So They Say It's Your Birthday

Zach and Jon picked me up to go to our friend Ginny's party on Sunday. Remember those guys? They played guitar in Agni? Anyway, I hopped in the car, and we watched the Slow Jerk video on Youtube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UJ9Ggs3Dkk). Watch it, it's funny. Plus, then you'd understand what I mean when I say that Zach and I agreed that Jon was the slow jerk guy. He didn't really know how to handle that assessment. "... I'm... The slow jerk guy? What does that even mean?" "Don't worry about it, dude, you're the slow jerk guy. That's who you are in the group. You jerk slow. Just accept it." "Haha, yeah, dude, he's totally the slow jerk guy!" I don't really know how Zach participated in all this while driving. It is a mystery.

We got to the party soon enough. Incidentally, it was right by my friend Nikita's house, so I sent her a message telling her that I was right outside her place and that I couldn't see her through her windows. Zach and Jon agreed that my concern for her welfare would help her to feel safer. Then, we walked into this:

Wow. Great party, guys. Seriously. Did I mention that Ginny has an excellent voice? She's been recording with Zach. She's also a violinist. Very talented woman, and this was her 21st birthday party. She could rock if she wanted to. I'd never before met the guitarist, but he's got some serious chops, too. His wife was there and she and I spoke briefly. She's the one who readjusts my camera from Zach, sulking in the shadows. Clearly, she knows what's worth filming. This is why I love partying with musicians.

I ate food, made friends, laughed, made fun of Jon... It was a good night, but all things must pass. I left after a rousing game of truth or dare, during which I learned new things about myself. Zach had left earlier than I wanted to, so I walked to the subway station a block away, only to find out that I had missed my ride home by a margin of two minutes. I sat down on a comfortable-looking block of concrete and pulled out my phone to play Scramble with Friends, when a young skateboarder approached me. It was maybe 2:15 in the morning at this point.

"Yo dude, you got a cigarette?" he asked.
"Don't smoke, sorry."
"Ah, yeah, alright man, it's cool..." I didn't have any place to be, and he didn't seem to either, so I figured we might as well strike up a conversation. He must've had an interesting night too, yeah? What else would he be doing at a subway station at this hour?
"Hey man, what're you doin' here this late?"
"Homeless." Ah. Yeah. Okay.
"... How did that happen?"
"My family and I agreed it was for the best." I wondered what sort of family situation he must've had, for homelessness to be an upgrade for all parties involved.

We proceeded to talk for the next half hour about what life was like on the streets, how it affected his relationships, his career, his passions. Apparently, he showered every day, worked a job parking cars at a nearby mall, managed to take care of his own needs without imposing upon his friends, and owned his own cell phone, all of which impressed quite a bit. He was a nice guy, I really enjoyed speaking with him for the hour I had 'till my bus arrived (yes, a bus at a subway station). When it was time for me to go, we exchanged numbers. I hope to speak with Gio again soon.

Writing Once More

Hey readers, I'm back, and oh so much has happened since last we spoke. I really should commit to updating this blog all the time, you know? Make it, like, a regular thing. That's what "professionals" do. I'm not sure I'd like to be a "professional," but I would like to make money, and those two usually go together, right? Making money would definitely not suck.

My summer (SUMMER. Christ, I haven't updated for three or four months!) in bullet points:

-I played lots of shows with Agni.
-Zach got his own house and built a recording studio within. I helped. Kind of. A little. Well, I threw insulation at him while he worked. Same thing.
-I formed a bizarre love cult with four other individuals. We call ourselves The 108 5. Yes, that's a capital T you see there. Like, T for "tremendous" or "truly cool."
-On a related note, I have adopted the moniker Thundercock.
-I started working as a mover (gotta rake in doze Benjis, nawhatimsayin?).
-Began jamming with this cool bassist/guitarist named Malik. I like that guy. I think we'll cover video game music together. Stay tuned.
-Toast moved to France to go to a recording master's program! I'll miss him, but it's a fantastic opportunity, and, ultimately, I'm happy for him. Also, he is now French Toast, and, hey, that's perfect.
-I signed up to join a rowing crew in Los Angeles and had a silly humor war with the registration lady. Here's a photo I sent her to demonstrate my enthusiasm for the sport:

-I hung out with an Australian band, The Dark (https://www.facebook.com/thedark2013), all of whom are wonderful and lovely people. Jon plays with them as well as with Agni. The guitarist and singer have moved back to Australia, but I'm assured that they intend to return soon enough. Before they left, we spent a lot of time hanging out at this underground speakeasy called The Overpass, which served alcohol past 2 am (OOOOHHHH). That's actually illegal in LA, which is why the DEA shut the place down. We did hang out there the last night it was open, though. Did I mention that Australians have fantastic turns of phrase? All sorts of wonderful pun doors open when "knob" means "penis."
-I briefly dated a 40 year old woman who reads tarot. Then I realized that, with her hair over her face and just her chin visible, she looks almost exactly like my mom. :( That was an uncomfortable moment. Sort of put a damper on things for me.
-I also fooled around with/dated a 20 year old woman. She, fortunately, looks nothing like my mom. She does, however, look great belly dancing. Also while not belly dancing, interestingly enough. She's a dancer at LMU who enjoys anime. What's the etiquette for writing about people with whom you're involved, by the way? I gotta start asking people if they're cool with me writing about them. Or maybe it's better to beg for forgiveness than ask permission?
-Ooh, this is a good one! I hit a pedestrian! Well, I mean, I wasn't driving, but I was in the back seat of a car with some friends I had met after a gig Agni played in Pasadena. We hit a guy as the car skidded to a stop from maybe 30 miles per hour? Broke his leg, I could see the blood seeping through his jeans. Don't worry, he's fine (I'm pretty sure. At least, he wasn't hurt in any serious way beyond the injury to his leg), and my friend who was driving is alright, too--she had a green light, she was going a reasonable speed and hit the breaks at a reasonable time, but the pedestrian sped up his amble to a lope at just the wrong moment. See, I wish I had written this blog entry right after the accident, like I had intended to. Then I could go all in depth and stuff, instead of just tantalizing you with hints of a tale. Ah well. I'll always have something new to write about next, even if nothing really happens, you know?
-My friends from college, Dana and Tom, moved out to LA from Pittsburgh together. They're cool, I like them. I helped them move into their apartment and they, in turn, provided me with gnocchi. More than fair, I would say. We've been hanging out since.
-I started taking guitar lessons from the talented Warren Lain. You can find him on Youtube. The guy knows his stuff, and I recommend you take lessons from him over Skype if you want to learn guitar with a solid foundation in theory. If you live in San Jose, take lessons from him in person, instead. I mean, if you like doing things that make sense.
-My friend Nikita and I became very close. So close that she takes me clothes shopping with her and I legitimately enjoy it. I don't even give a fuck, critiquing fashion is fun.
-Started recording a bit with Agni. Toast is gonna send bass tracks from France. We'll have an album done... Some time. You know, within the decade.
-Did reshoots for that horror film that I acted in in New Orleans, The Ghost Experiment. It was really nice seeing the old cast all together again. We filmed in Pitzer's campus in Claremont. I dunno. Filming happened? Does that excite you or whatever? Are you entertained? Should I record myself doing a little dance for you? Would that jingle your jollies?
-Other stuff! Probably!

One thing that I didn't do this summer is write. That's something I intend to change, seeing as Agni is going on the backburner and, well, I love writing. It feels good to be at it again. In a way, it doesn't feel like I ever really stopped.

Anyway, tell you what. I'll expand on one bullet point from this list. Just vote on which one catches your interest most, and I'll tell the story behind it. You can leave comments here to cast your vote. After I tell whatever story gets chosen, I'll probably have something else to tell you about that's current., unless you guys really want me to tell two or whatever. Hey, I'd appreciate the enthusiasm.

The Welcome Back Fridays - Part 1

Hey guys, I'm back. Had to slip out the back for a little bit. You know how it is.

So, I broke up with Rachel. I guess a continent's width of distance can do that to a relationship. It's a shame, but that's the way the world goes some days. Time to ramble on.

I recently started going to this club in Hollywood on Fridays, because they have this really cool donation-based entry fee before 11:11 pm. How very sustainable chic. Anyway, last time I went there was a couple Fridays ago. It was one of those nights that started the second I walked out my front door. I could feel it in the air. "Yooouuu will experience interrreeesting thiiiiings tonight," the breeze seemed to whisper, but then I realized that I was talking to myself again. I walked one block over from my house to the bus stop that would take me to where I was going, and I met this kindly 30-something gentleman. He must've really liked the look of me, 'cause he introduced himself and started talking to me.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed. "You going out tonight?"
"Yeah, this club up in Hollywood. Great scene. You?"
"Oh, no, I'm going home and going to sleep, gonna be boring." This was when I realized he was looking me up and down. "Wow, look at you, you are just something else." I began to understand that this was a gay thing.
"Thank you!" I laughed.
"I don't really like twinky boys, so you really do it for me." I decided that the appropriate response was to laugh harder and thank him for the compliment, then start talking about girls. My new friend didn't really seem to care that I'm straight, though, which was interesting; it gave me a new perspective on women. I've seen lots of men in my life who hit on women long after the woman in question has communicated that she isn't interested in every way possible short of telling the guy to get bent, and now I was on the receiving end of that (heh, receiving end). Anyway, I continued thanking him for the compliments and generally having a pleasant chat, and the bus arrived after he called me "yummy" a few more times. We both got on. I declined his gestured offer to take the seat next to him and stood instead. I started chatting with another guy who was talking to his friend about something. I gave him a fist bump to back him up on whatever point he was making. I don't remember it, but I do remember thinking it was a good point.

A few stops later, a dirty young woman boarded the bus, fist clenched at her side. I don't call her "dirty" because she was performing lewd sex acts or anything--boy would that be strange--I call her "dirty" because she had streaks of black soot caking her face, and her hair looked like she'd decided to try combing it with a hamburger patty for a week, just to see what'd happen. She looked to be about my age, her clothing was comparatively clean, but there was something off with her. The way she stormed down the aisle in the bus, shoulders hunched up around her ears, made me think that if I poured water on her, it'd sizzle. Then I noticed that she was muttering quietly to herself. She took the seat in front of me.

The constant muttering from her never really stopped. It was too quiet for me to hear what she was saying, even from just a few feet away, but it was clear to me that everything pissed her the fuck off. She did occasionally increase the volume of her monologue to hurl a point at someone, like the fistbumping guy from earlier, who crossed himself in her direction. I thought that a rather poor choice on his part.
"Girl, you need to find the lord's light, save your soul," he said. He looked scared. She laughed in a pointedly "evil" way and muttered some vaguely satanic things at him. It seemed pretty clear to me that before she had really started to lose her grip on reality, this girl got a kick out of scaring Christians. What we saw in that moment were the remnants of that particular social mask of hers.

During a crescendo in her quiet monologue, she raised up her clenched fist and opened it. Out tumbled 20-30 cigarette butts. She noticed the butts scattered on the seat and floor and set about collecting them again, but whatever she was saying kept distracting her from her task. It was sad. I found myself wondering when the last time was that she had had a normal conversation with another person. I looked at her. Really looked at her. After a minute or two, she noticed me. We made eye contact. I didn't judge her. I wasn't scared. I just looked at her. Observed her, I guess. It was important to me. I wanted her to know that she wasn't invisible.

Then the bus arrived at my stop. The young lady and I broke eye contact. She snapped up a few more cigarettes into her hand and shambled off the bus, followed by the whole circus of people I'd met in the past ten minutes. The gay guy and I chatted at the stop. He called me "a tall drink of somethin'" and, when I continued not giving him my number, he finally said bye and walked to the subway station. Finally, I was ready to enter the club. As if things hadn't already been interesting enough.

M Bar Music, Acting, and a New York Flavored Flashback

So, my friend started an event on Facebook advertising that he and his band were playing a gig on Friday. Great. So, last night, I walked up to the M Bar in Hollywood, on Vine and Fountain. I got there a little early (my friend's set started at midnight and I was there at 11:40), so I sat down at an empty table and watched the band play. Finding an empty table wasn't hard; there were maybe eight people in the bar, which could have seated 70. However, it didn't take me long to realize that these guys were pretty cool.

The X-Chemicals, ladies and gentlemen.

See, The X-Chemicals rocked. I began to realize this when I heard the drummer, this hardcore chick with blonde hair and purple highlights, count in a song with five beats. Add a punky, singing bassist, and a noodly guitarist who looks like he'd be at home wearing a turtle neck and straight-facedly calling his parties "soirees," and you have a pretty interesting combination. I liked them, though it took a couple songs for me to figure that out. The drummer played really hard and looked intense all the time. I kind of loved her. Anyway, here's a recording.

Turns out it was the singer/bassist's birthday, so everyone sang for her, and then they stopped playing at midnight. I got he distinct feeling like they were closing down, though, so after telling the band, "I don't know you, but you rocked," I looked at my phone to double check the event. Turns out, it's next Friday that my friend is playing. Okay. I saw a cool band, anyway.

After I left, though, I got a distinct feeling like I had missed out on something. I wanted to talk with the band. They seemed cool, they were nice. I'm making the impulse sound somewhat logical in hindsight, but at the time, it was just this feeling. A feeling like I had missed something important.

Ah well. I had already left and walked too far to turn back. Right? I mean, that'd be weird. I said "hi," I said, "bye," I was gone. Too late. It still really bugged me. It's really weird, even now, I'm getting this strange nagging feeling. All about some silly band called The X-Chemicals. I mean, they even knew they were silly. That's part of what I liked about them, I think.

After I got home, I went to bed. This morning, I had an audition for a comedic web series. It was fun, went smoothly. On an impulse, I smacked my acting partner (a stranger) on the ass while doing the scene. It made sense at the time, in the context of the audition.

Let's see... Then I did yard work, ate lunch, saw Jennifer Aniston be really boring on the movie screen... Actually, she wasn't that boring in Wanderlust, so... I guess that's almost a positive review?

Oh, you guys might like this; last night, before hitting the M Bar (where I saw The X-Chemicals (in H Wood)), I went to a thing called a "table read." That's where actors get together and read a script out loud. Typically, it's done either when a troupe is becoming acquainted with new material or when the writer wants feedback. In this case, it was the latter. I read stage directions, which is great, if you want to practice enunciation and being dull while saying lots of words. In all seriousness, those are valuable skills, because actors need to know how to give and take focus. Typically, it's safe to assume that the audience can only look at one part of the stage at a time, so a big part of acting is making it clear to the audience where that part of the stage is; it's the director's job to figure out where to make the actors make the audience look. Sounds Machiavellian, no? But I digress.

Table read. Tasty snacks (meatballs, peppers, and hummus (YES)), and great conversation. One guy there apparently had a job working the door at a sports bar and told me about how he ripped his jacket bouncing some drunk guy out. I thought that was pretty cool. The group also discussed good hamburger joints, and, after the reading, we spent a good deal of time discussing the technicalities of the script we'd just read. It was about zombies, but I really shouldn't say more.

This is the part where I transition into talking about what happened in New York after Rachel and I left The Russian Samovar, but this post is already pretty long. I think you'll have to wait 'till next time. Peace.

New York, New York and Open Mics

Well, I flew into JFK Airport just before Valentine's Day ended and met my girlfriend at the train station just after. Ah well. She still loved the chocolates I got her. The next day, we went to an open mic at a very cool place called The Vagabond Cafe in West Village, where she accompanied Griffin, an organist friend of hers, on violin. Griffin, of course, was on piano. They played Roxanne in D minor. It was actually really good. I got it on video.

After that, we... Went to another bar or something? I don't know. That was, like, two weeks ago. Time keeps moving, man. Memories can be insubstantial things. I don't even drink, and I can't remember.

For those of you who haven't figured it out yet, Rachel, my girlfriend, is a violin major at Juilliard. She's pretty impressive to me. So dedicated to her craft, and so talented in its execution. I have to say, aside form all of the obvious things, like her stunning beauty, razor-sharp intellect, and enchanting natural charms, one of the great things about dating her that one wouldn't immediately think of is that I hang out with all these Juilliard kids and get the inside dirt on how they carry on over there. Some moments are especially great, like when I'm hanging out in my friend Josh's dorm room with a bunch of drunk classical musicians, and he puts on one of his favorite composers, telling everyone in the room, "Shut up, shut up! All of you, shut up! The first movement of Mahler 9 is fucking epic!" Then he gets out his conductor's baton as the music fills his room. Around guys like these, low-brow moments feel positively enlightening. I hardly know the first

"This movement makes me jizz every-
where, man." --A drunken classical pianist in
Josh's room.

thing about classical music, but I'm learning, one Juilliard visit at a time.

Later, Rachel took me to a ballet showing of Romeo and Juliet at the Lincoln Center. She had to go for some class of hers, but I must say, I really enjoyed it. Even though no one said any dialogue, I was pretty much immediately able to tell who was playing what character by their dancing alone. Whoever played Mercutio was brilliant. Do you know how difficult that must be? A grown man wearing purple tights and prancing around stage managed to come off as tough, clever, and masculine, without a single line of dialogue. He made me laugh continuously throughout the show. I was very impressed.

Let's see... Then it was the weekend, we probably hung out around campus... Josh and I played a lot of Smash Bros Melee. He's very good at that game, always beats me. In fact, he's impressively good at most games. I have a theory that, due to his early introduction to violin, he has trained himself from a young age to be good at making precise, rapid movements with his fingers, and that early training has enhanced his ability to kick the crap out of me most of the time. The one game in which we're evenly matched is Soul Calibur, and those rounds can be intense.

Wait, why am I talking about video games?

Now I remember what happened: Friday, Rachel and I had dinner with a friend of hers named Michael; another organist. He told us the story of how he almost accidentally fed weed cookies to the pastor of the church for which he plays. Michael's a really nice guy, really likable. He and I hit it off pretty quickly and got to chatting while Rachel took a phone call from her dad. It turns out that you can make a lot of money playing organ for churches. Who knew?

After that, Rachel and I went to a bar called Russian Samovar. Sadly, there was no live music, which, apparently, there usually is. Rachel ordered in Russian, then introduced me to this older woman whose name I forget. She asked if I was athletic, if I played sports, and Rachel said, "Yes." That isn't really true. Apparently, she was going to make some sex joke, but then balked at the punchline. However, I used to do a bit of climbing, so I backed her up by saying, "I'm a rock climber." Then the woman held out her hand and asked to test my grip. She must've been 50, so I thought it'd be cute to humor her. I figured I'd go light. Instead, she clamped her death grip around my hand. I guessed she could take it, so I upped my pressure a little, and she did the same in turn. We kept doing this until I was squeezing as hard as I could, my face was probably beet red, and I realized that she was still squeezing harder than me. The slight, disappointed grin on her face told me that I'd been found out, that she knew I wasn't a rock climber. Not really.

Eventually, we stopped. My knuckles were sore. I asked her if her hand was alright. She laughed. "My hand? No, no dear, my hand is fine. How is your hand?" "'Sfine," I mumbled. She raised one eyebrow and nodded, then turned back to her companion at the bar. I was a little embarrassed. I massaged my knuckles, deciding I didn't care if she noticed. She did. It bugged me anyway. It's fine. I was starting to get bored of The Russian Samovar. None of our friends were able to meet us like we thought they might. "Hey, Rachel, let's get out of here," I said. She'd been texting as the drama unfolded, trying to find a place for us to go next, and apparently had found something. "Okay, yeah, there's a party on the upper west side, in the low 80s. Let's go!" As we left, I waved bye to the mysterious death grip woman, and then we were gone.

To be continued!

Acting Cool in NYC?

Hey guys, I'm gonna be going out of town to visit my girlfriend in New York in a few hours, so I probably won't be able to update while I'm there. Unless I do. I mean, I might. I wouldn't put it past me. I am sure, though, that I'll have interesting adventures while I'm there, so even if I don't post them while I'm gone, I will when I get back. Thanks for reading!

The Bit Part Blues - Part 3 - The Gig

Here's a picture of toast and me just before we left his apartment (I'm the one on the left, by the way):

C took this. 

And here's another:

C took this after W hit him in the balls.

So, Toast and I arrived at The Pig N' Whistle, where we met up with Zach, who had brought his girlfriend, Caley. Jon came soon after with his girlfriend whom I met only briefly, so her name escapes me. We musicians had to pay a five dollar cover, but I didn't have anything, so I asked toast to spot me. I'm pretty sure I bought him a burrito a week previous, anyway.

It turns out, this blues jam was more of an individual musician thing; they didn't typically get bands coming in to play. They put us on the list anyway and said they'd see what they could do to allow us to play together. Fortunately, we were first to sign up. However, before we could go on, a house band took the stage and played. For an hour and a half. That may not seem too bad, but you have to remember, we were sitting there, waiting to play our first show ever. Jon had never performed as a guitarist, and I'd never performed as a musician. Agni had never done a show. High tension and indefinite waiting do not a comfortable combination make. Toast went out the back door and started smoking with some guy he'd just met, who made the astute observation,

"Yeah, they should definitely let you guys go on as a band. I mean, you're the only ones who brought girls." My step dad, Mark, had come to watch us, as well, which I appreciated. Personally, I couldn't sit still. I paced all over the place. I kept going out the back door, walking around the parking lot, walking back into the bar, doing pull ups without tiring myself out too much, chatting nervously with Caley and Mark. I wanted to hit some drums, and this band on stage was really starting to piss me off. Their drummer was pretty impressive, though. In fact, the whole band was really tight. Just... Not that exciting, I thought. Apparently, they'd been at this for three years, so that all made sense.

Finally, finally, after all the covers and guest musicians and the break and whatever, the announcer said,

"Up first... We have a band...!" It sounded like he was going for a question, but decided to make it a statement at the last second. By this point, I was too relieved to bother being that nervous, though nerves were still a thing. They never stopped being a thing, you know.

I sat down at the drum kit, which belonged to some guy I didn't know, and got ready to play. I put his Vic Firth sticks to the side, pulling out my Regal Tip 5Bs instead. It was a solid kit, though. He had K Custom cymbals, which are really pretty damn nice, and the drums themselves were a classic jazz kit. Pearl, if memory serves. The most striking difference from mine, though, was the fact that this had only one tom drum and one crash cymbal. That meant I'd have to crash on the ride to get any variety out of my cymbals, and my fills wouldn't really have anywhere to go while on the drums. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just nod your head, it's okay.

Soon enough, Zach made an awkward introduction, and we went right into One Way Out by the Allman Brothers Band. This song is fast, but we'd practiced it plenty, so I was able to keep up, except there was one moment when I decided I could fit two crashes some place where I really couldn't. I quickly got back on track, though, and we kept going right through it. That's the thing about performing; you don't have time to mourn your mistakes, you just roll right through them. I was surprised by how little such a big mistake bothered me, honestly. It was exhilarating. We were finally playing live for a room full of people. Made my heart sing, it did.

Soon enough, the song was over, but they let us do another, so we went into Hendrix's Voodoo Chile. In this song, I ride on the crash cymbal, which means that it's loud. Sure enough, a minute in, one of the guys running the show leaned forward and made the "quiet" gesture, which involves pointing downward and wagging your hand. To be fair, I was really wailing on the drums, so I figured that maybe he was afraid I'd break the cymbal. I switched to hitting the ride, which wasn't as impressive-sounding, but I kept up the volume on the rest of my drums. A half minute later, he stepped out in front of us and made the same gesture to me, frantically this time. He seemed angry. I got the message and played more quietly, trying not to let it throw me off.

Towards the end of the song, Zach put the guitar behind his head, got on his knees, and pulled off a flawless solo. The guy is really impressive like that, he practices stage antics all the time. Soon, though, it was over. Zach said... something... I grabbed my sticks, my bandmates unplugged, and we left the stage. On my way out, I approached the sound guy.

"Hey, sorry about that, man," I said. "I don't know how to play quietly."

"Yeah, I can tell," he snipped. He turned away from me and started fiddling with some knobs on the sound board, making it clear that the conversation was over. I made a sound halfway between a cough and a chuckle and walked over to Mark. He'd been shouting like a soccer hooligan the whole time we were on stage, and had also captured it on video on his ipod. Unfortunately, the high volume in the room didn't work too well with its built-in microphone, we were soon to learn.

"You guys rocked," he said. "I mean, those other guys were good and tight and whatever, but you? You rocked." That's one of the things I really like about Mark. He's never afraid to show his enthusiasm. We left soon after and gave Toast a ride back to his apartment.

And that's the story of how, as Jon puts it, we "popped my cherry." Frankly, it was pretty amazing.