Quirk Pipes

Made it back in one piece last night. Slept well and this morning’s 0730 Spin Class was excruciatingly intense. In the attempt to ease back into the blogging saddle, I would like to try a capsulized ‘highlight’ version of a few of the items that caught my attention over the course of the last few days at the 1,400 miles jammed into them. Hi-Ho.

* Wherever you happen to be broadcast radio will never play the song you need to hear. 

* AM alt-right-wing talk shows (specifically those produced by Sinclair) are horrific, pandering and dangerous. 

* Depression sucks. That black hole we create in the attempt to contain the demons more often than not takes more work, is less successful and costs more than simply allowing them to run amok. 

* Gas is $4.50/gal at some pumps in California. 

* Redding remains one of the weirdest cities on Earth. 

* Transmission fluid dip sticks are not standard equipment on some Chrysler, Dodge and Jeep vehicles. 

* Free rest area coffee is not with the price. 

* Whatever the situation or circumstance, the eventual take-away is determined by our response to said circumstance or situation. 

* An undervalued area of escalating value is the field of logistical inefficiency. 

* Inflation is a bigger problem than higher taxes. 

* Times are tough for the 99%.

* I know who is responsible for this.

* I know the solution.

* So do you. 

Glad to be back. We will resume regular formatting tomorrow. 

Peace. 

Outta Here

The truck is full, trailer packed. Heading to LA in exactly one hour. 1,200 miles. I have a return flight booked for Friday at noon. For once I am not taking my laptop. Meaning that the streak (consecutive blogging days) will be interrupted sometime tomorrow. Like Mom's crystal behind a stack of cairns, we ride with hope and sense of adventure. Ciao a presto. Bye for now.

D-Day Minus One

It is D-Day minus one. D, in this usage referring to departure. Tomorrow at or around 0900 my brother and I will hitch a box trailer to his Jeep and point it South. Destination (D-place?) is 1,200 miles away in a small town on the Pacific Ocean named for the Angels. The place I was born almost 67 years ago, on what I can assume was a hot and muggy day on the final day of August. Of course, as the trite adage suggests that was then and this is now. 

It is a minor matter for me, taking three days off to drive him down and fly back, but an altogether different set of circumstances for him. He is leaving a failed marriage and a sixteen year-old son here in the attempt to find himself there. This is the culmination of five years of not-so-gradual decline of anything close to functional. He has suffered a thousand deaths as his relationships fell deeper into a bottomless pit of hopelessness. As we have seen so many times, he, she, they tried to cling to anything solid enough to support this fait accompli, he ultimately seeing salvation through letting go and taking the frightening risk of the independent free fall. That moment of change is at hand. A dark chapter ends and with all the courage and hope his is capable of bringing, a new one begins. 

I am 100% behind him on this. Having been there once myself I know how hard it is to pull the trigger on such a major decision. Ironically, the day that I chose to end my marriage, business and location, and fly to the place I felt was a better fit for me (here) was the monumental day that Mt St Helens blew her top. May 18, 1980 for the historians among you, almost four decades ago. I am fond of saying that it was an explosive start to my new life. 

I wish there was more that I could do. I feel for the guy, and not simply because he is my brother and we have been through countless battles, skirmishes and wars together - even winning a few - but because what he really needs right now is the unsolicited support of a friend. Someone who will drop everything, answer his call for help and provide some security for his back-side. 

What he doesn’t need is a critic, an insensitive voice citing his shortcomings, mistakes and poor choices instead of patiently offering a sympathetic ear. I will try my best. Despite my opinion that he, as we, are all ultimately responsible for our individual measure of happiness and further that we are always just one decision away from it. The zen of this fails however if the professional diagnosis indicates clinical depression or any number of other equally paralyzing neurosis. Telling the afflicted manic-depressive person to ‘just be happy’ is like suggesting that a drunk just stay sober. 

It will be an interesting trip. I have been up and down I-5 so many times that I know every rest stop, gas station and greasy spoon from Tacoma to Thousand Oaks by heart. I have flown it, rode it in cars, trucks, buses and trains. I even did it on my bike, twice. 

As many times and as many miles as I have traveled along this famous North-South route, this one just might be the most explosive. 

Get Up Earlier

Yesterday I started out with the best of intentions. So many things are happening so quickly that, as is my way, I feel that if I don’t get an early start I will run out of time and all will be lost. Certainly there has to be better way to handle chaos, change, opportunity, responsibility and a to-do list longer than one printed on a roll of bathroom tissue than going full speed at first light. Truth is I like getting up early, especially this time of the year when the doves begin their paradoxical marcia funebre early and the sun starts to spreads its morning light at (precisely) 0545. It is so quiet and peaceful at that hour that it makes the coffee smell of magic and pending miracles, an altogether intoxicating elixir, lovingly crafted specifically for my personal use. This day has my name on it. 

You know the rest. One cup of steaming joe at the apex and by the time e-mails are read their nadir is visible on the horizon. 

My challenge when dealing with this inevitable occurrence is this:

1) Recognize that my patience is being tested, breathe deep, relax.

2) Take a break if necessary, walk away. Laugh at the absurdity. 

3) Reset my attitude and refocus on the task at hand. 

4) Find some flow, a more graceful navigation through the chore.

Most of the time when verging on the darkness of seeing the job as overwhelming, or its complexity intimidating, or even its importance as an absolute emergency, any movement whatsoever in a positive direction is a solid win for the good guys. A well-crafted line of dialogue, two minutes of flowing video, sweeping the kitchen floor, a chapter in the manual, a 5K in the park. All the more fulfilling if the task is something that has been simmering on the back-burner for a while. 

That is why I chose an early start to the day, I knew there would be challenge. I would be tested, value judgments to be made. Swiftly and without emotional debate. I must move all my stuff. ALL MY STUFF. I started with my bikes. I cleaned, changed tubes and tires, added tape and then lined them up to do a photo session for the Craigs List add that would surely solve this one issue and allow movement to the next. 

Buzzing sound. Wrong answer. Try again.

By the end of the day, after three other ‘emergencies’ were addressed I stood on the deck admiring my work, however small the percentage of the intended amount actually produced was, I needed a nap. 

Lessons learned from my day include continual practice, a gear adjustment/brake cable class, additional sensitivity to friends dealing with depression, deeper appreciation for the efforts of others, and…..

…..getting up earlier. 

As if on Cue

A series of connected events. Or, as they say, what others do is their karma, how I respond is mine. Another way to add perspective is to consider a meme a gifted young teammate once offered: The only luck in baseball is bad luck. Have you ever stopped dead in your tracks and asked heavenward: WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN? 

I have. Many times. Until I was given, or earned, a response that satisfied my soul. The response was this: IT MEANS WHATEVER YOU WANT IT TO MEAN. 

Upon my initial realization to the veracity of the message delivered by lightening bolt (no return address) I was at first disappointed. How could I, humble and unworthy me, be given so much responsibility? Well, then, my flippant alter-ego surmised, we’ll just do whatever we want to do and the hell with what anyone else thinks about it. It was less than two steps along that beach of inspiration that my response, although a knee-jerk reaction not intended for everyday use, was validated by the screech of a passing seagull. She was saying to me, dude, don’t over-think it, be happy and be free and catch the next thermal towards your dream. 

The dream remains. Only the circumstances and my response to them changes. Everything is connected by a series of dots, fiber optics and atoms moving faster than we can follow with the unassisted eye. Such things have been proven. It should come as no surprise then that those dots, fibers and atomic particles have once again aligned in such a miraculous way that they have extended to my very door. Without a Rand McNally or GPS device they have forged an alliance with all other particle matter to find me. Perhaps the tactic required that I be ready and willing for this to take place, was the conduit completing the circuitry. They say that love is like that too. And, since we seem to be on the ‘quotable path’ today, one of my favorites fits, ‘when the student is ready the teacher will appear.’ 

I should have been more angry, or more irritated when the wonderful folks technically known as my ‘landlords’ but in truth very dear friends and clients, informed me that the rental cottage, built in 1905, I have called home for three years, has officially been scheduled for demolition on August first. Fact is they told me that was the probability back as far as when the initial agreement was being solidified. We have been kidding abut it ever since, the inside joke of extending the building permit another six months, and then another six, and then…..Until the city finally said we must use it or lose it. A court case is settled freeing up building funds, they decide to act, city says act soon, and almost overnight I am facing the reality of returning to nomadic independence. 

But the dots, fibers and atoms (DFA) have way too many skins in the game to simply turn around and find alternative entertainment. They are, after all, here for a purpose. Whatever purpose I dictate. 

And I ask myself as I walk along the front-yard beach I have enjoyed for so long what the heck all THIS means. 

And seagull answers as if on cue. 

Your Call

Another two sides of the same coin allegory today. They are popular. Yet for the life of me I cannot recall exactly where the example, or detail came from. It could have been a book, magazine article, blog, movie, song or conversation. I just spent the last twenty minutes considering this as I enjoyed two scrambled eggs with paprika, pepper corns, pine nuts and queso. I am full but remain without a clue as to the place of origin of the following comparison.

Which, in case you need to wash the car or mow the lawn, is about passion. Meaning that if you are passionate about the detail of your vehicle or the lawn patterns created by your John Deere, please have at it. If, on the flip side, you are considering the premise and how it might get you a pay raise, promotion or a day off, let’s grab Pandora’s box and open the can of worms stored there. 

Passion. According to Webster’s, a ‘strong and barely containable emotion’. I think most of us move the emotional needle to the positive side. You don’t hear a lot of people talk about the negative passions (there might be legal reasons why), so let’s keep it on the bright side. There are two types: 

1) Harmonious passion. Where there is balance. We do what we love and love what we do. How many of us are currently in the canoe and peacefully paddling along this calm and blissful river? How many of us are balanced enough to risk change? How few of us will make some sacrifice to move closer to the light of their passion? From my perspective, this is what it is ALL about. I don’t care what you are passionate about, but I am magnetically attracted to your effort and devotion. Automatically. In music, sports, poetry, sand castle building, motorcycle repair, politics, travel, science, astrophysics, religion, literature, magic or stop-motion animation. If you bring an honest emotion, desire to explore, willingness to share, intellectual curiosity and dedication to the process of your growth, I AM YOURS. I will do anything to assist you along this path. 

2) The flip-side is what the smart gals in the lab call Obsessive Passion. Their definition consists of the extrinsic motivators firmly entrenched on the dark side of the coin. We have been conditioned to value the things that bring us ego gratification, financial success and the accumulation of material objects as proxies for happiness. Madison Avenue (in partnership with Wall Street) has won this round, making us victims of our own success. They have convinced us that it is vital that we work for, obtain (especially if it creates indebtedness) and demonstrate our understanding of success, by having (here we go), a new car in a new garage attached to the new house near the great job with the great view from the corner office in the cool city surrounded by others who live in a similar socio-economic bubble of conservative, heavily insured and heavily protected gated community of people their same color, with the same God and registered with the same party. That is obsessive passion. It is outside. It has no need for the soul. It is constrictive and safe. It is dramatically unbalanced and easy to understand. It has transitioned from passion to obsession to neurosis. 

Please do not misconstrue. There is nothing wrong with ambition. The drive for success is a powerful motivator. Let’s make sure that we do not sacrifice our need for balance in the process of living our lives. Perhaps a re-examination of our goals, dreams, commitments and responsibilities is in order. 

Maybe we need more passion in our relationships than we need a forty foot yacht. The coin of proper passion can be flipped a thousand times, and the odds with remain at fifty-fifty on the next. 

Your call. 

The Pocket

I take this approach with my spin class set lists: I try to alternate four styles of music. This is to provide a broader sampling, keep the larger picture in perspective, experiment and most importantly, challenge our stereotypes (as contrasted with monotypes) that keep us bound to the whims of the music industry. It is probably best at this point to confess that I am radically biased in this regard. Given the absolute power to spin my choice I would play a heavy rotation of Dead inspired jam-based improvisational sonic adventurers. The reason I do not (I have tried) can best be summarized in Jerry’s own words, “Our fans are like people who like black licorice. Not everybody likes black licorice, but those that do, REALLY like black licorice.” And so it is with both the Dead and the hundreds of jam-bans they inspired, Phish, Widespread Panic, Disco Biscuits, Government Mule, John Mayer and Pigeons Playing Ping Pong among them. 

The four-headed musical monster template I have crafted rotates through these genres/styles/types/sounds:

1) Classic Rock. Gives me the natural feel and grind so important to any graceful movement. 

2) Female Rockers. Same backbone as above, adding sugar, spice and everything nice. Pretenders, Lucinda Williams, Samantha Fish, Janis, Linda, Grace. 

3) Blues. Bonamassa, Buddy Guy, SRV, Jimi. 

4) Country, Motown, World. These three make regular rotating appearances. I have no issues whatsoever with a Waylon>Temptations>Afro Celts flow.

The reason I bring this forefront today is that I have been reading some extraordinary commentaries from drummers on the official definition of the phrase ‘playing in the pocket’. For the musicians among you, this should be as common to your rap as, say, ‘take if from the top’, ‘with feeling’ or ‘fast - but not too fast (allegro non troppo).’ For the non-musicians, playing in the pocket means that the drummer (usually with an assist from the bass) has latched on to the beat so appropriate to the tune's style, intent and time signature, that a cosmic synergy with the universe is suggested by the rhythms he or she is producing. It is, in a word, the groove, and like quality or love it is close to impossible to adequately describe. But WE KNOW IT WHEN WE HEAR (OR FEEL) IT. 

One of the drummers sampled in the interview mentioned a phenomena that resonated with me all the way to the bone. He said that there is an emotional response when this sacred place is obtained as a result of the powerful, spiritual, tribal, truthful and beautiful alignment of accented beats. He further suggested that a sustained rhythm creates an emotional response in both player and audience. We hold this truth to be self-evident. 

That was all I needed. Maybe it is because I am a drummer. Maybe because I take musical chances with sharing my ideas with a group of people riding stationary bikes indoors, going nowhere fast. Maybe because this so colorfully matches the hue and tone of my thinking on the subject. Maybe it is because I like to share the magic. 

Not everybody likes their blues red-hot with a black and white silver lining, but one thing is necessary if we are to find that elusive dynamic flow state we relentlessly seek during practice (or anywhere else), It must have a deep pocket, or as Duke Ellington used to say on the same subject, ‘It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.’