My roommate just had her hours cut at work and her co-workers are getting laid off one by one every day. She warned me that it's a possibility that she'd have to move out soon. My girlfriend has seen a significant decline in business as a hairstylist lately. She's considering picking up more hours at a side job, in addition to the six days a week she already works. Friends of mine have a house in foreclosure. Another friend is a student, and nearly didn't get state grant money that was promised to her and is necessary to supplement her income.
I've been listening to NPR this morning, and Talk of the Nation focused exclusively on callers' stories of being laid off in the recent weeks. It was so depressing. I've always taken work for granted, and always earned my own way as much as I could.
I got my first job at 12 (technically 11) and worked 30-40 hours a week from the time I was 17 until I was 25 when I finally decided to go back to school. I'm turning 27 next week and I'm subsisting off of grants, loans, off and on part-time employment and freelance graphic design work. When I started school, I had visions of obtaining a degree, and jumping right into the workforce and getting paid to do what I love.
I don't believe in that vision any more. For the time being, I'm considering myself lucky to have what I have, and trying to prepare myself for the inevitable disappearance of my comfortable life.
The American economy will rise and fall, but it's disgusting to consider how it could have been different. Would we really be in this deep recession if so much money hadn't been thrown in the wrong direction over the past eight years? It's classic Orwellian double-speak; while our president tells us that we want to pursue peace, yet, we're funneling all of our money into wars. We're also told that our country is built on small businesses, entrepreneurship and common people, and yet we cut taxes for the wealthy, underfund education (a means by which to ascend the economic ranks), deregulate everything, place our faith in the competence of businessmen, allow big business to run free and THEN leave us with no choice but to bail them out financially.
Here's a bit of an antidote for all my gloom...
Wait a minute, that's some antidote... this sketch shouldn't have even had to be made in the first place. How about we deregulate the institution of marriage?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Academic Overload & Procrastination
I suspect that there are currently thousands of blogs online with recent posts complaining about the stresses of school as the semester comes to a close. I'm tempted to write one myself, but the truth is I didn't do shit all semester, so I'm pretty much getting what I deserve. It's not even so bad, really. I've finished a paper, studied for a few tests, and still have to complete a few art projects and write one last paper.
On the topic of procrastination and shirking responsibilities...
I'm behind on mail-order for the first time in a year. I used to be horrible about getting things out, so I decided to make a change. In order to keep on top of things, I simply made a routine of going to the postoffice on Tuesdays. After sending out a couple hundred zines this year, I've been laying low. I have nothing new to produce and distribute, so there's no real momentum. On average, I'm now handling only one or two orders every month. I really don't understand why it's so hard for me to just get out to the post office and send a few orders out. Even worse, I'm behind on shipping out trades. My trading partners already hooked me up, and I've just been sitting on my end of the bargain.
OK, I'm off to the post office... this is ridiculous.
On the topic of procrastination and shirking responsibilities...
I'm behind on mail-order for the first time in a year. I used to be horrible about getting things out, so I decided to make a change. In order to keep on top of things, I simply made a routine of going to the postoffice on Tuesdays. After sending out a couple hundred zines this year, I've been laying low. I have nothing new to produce and distribute, so there's no real momentum. On average, I'm now handling only one or two orders every month. I really don't understand why it's so hard for me to just get out to the post office and send a few orders out. Even worse, I'm behind on shipping out trades. My trading partners already hooked me up, and I've just been sitting on my end of the bargain.
OK, I'm off to the post office... this is ridiculous.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Recording Revisited
It's amazing how much can be accomplished in 20 hours if you simply forgo eating and going outside. The end result of this weekend's efforts actually surprised me and exceeded my expectations. The record sounds way bigger than what we should have been able to afford on our budget... some of that might have to do with the massive amount of guitar tracks we laid down.
In order to get the fullest sound possible, Paul and I each AB'd two amps. I ran my Yamaha T100 with a Mesa Mark IV, and Paul used his Peavey Butcher and Sunn Model T reissue. Four amps getting tracked in stereo pairs results in eight channels of guitar every time the engineer hit "record". On top of that, we double and triple tracked all leads. I'm thankful that we've found an engineer that is enthusiastic enough to sift through all that and mix it properly. Chaos and excess at its finest. Andy Kugler fucking rules.
Our new 12" entitled All Human Failings will be released in February on Free Cake Records.
In order to get the fullest sound possible, Paul and I each AB'd two amps. I ran my Yamaha T100 with a Mesa Mark IV, and Paul used his Peavey Butcher and Sunn Model T reissue. Four amps getting tracked in stereo pairs results in eight channels of guitar every time the engineer hit "record". On top of that, we double and triple tracked all leads. I'm thankful that we've found an engineer that is enthusiastic enough to sift through all that and mix it properly. Chaos and excess at its finest. Andy Kugler fucking rules.
Our new 12" entitled All Human Failings will be released in February on Free Cake Records.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
We're Too Poor To Even Spend Time Together
I'd like to be together with the people I love more often.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Depressing Day
I woke up with a headache, and knew that today wasn't going to be the best.
After compulsively dilly-dallying, I managed leave my house just in time to miss the 44. The next bus didn't arrive for another 15 minutes, which isn't the most excruciating thing I've ever had to deal with, but it was cold and I didn't want to go anywhere anyway. Eventually the next bus pulls up, and I get on board and take a seat with the old people and the handicapped folks. As the bus arrived at 9th and Judah, I get off to make my transfer.
While I'm waiting, I leaned against the bus shelter. A guy about my age rides up on a very hip looking track bike and is almost immediately confronted by a drunken wreck of a person looking for spare change. I don't think the track bike kid spoke English, so the drunk switches targets and approaches me asking for change. After pretending to not be able to hear him through my headphones failed to discourage his persistence, I removed my headphones, looked him in the eye and told him that I couldn't help him.
The man starts inching closer to my face and begins exclaiming how ready he is to get a gun and start shooting everybody in his path. I asked him if he was serious.
"Of course I am. Can't you look into my eyes and see that I've had it?"
"Yeah, I can see that."
The man spins around and points at the track kid's bike, but continues addressing me, "I used to have a bike, until some motherfucker stole it!"
"When did your bike get stolen?" I asked him.
"Oh, years ago, when I was a kid. It was a Kuwahara. I had a Mongoose and a Haro too. You know, motherfuckers want to make fun of you when you got something nice. They want to take it from you."
It's always hard to remember that these drunken messes have lives. It's even harder to remember that these people had (and lost) lives that you and I would call normal. The drunken man clearly once had a passion for BMX bikes. He used to care about something other than the plastic bottle of shitty vodka clasped in his purplish, yellow stained hands.
As the man traipsed off, yelling at the people in the bus shelter, I tried to smile and count my blessings, but that just didn't work. As much as I try to sever myself from the grotesque spectacles that confront all of us in life, I just can't. My empathy runs deep. Empathy aside, I also know that my situation is just as tenuous as anyone else's. Fate and fortune have kept me safe for now.
The 43 Masonic pulled up to the stop, so I boarded and walked all the way to the back. I stood for a few stops, and took the first seat that opened up. In the corner of my eye, I could see a tweeky looking dude in a Dark Throne shirt attending to something suspicious in the rearmost seat of the bus. At first I thought he was just hollowing out a blunt or something similarly sketchy. All of a sudden, this dude sitting between me and The Tweeker jumped up, switched seats and started mumbling something under his breath, and eventually ramped up into a full on confrontation with The Tweeker.
For the second time in 20 minutes, my attempt at using my headphones as an excuse to avoid an awkward situation failed.
I couldn't ignore The Angry Man anymore as he started pointing at me and then the floor. I looked down to see multiple streams of liquid trickling down the floor of the bus and toward my shoe. I took my headphones out and asked what it was. The Angry Man said it was water that The Tweeker's dog had thrown up, and continued berating The Tweeker for being disrespectful to the rest of the passengers on the bus.
The Angry Man continued his harangue and The Tweeker eventually brandished a knife. The confrontation had now gotten the attention of the entire bus, and continued on the way those things go.
Realizing that his knife wasn't much of an effective threat to The Angry Man, The Tweeker pulled the wire, and prepared to get off at the next stop. As he grabbed his stuff, I caught my first glimpse of his poor, barely conscious puppy. The Tweeker began to disembark the bus, and muttered the obligatory parting threats which always extend confrontations a few moments longer. As he skipped down the stairs and through the hissing doors, I couldn't stop staring into the puppy's glazed and runny eyes.
I got off at the next stop, heartbroken, and walked to class.
After compulsively dilly-dallying, I managed leave my house just in time to miss the 44. The next bus didn't arrive for another 15 minutes, which isn't the most excruciating thing I've ever had to deal with, but it was cold and I didn't want to go anywhere anyway. Eventually the next bus pulls up, and I get on board and take a seat with the old people and the handicapped folks. As the bus arrived at 9th and Judah, I get off to make my transfer.
While I'm waiting, I leaned against the bus shelter. A guy about my age rides up on a very hip looking track bike and is almost immediately confronted by a drunken wreck of a person looking for spare change. I don't think the track bike kid spoke English, so the drunk switches targets and approaches me asking for change. After pretending to not be able to hear him through my headphones failed to discourage his persistence, I removed my headphones, looked him in the eye and told him that I couldn't help him.
The man starts inching closer to my face and begins exclaiming how ready he is to get a gun and start shooting everybody in his path. I asked him if he was serious.
"Of course I am. Can't you look into my eyes and see that I've had it?"
"Yeah, I can see that."
The man spins around and points at the track kid's bike, but continues addressing me, "I used to have a bike, until some motherfucker stole it!"
"When did your bike get stolen?" I asked him.
"Oh, years ago, when I was a kid. It was a Kuwahara. I had a Mongoose and a Haro too. You know, motherfuckers want to make fun of you when you got something nice. They want to take it from you."
It's always hard to remember that these drunken messes have lives. It's even harder to remember that these people had (and lost) lives that you and I would call normal. The drunken man clearly once had a passion for BMX bikes. He used to care about something other than the plastic bottle of shitty vodka clasped in his purplish, yellow stained hands.
As the man traipsed off, yelling at the people in the bus shelter, I tried to smile and count my blessings, but that just didn't work. As much as I try to sever myself from the grotesque spectacles that confront all of us in life, I just can't. My empathy runs deep. Empathy aside, I also know that my situation is just as tenuous as anyone else's. Fate and fortune have kept me safe for now.
The 43 Masonic pulled up to the stop, so I boarded and walked all the way to the back. I stood for a few stops, and took the first seat that opened up. In the corner of my eye, I could see a tweeky looking dude in a Dark Throne shirt attending to something suspicious in the rearmost seat of the bus. At first I thought he was just hollowing out a blunt or something similarly sketchy. All of a sudden, this dude sitting between me and The Tweeker jumped up, switched seats and started mumbling something under his breath, and eventually ramped up into a full on confrontation with The Tweeker.
For the second time in 20 minutes, my attempt at using my headphones as an excuse to avoid an awkward situation failed.
I couldn't ignore The Angry Man anymore as he started pointing at me and then the floor. I looked down to see multiple streams of liquid trickling down the floor of the bus and toward my shoe. I took my headphones out and asked what it was. The Angry Man said it was water that The Tweeker's dog had thrown up, and continued berating The Tweeker for being disrespectful to the rest of the passengers on the bus.
The Angry Man continued his harangue and The Tweeker eventually brandished a knife. The confrontation had now gotten the attention of the entire bus, and continued on the way those things go.
Realizing that his knife wasn't much of an effective threat to The Angry Man, The Tweeker pulled the wire, and prepared to get off at the next stop. As he grabbed his stuff, I caught my first glimpse of his poor, barely conscious puppy. The Tweeker began to disembark the bus, and muttered the obligatory parting threats which always extend confrontations a few moments longer. As he skipped down the stairs and through the hissing doors, I couldn't stop staring into the puppy's glazed and runny eyes.
I got off at the next stop, heartbroken, and walked to class.
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