the courtyard. It started at dusk and we lit everything with candlelit. It was a good night but slightly strange. A handful of my favorite people are sticking around until they develop better plans, but many people are fleeing on October 1st.

The Chef is moving to Finland. He was my first friend here and is one of the most unique people I've ever met. I think I'm in denial over the fact that he's leaving. I'll still have The Fonz, The Poet, and The Mad Scientist (who's been coming out of his room more often and gracing us with his lovably odd personality), but none of them are going to stick train whistles in an air mattress or organize community Solstice celebrations.

And, of course, no one else is going to get drunk and sing "One Night In Bangkok" while spontaneously yanking on The Poet's nipples. Yes, that is a moment that happened last night and yes, i am still laughing about it.

But I digress. A bunch of other people on the third floor are moving too. It's a mass exodus, I guess. Feels like the end of summer camp, actually. You know, it's emotional and seems unfair and you don't want to move on from the fun you had in the woods, but you know deep down that you need to join the real world again and you look forward to bathrooms with running water.

I'll be honest and say that I don't always like change. But I guess that's just something that often comes with Fall.