Amy's View From a Hike

i wish that i could have enjoyed this hike. i was stuck at work. i am still at work. blogging This photo on my break from my phone.

I can now Blog from

I can now Blog from my phone! this could in theory come in handy one day. for instance while on the road! so consider this to be a test.

Day Dreaming Appreciates

My semi-regular keeping of this online log led me on a path thinking about the value of day dreaming and appreciation. I was considering the many times as a child that I began the process of recording my life in a journal, through my youth I must have taken up this task upwards of 15 times. I was never able to keep focused and interested for a very long period of time, so my journals would end up as failed projects which soon fell by the wayside and were lost. The fact that every attempt to journal ended with another notebook with 5 to 7 entries and nothing more may have served as discouragement from again taking up the task, but it never fully defeated my desire to do so.
The desire to take up a task which doesn't come naturally had me spending some of my time thinking about how that desire comes about. I believe that my desire to keep a journal comes in part from appreciation of the craft. Even as a young man unable to stay focused on a journal I was always appreciative of the craft of journaling. I always admired memoirs and daily logs kept by various people that I came in contact with directly or indirectly. From a Distant relative who kept a civil war journal to later in life, my grandfather's record of his daily meanderings.
My first journal attempts came very young in life, around the age 7 or 8. At that time my appreciation was very 2 dimensional but romantic. Based from television and movies, where characters who's lives I admired recorded their thoughts in journals which played back in voice over narration. I hadn't at that time began to really understand and appreciate the value of recording thoughts and daily happenings, but because I admired it I was able to remain open to it even while becoming frustrated by repeated failed attempts.

Admiring a craft, art or skill is the beginning of appreciating it. Once you appreciate it you have placed personal value in it. The value then placed makes you interested, you will listen when someone talks about that thing, you will seek out more information. Through that you will learn about different ways of doing that thing you admired and one day you will be able to diffuse all that information down to a practical workable format to engage in that which you might have initially started to do and failed at.
My personal value placed on journaling led me to keep up with it's varied formats which led me to first acquaint myself with blogging.
This is what I see as one of the many usefull effects of day dreaming. Letting the mind wander where it will go through out the day can often point you to areas that you are interested in and things which you are able to appreciate. If one day you notice that you've been thinking about something a great deal then you will recognize the desire behind that, which for me is the equivalent of naming something when it's brought to life. This can apply to a vast and varried section of our daily lives. Just recently the amount of times I thought to myself and wished that I were running again became so present in my mind that I took up the activity again, which in turn has made me happier in the last few weeks than I had been before. So the act of listening to my own mind in this instance became an agent for positive change.
I've come to recognize that this pattern of first admiring an action, then appreciating it has led to my evenutaully being in a a measurable way capable in that action, or even successful in that action. My admiration for musicians and led to me becoming one. My admiration for music itself led to me creating my own. Music never came to me simply or easily, and it was horribly frustrating at times, and it still is, but I have placed such a high value in it that I am always willing to try. The same goes for running, I have come to appreciate it on such a deep level that when I wasn't doing it was always present in my mind as what I believe to be an essential component of a well lived life. As a boy I had a hard time reading. I read slow and poorly, it did not come fast nor easy, but I always admired those people that did it, and they led me to what has become one of the most enjoyable ways I have to spend my time. I love reading, and you can't love something with out valuing it greatly.
This pattern has greatly effected the person that I've become too. The character of others who I admire and appreciate is the character I will always try and incorporate into my own being. Simply put it has made me a better person.
While engaging in the practice of listening to my mind, and in considering others I've become aware of a difference between day dreaming for sheer entertainment of a bored mind and actively day dreaming. It's easy to get caught up in dreaming about the outcome of a particular task or accomplishment rather than then appreciating what it takes to attain it.
If I were to just think of running as a means to getting a hot body then I would overlook the actually act of running and then spend time just considering how many wonderful new doors my new body would open fo me. Then I would spend time entertaining my mind by thinking up new things to put behind those doors, which is really inactive day dreaming, it's like watching bad TV in your mind. It may pass time but in the end the time just passed and it's then forever lost.

Spikes & Signs all in Time

The Spikes club began in a small garage in Paradise Kansas. The garage sat behind the house that used to belong to my cousin Travis' family. At the time of the formation of the Spikes club, it served as the Methodist church parsonage. The pastor currently residing in the house and having use of it's garage had a wife and five boys. Two of his five boys, Jeremy and Ben, became members of the elite crime causing/fighting team that began in that garage.
The younger more like able of the two, Ben, was my best friend. He and I were in the garage, building a small clubhouse in the rafters, when the idea of having a club came up. I don't recall much else being said at the time, but we must have agreed to get our older brothers and my cousin Travis into the idea. We waited until the next time we were all together, which came up that Sunday, after Sunday school at church. The three others liked the idea, and our secret club was formed. Our members were now; Ben & His older Brother Jeremy, My older brother Devin, My Cousin Travis and myself.
The first meeting occurred in an upstairs room of the Paradise Methodist Church, a church which my Grandfather had actually had a big hand in building. Our agenda for that meeting was to write and all sign a pledge of loyalty to the club, and come up with a name. The pledge was by no means imaginary, and in fact not very memorable, because I'm not even sure if we actually made one. Our name was an obvious choice as well. All five of us had the same, cutting edge haircut, a spike. We would be called "The Spikes", and we were honor bound to be loyal.
All of our early meetings and actions involved initiating ourselves into our own club. Our bravery, of ourselves and of each other had to be tested. There were many tests of the bounds of our own stupidity that had to be passed. One test was jumping from the shorter side roof of our schools weight room. The first time I was to attempt the jump of 12 or so feet my sense of self preservation was too strong and I had to back out. There was some minor taunting that went with that, so my next opportunity not only did I jump, but I approached and jumped with nonchalance. I sprained my ankle so bad I was sure it was busted.
For me the most terrifying act of initiation was carried out under that bridge that crossed the creek at on the south edge of main street. Running under this bridge at a height of 20 feet was a rusted water main, around 12 inches in circumference. It was attached to the bridge above it at intervals of 4 feet by brown metal rods with rusted rings bolted to the pipe. The object of this, the last and most death defying test of our desire to join our own club, was to climb the rock wall of the bridge up to the pipe, grab hold of the pipe and either by dangling or by sitting on top of it monkey walk or scoot along inch by inch until reaching the mid point high above the shallow water, then turn around and come back. It was decided that only when this task had been completed could you truly be a member of our special club.
The oldest boys Travis and Jeremy performed the feat first. Travis swung across it with great skill, making it appear easy. Jeremy struggled. As I watched him attempt to cross it I had secret hopes that he might fall. It had been his idea in the first place, and he'd been so confident and unrelenting in relating the necessity of the task. Even then my sense of social injustice was in bloom. I was mad that they had managed to take something we had invented, our club, then set the bar for entry so high for our younger bodies. I suppose I didn't want Jeremy to fall and die, but I would certainly have been relieved if he had fallen and hurt himself a bit, thus proving the impossible difficulty and danger of the task.
Jeremy, as he seemed to so often do, refused to cooperate with my inner desires (usually I desired that he go away and never come back). As he struggled to keep a grip and swing his momentum forward, and I crossed my fingers for a small injury fall, his face cracked and showed the fear he was feeling at the task. As he moved more toward the middle point the obvious fear and desperation grew. Alas he reached the turn around, and simple as rotating his body he was headed back to safety. He reached the end point and dropped, and soon as his feet hit the ground safe his fear subsided, only to be replaced with unreasonable arrogance. Having completed the task he was merciless and steadfast in demanding that in order to be a member in full standing, each boy, regardless of age must complete the task.
On that day Devin would be brave enough to step up next. Devin being still younger than Travis and Jeremy and but in many ways smarter and with a better sense of potential danger decided to climb the wall, grab the pipe, sit a top it and scoot. I felt much relief in seeing this new method, which I had not thought of yet. Hope started to flow as I watched my older brother conquer this unthinkable task. He scooted along with a measure of caution that was understandable and respectable, and then he encountered the first of 6 or so suspension rods that held the pipe to the bridge. With the shock of understanding my hope plummeted from the pipe to well beneath the earth. How would he manage to navigate this? The rods hung in such a way as to make his new and cautious technique unpreformable. Devin would not be deterred though, having already been the source of Jeremy's verbal wrath over the invention of a safer more logical traversing method, he pressed on. Where before one leg had hung safely on each side of the pipe he now had to grasp the perpendicular hanging rod with both hands and maneuver one leg to the same side as the other, leaving himself venerable to a fall. In order to negotiate the rod and ring Devin reached high up on the rusted rod, near to where it met the underside of the bridge and pulled himself up one foot at a time to a crouched standing position. From this position he was able to turn inwards and clear the obstacle which before seemed impassable. Once he had safely negotiated the poll he then turned himself outward and forward, and sat back down to more confidently slide across the pipe. He would pass all six support bars in exactly this same manner. It was thrilling and frightening. For the rest of that day as Ben and I struggled to climb the wall to the pipe Jeremy's taunting never ceased. Each of us made several good tries at the pipe, but this would not be our day to succeed.
My brother and I lived on a small farm outside of the town Paradise, where Ben and Jeremy lived in Travis' old house. Travis lived on a ranch outside of town as well, so it was not daily that we were allowed to convene and work at being a club. Still frequent were the trips to town, and since Devin, Travis and I were all related we would still spend some time in and around Paradise on our own, without the Ben and Jeremy there to upset our already settled dynamic. It was on one of these occasions that I would have the opportunity to again attempt my true initiation into the club.
I was nervous as we jumped the guard rail on the north east side of the bridge and slid down the steep deer trampled path that led to the under side the bridge. Now was my chance at admission and redemption. I was filled with trepidation yet determined to complete the task. Without jeering Jeremy, and with encouragement from Devin and Travis I was now able to pull myself up the wall and lean head first over the pipe. I stalled there for a moment frozen and prone over the pipe, balancing with my head and shoulders on one side, my legs and feet on the other.

Children think more than adults seem to give them credit for. If you listen to the scolding of the young at the hands of parents and figures of authority it would seem that all risky endeavours taken up by children are the result of the child being stupid, or a result of the child not taking the time to think about the natural consequence of action before acting. This is a serious falsehood and in the end no amount of bite marks on an ass could change the fact there are times in a child's life when they are compelled beyond their sense of coddlement to rise above the boundaries of childhood and the authority of age and dive head first into life without first checking the temperature with their little toes.

Freeze this moment in your mind an consider my delima.

I know very well that this action puts me at great risk. I love my family and my friends, I know that this could result in my death or disfigurement, causing all of them great pain. I know that my life as it has been would then cease to be. I'm not a fool. I have been raised well. Growing up on a farm I've seen the violent nature of the world and it's sometimes terrible outcome. Balancing my body with my stomach and hands gripping this pipe I understand and consider this all. And then I disregard all those notions, and do as my desire for a life of adventure dictates, and I pull one leg up and over the pipe.

The scoot to the first suspension rod goes easy enough. I'm thrilled to be up high and doing what I want so very badly to do, yet I'm nervous because I know now that I'm into the hard part and that I must now find a way to clear the first of 6 obstacles that block my path. The first one I adopt my brothers method, and though I can't do it as easily I manage. The second one goes in a similar manner, though I feel that I'm developing my own technique.
On the third rod and ring it all goes wrong. I am much further out now and the ground is no longer within safe dropping distance. I can't seem to find the courage that had so proudly led me on before. A small panic begins in me, and my balance is soon effected by it's discordant waves in my being. This time, not thinking I decide to switch methods from Devin's, to that of the older boys. I grab the suspension rod with both hands down low near the pipe and drop. My hands are strong and I weigh less than 80 pounds so I know have some time to gather my thoughts. Travis and Devin peer up at me with a calm yet concerned look, each of them occasionally offering words of encouragement or helpful advice. I want very much to now to take my hands off of the small rod and grip instead the large main pipe. My hands though strong are small, and fresh in my mind is the last attempt that I made to traverse the pipe hand over hand, where I soon lost my grip and had fallen to the ground. That had occurred just at the beginning of the pipe, where the drop was only a few feet. Here in my current predicament a drop meant a much farther fall into shallow waters punctuated by the sharp angles of the large stones from some long gone earlier bridge or crossing. Devin and Travis continue to offer advice, when finally Travis tells me that If I can just turn around and make it back then he will lie to Jeremy and Ben and tell them I made it and then I'll be a full member of the Spikes club. This gives me renewed hope and a new direction. I manage to swing my body around, and with my new motivation I swing hand over hand back to the side, where I drop with a gasp, knowing that Travis will keep his word. I am not disappointed in myself that I did not manage to completely cross the pipe, I am instead happy to have lived through an event where I could have died. I am not happy because I lived, but I am happy to be living a life where I am aware that my occasional adventures might cause me to die.
The initiation that day ended well for me, leaving only Ben to try at a later day. I'll not challenge your hearts restraint with that tale. I will say that he crossed hand over hand as Jeremy and Travis had done, for even when young Ben was an exceptionally athletic boy. His hands started to slip on the way back and only by swinging his body and throwing himself towards the dry bank of the creek just as his fingers broke grip did he come to pass the test, and live for more of his life un-maimed.

Having completed our process of initiation The five Spikes now needed some other activity which we associated with clubs and orders to occupy our time together. It was then decided that the Spikes needed an enemy. We had a meeting to discuss who else in our small town might be members of a club or gang. The only other boys in town were three brothers, one of which, to use the terms of the time, was a retard. They didn't appear to be all that interesting of a foe. We couldn't very well fight the old men in the Lions Club or the Masons, first because our dads belonged and second because they met after our curfew. This left the girls in town who consisted primarily of my sister, Travis' sister and a few of their friends from Sunday school.
Having decided that they were the most able foes, we pulled my sister and cousin aside and informed them that they would start a club. We didn't tell them that we were a club, because we wanted that to be a secret. Our plan was that they would now be a club which we could spy on, who's plans we could then foil.
Having not been interested in being a club before, it took some explaining to convince them. Once convinced they set out to be a club.
Their club lasted somewhere between a half an hour and an hour. We tried to spy on them for the entire length of their one and only meeting. In the end they lost interest, leaving the Spikes without an enemy.

The fortune of our club changed due to Devin's attention to detail, and the bus which would drive us the 30 miles from Paradise to Russell, for our swimming lessons. While looking out the window on the way out of Paradise Devin glimpsed something he'd never seen before, a small sign hanging on a steel cable guard rail that read simply "TA TA TA".
He told Travis and I about the sign at our lessons, and on the way back from Paradise to our farm we passed the same sign. I had now seen it as well. What could it mean?
The next day on the way to swimming lessons we all sat next to the window on the side of the bus that would pass the sign. We read it with a sense of mystery and wonder.
The Spikes discussed the "TA TA TA" sign. We decided that next weekend that we must have a closer look. We armed ourselves with pocket knives and canteens and began the short walk to the location of the sign. Once there we decided to take it, this way we could inspect it at lenght. The prospect scared us but we did it any way. It was decided that Devin and I keep it at our farm.
The sign was rather small. Made of light colored floor board. The Six letters were written uppercase in white block letters. The inspection process was deep. We tried to match it to wood around town. At one point we poured gas on it, to see if something would happen, perhaps something would be revealed. Nothing was. We thought it might be an acronym. We tried to think of what it might be used for. Our best theory was that it was used by a drug dealer to tell a drug buyer where the drugs were, "To A Tree At The Angels". Angel was my cousin Travis' last name. We searched the trees on his property, finding nothing.
As the trail grew cold one last thing happened. Jeremy and Travis created a much larger sign that read "If you want your sign back call 998-4440. This was our family's number. Devin and I were upset with Jeremy, because we could never be mad at Travis, and because we were certain that it was all Jeremy's doing anyway. Jeremy had put our family at risk. The sign people we assumed were angry about their missing sign and would now seek revenge upon us.

One day the phone rang at our house. A man's voice proclaimed, "I WANT MY SIGN BACK AND I WANT IT NOW!". Horror.

It turned out to be my Father's friend Larry, just screwing around because he'd seen the sign.

That was the end, we never solved the mystery. Devin and I didn't like sharing our time with our cousin with Jeremy so shortly there after the club fizzled, much like the hairstyle which gave it it's name.

All in an Angle or an Apple

My mother recently blogged a quote from a book called "The Painted Drum". I enjoyed the quote and her blog about it, so I asked that she send it to me when she finished so that I might read it. In order to complete the cycle, I shall now blog from it a quote:

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with it's yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by and apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could." - Louse Erdrich

I enjoyed this passage as I did the entire book, in it one of the lead characters thinks of this wisdom as something her mother could have potentially said to her but did not. She also realizes that not many mother's ever say that to their daughters. And that not saying it is an attempt to protect them.

As a child I could not have been told this, and I don't really remember my mother trying. What I do remember though was that all through out life she shown by example the joy in sitting by the trees and tasting all the apples.

I don't think you can tell children (or anyone) about life, you have to show them. I also don't think you can protect them. Life is a side effect of living, and it happens to us all. If you are alive, and happy, thank your parents. Not for telling you what the world is and protecting you from it, but for showing you what the world is and giving you the skills and knowledge to survive in it.

Thanks.

I was just thinking about that, having just finished that book on my afternoon break. And earlier I'd been thinking about how to tell when things are going your way. I was thinking that while looking out the door at work, which is the view in the photo on the top of this page. It was a basically a rhetorical thought, because things were going my way. They had to be, how else could I find the parking lot so beautiful. I guess it's all in how you look at it.

Something September Wholesome

I am feeling on a whole. Different than feeling on a hole isn't it? Hmm...
I actually didn't mean to type that first sentence that way, but It came out like that, then the second one came out and I decided that I should run with it, and perhaps weave a theme out of it. In the middle of that last sentence I added the word "wholesome" to the title, for purpose of making my thread into a theme.
I am though, feeling much more whole today than I have in a while. I am eating much better than I ever do, and I've been exercising, running and walking far. I've also been avoiding drink, which doesn't come very natural to me. I've been sleeping. Oh, how much have I been sleeping? Enough to wake up not feeling tired. It is amazing. This is what old people are always going on about with getting enough sleep. It's nice, but it's also not easy, even though it would seem that it is.
My music is waking me up again too. I feel in a sense as if I've been sleeping through it, but now the same old pull is back upon me. You see, it all seems tied together, and it all began to defrost once my feet felt the familiar pitter patter rhythm of a good run. Little bits of matter which have been blocking in my being shook and vibrated during my run. They entered my my new fresh clean living blood and were immediately dissolved and used for energy. I've burned enough midnight oil in the preceding months and now I feel a shift to a renewable resource.

This past weekend was good. Amy and I spent Friday helping a friend through a bad domestic situation. Then Saturday I made it to Malibu to re-acquaint myself with SG's work in progress. Sunday Amy, Marc and I ate a home made breakfast, followed by a trip to the dog park and then a trip to a human park, where we parked ourselves and ate celery and hummus, while we all three read. I was reading "The Painted Drum", and I enjoying it a great deal, all the while feeling whole.

I Rule

Last night Amy and I dined at Eat Well on Santa Monica Blvd, a place we eat only occasionally. The food after breakfast isn't really that inspiring, but they do provide paper table clothes and crayons to fill the excessive wait time for your food. The only thing I really like about the place is the bathroom window. It's always cracked open enough to allow air in and out, but if you are so inclined you can open it all the way and look out.
You couldn't escape through this window because it's covered in a serious concrete criss-cross pattern. I like to open this window and look out everytime I go there. The street there just looks more appealing through that window than it does when your walking along it.
I don't wish to push the merits of this particular window upon anyone, but I will leave you with this simple rule to live by. Everytime you go out to eat, excuse yourself and go check out the bathroom, even if you don't have to go, the rule is of double intesnity if you've never been to the resturaunt before. You could defy me in this rule, but you'll only be cheating yourself.

Have Your Life and Feel it.

Last night I surprised myself and again went for a run. It was similar to the one I had the day before, only a tiny bit further. Already my lungs felt better, that doesn't mean my lungs are better, but to me it's more important to feel something to be than to have something be, but I'll take both if I can. I felt better about how i looked to myself when I finished and put on clean clothes. I know logically that after only two runs in two years of not running that I can't really look any different, but I felt different, and that was all that mattered to me at that moment.
It's been easier today to eat better. I didn't stop for any candy on my way to work, because I didn't feel like I needed it, and I can be certain that I didn't need it. It's been a good day and now I'm off to go rehearse with my band, which will feel fun. Fun is one of those rare things in life where feeling and being are one and the same, If something feels fun, it is fun.
Have your fun and feel it too.

I found this website today. Rather than play flash video games of no real merit other than a small feeling of fun, I read about this person's life, and looked at a few pictures of it. That was fun.

Last night at 6:50 I finally won a small battle with my person. I got up from the couch, put on a pair of shorts and laced up my new running shoes. My "new" running shoes are really no longer new, Amy bought them for me for my birthday this year. I just had yet to actually run in them, apparently I'd been too busy these last 5 months. My frustration with myself on this matter has extended beyond the casual I wish I could do better feeling, into desperate need to take some action towards making myself feel like a healthy person. Like I used to.
I'm older, and my years of rock star partying, sloth and gluttony have made running a monumental task. This is fact, and it bothers me immensely. These past five months, since the gift of the shoes, I have thought more and more about it. In fact, the gift of the shoes themselves came as an extremely thoughtful gift, from a person who was able to surprise me by giving me nudge in an area where I had been seeking one. Still it took five more months of thinking about it, of yearning for it. Five long months of remembering what it used to feel like to lace up shoes and run for more than 10 miles without dying.
I stretched first. I'm 28, and it's been too long. I headed south down orange grove at a walk first, not wanting to hurt my body by running on sidewalk. I headed for the Pan Pacific Park, behind the mega structure shopping center on third and Fairfax. There they have grass, and when you've been as lazy as I've been grass is important.
At first I started too fast, more than riding a bike distance running is remembered in the muscles. It was all too easy to begin at a ridiculous pace for a person in my condition. I had to remember that I'm not like I once was. I must start painfully slow or face unnecessary pain and burn myself out.
Soon I settled into my pace. I concentrated on my breathing and keeping a good efficient stride. My mind wandered. I looked around at the green grass. It was better than I imagined it would be. I felt like my life being on long string had been bent back on itself, giving me the ability to move in parallel with my self at younger age. How excellent it felt to sweat, and breath heavy.

If you get a giggle

Today Devin and I were talking about the Band Voice of the Beehive, we were talking about a cover of a Led Zeppelin song, and he said this, which I found hilarious:

"they used to play it live all the time on that old VHS tape I have of their live shows."

It's not so funny now that I look at it again, but I still get a chuckle.

The other day Amy and I went to the video store, then the convenience store next to it. The clerk at was having a hard time getting a bag for my items, so I told him I'd just carry it. He then told me:

"What happens when you force something unnecessarily?"

which due to his rather heavy accent prompted me to ask:

"Come Again?"

"What happens when you force something unnecessarily?"

This time I understood his question, but not immediately why he was asking it. After some consideration I realized his meaning and I said:

"It Breaks for no reason"

and he said:

"Exactly, I'll get you a bag"

Walking around the corner from the store I had a pretty fine smile about that exchange. I think I will go back to that store more often. What else might this strange man have to say?

Quiet Death

I found the following info on a Shitting Glitter fan site. After reading it I began to have a nagging feeling about trying to make a recording of it. I'm certain the original song is all but lost now, so a blank canvas of sorts is open before us.
Maybe blogging upon the subject will give my band mates a spur in the rear to collaborate on a revival of this song.

Crazy Mae was Kind enough to provide the following information about this Shitting Glitter Rarity:
there was a song called "Quiet Death" that they performed at Rumors. This was when the band was only the three of them, plus they had Yvonne's sister, Aimee playing guitar, and I think that Denny might have been in the band at this time. Anyway, it was very atmospherical and dark, as the title suggests, and they wrote it and rehearsed it only a couple times immediately before the gig. After that they never played it again. Devin says "Amy was like a madwoman that day, demanding that we just whip up one more song, she wanted a new song to sing at this particular gig, and we only had a couple hours before the gig. If I remember right, we actually had quite a lot of people out to this gig, definitely a lot for those days, and we didn't have a drummer at the time. So the set was already weird enough and we were all drunk, and so we just threw it in at the end, very 'in the spirit of punk.' I didn't need to look too far into the crowd to realize that the people on the stage were just as confused about it as I was."

The Same website brought up this:

The Hit

"I was going through some of my notebooks and I have found some information that might be useful to you. This information came from one drunk afternoon at Beer Bust at the Palms, long long ago, when Yvonne was still in the band. I was able to ask a few questions and I wanted to pass this along to you for your "the music makes me smile" section. There was a song called "The Hit" that was the first song that was written by only Amy, Yvonne and Devin after Billy left. It was apparently about hiring a hit man and there was something about a bowling alley in it. Yvonne said they never played it live, but they did record an instrumental demo of it. "

Finally:

Zion

So Haircore:
The first item in the Shitting Glitter discography is "Step Into The Goddess Room", I've had trouble getting information regarding this Release, what can you tell me about it? Specifically the first song, Zion?
Devin:
It was the first demo that we worked on when Amy bought the 4-track. We were going to put it out but then we decided to go to a studio and do a proper demo. The song 'Zion' was a song that Billy, our original guitarist, would play and all four of us would sing in harmony. I remember doing it one night in the bathroom after A LOT of partying... and it was so beautiful. There weren't to many lyrics, I think it was just "if it makes you happy, live your life in Zion." It seems like there was a line before that but I honestly can't remember it. Amy didn't write the lyrics so it was never considered a true Shitting Glitter song.


*lyrics transcribed from a very poor quality audio bootleg (don't ask because I will not make you a copy)

Sweet oxygen
sweet disposition

if it makes you happy

live your life in zion

Dearly Departing for the Talkin' Shit Tour

Friday I have the pleasure of leaving work a bit early, to go home and pack up the car for a Mini Tour with Shitting Glitter. It's going to be a car load full of fun. We will be traveling with our band, one go go dancer and our manager, Marc Loren. All in one vehicle with all of our equipment. I'm excited as all get out. I love to be out on the open road with the people I enjoy spending time with, playing shows and meeting people and challenges.
The first night in Bakersfield is a bit of an Unknown. We've never played in Bakersfield. We are staying with the band "Three Chord Whore" who we only know from the few times we've played with them or gone to see them play here in LA. We don't even know for certain where we will be playing, and it's 4 days away.
Saturday we will stay with our good friend Carrie, who recently moved up north to attend Golden Gate Law School. That night we play for the second time at Kimo's, where we played on the Carriage of Goods tour.
Sunday it's back to Santa Barbara, to play the gay night at the Wildcat! I'm very excited for this night.
After that we pack up, drive home, I go back to work for 2 days then we play here in Los Angeles in 2 days.

These past 2 weeks we've been working on a song for the Dearly Departed 2 DVD. The song is called Rock, Scissors, Paper. It's a total sixties vibe tune with lyrics that seem to be about a familiar historical event.
A week ago Devin came over to Vincent Free Sound and we started to cut the track first using a very bare bones drum program from our Korg Esx-1.
He then played an organ part on his Roland RS-5. I have no picture of the keyboard part being played.
Next up Devin cut a flute track. You'll notice he's not wearing any headphones. I was experimenting with some playback bleed in order to give a sense of live feel. His flute part really added to the sense of the 60's.
I like to get the most out of Devin that I can, and so at the expense of the neighbors I then had Devin cut some Bongo drums. He was really enthusiastic. Look at those fast hands.

Finally I that first night I added a bass part. Look for this track soon, on the Dearly Departed 2 DVD.

Wish us broken legs.

I Won't Blame You

The title is from a new SG tune called "Hopeless Romantic", a tune which I am attempting to stop listening to. The recording is a rough premix of the song, which is mainly to be used for rehearsal of new parts. I need to stop enjoying it so much so that I can maintain some level of objectivity.

Saturday Amy went down to long beach to work a children's party with our good friend Ginny, she needed the extra scratch and Ginny needed the help.
While Amy played bingo with children I watched a great documentary on Charles Bukowski, called "Born Into This". It was inspiring. Makes me want to read through his body of work just as soon as Buck can.
Later that day I went to the store, I purchased the Sun Tea jug pictured above. I've kind of decided to swear off other soft drinks. We'll see how this goes. Doesn't the beginning of the tea here appear appealing?
I then did laundry, which Henry found to suit his needs of a nice place to rest for the afternoon.
Then I got a call from Devin, apparently an interview with Amy just came out in DOT magazine. Under Celebrity Profile!


Maybe I'll find the text of the article online soon. If so I'll link.

Saturday night we journeyed with Carrie, visiting from San Francisco, to see Bett in her new, temporary digs. What a fab pad! We talked of words and writing and what not well into the night. Bett had been struggling to write a piece about corn for her new book. Apparently after we left she bashed it out. Kudos. We have in mind now to collaborate on a new song called "Lot Lizards", which is supposed to be about truck stop whores. Bett's current work in progress is about the American road and Truckers, so it seems like a match.

It's pretty exciting to get some of the caliber of people we are getting involved in our album. Should all of them come to pass, we will be thrilled and delighted. More on these as they materialize.

Sunday was a lazyier day. Breakfast with Carrie at Barney's. Amy and carrie pictured below. Carrie has to black eyes because she fell off a bike.
you know that joke: "What do you tell a woman with 2 black eyes?"

"Nothin, you dun told her twice" of course that's not funny at all...

Stacked Deck

SG's new song stacked has proved to be a difficult monster to reconcieve. It didn't help that the demo was pretty much all magic and no structure. I delivered a mix of the first draft last night, hopefully there will be time to make some adjustments tonight. Speaking of adjustments, you will notice Amy shown here in the kitchen of Vincent Free Sound studios making some last minute adjustments to her lyrical stylings.
I really don't work with this poor of posture. I was just attempting to get in the frame with my work. I have spent a good portion of my life in front of a little box like this. I'm not complaining mind you.


Devin stopped in last night on his way home from the grocery store and cut his vocals.
Amy catches a few last minute lines of backup, while Ani looks on over her shoulder.
The cat Noon, totally impressed with all our toil.

Are You Tellin' Me ta See the Sign?

I just went to the bank, on the way back I saw 2 signs I loved. This first one you cant read in the pictures. Trust me, the white sign on the door say's "The Universe is Friendly"
The Sticker probably looks great on the back of a Prius headed north bound on the PCH in Malibu, here in the valley it just made me laugh.


Not a quater mile away is this sign, which I've always meant to photograph. It's outside an LAUSD Bus Depot, and it is in my opinion the best comment on Bush's education program.
"No Child Left Behind.
Check your Bus for Children"

Blog Birthday Missed

I totally forgot my blog turned 4 on June 4th. I just now noticed that. I'm slipping. Maybe I'll have a big blog party for it's 5th special day next year. Then my blog will have to begin school, and learn how to grow up and be a real blog.

Pra ha!

So now maybe you other blogging slackers will take up the task.

Devin's Blog turns 4 next month! 8/30/04 began his blogging saga

Scarlet come lately, you've got a ways to go, you began on 4/19/07.

Oddie also come lately, but not as bad as Scar, you began 2/7/07.

I've Never Passed a Bar, Without Stopping for a Drink

“I don't like jail, they got the wrong kind of bars in there”
Charles Bukowski


Yesterday and the day before my dear sister toiled away in Jefferson City, Missouri, trying her best to pass the Missouri Bar Exam. She either passed this time or she didn't, but I'm proud as fucking hell either way.

Way to be. Keep it up. Now go and have some fun, you've earned it.

Odd, will soon be moving into a great home in Kansas City, where she will soon begin her working career. I'm just thrilled for her.

Good world.

Stoned

This past week I've been stealing little bits of time to take in a movie called "Stone Reader". It's a documentary, and since it's about a book, and reading books, it's a difficult film to get many people involved in. The pacing is also not up to the moments attention span, which is to say it's actually a really great film to watch.
I began my viewing on Monday night, getting 12 minutes in before I realized I was creating boredom in my household. I picked it up again on Tuesday, and I was able to watch a good 45 minutes or so. To have to stop viewing was very difficult, but I had family in from out of town and didn't feel right about forcing everyone to sit quietly with me while I finished another 40 minutes of a documentary about books. Finally last night I was able to finish it, this time even my other found herself drawn in. It was really a moving piece of work. It reminds a person about the beauty of difficult tasks. It's reminded me why I like to blog in the first place and why I should be doing it when I have the opportunity.
The film focuses on a man named Mark, and his journey through life as a reader, and in particular his love of a book that seemed to be very near to dissapearing. The book, by Dow Mossman, "The Stones of Summer", was published in 1972, it recieved rave reviews then began to slip from the eye of most minds. "Stone Reader" chronilces Mark's quest to find the author, and other people who have been similarly touched by "The Stones of Summer" or even by other nearly forgotten books. You can view the website for the film at:
www.stonereader.net
Or Mark's non profit foundation for lost books at:
www.lostbooksclub.org

If you are so inclined, buy me the book, I can't afford it and really want it.