Tonight the Pittsburgh Pirates clinched their twentieth consecutive losing season in a perfectly fitting fashion, getting no-hit by HOMER BAILEY of the Cincinnati Reds. But I don't want to write about that. In fact, I don't want to think about that. If I could, I would probably employ some crazy Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind type shit and erase the last twenty major league baseball seasons from my memory forever. Actually, make that the last twenty-three because if it weren't for those magical seasons in the early nineties when I was just discovering my love for the sport and the team at the tender and impressionable young age of, like, six or eight or six through eight, I figure I would have never gotten into this mess in the first place and I would have taken my mom's advice and gotten the "prettier" Cleveland Indians hat at Toys 'R Us that time and I would have let my grandma defect to the Florida Marlins with Jim Leyland and Bobby Bo and I wouldn't be sitting here tonight eulogizing a twentieth season that hurts so much worse than any that came before it. And I know the point of that movie is supposed to be that it's better to have loved and lost and blah blah blah but right now I'd zap all that mess right out of my brain and never think about Chad Hermansen or J.J. Davis or Kris Benson or Matt Morris or Derek Bell or Aki Iwamura or Jeff Clement ever again.
What in the hell made me so loyal anyway? What is wrong with me? With us. I know I'm not the only person going through this tonight, this month, this season, this... score (Dammit. Now even time is messing with us). What is my malfunction? What about my particular genetic make-up makes me pre-disposed to subject myself to repeated beatings in the name of loyalty? I'm not even sure if it is loyalty. There's never been, like, a conscious decision or a point where I've had to convince myself to stick it out. It's not a choice. If it were, I'd be the one to blame. (And I'd have jumped ship a long time ago. I'm not that crazy.) But it isn't. I can't even play as another team in video games. I've tried. The Pittsburgh Pirates are, for some reason, ingrained into my unconscious so deeply that voluntary lobotomy may be my only hope.
So what say you, Dr. Mierzwiak? Still taking appointments?
Friday, September 28, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
I'll see you on the other side of the curtain...
It's been eleven years since the last time the first song on a CD has made me feel like this. Eleven years. Think about that for a second. I was sixteen. I skipped school after petitioning for permission from my mother and drove my '86 Chevy Celebrity to Best Buy to purchase what was the first Weezer album since 1997. I returned to the Celeb, tore the plastic off of my purchase, and inserted the disc into the most meaningful birthday gift I've ever received, and sat and listened. Then "Don't Let Go" blasted through it with every decibel of force that my GM factory speakers could muster, and I felt like I felt today, eleven years later. (And don't ever talk shit to me on the Green Album.)
That whole scenario is dated. I was sixteen. Now I'm twenty-seven. I bought a CD. Now that process is almost archaic. I bought a Weezer album. (And, let's face it: even though I'll defend the Green Album till I die there's no denying that their relevance really died with the nineties, and even the Green Album that I have such a strong connection to was simply a reflection and reminiscence of simpler times gone by.) Hell, even Best Buy doesn't seem to have weathered the stormy times since then.
Now, eleven years later, I repeated the process and generated results that were---somewhat shockingly---incredibly similar. I let my class out early (I didn't need permission) and drove my 2001 Chevy Impala to Best Buy to purchase the first Eve 6 album since 2003. I returned to my Impala, tore the plastic off my purchase, and inserted the disc into the GM factory CD-player (with cassette deck) that's in my car's dash, and sat and listened. "Curtain" blasted through it with every decibel of force that my (much-improved) GM factory speakers could muster, and I felt like I felt on May 15, 2001, eleven years earlier.
While parts of this process were contrived in order to mirror its predecessor (I can't remember the last time I bought a CD, and it's been even longer since I've bought one at Best Buy, so long that I struggled with a bit of a learning curve), the part that matters was absolutely genuine. The part that matters is the ability and opportunity to experience a level of sheer feeling through music. I can't remember exactly what I thought of "Don't Let Go" the first time I heard it on that day in 2001. What I do remember is leaving that CD in my car for almost six months after that without changing even for a day to anything else and sitting in my room and listening to the CD on repeat for the entire day when I should have been toiling away as a sophomore in high school. While I can't be sure of the specifics (i.e. what I made of the lyrics, what crescendos and choruses and guitar riffs really moved me) I know that I felt more that day. Time slowed down. Moments became memories.
Today, similarly, time slowed down and I was opened up to a depth of feeling and of life that can best be described as transcendent.
Today, though, maybe thanks to the eleven extra years of experience and... ahem... "wisdom" that I've accrued, that state of heightened sensitivity led me on a sort of existential journey through that song and myself (I have a forty-five minute drive to and from work).
First, here's the song. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=ZKnYDxroZ8w]
This song seems an excellent way to begin an album that marks what will hopefully be a triumphant return to form after a prolonged absence in which the band broke up, tried to start up other things, dealt with personal stuff that guys in bands always have to deal with (here, specifically, it seems Max is dealing with an alcohol dependency so often associated with the "rock 'n roll" lifestyle), and then finally got back together and wound up almost right back where they started from. So far it's my favorite on the album. I've listened to it probably thirty or more times today, and I attribute that mostly to the chorus:
Here, where Max addresses this "Rock 'n Roll" that he's ironically saying goodbye to on the initial track of his first album in nine years, I get it. That's the feeling that I've been meditating on since hearing this the first time today, and it's one I've thought about a lot before. See, he's got this relationship that is abusive in that it leads him to do things that are really bad for him and it makes it incredibly difficult to avoid temptations that lead down dangerous paths and it inevitably leads to more abuse because it makes him vulnerable and there's bound to be bad reviews and people saying you should have stayed away and part of him probably wishes he would have stayed away but there's this... something that keeps him at it.
Why would someone stay in an abusive relationship with his profession even when he knows it's in his best interest to leave it behind?
Why do people try so hard to hold on to something that they know is past?
Why would someone stay in a job they enjoy but barely pays the bills instead of trading it in for a boring, mindless one that pays more than enough to pay the bills and buy a new car and live comfortably and never have to worry about making ends meet again?
What is that something that keeps them at it?
Passion.
It's a manifestation of love and it can't be controlled, and even if it makes you hate it and wish that it would just slough off of your soul and fade away like dead skin into the wind you know, deep down, that you're lucky to have it and feel it and experience it. And if you've managed to make it this far and you're still chasing it and you haven't yet managed to murder it despite your desperate attempts and your sleepless nights and the tears you've cried trying to choke it out, consider yourself lucky. There are struggles ahead, to be sure. The reviews won't all be positive. But passion isn't something that can be resurrected. Once it's dead there's no going back. So if it's still there, either on the surface or suffocating below some prescribed alter-ego, take heed. Nurture it. Follow it through the ups and downs and the dull days and sleepless, stormy nights. Chase it. Keep it in sight, even when you can't run or walk or even stand. It's a universal human emotion, and these are rare in a day and age when all the overarching truths have fallen away and given rise to questions without answers.
And most importantly, I'll see you on the other side of the curtain.
That whole scenario is dated. I was sixteen. Now I'm twenty-seven. I bought a CD. Now that process is almost archaic. I bought a Weezer album. (And, let's face it: even though I'll defend the Green Album till I die there's no denying that their relevance really died with the nineties, and even the Green Album that I have such a strong connection to was simply a reflection and reminiscence of simpler times gone by.) Hell, even Best Buy doesn't seem to have weathered the stormy times since then.
Now, eleven years later, I repeated the process and generated results that were---somewhat shockingly---incredibly similar. I let my class out early (I didn't need permission) and drove my 2001 Chevy Impala to Best Buy to purchase the first Eve 6 album since 2003. I returned to my Impala, tore the plastic off my purchase, and inserted the disc into the GM factory CD-player (with cassette deck) that's in my car's dash, and sat and listened. "Curtain" blasted through it with every decibel of force that my (much-improved) GM factory speakers could muster, and I felt like I felt on May 15, 2001, eleven years earlier.
While parts of this process were contrived in order to mirror its predecessor (I can't remember the last time I bought a CD, and it's been even longer since I've bought one at Best Buy, so long that I struggled with a bit of a learning curve), the part that matters was absolutely genuine. The part that matters is the ability and opportunity to experience a level of sheer feeling through music. I can't remember exactly what I thought of "Don't Let Go" the first time I heard it on that day in 2001. What I do remember is leaving that CD in my car for almost six months after that without changing even for a day to anything else and sitting in my room and listening to the CD on repeat for the entire day when I should have been toiling away as a sophomore in high school. While I can't be sure of the specifics (i.e. what I made of the lyrics, what crescendos and choruses and guitar riffs really moved me) I know that I felt more that day. Time slowed down. Moments became memories.
Today, similarly, time slowed down and I was opened up to a depth of feeling and of life that can best be described as transcendent.
Today, though, maybe thanks to the eleven extra years of experience and... ahem... "wisdom" that I've accrued, that state of heightened sensitivity led me on a sort of existential journey through that song and myself (I have a forty-five minute drive to and from work).
First, here's the song. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=ZKnYDxroZ8w]
This song seems an excellent way to begin an album that marks what will hopefully be a triumphant return to form after a prolonged absence in which the band broke up, tried to start up other things, dealt with personal stuff that guys in bands always have to deal with (here, specifically, it seems Max is dealing with an alcohol dependency so often associated with the "rock 'n roll" lifestyle), and then finally got back together and wound up almost right back where they started from. So far it's my favorite on the album. I've listened to it probably thirty or more times today, and I attribute that mostly to the chorus:
I tried to forgive you
For the shit you put me through
But it's just the hardest thing to do
So I guess it's goodbye brother, goodbye Rock 'n Roll
Guess it's goodbye to the only life I know
It's a shame you couldn't just say you were hurting
I will see you on the other side of the curtain
Here, where Max addresses this "Rock 'n Roll" that he's ironically saying goodbye to on the initial track of his first album in nine years, I get it. That's the feeling that I've been meditating on since hearing this the first time today, and it's one I've thought about a lot before. See, he's got this relationship that is abusive in that it leads him to do things that are really bad for him and it makes it incredibly difficult to avoid temptations that lead down dangerous paths and it inevitably leads to more abuse because it makes him vulnerable and there's bound to be bad reviews and people saying you should have stayed away and part of him probably wishes he would have stayed away but there's this... something that keeps him at it.
Why would someone stay in an abusive relationship with his profession even when he knows it's in his best interest to leave it behind?
Why do people try so hard to hold on to something that they know is past?
Why would someone stay in a job they enjoy but barely pays the bills instead of trading it in for a boring, mindless one that pays more than enough to pay the bills and buy a new car and live comfortably and never have to worry about making ends meet again?
What is that something that keeps them at it?
Passion.
It's a manifestation of love and it can't be controlled, and even if it makes you hate it and wish that it would just slough off of your soul and fade away like dead skin into the wind you know, deep down, that you're lucky to have it and feel it and experience it. And if you've managed to make it this far and you're still chasing it and you haven't yet managed to murder it despite your desperate attempts and your sleepless nights and the tears you've cried trying to choke it out, consider yourself lucky. There are struggles ahead, to be sure. The reviews won't all be positive. But passion isn't something that can be resurrected. Once it's dead there's no going back. So if it's still there, either on the surface or suffocating below some prescribed alter-ego, take heed. Nurture it. Follow it through the ups and downs and the dull days and sleepless, stormy nights. Chase it. Keep it in sight, even when you can't run or walk or even stand. It's a universal human emotion, and these are rare in a day and age when all the overarching truths have fallen away and given rise to questions without answers.
And most importantly, I'll see you on the other side of the curtain.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The dream of the nineties is alive in Portland...
What's with this strategy by giant corporations to announce a change in services that will make them more money by further screwing their customers only to retract it a few days or weeks later? I cannot believe that these corporations (whose successes would seem to suggest that they are deftly managed) imagine that these changes will be accepted by the consumers who will be adversely affected without complaint. I also cannot believe that any imaginable amount of threats that would eventually actually lead to loss of business would have any measurable effect on these corporations, as they are large enough to absorb almost any negative publicity. So, if it's unlikely that the management teams for these corporations (greedy as they may be) are dumb enough to think that consumers of their products will blindly accept changes which adversely affect their wallets, and it's also unlikely that the impending changes were abandoned because of a legitimate fear of the consumer's boycotting power, then there must be another reason for these apparent missteps by two of our country's largest and richest corporations.
I've been thinking about this a lot since the recent news of the proposed then abandoned "convenience charge" that Verizon supposedly wished to impose on its customers who chose to pay their bill online or by telephone. Now, I won't get into the ridiculousness of a company as large as Verizon needing to charge a "convenience fee" for paying bills online to stay afloat (especially when every other company under the sun is practically forcing online billing on its customers to cut back on mailing costs), as I'm sure that point has been obvious to everyone familiar with the scenario. What strikes me more about both the Verizon convenience charge and Bank of America debit card fee situations is a little further below the surface. I'm not usually much of a conspiracy theorist (though I do think they're fun to think about), but the more I think about these situations, the more I start to feel like a Jeff Goldblum character (pre-Law and Order).
Eventually though, after weeks or years of sharpening his skills of defiance, the boy's mother stops forcing the issue, or the rebellion loses its fun, and the boy goes to bed at a reasonable hour without prodding. He's given the false sense that he's won the war and set his own bed time, but the fact is that it's a product of a daily conditioning that's been going on since he was born. We sleep at night, and wake up in the morning to go to school or work or whatever else we do. The same boy that threw a fit at age eight when his mother suggested he sleep when he was tired will be begging for a bed on a Saturday morning with he's sixteen. But it will be on his terms (or so he'll think).
That's what scares me with these recent situations with Bank of America and Verizon. It's a lot easier to accept potentially negative consequences when you think you've got the power to change them or that it was your power that created them. Sure, I'm glad to not have to pay a convenience fee every time I pay my phone bill online for the time being, but I'm also extremely concerned about what exactly I'm being set up and conditioned for.
I've been thinking about this a lot since the recent news of the proposed then abandoned "convenience charge" that Verizon supposedly wished to impose on its customers who chose to pay their bill online or by telephone. Now, I won't get into the ridiculousness of a company as large as Verizon needing to charge a "convenience fee" for paying bills online to stay afloat (especially when every other company under the sun is practically forcing online billing on its customers to cut back on mailing costs), as I'm sure that point has been obvious to everyone familiar with the scenario. What strikes me more about both the Verizon convenience charge and Bank of America debit card fee situations is a little further below the surface. I'm not usually much of a conspiracy theorist (though I do think they're fun to think about), but the more I think about these situations, the more I start to feel like a Jeff Goldblum character (pre-Law and Order).
Think about it. I'll use the analogy of a toddler who is up past his bedtime. He's clearly tired. His eyelids are tiny anvils. Most likely he's stationary after having exhausted his second, and maybe third, winds. He's staying awake for one reason: his mother told him to go to sleep. We Americans are rebellious and independent from the start. We want things our own way, and we want to feel like we have an influence over our lives, from the smallest decisions to the biggest. It's a nice feeling to be empowered. The little boy is just discovering his independence. He doesn't have to go to bed just because his mother told him to. He has the right and ability to defy. We all appreciate that right and ability. It's one of the biggest pieces of the "American Spirit." Each year, millions of Americans celebrate Independence Day by lying to salesmen and proceeding to break minor laws about firework control repeatedly in back yards, streets, and parks around the country.
I think Verizon and Bank of America, for their ultimate, long-term advantage, intentionally drew the ire of their customers so they could instill false senses of hope and power in the American consumer.
Eventually though, after weeks or years of sharpening his skills of defiance, the boy's mother stops forcing the issue, or the rebellion loses its fun, and the boy goes to bed at a reasonable hour without prodding. He's given the false sense that he's won the war and set his own bed time, but the fact is that it's a product of a daily conditioning that's been going on since he was born. We sleep at night, and wake up in the morning to go to school or work or whatever else we do. The same boy that threw a fit at age eight when his mother suggested he sleep when he was tired will be begging for a bed on a Saturday morning with he's sixteen. But it will be on his terms (or so he'll think).
That's what scares me with these recent situations with Bank of America and Verizon. It's a lot easier to accept potentially negative consequences when you think you've got the power to change them or that it was your power that created them. Sure, I'm glad to not have to pay a convenience fee every time I pay my phone bill online for the time being, but I'm also extremely concerned about what exactly I'm being set up and conditioned for.
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