So in my attempt to live on my own, I'm running into a lot of brick walls in trying to drum up extra income. Therefore, I'm appealing to the Intertubes Community at Large: I need a second job. I'm not down to selling my own blood or signing up for experimental drug studies just yet, but the fact that I just mentioned both tells you that they're not all that far back in my mind. Does anyone know someone looking for part-time help? All I'm really looking for is about 15-20 hours a week. A couple nights and maybe some Sunday hours. I can do a lot of stuff. I'm pretty bright and pick things up fairly easily, and I have retail, writing, broadcasting, loading dock, and short-order cooking experience too. I'd even be willing to be a bar back. If any of my creative endeavors paid even a little bit, this probably wouldn't be a problem, but they don't, so it is. If you know of anyone looking for some help, or if you are in fact someone looking for a part timer, I work days in North Quincy and live in North Attleboro, so anywhere in between there would be most desirable.
Alternatively, I have a fairly large collection of old comics for sale. Mostly 70's-2000's, but I have a few older items from the 60's as well. Most are in excellent condition or better. I tend to lean heavily Marvel, but I've got some DC, Image, and a lot of indie press stuff too. Most, but not all, are bagged and boarded. I also have a ton of old Wizard magazine issues, and a few boxes of graphic novels. If you're looking to buy a collection, or even just a few things, get in touch with me.
I've also got some old vinyl to sell. Mostly punk and hardcore stuff from the 70's-90's. A lot of it is probably going to go to Newbury Comics this weekend, but I figured I'd put it out there.
Any help is appreciated. Excelsior!
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Woe Ain't Me
So I was browsing through some of my old posts this morning for no particular reason, and it struck me that I used write about fun things a lot more. I think I'm starting to let these issues I'm dealing with take over, at least in my writing. I don't want to do that. At all. Because it's not like I haven't found any enjoyment lately. There have been plenty of good times mixed in with the sadness. I've still got my friends, family, my wonderful daughter, new friends. I've gotten support from unlikely sources. I'm in two bands. I've got a funny and entertaining cat. And my beloved Boston Bruins are tearing through the post-season like...um...a bunch of hockey players in a china shop.
I have gifts, and I have blessings. I have sorrow, but I have much to take solace in. I have a network of folks who only want to help me get better and get a handle on my mental health issues (Well, it's not the only thing they want to do, but it's the only thing they want for me, anyway. They have lives too.). I wrote before about the possibility of getting back on a standup stage somewhere. I think that may still be a little ways off. After all, comedy is pain plus time, and I'm still in the time, so things are a little too raw to try and make jokes. At least in public.
My search for extra income is proving a little more difficult than I first thought it would be, but I'm still working on it, and working with my landlord to make sure we're both happy with me staying there. Money is very, very, very (very) tight right now, but I'm dealing with it. At least I haven't turned to knocking over lemonade stands yet.
And speaking of fun things, the Gobshites are in Worcester this Friday at the Grey Hound Pub in Kelley Square. We haven't played there in a long time, but it's a great bar, and there will be a decent crowd out to see us, or so I'm told. Come be one of them!
I have gifts, and I have blessings. I have sorrow, but I have much to take solace in. I have a network of folks who only want to help me get better and get a handle on my mental health issues (Well, it's not the only thing they want to do, but it's the only thing they want for me, anyway. They have lives too.). I wrote before about the possibility of getting back on a standup stage somewhere. I think that may still be a little ways off. After all, comedy is pain plus time, and I'm still in the time, so things are a little too raw to try and make jokes. At least in public.
My search for extra income is proving a little more difficult than I first thought it would be, but I'm still working on it, and working with my landlord to make sure we're both happy with me staying there. Money is very, very, very (very) tight right now, but I'm dealing with it. At least I haven't turned to knocking over lemonade stands yet.
And speaking of fun things, the Gobshites are in Worcester this Friday at the Grey Hound Pub in Kelley Square. We haven't played there in a long time, but it's a great bar, and there will be a decent crowd out to see us, or so I'm told. Come be one of them!
Friday, April 29, 2011
Ever Backing Down
For the longest time, I wanted to be a comic book artist. Me and my friends used to create our own comics, and buy comics by the truckload just to look at the art. We also read them, of course, but we were obsessed with comic book art. My favorite was John Byrne, who drew the X-Men at the time, then moved on to several other books like Alpha Flight, the Fantastic Four, and a bunch of others. I bought books (as always) on how to draw comics, went to comic book conventions in my area to talk to the artists there. I even mustered up the courage once to send my artwork to Marvel. They were very nice and encouraging in their response. I really really wanted to someday do that for a living.
So why don't I? Well, I guess I just got talked out of it. After years of being told by adults that my dreams were unrealistic, something in me just gave in and gave up. As I look back, I realize I've let that happen a lot over the course of my life. I don't know why I do that, and it's something I've been trying to work on for years. There's a line in the movie Clerks that sums it up perfectly. When Randall turns to Dante and says "That is the leitmotif of your life, 'Ever-backing-down,'" I started nodding my head the first time I saw that scene, because I recognized myself in that statement.
Recently, one of my therapists recommended the book Co-Dependent No More to me. I guess the things I've told her about recent events in my life have led her to believe I may have issues with co-dependency. I'm certainly someone who tends to want to keep the peace more than anything. That's not always bad, but it often leads to me giving up what I want in order to make everyone else happy. Like my dreams for myself. I guess that started in childhood. Most co-dependents come from certain backgrounds, and as a result try to either avoid those situations by controlling them, or end up in the exact same kinds of relationships because they're familiar or comfortable, as odd as that may sound.
So I'm reading the book, and thinking of ways I can change my behavior so that I'm getting more of what I need out of a relationship (any relationship), while contributing to the happiness and well being of others. And continuing to learn things about myself that I both like and loathe. It's been almost 20 years since I graduated from college, and I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
So why don't I? Well, I guess I just got talked out of it. After years of being told by adults that my dreams were unrealistic, something in me just gave in and gave up. As I look back, I realize I've let that happen a lot over the course of my life. I don't know why I do that, and it's something I've been trying to work on for years. There's a line in the movie Clerks that sums it up perfectly. When Randall turns to Dante and says "That is the leitmotif of your life, 'Ever-backing-down,'" I started nodding my head the first time I saw that scene, because I recognized myself in that statement.
Recently, one of my therapists recommended the book Co-Dependent No More to me. I guess the things I've told her about recent events in my life have led her to believe I may have issues with co-dependency. I'm certainly someone who tends to want to keep the peace more than anything. That's not always bad, but it often leads to me giving up what I want in order to make everyone else happy. Like my dreams for myself. I guess that started in childhood. Most co-dependents come from certain backgrounds, and as a result try to either avoid those situations by controlling them, or end up in the exact same kinds of relationships because they're familiar or comfortable, as odd as that may sound.
So I'm reading the book, and thinking of ways I can change my behavior so that I'm getting more of what I need out of a relationship (any relationship), while contributing to the happiness and well being of others. And continuing to learn things about myself that I both like and loathe. It's been almost 20 years since I graduated from college, and I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Easter Check-In
So I seem to have plateaued a bit at 180 pounds for now. That's fine with me. If I never lose another pound, I'm still pretty happy with where I am. Now if I could just get back into that gym routine...
The Gobshites have been fairly inactive the last few weeks. Recovering from St. Paddy's...still...and gearing up for Memorial Day weekend in the Catskills. My other band (which still remains nameless) hasn't done anything since that first gig. Hopefully more from that soon.
Easter was nice. To my suprise, we got baskets. I had kind of figured we weren't doing that anymore, but there it was, a basket for me full of Hershey almond bars, which were promptly tossed in my freezer when I got home. Add to that some more time with my daughter and brunch with our extended family, and then going home to watch the Red Sox sweep the Angels, and getting a suprise gift of an aloe plant and a very old and awesome book on Irish oratory and a crystal that will help me sleep sounder at night, and I'd call it a successful Easter. The only hitch in the day was when I came to the realization that not all supermarkets were open yesterday. At least my local one wasn't. So breakfast this morning consisted of a couple of peanut butter granola bars from my desk at work, and lunch came courtesy of an Oscar Meyer Lunchable. All those delicious grams of saturated fat really hit the spot. Tonight, I shop, tomorrow, I eat better. The rest of the week will be spent moving stuff out of storage and into my spare room, and then trying to sell all that crap somewhere.
The cat has become a backup alarm clock for me. If I'm not up at my usual 5 A.M., he sits out in front of my bedroom door and starts mewling at the top of his furry lungs. Mostly, he just wants to get up on the blanket and root, but I like to think that somewhere in there is a small shred of concern for my well-being.
So things are changing, for the better and the worse, but here I am. Still looking for a second job and someone to take pity on my car. I was only half joking about that stuff, you know.
Aloha (means goodbye...)
The Gobshites have been fairly inactive the last few weeks. Recovering from St. Paddy's...still...and gearing up for Memorial Day weekend in the Catskills. My other band (which still remains nameless) hasn't done anything since that first gig. Hopefully more from that soon.
Easter was nice. To my suprise, we got baskets. I had kind of figured we weren't doing that anymore, but there it was, a basket for me full of Hershey almond bars, which were promptly tossed in my freezer when I got home. Add to that some more time with my daughter and brunch with our extended family, and then going home to watch the Red Sox sweep the Angels, and getting a suprise gift of an aloe plant and a very old and awesome book on Irish oratory and a crystal that will help me sleep sounder at night, and I'd call it a successful Easter. The only hitch in the day was when I came to the realization that not all supermarkets were open yesterday. At least my local one wasn't. So breakfast this morning consisted of a couple of peanut butter granola bars from my desk at work, and lunch came courtesy of an Oscar Meyer Lunchable. All those delicious grams of saturated fat really hit the spot. Tonight, I shop, tomorrow, I eat better. The rest of the week will be spent moving stuff out of storage and into my spare room, and then trying to sell all that crap somewhere.
The cat has become a backup alarm clock for me. If I'm not up at my usual 5 A.M., he sits out in front of my bedroom door and starts mewling at the top of his furry lungs. Mostly, he just wants to get up on the blanket and root, but I like to think that somewhere in there is a small shred of concern for my well-being.
So things are changing, for the better and the worse, but here I am. Still looking for a second job and someone to take pity on my car. I was only half joking about that stuff, you know.
Aloha (means goodbye...)
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Me and The Finn
We adopted him almost a year ago. I'd never owned a cat before. I had nothing in particular against them, but I'd always considered myself more of a dog person, owing to the fact that I had a dog as a kid (Well, unless they were a dog on my paper route. I definitely wasn't a dog person for those ones), and that my grandmothers' cats were always mean to me. But he came right over to us when we went into the shelter, and sort of made us enamored of him. We were just looking, but we decided right then that this was the right one. He was curious and somewhat affectionate, and we took to him.
His name at the shelter was Mario, but we decided it didn't fit, so we renamed him Finn (although I usually call him "Bubba" for some reason), partly for the Irish connection, and partly as a tribute to Mark Twain. We went out and bought supplies, toys, and a new carrier (which he promptly pooped all over on his first ride home and ruined), and brought him into our home. As he got used to his new surroundings, we determined that he would never be allowed to sleep in the bedroom with us, as he treated every foot or hand movement under the covers as something to be chased down and attacked. But living so close to a major road, we also determined that he would be an indoor cat.
He started to develop habits and favorite places to lie down and hang out. His favorite perches became the chair in front of the living room window (so he can look outside), and the top of the washing machine (so he can survery his kingdom). Even though he's petrified of getting wet, he seems to love coming into the shower, just at the edge of the water, or hoping up on the toilet seat to watch the water swirl down. He's definitely a fan of running water, as he'll only drink out of his bowl after batting it around a bit to make the water move. Getting one of those running water bowls is definitely on the to-do list.
He also started learning to jump. First just up on the bed and sofa, and then on EVERYTHING. You can always tell where Finn's been, because he leaves a little trail of hair just about everywhere he goes. Lint rollers and special vacum attachments were bought to try to combat the fluff, but it's a never ending battle.
And the best part is, he talks. He really does. Not in English, of course, but he definitely makes conversation with his little chirps and hums. Sometimes he sounds aggravated, but mostly he's just chatty. I really do wonder what it is he's trying to tell me. His favorite thing to do right now (and has been for a while) is to jump on my bed and start rooting in the fleece blanket on it. He does it for hours, and talks to me the whole time while I'm watching TV or sitting at my computer.
Now that it's just me and Finn, we're bonding a bit. He's definitely a little freaked out about things right now, so he wants to make sure I'll be around, and in his sights, whenever he can get me. I like having him around too. It gives me someone else to talk to besdies myself, and he's company. Living completely on your own, for someone who's rarely done that before, it helps to have another live body in the house, even if he does cover me with hair and spill water all over the kitchen.
His name at the shelter was Mario, but we decided it didn't fit, so we renamed him Finn (although I usually call him "Bubba" for some reason), partly for the Irish connection, and partly as a tribute to Mark Twain. We went out and bought supplies, toys, and a new carrier (which he promptly pooped all over on his first ride home and ruined), and brought him into our home. As he got used to his new surroundings, we determined that he would never be allowed to sleep in the bedroom with us, as he treated every foot or hand movement under the covers as something to be chased down and attacked. But living so close to a major road, we also determined that he would be an indoor cat.
He started to develop habits and favorite places to lie down and hang out. His favorite perches became the chair in front of the living room window (so he can look outside), and the top of the washing machine (so he can survery his kingdom). Even though he's petrified of getting wet, he seems to love coming into the shower, just at the edge of the water, or hoping up on the toilet seat to watch the water swirl down. He's definitely a fan of running water, as he'll only drink out of his bowl after batting it around a bit to make the water move. Getting one of those running water bowls is definitely on the to-do list.
He also started learning to jump. First just up on the bed and sofa, and then on EVERYTHING. You can always tell where Finn's been, because he leaves a little trail of hair just about everywhere he goes. Lint rollers and special vacum attachments were bought to try to combat the fluff, but it's a never ending battle.
And the best part is, he talks. He really does. Not in English, of course, but he definitely makes conversation with his little chirps and hums. Sometimes he sounds aggravated, but mostly he's just chatty. I really do wonder what it is he's trying to tell me. His favorite thing to do right now (and has been for a while) is to jump on my bed and start rooting in the fleece blanket on it. He does it for hours, and talks to me the whole time while I'm watching TV or sitting at my computer.
Now that it's just me and Finn, we're bonding a bit. He's definitely a little freaked out about things right now, so he wants to make sure I'll be around, and in his sights, whenever he can get me. I like having him around too. It gives me someone else to talk to besdies myself, and he's company. Living completely on your own, for someone who's rarely done that before, it helps to have another live body in the house, even if he does cover me with hair and spill water all over the kitchen.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Randumb and Stuffs and Thingses
Down to 180 as of this morning. I seriously need some new clothes, I look like a street urchin. Again, not the worst problem to have, but I still need to find a second job, as my rent just doubled.
The Great Second Job Search has begun in earnest, which basically means I've been walking into local businesses and asking "You guys need any part time help?" and being told no.
The cat has learned to jump from the floor to the stove top. Shit.
The Red Sox are very depressing right now. So I guess I started the Prozac just in time. Thank God the Bruins are rolling. Playoffs start tomorrow.
I really couldn't care less about Charlie Sheen's glorious public flameout. The guy's made a mint despite acting like a complete cad all his life, and now he wants everyone to feel sorry about the way he's being treated by other rich people. I'm sorry Charlie, I can't hear you over the bills I have to play roulette with every month.
I've had a reject sticker on my car for just under two years. Anyone wanna help a brotha out with some work on it? Let's make a deal. I have no idea what I can offer, but I'm sure we can work something out.
I'm going to see Rhed play at the Firefly's in Framingham this Friday night. Amy and her band always come out to support us when we're playing near them and they don't have a gig. The Gobshites are off this weekend, so it's time to return the favor. Plus, she's kinda hot.
CORRECTION: Apparently it's not Rhed, it's Amy's other project, Toddamy. Still should be a good time.
That's all I got today.
The Great Second Job Search has begun in earnest, which basically means I've been walking into local businesses and asking "You guys need any part time help?" and being told no.
The cat has learned to jump from the floor to the stove top. Shit.
The Red Sox are very depressing right now. So I guess I started the Prozac just in time. Thank God the Bruins are rolling. Playoffs start tomorrow.
I really couldn't care less about Charlie Sheen's glorious public flameout. The guy's made a mint despite acting like a complete cad all his life, and now he wants everyone to feel sorry about the way he's being treated by other rich people. I'm sorry Charlie, I can't hear you over the bills I have to play roulette with every month.
I've had a reject sticker on my car for just under two years. Anyone wanna help a brotha out with some work on it? Let's make a deal. I have no idea what I can offer, but I'm sure we can work something out.
I'm going to see Rhed play at the Firefly's in Framingham this Friday night. Amy and her band always come out to support us when we're playing near them and they don't have a gig. The Gobshites are off this weekend, so it's time to return the favor. Plus, she's kinda hot.
CORRECTION: Apparently it's not Rhed, it's Amy's other project, Toddamy. Still should be a good time.
That's all I got today.
Monday, April 11, 2011
She's College Bound, And I'm Okay
Yesterday, we went up to Salem State University for an Accepted Student's Day. The basic premise of the day is to convince the Seniors that have received acceptance letters to actually enroll at the school. This wasn't a concern for us, as my daughter has already decided and sent in her deposit. We had a few questions about the financial aid and all that, but it was really just a chance to see the place and walk around a bit. The campus is spread out through neighborhoods and is really part of the community, much like Bridgewater State, where I went. It's nice, and they're building a brand new library that's going to be state of the art. Nice. Salem itself is a cool city, full of history and a nice vibe. This is a big reason she was attracted to the place.
She is completely excited about going there. I think she'd start tomorrow if she could. I would have thought she'd be more sentimental about her high school years ending, and parting ways with many of the friends she's made over the years. But no, she's ready to go. And as I sit here looking at a picture of her from her very first Halloween, dressed as a pumpkin (with me holding her in a plaid shirt and straw hat), I can't help but be a little sad. She's going away, to live in a place further away from me and the rest of her family than she's ever been. I know, it's not like she's going to Alaska, but it's still a little far for my taste.
She wants to be out on her own, which is good, but it's almost like she wants to get away from us. I don't think that's really the case, but a dad always wants to be essential to his girl's life, you know? Indispensable, needed. Can't live without. Of course she wont be living without us, she'll be about an hour away.
None of which is to say I'm not immensely proud of her and the huge step she's taking in her life. I'd like to think I've had at least something to do with the amazing young woman she's become. She's beautiful, smart, funny, talented, hard working, thoughtful. All the things you'd want in a kid, really. Of course, she has her teenage moments, but that's to be expected, and she's nowhere near as bad as some kids I've seen. She's also a lot more confident in herself than I ever was (or still am, for that matter). And she's definitely goal oriented. And that she's actually excited about this new chapter in her life makes me proud too. I've always had a certain amount of fear and trepidation about new situations. She doesn't seem to at all.
So it's bittersweet to be sending her off to college, but more sweet than bitter. I know she'll do well there, and I know she'll come back to see us when she can. But that little girl in the pumpkin costume keeps looking back at me, and I could swear that was taken only a few months ago.
She is completely excited about going there. I think she'd start tomorrow if she could. I would have thought she'd be more sentimental about her high school years ending, and parting ways with many of the friends she's made over the years. But no, she's ready to go. And as I sit here looking at a picture of her from her very first Halloween, dressed as a pumpkin (with me holding her in a plaid shirt and straw hat), I can't help but be a little sad. She's going away, to live in a place further away from me and the rest of her family than she's ever been. I know, it's not like she's going to Alaska, but it's still a little far for my taste.
She wants to be out on her own, which is good, but it's almost like she wants to get away from us. I don't think that's really the case, but a dad always wants to be essential to his girl's life, you know? Indispensable, needed. Can't live without. Of course she wont be living without us, she'll be about an hour away.
None of which is to say I'm not immensely proud of her and the huge step she's taking in her life. I'd like to think I've had at least something to do with the amazing young woman she's become. She's beautiful, smart, funny, talented, hard working, thoughtful. All the things you'd want in a kid, really. Of course, she has her teenage moments, but that's to be expected, and she's nowhere near as bad as some kids I've seen. She's also a lot more confident in herself than I ever was (or still am, for that matter). And she's definitely goal oriented. And that she's actually excited about this new chapter in her life makes me proud too. I've always had a certain amount of fear and trepidation about new situations. She doesn't seem to at all.
So it's bittersweet to be sending her off to college, but more sweet than bitter. I know she'll do well there, and I know she'll come back to see us when she can. But that little girl in the pumpkin costume keeps looking back at me, and I could swear that was taken only a few months ago.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Decisions, Pride, and a Drop of the Pure (And Only a Drop!)
So yeah, I think I've made the decision to try and just keep the apartment on my own. That may be easier said than done, but the truth is, I really don't want to share it with someone else right now. I've almost always lived with other people, rarely on my own. So maybe this would be a good time to do that. It'll be tight, and almost certainly involve a second job, but I think it'll be worth it. I've got the cat for company, and a place to entertain friends if I so choose. And as much as I can, I'm trying to turn a negative into a positive. And I'm buying a few extra scratch tickets too...
Tonight is my daughter's Senior vocal recital. Most years, recitals involve literally dozens of kids of varying levels singing or playing the piano. This time around, it's just her and another girl and their instructor. Recitals can be torturous, because you've got to be there for at least two hours, and really, I'm only interested in seeing one person. I'm not saying everyone else is bad, but come on, MY little snowflake is way more important to me than yours. So she'll be doing about ten songs tonight, and one or two duets with the other girl and her instructor. I predict this will be right at the top of my favorite concerts of the year. Yes, even better than Me First and the Gimme Gimmes at the Paradise.
Still no idea if I'm drumming or whistling tomorrow night with the Gobshites at Finnegan's in Hudson, Mass. One thing I wont be doing is drinking all that much. We're going up to visit Salem State University on Sunday morning, and leaving around 7AM. No way I'd be able to do that with a snoot full. I'm trying to pull back on that now anyway, as I'm getting dangerously close to the red zone with alcohol. So if I can manage to tone it way down at a Gobshites show, I can pretty much do it anywhere (as anyone who's ever been to see us can attest). Anyone who sees me drinking more than three beers tomorrow night has my permission to yell at me.
Tonight is my daughter's Senior vocal recital. Most years, recitals involve literally dozens of kids of varying levels singing or playing the piano. This time around, it's just her and another girl and their instructor. Recitals can be torturous, because you've got to be there for at least two hours, and really, I'm only interested in seeing one person. I'm not saying everyone else is bad, but come on, MY little snowflake is way more important to me than yours. So she'll be doing about ten songs tonight, and one or two duets with the other girl and her instructor. I predict this will be right at the top of my favorite concerts of the year. Yes, even better than Me First and the Gimme Gimmes at the Paradise.
Still no idea if I'm drumming or whistling tomorrow night with the Gobshites at Finnegan's in Hudson, Mass. One thing I wont be doing is drinking all that much. We're going up to visit Salem State University on Sunday morning, and leaving around 7AM. No way I'd be able to do that with a snoot full. I'm trying to pull back on that now anyway, as I'm getting dangerously close to the red zone with alcohol. So if I can manage to tone it way down at a Gobshites show, I can pretty much do it anywhere (as anyone who's ever been to see us can attest). Anyone who sees me drinking more than three beers tomorrow night has my permission to yell at me.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Checking In and Stuff and Things and...
So as of the other day, I'm down 30 pounds now. My clothes are starting to look baggy, which is not a bad problem to have, but I need to go clothes shopping soon. I have a feeling my Kohl's charge is going to get quite a workout. I also might need to get a second job. I haven't been able to find a new roommate yet, so I'm going to be on the hook for the full amount of the rent starting next month. The upside is that I can finally get rid of my storage space, which will free up a couple hundred bucks a month. And maybe I can sell off some of the books, comics, and old vynyl that I have in there, which would help too. I think I can do it. I really don't have much choice. So if anyone out there wants to pay me money a couple nights a week to do something not very strenuous, I'm available.
I only briefly wrote about my debut as a lead singer last weekend. I have to say, I had a blast doing that. I think it helped that it was at a loft party, and not in a club setting. Everyone there was there to have a good time and party, so the atmosphere was pretty loose. Nobody even cared when I forgot some of the lyrics and had to refer to the sheets I brought up with me. Like taking up the tin whistle, it's something that takes me far out of my comfort zone, even though I know I can sing well. People are often shocked to find that, off stage, I'm pretty shy and reserved for the most part, because I'm pretty animated on stage, and singing was no different. I hope we do some more shows. And settle on a name.
Gobshites will be at Finnegan's Pub in Hudson, Mass this Saturday. 9 P.M. start. Bring your dancing shoes and your drinking socks. I don't know if I'm on drums or whistle yet, so I'm bringing everything.
I only briefly wrote about my debut as a lead singer last weekend. I have to say, I had a blast doing that. I think it helped that it was at a loft party, and not in a club setting. Everyone there was there to have a good time and party, so the atmosphere was pretty loose. Nobody even cared when I forgot some of the lyrics and had to refer to the sheets I brought up with me. Like taking up the tin whistle, it's something that takes me far out of my comfort zone, even though I know I can sing well. People are often shocked to find that, off stage, I'm pretty shy and reserved for the most part, because I'm pretty animated on stage, and singing was no different. I hope we do some more shows. And settle on a name.
Gobshites will be at Finnegan's Pub in Hudson, Mass this Saturday. 9 P.M. start. Bring your dancing shoes and your drinking socks. I don't know if I'm on drums or whistle yet, so I'm bringing everything.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Ice Dreams
I was about five years old, walking around in the store with my mom, when I spotted a poster of the 1970 Stanley Cup Champion Boston Bruins behind the counter. I begged my mother to buy one for me, pleaded. The storekeeper, thinking he was going to help my mother out and shut me up, told me that if I could name all the players, he'd give it to me.
"Okay, that's Bobby Orr, Dallas Smith, Ed Johnston, Derek Sanderson, Gary Doak, Wayne Cashman, Gerry Cheevers..."
That poster hung in my bedroom for years.
Hockey was a huge part of my life growing up. The success of the late 60's-early 70's Bruins spawned a youth hockey boom in Massachusetts (and elsewhere), and almost every town in my area had a program. Every Saturday morning, we were on our way to Rockland or Taunton or Brockton to either practice, scrimmage, or play another town. In the summers, hockey camp. Or street hockey. When the temperatures dropped and the ponds froze, there we went. Everyone I knew played. I was a decent player, a very good skater, but not particularly aggressive. I was a fair defenseman, not much of a forward, but a great goaltender.
As I got older, the boom died down, and my own interests tended towards more creative pursuits (music, writing, theater), and I gave up hockey. I briefly considered going out for my high school team, but decided against it. It wasn't until my later years in college that I got the hockey bug again. My dad and I started going to Providence Bruins games, and following Boston once more. I got a pair of skates, a stick, some gloves, and a helmet (although I only went out and played once or twice). I even got a subscription to the Hockey News for a few years.
For the past few years, my mother has given me and my dad Bruins tickets for Christmas. We go to three games a year. I guess it's a bonding thing, as my father and I weren't particularly close for a long time. I often wonder if my turning away from hockey (and sports in general) was some form of rebellion against him. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know.
I haven't laced up the skates in a few years, but maybe this year sometime I'll hit up a rink around here somewhere. Until then, I'll be parked in front of the TV for Bruins games. I think this is the year for them. Again.
"Okay, that's Bobby Orr, Dallas Smith, Ed Johnston, Derek Sanderson, Gary Doak, Wayne Cashman, Gerry Cheevers..."
That poster hung in my bedroom for years.
Hockey was a huge part of my life growing up. The success of the late 60's-early 70's Bruins spawned a youth hockey boom in Massachusetts (and elsewhere), and almost every town in my area had a program. Every Saturday morning, we were on our way to Rockland or Taunton or Brockton to either practice, scrimmage, or play another town. In the summers, hockey camp. Or street hockey. When the temperatures dropped and the ponds froze, there we went. Everyone I knew played. I was a decent player, a very good skater, but not particularly aggressive. I was a fair defenseman, not much of a forward, but a great goaltender.
As I got older, the boom died down, and my own interests tended towards more creative pursuits (music, writing, theater), and I gave up hockey. I briefly considered going out for my high school team, but decided against it. It wasn't until my later years in college that I got the hockey bug again. My dad and I started going to Providence Bruins games, and following Boston once more. I got a pair of skates, a stick, some gloves, and a helmet (although I only went out and played once or twice). I even got a subscription to the Hockey News for a few years.
For the past few years, my mother has given me and my dad Bruins tickets for Christmas. We go to three games a year. I guess it's a bonding thing, as my father and I weren't particularly close for a long time. I often wonder if my turning away from hockey (and sports in general) was some form of rebellion against him. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know.
I haven't laced up the skates in a few years, but maybe this year sometime I'll hit up a rink around here somewhere. Until then, I'll be parked in front of the TV for Bruins games. I think this is the year for them. Again.
Monday, April 04, 2011
A Post About...Um...
Yeah, I'm kind of drawing a blank here. I know I need to do this as much as I can, if for no other reason than to keep my writing skills sharp and assure everyone that I haven't dropped back into the black hole. But man, if only I had something to say today. I even went online and did a search for blog post ideas. Every page had vague suggestions like "Take a stand on an issue," or "Write something humorous." Great, thanks for the advice, oh wise and sage blog gurus. My mind is now absolutely brimming with inspiration.
I guess all writers get like this at times, so I know I'm not unique in having "The Block." It's frustrating, but whatever. My weekend was...good. Lot's of fun activity Friday (see last post), some more on Saturday, and then a lazy boring Sunday filled with errands and chores and lot's of TV watching with the cat. I can tell you that I watched my daughter take part in her last High School Show Choir competition on Saturday night, and the kids blew the roof off the place and won best vocals, best show, best instrumental, and Grand Champion. She's got her Senior vocal recital this Friday night, and I'm really looking forward to that. She's a supremely talented kid. I know I'm supposed to say stuff like that because I'm her dad, but even people who aren't obligated to gush over her tell me that.
My side band still doesn't really have a name. Then again, who knows when we're going to play another show? So I guess it's not really all that urgent. I'm alternating between drums and whistle with the Gobshites lately. And I'm kind of fixated on saving up for either a mandolin or a banjo. But first I have to refurnish my apartment. I did manage to score a new kitchen table and chairs (well, new to me). So there's that.
Pretty boring, I know. At least it's not about going to the hospital again. Because that would mean I'd have had to go to the hospital, and I've done that plenty lately, thank you very much.
Mahalo. And Excelsior!
I guess all writers get like this at times, so I know I'm not unique in having "The Block." It's frustrating, but whatever. My weekend was...good. Lot's of fun activity Friday (see last post), some more on Saturday, and then a lazy boring Sunday filled with errands and chores and lot's of TV watching with the cat. I can tell you that I watched my daughter take part in her last High School Show Choir competition on Saturday night, and the kids blew the roof off the place and won best vocals, best show, best instrumental, and Grand Champion. She's got her Senior vocal recital this Friday night, and I'm really looking forward to that. She's a supremely talented kid. I know I'm supposed to say stuff like that because I'm her dad, but even people who aren't obligated to gush over her tell me that.
My side band still doesn't really have a name. Then again, who knows when we're going to play another show? So I guess it's not really all that urgent. I'm alternating between drums and whistle with the Gobshites lately. And I'm kind of fixated on saving up for either a mandolin or a banjo. But first I have to refurnish my apartment. I did manage to score a new kitchen table and chairs (well, new to me). So there's that.
Pretty boring, I know. At least it's not about going to the hospital again. Because that would mean I'd have had to go to the hospital, and I've done that plenty lately, thank you very much.
Mahalo. And Excelsior!
Sunday, April 03, 2011
Another First
Last night, I made my debut as the front man in a band. I've been singing since I can remember, but this is the first time I've ever been a lead singer. I'm not leaving the Gobshites, mind you, but this was something that sort of came together organically. It's fun, and hopefully we'll play some more shows, but it's really more of a side project for most of us in the band. We don't really even have a name yet. I introduced us as the "Next Band" last night. It's another Celtic influenced punk band, but more electric than the Gobshites. There's some crossover, but it's really two different bands. We did okay on Friday, I couldn't hear myself at all, but people said they liked it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Return of the Son of Stuff and Things
I think I may finally have found my sleep cocktail. Last night, I took .5 mg of Ativan and 3 mg of Melatonin, and it seemed to work pretty well. Finally! Although the cat mewling at my door at 6 A.M. kinda ruined some of it, so I'm a little groggy for not getting the full night in. But I think I'll keep trying this and see where that gets me.
Also, as of this morning, I'm down to 183 pounds. That's 29 pounds down since December. I had platteaued a bit, and even gained some back over Shamrockfest weekend, but I'm back on track and closer to my goal. Actually, I don't really have a goal, I just want to be happy with where I am. So far, I am, but I know I could do better. And now that the St. Paddy's craziness is more or less over, I can get back to a regular gym routine.
The Prozac seems to have hit it's stride. I definitely feel a lot clearer than I have in a while. Now to see if any of the possible side effects rears it's ugly head. I hope not, but I'm sure there's a way to deal with it if it does. Hell, you'd think between two therapists and a physician, we could put our heads together and figure something out. Better living through chemistry.
Still on the lookout for a CBT therapist. The one my Psychiatrist recommended has a full dance card right now, so it's down the list I go.
Other than that? Work, music, daughter, cat (not necessarily in that order). And I'm seriously thinking about buying a mandolin when the funds allow. Or a banjo. That about covers it. Oh, and the occasional meal.
Also, as of this morning, I'm down to 183 pounds. That's 29 pounds down since December. I had platteaued a bit, and even gained some back over Shamrockfest weekend, but I'm back on track and closer to my goal. Actually, I don't really have a goal, I just want to be happy with where I am. So far, I am, but I know I could do better. And now that the St. Paddy's craziness is more or less over, I can get back to a regular gym routine.
The Prozac seems to have hit it's stride. I definitely feel a lot clearer than I have in a while. Now to see if any of the possible side effects rears it's ugly head. I hope not, but I'm sure there's a way to deal with it if it does. Hell, you'd think between two therapists and a physician, we could put our heads together and figure something out. Better living through chemistry.
Still on the lookout for a CBT therapist. The one my Psychiatrist recommended has a full dance card right now, so it's down the list I go.
Other than that? Work, music, daughter, cat (not necessarily in that order). And I'm seriously thinking about buying a mandolin when the funds allow. Or a banjo. That about covers it. Oh, and the occasional meal.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Ink Me
My first tattoo happened live on the air when I was a producer at WRKO. Tattooing wasn't yet legal in Massachusetts, so we took our show up to Salem, New Hampshire, to a place called Dragon's Lair, run by the fabulous Jamey Proctor. I got a radio microphone on my left bicep.
I've been out of radio for 12 years now. Alas, maybe I should get a screenshot of my low bank balance on my back or something.
But it was something I'd wanted to do for years. I had a lot of friends who had tattoos, and even went to a couple of tattoo parties. Unfortunately, finances got in the way. Also, I really didn't know what I wanted to get. So I waited for many years to get my first. And it's true what they say, they're addictive. I have five now, all in anatomically appropriate places (all on my arms, actually), and I want more.
My second one came a year later, again courtesy of the Reverend Proctor. It was a Spiderman image that I'd seen on the cover of Wizard magazine. Aside from the comic book geekishness of it, it was also a tribute to a man who, when I first started reading as a child, gave me all kinds of thrills to feast my mind on. My parents instilled in me a love of reading, but Stan Lee was my main source for many years (along with Twain, Matt Christopher, Donald J. Sobol, Judy Blume, and others).
And that was it for a while. I wanted to get more, had a few ideas on what they might be, but lost contact with Jamey and got into other things. After I joined the Gobshites, I managed to get in touch with him again, and he invited me up anytime to get some new ink. As I was now the tin whistle player in an Irish punk band, I decided a whistle would be appropriate. He did that, and then free handed an amazing swirl pattern with negative space shamrocks around it. It's definitely a conversation piece.
My next piece is the only tattoo I have that wasn't done by Jamey, a claddagh armband that I got as a Christmas present in 2009. That was done by Pea Jay at Body Extremes in Quincy, Mass. It was a spur of the moment decision that day to go down and get tattoos, but he did a great job, and I've always been happy with it.
And then finally (for now), once again from Jamey, I got a Celtic harp design on my right forearm. This was actually a piece of flash that I found online and fell in love with, and Jamey did it proud. And you can see examples of the three most recent tattoos on my Facebook page, if you're so inclined.
So I went to a tattoo party at a friend's house this weekend, and although finances once again kept me from getting a new one (I did try to barter with the artist, offering to cook her dinners and such, but to no avail), I'm itching to get more. I have a few ideas for tattoos, now I just need to wait until my discretionary funds allow it.
Anyone out there want to barter?
I've been out of radio for 12 years now. Alas, maybe I should get a screenshot of my low bank balance on my back or something.
But it was something I'd wanted to do for years. I had a lot of friends who had tattoos, and even went to a couple of tattoo parties. Unfortunately, finances got in the way. Also, I really didn't know what I wanted to get. So I waited for many years to get my first. And it's true what they say, they're addictive. I have five now, all in anatomically appropriate places (all on my arms, actually), and I want more.
My second one came a year later, again courtesy of the Reverend Proctor. It was a Spiderman image that I'd seen on the cover of Wizard magazine. Aside from the comic book geekishness of it, it was also a tribute to a man who, when I first started reading as a child, gave me all kinds of thrills to feast my mind on. My parents instilled in me a love of reading, but Stan Lee was my main source for many years (along with Twain, Matt Christopher, Donald J. Sobol, Judy Blume, and others).
And that was it for a while. I wanted to get more, had a few ideas on what they might be, but lost contact with Jamey and got into other things. After I joined the Gobshites, I managed to get in touch with him again, and he invited me up anytime to get some new ink. As I was now the tin whistle player in an Irish punk band, I decided a whistle would be appropriate. He did that, and then free handed an amazing swirl pattern with negative space shamrocks around it. It's definitely a conversation piece.
My next piece is the only tattoo I have that wasn't done by Jamey, a claddagh armband that I got as a Christmas present in 2009. That was done by Pea Jay at Body Extremes in Quincy, Mass. It was a spur of the moment decision that day to go down and get tattoos, but he did a great job, and I've always been happy with it.
And then finally (for now), once again from Jamey, I got a Celtic harp design on my right forearm. This was actually a piece of flash that I found online and fell in love with, and Jamey did it proud. And you can see examples of the three most recent tattoos on my Facebook page, if you're so inclined.
So I went to a tattoo party at a friend's house this weekend, and although finances once again kept me from getting a new one (I did try to barter with the artist, offering to cook her dinners and such, but to no avail), I'm itching to get more. I have a few ideas for tattoos, now I just need to wait until my discretionary funds allow it.
Anyone out there want to barter?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I Love A Parade
Just wanted to share this. We were in the South Boston St. Patrick's Day parade again this year, and it was an absolute blast. Here's a clip of us from the NECN telecast:
I'm on the opposite side of the float from the camera, but I was savvy enough to get me a little screen time too!
I'm on the opposite side of the float from the camera, but I was savvy enough to get me a little screen time too!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Great Expectations
Honest to God, I thought I'd own a house by now. What I have is a two bedroom apartment and a cat. I don't mind apartment living so much, really. But that whole American dream thing of home ownership never left me, I guess. I also thought I'd be making a lot more money doing something a lot more interesting than what I do all day.
*sigh*
I guess I get caught up all too often in what didn't happen for me, and wondering why. There are so many things I wish I could do over again, but would any of them have made a difference? Or would I still be where I am, wishing things were better, or easier, just once?
Just once, I'd like to not have to see the "Check Engine" light going on in my car because I have plenty of money to fix whatever the hell is wrong.
Just once, I'd like to not have to look at my books, CDs, DVDs, etcetera, and wonder "How much can I get for this?"
Just once, I'd like to not have people around me feel the need to say "It's okay, you'll get through this."
Just once, I'd like to feel like my life is stable and comfortable. Like I'm not starting all over again.
Just once.
Kind of a downer today, sorry. I swear I'm trying not to do that as much.
Monday, March 21, 2011
That Was the Week That Was...
As you might imagine, an Irish band tends to get busy in March. This last week was a whirlwind, from Washington, D.C. to Boston to Lebanon, New Hampshire to Mount Snow in Vermont to Portland, Maine to Cambridge, Mass and then to South Boston for the St. Patrick's Day parade, with a private house party somewhere in there for good measure. I think it's safe to say that the amount of Guinness consumed in the last nine days would have quenched the thirst of Australia. I'll take responsibility for Brisbane. Forget college hoops, the Gobshites are the real March Madness.
And yet, as of this morning, I'm down to 184 pounds. Seems kind of incredible, given all the debauchery. But then again I have been getting my aerobic workouts in courtesy of the drum kit, so I guess everything sort of evens out.
Nothing new to report on the depression/ADHD/medication front, as everything seems to be working as intended, and I'm looking into the CBT thing. And even though I am saddened by recent events in my life, I have an incredible network of family and friends offering me all the love and support that they can. I've even made one or two new friends in the last couple of weeks that have stepped up and been fantastic. My spirits were further bouyed this weekend when my daughter's financial aid package came through. With the exception of one small loan, she's got enough in grants and scholarships to pay for the full year, housing included. That is a HUGE weight off my mind.
So, doing, being, working, playing, living. It's all I can do right now.
And yet, as of this morning, I'm down to 184 pounds. Seems kind of incredible, given all the debauchery. But then again I have been getting my aerobic workouts in courtesy of the drum kit, so I guess everything sort of evens out.
Nothing new to report on the depression/ADHD/medication front, as everything seems to be working as intended, and I'm looking into the CBT thing. And even though I am saddened by recent events in my life, I have an incredible network of family and friends offering me all the love and support that they can. I've even made one or two new friends in the last couple of weeks that have stepped up and been fantastic. My spirits were further bouyed this weekend when my daughter's financial aid package came through. With the exception of one small loan, she's got enough in grants and scholarships to pay for the full year, housing included. That is a HUGE weight off my mind.
So, doing, being, working, playing, living. It's all I can do right now.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
CBT And Me
So my doctor thinks I'd benefit from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I've been reading up online, and it seems interesting. I definitely think I have a pattern of thinking, whether shaped by experience or bad wiring or both, that tends to lead me down some dark roads. The scary thing is, sometimes those dark roads are a comfort to me. I don't like that. I do think sometimes we have to embrace our dark thoughts, if only to admit they're there and then put them away. Immersing yourself in them isn't healthy (obviously), but neither is ignoring them.
So can I be taught to think differently about things? To notice patterns in my thinking? I don't know. I'll be 42 this year, and some of that stuff seems pretty deep-seeded to me. I don't want to seem resistant to a new approach, but how will I react when I'm told to rethink everything? The big problem with my latest stretch of depression is that I never even saw it coming, and I think it may be because I'm just used to that feeling. Will my ADHD interfere with my ability to recognize the patterns?
Is there anyone out there that's gone through this? Or do you know someone who did? Did it work for you/them? Like I said, I'm not opposed to trying it, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this darkness doesn't come back. But it's still scary to think that my darkness may be more attractive to me at times than the way out of it. I'm confident that I'll opt for the way out, of course.
So can I be taught to think differently about things? To notice patterns in my thinking? I don't know. I'll be 42 this year, and some of that stuff seems pretty deep-seeded to me. I don't want to seem resistant to a new approach, but how will I react when I'm told to rethink everything? The big problem with my latest stretch of depression is that I never even saw it coming, and I think it may be because I'm just used to that feeling. Will my ADHD interfere with my ability to recognize the patterns?
Is there anyone out there that's gone through this? Or do you know someone who did? Did it work for you/them? Like I said, I'm not opposed to trying it, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this darkness doesn't come back. But it's still scary to think that my darkness may be more attractive to me at times than the way out of it. I'm confident that I'll opt for the way out, of course.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Shamrocked
Well it seems like the new dosage and regimen is working. The jittery feeling doesn't last as long as it did at first, and the three-times-a-day Ativan is helping to smooth out the rough edges. I gained a couple pounds back this weekend, but that's perfectly understandable when you're spending the weekend on the road with a band. Food choices at a music festival tend not to be of the health conscious variety. When your choices are a basket of chicken fingers, a fried turkey leg, and a "Meat Sundae", you just gotta roll the dice and hope for the best.
Shamrockfest was an unqualified success, as far as I'm concerned. Last time we were there, we had to leave right after our set, so we could make it back in time for the South Boston St. Patrick's Day Parade. This year, the parade is the Sunday after St. Paddy's, so we could hang out for the whole thing, and I'm sure glad we did. We got to play two sets this year. First was the Guinness stage, where we were first band up. This time, they opened the gates about a half hour before we went on, so we had a decent crowd from start to finish. Then we went over to the Irish Village stage, where the crowd was absolutely huge. Both times we had great sets and the folks seemed to enjoy the hell out of it.
And then there was the hanging out and schmoozing. We got to see a lot of folks we don't get a chance to all that often. Friends from the area, other bands like Icewagon Flu, Scythian, Pubcrawlers, and of course, Dropkick Murphy's. Ken was very gracious and invited us to come down to the grand opening of Whiskey Republic in Providence tonight. Alas, we're playing a private show at the Paradise in Boston.
After the fest, we were whisked away to The Mighty Pint, a bar in downtown D.C. where we were assured "Gobshites don't pay for nothin'." They were right, we didn't. Thanks guys.
So yeah, a minor setback with the weight, but the meds are doing their job, and a fun weekend was had by all. This being St. Paddy's week, we're about the get really busy, and more tales will be told, you can bet.
Shamrockfest was an unqualified success, as far as I'm concerned. Last time we were there, we had to leave right after our set, so we could make it back in time for the South Boston St. Patrick's Day Parade. This year, the parade is the Sunday after St. Paddy's, so we could hang out for the whole thing, and I'm sure glad we did. We got to play two sets this year. First was the Guinness stage, where we were first band up. This time, they opened the gates about a half hour before we went on, so we had a decent crowd from start to finish. Then we went over to the Irish Village stage, where the crowd was absolutely huge. Both times we had great sets and the folks seemed to enjoy the hell out of it.
And then there was the hanging out and schmoozing. We got to see a lot of folks we don't get a chance to all that often. Friends from the area, other bands like Icewagon Flu, Scythian, Pubcrawlers, and of course, Dropkick Murphy's. Ken was very gracious and invited us to come down to the grand opening of Whiskey Republic in Providence tonight. Alas, we're playing a private show at the Paradise in Boston.
After the fest, we were whisked away to The Mighty Pint, a bar in downtown D.C. where we were assured "Gobshites don't pay for nothin'." They were right, we didn't. Thanks guys.
So yeah, a minor setback with the weight, but the meds are doing their job, and a fun weekend was had by all. This being St. Paddy's week, we're about the get really busy, and more tales will be told, you can bet.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Jittery, But Thinner
That's how I feel today, jittery. After my most recent panic attack (that makes three in two weeks), my doctor suggested I double my Prozac dosage, and go on a regular schedule for Ativan. So I started that yesterday, and now I feel jittery. And edgy. I really wish I didn't feel like this. Hopefully it evens out soon.
On the plus side, I'm down to 186 pounds. That's 26 pounds lost since December. Pretty good when you consider I haven't been able to keep a regular gym schedule the last two weeks. Still watching my food choices and water intake, so that's obviously helping. I'll never have washboard abs, but I've long since made my peace with that.
Also, the last two nights have been much better, sleep-wise. Taking an Ativan before bed definitely makes a difference. Thank Jeebus, because adding insomnia to everything else I'm dealing with right now would just be intollerable. Tightness in my chest is one thing, but bags under my eyes? Check, please.
I want to put another plug in for anyone who may possibly be reading this in the Washington, D.C. area (hey, I've got the Netherlands peeking in, so it's not impossible). The Gobshites are playing Shamrockfest again this year, and you'll have two chances to see us. To my knowledge, we're the only band pulling a double shift. I wonder if they'll give us extra drink tickets for that...
On the plus side, I'm down to 186 pounds. That's 26 pounds lost since December. Pretty good when you consider I haven't been able to keep a regular gym schedule the last two weeks. Still watching my food choices and water intake, so that's obviously helping. I'll never have washboard abs, but I've long since made my peace with that.
Also, the last two nights have been much better, sleep-wise. Taking an Ativan before bed definitely makes a difference. Thank Jeebus, because adding insomnia to everything else I'm dealing with right now would just be intollerable. Tightness in my chest is one thing, but bags under my eyes? Check, please.
I want to put another plug in for anyone who may possibly be reading this in the Washington, D.C. area (hey, I've got the Netherlands peeking in, so it's not impossible). The Gobshites are playing Shamrockfest again this year, and you'll have two chances to see us. To my knowledge, we're the only band pulling a double shift. I wonder if they'll give us extra drink tickets for that...
Monday, March 07, 2011
The Life of a Rock Star
So you'd figure, after a weekend of playing shows and partying with friends and fans (and a couple of cute NYC cops), and coming home completely spent and exhausted, I'd have slept the sleep of the dead, right? I mean, I was prepared to do just that, after a quick grocery run and a nice, hot shower. And after all, it's National Sleep Awareness Week, so I'm pumped for slumber. Right?
Yeah, not so much. Is there such a thing as too tired to sleep? I've heard people say that, but even after a couple of Tylenol PMs, not a wink. Damn. I'll give the melatonin one more try tonight, but if it doesn't work, I'm getting something chemical from someone with a scrip pad.
But anyway, the weekend was pretty awesome. On Saturday, The Gobshites went down to Rockaway Beach for their St. Paddy's Parade, to play in an outside tent next to the Irish Circle pub on Rockaway Boulevard. Now, playing outdoors on the first weekend of March isn't the best idea, but we did have some friends and new fans come out to see us, so they made it worth it. There are pictures all over Facebook, if you're interested.
A quick pub crawl through Queens and a nap in a rather nice Comfort Inn later, and we were back on the road, headed straight up to Lawrence, Mass., to play at the Claddagh Pub for their annual after-race show. This bar is one of my favorites, and not just because they have an actual stage and a professional sound guy. The place is always, ALWAYS packed, and this year was no exception. I actually had some family come out for this, and they seemed duly impressed, so, to quote a famous TV star, Winning.
Next weekend, we head down to Washington, D.C. for Shamrockfest. This is one of the biggest Irish fests in the country, and we did it two years ago with Flogging Molly, Flatfoot 56, and a bunch of other bands. This year's headliner is Dropkick Murphy's.
I'll also be squeezing in some quality time to see my daughter in her last high school play. They're doing Beauty and the Beast, and she's the dance captain for the utensils, and a featured dancer. This kid is way more talented than I ever was. I can't wait to see what she does in college.
Yeah, not so much. Is there such a thing as too tired to sleep? I've heard people say that, but even after a couple of Tylenol PMs, not a wink. Damn. I'll give the melatonin one more try tonight, but if it doesn't work, I'm getting something chemical from someone with a scrip pad.
But anyway, the weekend was pretty awesome. On Saturday, The Gobshites went down to Rockaway Beach for their St. Paddy's Parade, to play in an outside tent next to the Irish Circle pub on Rockaway Boulevard. Now, playing outdoors on the first weekend of March isn't the best idea, but we did have some friends and new fans come out to see us, so they made it worth it. There are pictures all over Facebook, if you're interested.
A quick pub crawl through Queens and a nap in a rather nice Comfort Inn later, and we were back on the road, headed straight up to Lawrence, Mass., to play at the Claddagh Pub for their annual after-race show. This bar is one of my favorites, and not just because they have an actual stage and a professional sound guy. The place is always, ALWAYS packed, and this year was no exception. I actually had some family come out for this, and they seemed duly impressed, so, to quote a famous TV star, Winning.
Next weekend, we head down to Washington, D.C. for Shamrockfest. This is one of the biggest Irish fests in the country, and we did it two years ago with Flogging Molly, Flatfoot 56, and a bunch of other bands. This year's headliner is Dropkick Murphy's.
I'll also be squeezing in some quality time to see my daughter in her last high school play. They're doing Beauty and the Beast, and she's the dance captain for the utensils, and a featured dancer. This kid is way more talented than I ever was. I can't wait to see what she does in college.
Friday, March 04, 2011
A Whole Week Just For Us!
Hey looky this, there's something called National Sleep Awareness Week, and it starts this Monday. If you've been reading, you'll know that I'm very aware of sleep, and the lack thereof. I just found a new favorite website.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Johnny Can't Dance
Well actually, I can. And quite well, thank you very much. Just don't feel much like dancing right now, so here's a musical interlude from the best Cajun/Celtic/Eastern European punk band you're ever going to hear. I bring you...The Zydepunks:
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
"Huh, Well This Is New..."
The first thing I noticed was the shaking. Not violent, but like I was vibrating at a very high frequency. My eyes couldn't focus, my hand could barely hold the pen with which I was writing down pertinent information. My jaw quivering slightly. Then there was pressure, in my chest cavity. Not pain, an aching, slightly working it's way around. My breathing became labored and forced. But I was on a call, at work, I knew something was wrong, but I had to keep it together until the call was done. I hit the "Not Ready" button on my phone in anticipation.
One of my managers came over and asked if I was okay. I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a strained, wheezy "I don't know." She asked if I needed to go outside and get some air. I stood, and immediately felt woozy and unsteady. While I held on to the shelf over my desk, she went to get a couple of coworkers to help me downstairs. More people joined us downstairs, as I sat on a ledge outside, shaking even more for the cold air. We went back inside, where I sat in a lobby chair, while building security called for an ambulance. I drank my water while coworkers gave me words of encouragement. My shaking got worse.
The ride to the hospital was like being a kid, sitting in that way back stowaway seat in an old station wagon. I remember thinking, as I saw where we'd just been pass us, that this was the way I normally came home from work. But I wasn't going home. I was going to the emergency room. And I wasn't sure what was wrong. They gave me oxygen and told me to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth.
Being wheeled through the ER, I was given a private room, where they shifted me from the ambulance stretcher to an examination table. The tightness in my chest was still there, but the doctor said I was merely having an anxiety attack. No EKG was run, but a few minutes later a woman came in with two small white pills and a cup of water. Ativan, it was. After about 20 minutes, I finally started to calm down, and then all I felt was tired.
All told, I was probably in the ER for about an hour or so. In the meantime, someone at work called my emergency numbers, and my ride was waiting for me at the front door. When I got home, I called my doctor, who wrote me a new scrip for Ativan, and went to bed. That was Thursday. I took Friday off, played a couple of Gobshites shows over the weekend, and then took Monday off as well. I've taken the Ativan a few times since then, but it's only an as-needed kind of thing, so it's not really a daily routine.
I'm back at work, breathing better. I'm still better than I was, and getting better still.
The adventure continues...
One of my managers came over and asked if I was okay. I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a strained, wheezy "I don't know." She asked if I needed to go outside and get some air. I stood, and immediately felt woozy and unsteady. While I held on to the shelf over my desk, she went to get a couple of coworkers to help me downstairs. More people joined us downstairs, as I sat on a ledge outside, shaking even more for the cold air. We went back inside, where I sat in a lobby chair, while building security called for an ambulance. I drank my water while coworkers gave me words of encouragement. My shaking got worse.
The ride to the hospital was like being a kid, sitting in that way back stowaway seat in an old station wagon. I remember thinking, as I saw where we'd just been pass us, that this was the way I normally came home from work. But I wasn't going home. I was going to the emergency room. And I wasn't sure what was wrong. They gave me oxygen and told me to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth.
Being wheeled through the ER, I was given a private room, where they shifted me from the ambulance stretcher to an examination table. The tightness in my chest was still there, but the doctor said I was merely having an anxiety attack. No EKG was run, but a few minutes later a woman came in with two small white pills and a cup of water. Ativan, it was. After about 20 minutes, I finally started to calm down, and then all I felt was tired.
All told, I was probably in the ER for about an hour or so. In the meantime, someone at work called my emergency numbers, and my ride was waiting for me at the front door. When I got home, I called my doctor, who wrote me a new scrip for Ativan, and went to bed. That was Thursday. I took Friday off, played a couple of Gobshites shows over the weekend, and then took Monday off as well. I've taken the Ativan a few times since then, but it's only an as-needed kind of thing, so it's not really a daily routine.
I'm back at work, breathing better. I'm still better than I was, and getting better still.
The adventure continues...
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
This Is The Title of This Post
189 as of this morning. Not as big a drop as the past couple of weeks, but I'll take it. It's certainly better than going up, right? And I fully expect my weight to plateau at some point, so maybe I get down a few more pounds, and then it's all about maintenance. I can live with that.
I've about had it with the melatonin. It's never worked, and even Tylenol PM let me down last night. Frustrating. Looks like Sleepytime Tea is going to be next on the list.
So...why am I sharing so much of myself here? I guess there are two main reasons. One: Putting myself out there publicly, I think, helps insure that I'm honest about my illness, and about what it's going to take to get better, and also makes it that much more important for me to continue my mission to get back to being the man I was. Could this backfire? Most certainly, which is why making sure I avoid the humiliation of falling back into that black fog is paramount. Am I sharing too much? Yeah, I probably am. After all, this is my journey. I have plenty of love and support from those I love most, but this is about doing what I need to do.
The other reason is the hope that someone going through a similar difficulty might happen to stumble upon this, and see that it is possible to get up and try again. It's hard, and in my case it almost always takes drastic circumstances to motivate me to do it. But there is help out there for those of you suffering from depression, ADHD, or any other mental illness or condition that inhibits your happiness and your ability to be yourself.
Get help. Now. You can get better, it is possible. Do it for yourself, and for the life you want. And don't forget where you were before, and how it felt, so that to do everything you can to avoid it in the future. Put it behind you, but keep it in your mind when you feel less than motivated to try.
And again, this isn't meant to be a litany of "Woe is me" online. I want it to be more of a recognition that I'm back at it, fighting and clawing at the surface, forcing my real self to break through once more. I can feel it, it's coming. Soon.
I've about had it with the melatonin. It's never worked, and even Tylenol PM let me down last night. Frustrating. Looks like Sleepytime Tea is going to be next on the list.
So...why am I sharing so much of myself here? I guess there are two main reasons. One: Putting myself out there publicly, I think, helps insure that I'm honest about my illness, and about what it's going to take to get better, and also makes it that much more important for me to continue my mission to get back to being the man I was. Could this backfire? Most certainly, which is why making sure I avoid the humiliation of falling back into that black fog is paramount. Am I sharing too much? Yeah, I probably am. After all, this is my journey. I have plenty of love and support from those I love most, but this is about doing what I need to do.
The other reason is the hope that someone going through a similar difficulty might happen to stumble upon this, and see that it is possible to get up and try again. It's hard, and in my case it almost always takes drastic circumstances to motivate me to do it. But there is help out there for those of you suffering from depression, ADHD, or any other mental illness or condition that inhibits your happiness and your ability to be yourself.
Get help. Now. You can get better, it is possible. Do it for yourself, and for the life you want. And don't forget where you were before, and how it felt, so that to do everything you can to avoid it in the future. Put it behind you, but keep it in your mind when you feel less than motivated to try.
And again, this isn't meant to be a litany of "Woe is me" online. I want it to be more of a recognition that I'm back at it, fighting and clawing at the surface, forcing my real self to break through once more. I can feel it, it's coming. Soon.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Session Man
I got to record a tin whistle track for The Jo Henley Band yesterday. Thanks to Mark Bryant and Seasound Studios for thinking of me! One of the things I wanted to do when I started playing tin whistle was get good enough so that people would think of me when they needed that something extra, something Irish. And I'm no virtuoso, but someone at least thought I was good enough for one tune. It was a good time.
I haven't been to a traditional Irish session in a while. I need to get back to that. Even though I'm not the regular whistle player for the Gobshites right now, I still want to keep up with it. And trad sessions are a very important part of the learning process. Nobody plays a traditional Irish tune the same way, and it's fun to get together and hear everyone's personal spin on an old jig or reel.
Some of the best musicians you'll never hear of show up at trad sessions. A really good one gets everyone involved, whether it be playing an instrument, singing an old song, even reciting a poem, dancing, and of course the odd pint or two. It's what they call The Craic. You can't really define a good craic, but you know it when you see it.
Don't forget to come out to the Rock Your Irish event tonight in Clinton, if you're in the area. And if you're in the range of WAAF-FM, we're going to be playing live on Bay State Rock at around midnight.
See you at the pub.
I haven't been to a traditional Irish session in a while. I need to get back to that. Even though I'm not the regular whistle player for the Gobshites right now, I still want to keep up with it. And trad sessions are a very important part of the learning process. Nobody plays a traditional Irish tune the same way, and it's fun to get together and hear everyone's personal spin on an old jig or reel.
Some of the best musicians you'll never hear of show up at trad sessions. A really good one gets everyone involved, whether it be playing an instrument, singing an old song, even reciting a poem, dancing, and of course the odd pint or two. It's what they call The Craic. You can't really define a good craic, but you know it when you see it.
Don't forget to come out to the Rock Your Irish event tonight in Clinton, if you're in the area. And if you're in the range of WAAF-FM, we're going to be playing live on Bay State Rock at around midnight.
See you at the pub.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Snap Out of What?
It occurs to me that, having laid out all my broken-ness here online, I may be creating the impression that I take no responsibility for myself. This is definitely not the case. I know more than anyone that I'm ultimately responsible for making sure my mental health issues are monitored and treated. I get that. And I've failed at that in the last couple of years, with spectacular results. When I started my new job, I should have immediately sought out my doctor and restarted treating myself to avoid spiraling out of control, and I didn't do that. It's probably one of the bigger regrets of my life. I thought I was okay, and I wasn't, and I didn't see it until it was too late.
Having said that, I also get that many people don't see this as a real illness. They think maybe I (and people like me) are just moody, or selfish, or whatever. Fair enough. It's only been relatively recently that mental illness has come out of the closet, so to speak. My parents' generation was probably the last to have the mindset that all you need to do is "Snap out of it." Hell, plenty of folks in my own generation are of the same idea. So okay, I understand that the solution of "Snapping out of it" seems rather obvious. And I guess it is. But this is an illness, no doubt, and it can be just as devastating as any physical ailment, because it is physical. It's about the brain, and how it's wired (or unwired, as the case may be). The brain is part of your physical self, and if it's damaged or broken, the symptoms are felt for real.
Telling someone with major depression to snap out of it is like telling someone with kidney disease to snap out of it. You can't just will yourself better, no matter how much you want to. You need medical and psychological help. Unfortunately, there's no magic shot or pill that does the trick. Medication does help (the jury's still out on the Prozac right now), but if you have reasons to be sad, anxious, or afraid, it's not like a pill is going to take those reasons away.
So anyway, I do understand that it's my job to treat me, and I now understand even better the dangers of failing to do that. So all I can do is keep trying. And I will. That's a promise from me to me.
Having said that, I also get that many people don't see this as a real illness. They think maybe I (and people like me) are just moody, or selfish, or whatever. Fair enough. It's only been relatively recently that mental illness has come out of the closet, so to speak. My parents' generation was probably the last to have the mindset that all you need to do is "Snap out of it." Hell, plenty of folks in my own generation are of the same idea. So okay, I understand that the solution of "Snapping out of it" seems rather obvious. And I guess it is. But this is an illness, no doubt, and it can be just as devastating as any physical ailment, because it is physical. It's about the brain, and how it's wired (or unwired, as the case may be). The brain is part of your physical self, and if it's damaged or broken, the symptoms are felt for real.
Telling someone with major depression to snap out of it is like telling someone with kidney disease to snap out of it. You can't just will yourself better, no matter how much you want to. You need medical and psychological help. Unfortunately, there's no magic shot or pill that does the trick. Medication does help (the jury's still out on the Prozac right now), but if you have reasons to be sad, anxious, or afraid, it's not like a pill is going to take those reasons away.
So anyway, I do understand that it's my job to treat me, and I now understand even better the dangers of failing to do that. So all I can do is keep trying. And I will. That's a promise from me to me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
More Stuff and Things
I really kind of love this:
(image from the Wisconsin protests courtesy of Crooks & Liars)
I skipped the melatonin last night. My sleep aid came courtesy of Arthur Guinness and Samuel Adams. And some guy named Blue Moon. I went to trivia night at RiRa in Providence with a couple of friends, and we won. Good times, good times. And no, I didn't get loaded, just comfortable. Senor Prozac is ever vigilant.
Still holding at 190 as of this morning. That's fine, I'm feeling good, physically. Gym today after work, then home for a quiet night, I think. Watch some TV, play some whistle, annoy the cat. Maybe some laundry. This is the life of an Irish Punk Rock Star.
Speaking of which, The Gobshites are taking our brand of mayhem to Ireland in November. We tried doing this last year, but the economy kept a lot of folks from signing up. If you're interested in coming along, visit the Hammond Tours website, scroll down to our picture, and click on the .pdf link. This is a great way to see the country. I've done it twice with Black 47, and we had an absolute blast both times.
And don't forget about our big show at Clinton Town Hall in Clinton, Mass. this Saturday. It'll be us, Black 47, Dierdre Sweeny, and some Irish dancers. Come down and join the hooley.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wait...What?!?
Years ago I was in a club in Providence, waiting to see Neutral Nation. Just sitting there, minding my own business, drinking a beer, when a woman walked up to me and complimented me on my hair. I had very long hair back then. I was a rocker. I thanked her, and she explained to me that she was a hairdresser, so she tended to notice things like that. I thanked her agian. Well, she then explained, she was a hairdresser and a stripper. "Huh" I replied. "Cool." I returned to my beer and watching the stage. She stood there for a few more moments, and then walked away. That was the end of the conversation.
Here's the point: It never once occured to me that she was hitting on me. My mind just doesn't work like that. Whether it's a lack of self-confidence (in this case), or some part of my mind just isn't wired for subtlety (although looking back, I guess she wasn't really being all that subtle), but I'm just thick that way. You really need to stand right in front of me sometimes, and maybe even hit me over the head, for me to see what you're getting at.
That's weird, right? I mean, I spent over a decade on the standup comedy circuit, I'm an avid reader, writer, and reasonably sharp guy in general. So why do things just pass right over my head like that? I have no idea. And it's not even all the time. At least I don't think so. It could be that things go by without me noticing constantly. Am I just distracted? Is it a symptom of ADHD? A friend once told me that I displayed many characteristics of Asperger's Syndrome, although I've been assured by professionals that this is not the case.
Whatever it is, it's frustrating, that's for sure. I think it creates the impression in people that I'm either aloof, self-centered, or just a jerk. I really hate that, because I think of myself in the exact opposite way. I'm not a jerk, and I'm not the least aloof. I know I can be self-centered, but no moreso that anyone else, really. I have empathy, and I care deeply about many things and many people. And many times, I really am listening, but I don't know how to react to things, or even whether I should. What does that say about me?
What the eff is wrong with me?!?
Here's the point: It never once occured to me that she was hitting on me. My mind just doesn't work like that. Whether it's a lack of self-confidence (in this case), or some part of my mind just isn't wired for subtlety (although looking back, I guess she wasn't really being all that subtle), but I'm just thick that way. You really need to stand right in front of me sometimes, and maybe even hit me over the head, for me to see what you're getting at.
That's weird, right? I mean, I spent over a decade on the standup comedy circuit, I'm an avid reader, writer, and reasonably sharp guy in general. So why do things just pass right over my head like that? I have no idea. And it's not even all the time. At least I don't think so. It could be that things go by without me noticing constantly. Am I just distracted? Is it a symptom of ADHD? A friend once told me that I displayed many characteristics of Asperger's Syndrome, although I've been assured by professionals that this is not the case.
Whatever it is, it's frustrating, that's for sure. I think it creates the impression in people that I'm either aloof, self-centered, or just a jerk. I really hate that, because I think of myself in the exact opposite way. I'm not a jerk, and I'm not the least aloof. I know I can be self-centered, but no moreso that anyone else, really. I have empathy, and I care deeply about many things and many people. And many times, I really am listening, but I don't know how to react to things, or even whether I should. What does that say about me?
What the eff is wrong with me?!?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Solitude and Fear
Today is President's Day. I'm off, spending the day cleaning house, doing dishes and laundry, and futzing around with the cat. Truly a patriotic undertaking.
I've had quite a bit of time on my own this weekend. Time to relax, read, write, watch TV, and think. Solitude can be a good thing. It can also be nerve-wracking and anxious. I tended to waft between both this weekend. It was good to tune out the world for a bit and contemplate things. But at the same time, the thoughts that can go through my head when I'm left on my own can be dangerous and lead to feelings of worry and doubt.
I have abandonment issues. At least I think I do. At the very least, I have issues revolving around being left behind or left out. Could be part of my illness, could also have something to do with the fact that I was the youngest kid, by a few years, growing up in my neighborhood. Nobody wanted to be stuck with the baby, so I was often left out of things like go-cart races, tree forts, and other games. As I grew up, it seemed like even kids my own age would leave me out of their cliques. I'm hardly alone in that, I know. And it's not like I didn't have friends. But I spent a lot of time on my own, in my room, listening to music or reading comics.
As a result, I'm hyper-sensitive when it comes to feeling like things are being kept from me. Does that make me paranoid? I don't know. But it can make me afraid to be alone sometimes, because I often wonder what's going on without me. Is everyone out having a great time, even though (or maybe because) I'm not there? Are they happy to not have me around? What are they saying about me? Or worse, is my absence not even noticed? Those thoughts get swirling around, and then hours can pass like years when I'm on my own. I get anxious, lonely, and afraid.
This weekend, not so much. I mean, there was some of that, but not nearly as pronounced as it used to be. Mostly, I was tired. Unfortunately, the melatonin failed me again last night, and I woke up at 12:45, and the again at 4:00, and then off and on until about 8:00. Alas. Maybe it needs time to build up in your system. I'll keep trying.
I forgot to mention yesterday that, at the Gobshites/Black 47 show this weekend, we'll be selling one of our two new CDs, "Poitin". Those of you who pre-ordered "Songs Me Da' Got Pissed To" will automatically get this as well, for free. For the rest of you, bring some extra cash. It's really good, if I do say so.
I've had quite a bit of time on my own this weekend. Time to relax, read, write, watch TV, and think. Solitude can be a good thing. It can also be nerve-wracking and anxious. I tended to waft between both this weekend. It was good to tune out the world for a bit and contemplate things. But at the same time, the thoughts that can go through my head when I'm left on my own can be dangerous and lead to feelings of worry and doubt.
I have abandonment issues. At least I think I do. At the very least, I have issues revolving around being left behind or left out. Could be part of my illness, could also have something to do with the fact that I was the youngest kid, by a few years, growing up in my neighborhood. Nobody wanted to be stuck with the baby, so I was often left out of things like go-cart races, tree forts, and other games. As I grew up, it seemed like even kids my own age would leave me out of their cliques. I'm hardly alone in that, I know. And it's not like I didn't have friends. But I spent a lot of time on my own, in my room, listening to music or reading comics.
As a result, I'm hyper-sensitive when it comes to feeling like things are being kept from me. Does that make me paranoid? I don't know. But it can make me afraid to be alone sometimes, because I often wonder what's going on without me. Is everyone out having a great time, even though (or maybe because) I'm not there? Are they happy to not have me around? What are they saying about me? Or worse, is my absence not even noticed? Those thoughts get swirling around, and then hours can pass like years when I'm on my own. I get anxious, lonely, and afraid.
This weekend, not so much. I mean, there was some of that, but not nearly as pronounced as it used to be. Mostly, I was tired. Unfortunately, the melatonin failed me again last night, and I woke up at 12:45, and the again at 4:00, and then off and on until about 8:00. Alas. Maybe it needs time to build up in your system. I'll keep trying.
I forgot to mention yesterday that, at the Gobshites/Black 47 show this weekend, we'll be selling one of our two new CDs, "Poitin". Those of you who pre-ordered "Songs Me Da' Got Pissed To" will automatically get this as well, for free. For the rest of you, bring some extra cash. It's really good, if I do say so.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Stuff and Things
So first, a quick check-in. Down to 190 as of this morning. That's 22 pounds since December. Yeah.
I can't really tell about the Prozac just yet. It's only been a little over a week, so I guess there's still time to figure that out. But things do seem a little bit sharper. That's a good thing, anyway.
I tried melatonin last night, and the results are mixed so far. I slept pretty well, but my internal clock is set to about five in the morning, so that's when I woke up. Probably didn't help that I took the pill at about midnight. We'll try again tonight, but earlier.
The Gobshites played RiRa in Portland, Maine this past Friday. What a great city. I used to go up there a lot for comedy, and haven't been in a while. This weekend was the Great Guinness Toast. Like we needed an excuse to go play somewhere. Basically, this is the start of our busy season, as you might imagine. We'll be back up there on St. Patrick's Day, playing from 9-Close. This weekend, we're opening for our pals Black 47 at Clinton Town Hall in Clinton, Massachusetts. The event is called Rock Your Irish, and the proceeds go to support the Polus Center for Social and Economic Development and their work on behalf of people with developmental disabilities. Definitely come dow if you can. It's a great cause, and a Gobshites/Black 47 show is an event, to be sure.
That's it for today. I'll try and think of something witty and insightful for President's Day.
I can't really tell about the Prozac just yet. It's only been a little over a week, so I guess there's still time to figure that out. But things do seem a little bit sharper. That's a good thing, anyway.
I tried melatonin last night, and the results are mixed so far. I slept pretty well, but my internal clock is set to about five in the morning, so that's when I woke up. Probably didn't help that I took the pill at about midnight. We'll try again tonight, but earlier.
The Gobshites played RiRa in Portland, Maine this past Friday. What a great city. I used to go up there a lot for comedy, and haven't been in a while. This weekend was the Great Guinness Toast. Like we needed an excuse to go play somewhere. Basically, this is the start of our busy season, as you might imagine. We'll be back up there on St. Patrick's Day, playing from 9-Close. This weekend, we're opening for our pals Black 47 at Clinton Town Hall in Clinton, Massachusetts. The event is called Rock Your Irish, and the proceeds go to support the Polus Center for Social and Economic Development and their work on behalf of people with developmental disabilities. Definitely come dow if you can. It's a great cause, and a Gobshites/Black 47 show is an event, to be sure.
That's it for today. I'll try and think of something witty and insightful for President's Day.
Friday, February 18, 2011
"Weeeellll, looks like we got ourselves a reader"
I've had more than one person at work say some version of "Every time I see you, you're reading another book" to me, like they can't imagine why I'd do such a thing. I actually had one guy tell me last week that he hated reading. I don't understand that. At all. I come from a family of readers. I was read to constantly as a baby and toddler, so I guess that's where it all started. I actually remember the first time I realized I was reading on my own. I was sitting on the couch in our living room, about maybe four or five years old. And while the details are a little hazy, I believe it had something to do with turtles playing football. I could be completely wrong about that. I remember once in kindergarten, sitting by myself and reading a book aloud, and when I looked up, a bunch of other kids were all sitting around me, listening. My first public speaking gig. I was a little embarrassed, to be honest.
Reading is just what I do, I guess. Whenever I develop an interest in something, the first thing I do is look for books on the subject. The history of it, biographies of prominent people related to it, how to's, whatever. I'm pretty sure that even if I did end up a waffle waiter (see clip above), I'd probably be reading on my lunch breaks.
Right now, I'm reading a book by British music journalist Colin Irwin called "In Search of the Craic." It's about his journey through Ireland's pub culture, looking for the ultimate traditional seissiun. Lot's of good anecdotes about people like Shane Macgowan, Christy Moore, De Dannan, Sharon Shannon, and other luminaries of the traditional Irish music scene.
I like non-fiction a lot, but fiction creeps in pretty regularly too. Twain and Vonnegut would have to rank up there as my favorites, along with Steinbeck, Kerouac, and more contemporary writers like Neil Gaiman and Bruce Sterling. I just finished the Keith Richards memoir. Highly recommended. The guy can tell a story, for sure. I got a bunch of books for Christmas, as well as a Barnes & Noble gift card, which netted me three more, including Patti Smith's "Just Kids". I think that's going to be next.
Any other readers out there? What are you reading right now? What have you read lately that you can recommend? I'll even take suggestions from waffle waitresses...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Come Sleep, O Sleep!
Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the press
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw!
O make in me those civil wars to cease!—
I will good tribute pay if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light,
A rosy garland, and a weary head;
And if these things, as being thine in right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
-Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)
I'm not sleeping enough. I try to get at least six hours a night, but that's not always possible. I gave up on eight hours years ago. I've tried Tylenol PM a couple times this week, and it works. But one: I don't want to have to depend on that. And two: I end up still tired in the morning. As I type this, I feel drowsy, and I've been awake for three and a half hours. I've showered, shaved, dressed, made my lunch, eaten breakfast, driven to work. And now I feel like finding three conference room chairs to line up so I can take a nap. I hope I can snap out of this, get a second wind or something. I've got my gym bag with me, ready to go for after work. The last thing I want to do is doze off in the middle of an ab crunch. I'm wondering if I need to add Melatonin to my daily regimen of vitamins and supplements.
One of the things my weight loss surgery resolved was my sleep apnea. That's actually what set the whole gastric bypass thing in motion in the first place. I knew I snored a bit, but when I was told by someone that they could actually hear me stop breathing in my sleep, I had to do something. So I went in for a sleep study. Honestly, I have no idea how they can get a decent read on your sleeping habits, because they put you on a gurney (not even a hospital bed, a gurney), with monitors attached, and then they wake you every hour or so to try a different position or mask. Not exactly ideal conditions, if you ask me. But I'm not a doctor.
The first part of the night was without any mask or other breathing aide. They told me later that in one hour, I woke up 30 times. 30 times. That basically means that about every two minutes, I'd stop breathing and choke myself awake. No wonder I was a zombie during the day. Then they tried a C-PAP machine. This basically forces air into your lungs through your nose, so you can't help but breathe. Well, you can't help but breathe in, anyway. The C stands for continuous. I had a very hard time with this one, so they tried a Bi-PAP, which alternates the flow of air as you breathe in and out. This one worked a lot better, so it was determined I should start using one at home.
Aside from the occasional teasing that I looked like a test pilot and sounded like Darth Vader in bed, I did pretty well with this. I eventually got used to having a big mask over my nose, attached to a tube, all wrapped around my head, and until a few months after my surgery, it helped me get the sleep I'd been missing all those years. Since the sleep apnea was related directly to my weight, I no longer needed the mask after I'd lost a significant amount, and I could sleep on my own.
Having gained some of the weight back, I think the apnea has started to creep back in. I didn't go back on the mask, though, but I've lost most of the weight that I gained back (still holding at 194), so hopefully that'll resolve itself again.
Untill then, I've got the sheep on standby...
Monday, February 14, 2011
Check-In
Down to 194 pounds this weekend. That's 18 pounds since the beginning of December. Dig on that.
Also, I started a new medication. And we went old-school this time with Prozac. It's only day four, but so far so good. It seems like it's taking at least some of the edge off. I'm sure there's a cumulative effect before I really notice it, but that's now part of my daily intake, along with my vitamins and supplements.
I did want to see how or if I needed to watch my alcohol intake, so for purely scientific purposes, I stopped off on my way home on Friday and grabbed a four-pack of Guinness. Now granted, I've already cut back significantly at shows, and with my playing a vastly more aerobic instrument these days, I just don't even have the free hand to pick up a pint. But my doctor said one or two beers wouldn't have much of an effect, and I wanted to see for myself. I decided to skip the lab coat though, and dressed instead in the traditional jeans and t-shirt. Observing me in my natural habitat.
My doctor was right. One or two beers is fine. Three was verging on loopy. Four? Well, I'm just glad I was at home is all I'll say about that. Luckily we don't have any lampshades. Of course this situation, me at home watching TV and relaxing, is a bit different from being out at a show, physically active, etc. So at our show the next night I again gingerly waded into the Guinness wilderness, with similar results, although I stopped before things got too loopy. After all, I had to be fit to actually play the show, and then pack up my car and drive home. So I cut the Guinness with significant helpings of water. That's something that's worked in the past for me, and it continued to serve me well on this night.
Alcoholism can be a risk, both due to my family history and the statistics with gastric bypass patients. And I admit I sometimes don't pay attention to my intake when I'm out at a pub, on stage, and someone's thrusting a pint into my hand every time I turn around. I enjoy having a drink or two, but if I'm going to get myself back on track, I need to start paying better attention to this. And I will.
Welcome to the new me. Or maybe it's the old me. Whatever it is, it's the real me.
Also, I started a new medication. And we went old-school this time with Prozac. It's only day four, but so far so good. It seems like it's taking at least some of the edge off. I'm sure there's a cumulative effect before I really notice it, but that's now part of my daily intake, along with my vitamins and supplements.
I did want to see how or if I needed to watch my alcohol intake, so for purely scientific purposes, I stopped off on my way home on Friday and grabbed a four-pack of Guinness. Now granted, I've already cut back significantly at shows, and with my playing a vastly more aerobic instrument these days, I just don't even have the free hand to pick up a pint. But my doctor said one or two beers wouldn't have much of an effect, and I wanted to see for myself. I decided to skip the lab coat though, and dressed instead in the traditional jeans and t-shirt. Observing me in my natural habitat.
My doctor was right. One or two beers is fine. Three was verging on loopy. Four? Well, I'm just glad I was at home is all I'll say about that. Luckily we don't have any lampshades. Of course this situation, me at home watching TV and relaxing, is a bit different from being out at a show, physically active, etc. So at our show the next night I again gingerly waded into the Guinness wilderness, with similar results, although I stopped before things got too loopy. After all, I had to be fit to actually play the show, and then pack up my car and drive home. So I cut the Guinness with significant helpings of water. That's something that's worked in the past for me, and it continued to serve me well on this night.
Alcoholism can be a risk, both due to my family history and the statistics with gastric bypass patients. And I admit I sometimes don't pay attention to my intake when I'm out at a pub, on stage, and someone's thrusting a pint into my hand every time I turn around. I enjoy having a drink or two, but if I'm going to get myself back on track, I need to start paying better attention to this. And I will.
Welcome to the new me. Or maybe it's the old me. Whatever it is, it's the real me.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Reality Killed the Radio Star
I went to college with the intention of making my living in radio.
Money well spent.
I guess it wasn't that big a pipe dream, but it wasn't all that realistic, either. Maybe if I'd been willing to be the kind of person that moves all over the country every year, making meager change in small markets and DJing clubs on the weekends to supplement my income. But I didn't want to be an absentee father. And I figured the Boston area had enough radio stations. And with Providence nearby, that should have expanded my options.
But man, schools churn out aspiring Howard Sterns by the truckload. Nobody told me that beforehand. And those folks will fight you to the death for the crappiest paying gigs. Add to that the egos and the outright scumbags in the business, and a guy who's not too into confrontation and tends to retreat into himself doesn't really stand much of a chance.
Nevertheless, I stuck it out for a few years, mostly because it really was a fun job. Whether I was on-air or producing, I got to hang out with some pretty incredible people, meet a lot of folks who've influenced me over the years, and go to see bands and comics and other events that I'd never be able to afford to do. Yeah, guest lists were a huge side benefit. Also books. Turns out, if you work in radio (and TV and other media, of course), you can call a publisher and get a review copy of pretty much any book out there. Pretty sweet for a guy who likes to read.
Unfortunately, the reality of low income and the decreasing likelihood that it would get any better made me make the painful decision to give it up. Besides, I'd gotten into standup at that point, so my creative jones was satisfied. I still miss it sometimes, but in the 12 years since I left, opportunities have gotten only scarcer. More and more stations are going DJ-less, and the talk radio side, for the most part, is populated with people I wouldn't cross the street to piss on. So no, I don't regret not being in radio anymore.
Money well spent.
I guess it wasn't that big a pipe dream, but it wasn't all that realistic, either. Maybe if I'd been willing to be the kind of person that moves all over the country every year, making meager change in small markets and DJing clubs on the weekends to supplement my income. But I didn't want to be an absentee father. And I figured the Boston area had enough radio stations. And with Providence nearby, that should have expanded my options.
But man, schools churn out aspiring Howard Sterns by the truckload. Nobody told me that beforehand. And those folks will fight you to the death for the crappiest paying gigs. Add to that the egos and the outright scumbags in the business, and a guy who's not too into confrontation and tends to retreat into himself doesn't really stand much of a chance.
Nevertheless, I stuck it out for a few years, mostly because it really was a fun job. Whether I was on-air or producing, I got to hang out with some pretty incredible people, meet a lot of folks who've influenced me over the years, and go to see bands and comics and other events that I'd never be able to afford to do. Yeah, guest lists were a huge side benefit. Also books. Turns out, if you work in radio (and TV and other media, of course), you can call a publisher and get a review copy of pretty much any book out there. Pretty sweet for a guy who likes to read.
Unfortunately, the reality of low income and the decreasing likelihood that it would get any better made me make the painful decision to give it up. Besides, I'd gotten into standup at that point, so my creative jones was satisfied. I still miss it sometimes, but in the 12 years since I left, opportunities have gotten only scarcer. More and more stations are going DJ-less, and the talk radio side, for the most part, is populated with people I wouldn't cross the street to piss on. So no, I don't regret not being in radio anymore.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Loaded Up And...Locked
A big problem I run into is that, far from having nothing to say, I'm actually brimming with ideas in my mind, but for whatever reason I just can't seem to get them out consistently. Probably a byproduct of my condition, but even when I was treating it regularly, I'd fall into a rut very easily. Maybe it's feelings of worthlessness caused by depression, maybe not. One thing I always have a hard time with is deciding in my head whether something's worth writing down. I need to keep telling myself that it's all worth writing down (that is, after all, what a personal journal is for, right?). It's whether the product is ready for public consumption that's the key, I think.
I've been assured by more than one person that I have at least a modicum of talent for writing, so why don't I believe it? Is it just too hard to see myself as any good? I recognize the signs of self-doubt when they come on, but overcoming them is another thing entirely. And I know I'm not exactly unique in that respect. Truth to tell, these doubts don't just apply to writing. In fact, I have just as much trouble getting what I want to say out of my head verbally. And it has cost me.
Why? Why am I so passive? When things start going south, I start retreating into myself. I hate that. I hate knowing that I should be saying something and having nothing come out. I hope this new regimen of mine can help with that. I'm sick of feeling hopeless and inept. Sick of letting what I want slip away because it's too painful to stand and fight sometimes. Doesn't what I want matter? So what's stopping me from trying?
Only me. Get out of my way, me.
I've been assured by more than one person that I have at least a modicum of talent for writing, so why don't I believe it? Is it just too hard to see myself as any good? I recognize the signs of self-doubt when they come on, but overcoming them is another thing entirely. And I know I'm not exactly unique in that respect. Truth to tell, these doubts don't just apply to writing. In fact, I have just as much trouble getting what I want to say out of my head verbally. And it has cost me.
Why? Why am I so passive? When things start going south, I start retreating into myself. I hate that. I hate knowing that I should be saying something and having nothing come out. I hope this new regimen of mine can help with that. I'm sick of feeling hopeless and inept. Sick of letting what I want slip away because it's too painful to stand and fight sometimes. Doesn't what I want matter? So what's stopping me from trying?
Only me. Get out of my way, me.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Two Quick Things
Just checking the stats page for this blog. I have no idea how to read most of that stuff, but I notice that, after the USA and Canada, my biggest audience seems to be from the Netherlands. Not sure what to make of that, but welcome, Dutchmen. Also, one of the search terms that popped up was "Sheer Terror Hardcore." I know who Sheer Terror is, been a fan for many years (more for Paul Bearer's rants than anything else, but their music is pretty cool too), but for the life of me I can't figure out how that got someone to this page, as I've never, to this point, even mentioned them. Maybe it was because I said I used to play drums in a hardcore band? Kind of a stretch, but okay.
Just thought those were curious, nothing much else to add.
Carry on.
Just thought those were curious, nothing much else to add.
Carry on.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Stepping Away from Standup
My last standup gig was in August of 2009. I played Showcase Live in Foxboro, Mass, opening for Louis Ramey. It was a pretty sweet gig. I had my own dressing room! And a personal waiter! And I didn't even have to order from the kids menu! And then someone asked me if I had my guest list. I didn't even know I was getting a guest list! I started texting furiously to see if I could get anyone to come out and make me look like a big shot. And at the end of the night they even gave me a CD of my performance. I'm still trying to convince myself that the smattering of laughs on it was due to the fact that they didn't mic the audience...
The next night, the Gobshites played there, opening for Young Dubliners (presumably so we could rub their nose in the fact that I decided to skip their show to see the 'Shites instead the year before...). It just seemed like a fitting time, and more than a little symbolic, to take a break from comedy at that point. I just wasn't getting the same thrill out of it anymore, you know? I wasn't writing nearly as much, and just the grind of trying to chase bookers down was getting to be a bore.
I was also starting to get a little bored with my material. I knew I was never going to be a Patton Oswalt or Louis CK, but I just wasn't even really feeling it anymore, even the stuff I knew worked really well. I could still pull off a good 30-40 minutes feature set, but just good. I wasn't getting great. I wasn't even striving to be great anymore. So I put comedy on hold for a bit.
Out of sheer habit, I still keep my notebook with me, telling myself that one of these days I'm going to start jotting things down again. And I will. One of these days. I haven't totally written off getting on a comedy club stage again. I'm sure I could get some spots around Boston and Providence if I wanted to. There's even a weekly open mic right around the corner from me, and I've been thinking a lot about heading over there some Wednesday night.
The next night, the Gobshites played there, opening for Young Dubliners (presumably so we could rub their nose in the fact that I decided to skip their show to see the 'Shites instead the year before...). It just seemed like a fitting time, and more than a little symbolic, to take a break from comedy at that point. I just wasn't getting the same thrill out of it anymore, you know? I wasn't writing nearly as much, and just the grind of trying to chase bookers down was getting to be a bore.
I was also starting to get a little bored with my material. I knew I was never going to be a Patton Oswalt or Louis CK, but I just wasn't even really feeling it anymore, even the stuff I knew worked really well. I could still pull off a good 30-40 minutes feature set, but just good. I wasn't getting great. I wasn't even striving to be great anymore. So I put comedy on hold for a bit.
Out of sheer habit, I still keep my notebook with me, telling myself that one of these days I'm going to start jotting things down again. And I will. One of these days. I haven't totally written off getting on a comedy club stage again. I'm sure I could get some spots around Boston and Providence if I wanted to. There's even a weekly open mic right around the corner from me, and I've been thinking a lot about heading over there some Wednesday night.
I Can't Even Find the Words...
Well I probably could if I tried. But really, what else is there to say?
Monday, February 07, 2011
At Least My Pity Party Has a Cool DJ
"GAWD! I wish he'd stop with the 'Woe is me' crap!"
Yeah, there's a lot I've written lately that sounds an awful lot like wallowing in my illness/condition/whatever. I'm really not trying to do that. I mean, sure, I'm kind of an emotional wreck these days, but I'm trying to focus on the positive and get better. Music helps. My playlist can get a bit eclectic, but lately I've been listening to a lot of straight-up punk rock. Cock Sparrer, The Business, and Street Dogs have been in heavy rotation lately, along with Swingin' Utters. There's quite a bit of Celtic, both traditional and otherwise (See: Greenland Whalefishers, The Pogues, Christy Moore, Flatfoot 56, and The Real Mackenzies). I got a great four CD compilation for Christmas called Rockin' Bones, which is all 50's and 60's rockabilly. And there's even been a little Zydeco thrown in, most notably Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys' Trace of Time CD, and also the first Zydepunks CD.
I should put in a plug for the two new Gobshites CDs coming out very very soon. The first one to come out will be "Poitin" (pronounced (pot-CHEEN), which is our "Official Bootleg." It's a compilation of various songs we've done for compilations, some live tracks, and one or two alternate mixes. The other is "Songs Me Da Got Pissed To," an album of traditional Irish songs and tunes, done Gobshites-style. Originally, "Poitin" was supposed to be a freebie for those who preordered "Songs...", and until midnight this Friday, it still is. But we're also going to be selling them at shows now as well. Both of them come out this month, with "Poitin" leading off. You can get more info by sending an email to acousticelticore@gmail.com.
Yeah, there's a lot I've written lately that sounds an awful lot like wallowing in my illness/condition/whatever. I'm really not trying to do that. I mean, sure, I'm kind of an emotional wreck these days, but I'm trying to focus on the positive and get better. Music helps. My playlist can get a bit eclectic, but lately I've been listening to a lot of straight-up punk rock. Cock Sparrer, The Business, and Street Dogs have been in heavy rotation lately, along with Swingin' Utters. There's quite a bit of Celtic, both traditional and otherwise (See: Greenland Whalefishers, The Pogues, Christy Moore, Flatfoot 56, and The Real Mackenzies). I got a great four CD compilation for Christmas called Rockin' Bones, which is all 50's and 60's rockabilly. And there's even been a little Zydeco thrown in, most notably Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys' Trace of Time CD, and also the first Zydepunks CD.
I should put in a plug for the two new Gobshites CDs coming out very very soon. The first one to come out will be "Poitin" (pronounced (pot-CHEEN), which is our "Official Bootleg." It's a compilation of various songs we've done for compilations, some live tracks, and one or two alternate mixes. The other is "Songs Me Da Got Pissed To," an album of traditional Irish songs and tunes, done Gobshites-style. Originally, "Poitin" was supposed to be a freebie for those who preordered "Songs...", and until midnight this Friday, it still is. But we're also going to be selling them at shows now as well. Both of them come out this month, with "Poitin" leading off. You can get more info by sending an email to acousticelticore@gmail.com.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
The Weight of My World
Part of getting myself back is getting back on track with my weight and general physical health. On April 30th, 2007, I had Gastric Bypass Surgery. It was deemed necessary by my GP, as I had reached over 300 pounds and have a family history of diabetes, stroke, and heart disease. The thing is, I never minded exercising at all. I actually enjoyed it. But my lack of motivation would often torpedo any efforts I made to get back into a fitness routine.
So I met with the folks at the Mass General Weight Center, who set me up with a surgeon, a psychologist, and a nutritionist to determine whether surgery was my best option (as I mentioned in a previous post, it was here that I learned of my ADHD for the first time). After several meetings, they did finally recommend Gastric Bypass over the lap band procedure.
It was a nerve-wracking decision. I'd never so much as spent a night in a hospital. I had no idea what to expect, and of course there's always the possibility that something could go wrong. But I was also hopeful and optimistic about finally being able to get my weight under control.
The surgery worked. I lost about 140 pounds, got down to about 175, and my energy and self confidence grew in leaps and bounds. I felt like I had turned my whole life around.
Unfortunately, the depression and ADHD issues I've previously written about sapped my motivation to keep going, and I gained some of the weight back. Not a huge amount, but enough that it started becoming a concern for myself and my loved ones. By the beginning of this past December, I was back up to 212 pounds.
So I determined to hit the gym. There's a modest one on the first floor of the building I work in, and I started going after work, three days a week. Treadmill, weight machines, and some ab exercises that I've picked up over the years, and I pretty much just designed my own little program.
This morning, I was down to 198 pounds.
Back under 200, and in a good routine. I also started cutting way back on my consumption of Arizona Diet Green Tea (I stopped drinking carbonated soda altogether about five months before my surgery) in favor of good old water. It's funny, I think the water has actually kicked my weight loss into overdrive. For a few weeks, I was going through a period of losing two pounds and gaining one back, and now it's been only losing.
So it's back to the gym again tomorrow, and Wednesday, and Friday, and the same for next week, and the week after that, and hopefully the progress I've made will compound and continue. Because I like feeling fit and healthy. I think I'm going to keep it.
So I met with the folks at the Mass General Weight Center, who set me up with a surgeon, a psychologist, and a nutritionist to determine whether surgery was my best option (as I mentioned in a previous post, it was here that I learned of my ADHD for the first time). After several meetings, they did finally recommend Gastric Bypass over the lap band procedure.
It was a nerve-wracking decision. I'd never so much as spent a night in a hospital. I had no idea what to expect, and of course there's always the possibility that something could go wrong. But I was also hopeful and optimistic about finally being able to get my weight under control.
The surgery worked. I lost about 140 pounds, got down to about 175, and my energy and self confidence grew in leaps and bounds. I felt like I had turned my whole life around.
Unfortunately, the depression and ADHD issues I've previously written about sapped my motivation to keep going, and I gained some of the weight back. Not a huge amount, but enough that it started becoming a concern for myself and my loved ones. By the beginning of this past December, I was back up to 212 pounds.
So I determined to hit the gym. There's a modest one on the first floor of the building I work in, and I started going after work, three days a week. Treadmill, weight machines, and some ab exercises that I've picked up over the years, and I pretty much just designed my own little program.
This morning, I was down to 198 pounds.
Back under 200, and in a good routine. I also started cutting way back on my consumption of Arizona Diet Green Tea (I stopped drinking carbonated soda altogether about five months before my surgery) in favor of good old water. It's funny, I think the water has actually kicked my weight loss into overdrive. For a few weeks, I was going through a period of losing two pounds and gaining one back, and now it's been only losing.
So it's back to the gym again tomorrow, and Wednesday, and Friday, and the same for next week, and the week after that, and hopefully the progress I've made will compound and continue. Because I like feeling fit and healthy. I think I'm going to keep it.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Father of a College Student, Am I (Almost)
A couple of weeks ago, my daughter called me in an excited flurry and informed me that she'd just been accepted to the college of her choice. A huge, HUGE sigh of relief was heard across southeastern Massachusetts, from her house to my house to her aunt and grandmother. It wasn't that I didn't think she'd get in, she's a far better student than I ever was. But just the culmination of over 17 years of worrying and hoping and wishing that she'd grow up to do whatever she wanted to do makes even a gimme a nerve-wracking experience. It is true what they say, you will never know the sheer terror, combined with the utter joy, of raising a child unless you've helped to do it. I know I've made some big blunders along the way, yet she's grown up to be an amazing young woman, someone who'll make her difference in the world, and do it beautifully. Well done, my wonderful girl.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
On Tin Whistles, Singing, Drums and Etc.
In September, 2008, I joined The Gobshites, a Boston-area acoustic Irish punk rock band. The band itself has been around since 2002, with various members coming in and out around lead singer/guitarist Pete Walsh over the years. The original idea, as I understand it, was to have a sort of revolving cast of characters, a'la Bob Dylan's Rolling Thunder Review, however at one point a more-or-less solid, permanent lineup emerged, and stayed that way for a few years. One thing they'd never had before I joined was a tin whistle player (the tin whistle heard on our CDs was supplied by session musician Billy Novick). One thing I had never played before (well, there are many things, but this is the most relevant) is the tin whistle. It was a natural fit. My joining the band was pure happenstance. I had known the guys for years, and was looking to go out one night to see some music, when I saw that they were playing at a pub not 15 minutes from my house, so I decided against heading out in a teeming rain to see the Young Dubliners at another venue about 45 minutes away. You have to wonder what the Young Dubs missed out on because of that rain...
I grew up playing drums. My dad was a tenor drummer in a drum & bugle corps growing up, and when I was very young he bought me a pair of sticks and a practice pad and taught me how to do a five stroke roll and a paradidle. When I got older, he signed me up for drum lessons, and a few years after that bought me a used drum kit that served me through various bands in high school and college. Most of them never did much of anything, except Suckerpunch, a late 80s-early 90s Boston Hardcore band that had gained most of its' notoriety before I came aboard to replace the original drummer. That was my last band, and my last regular drumming for a long long time.
Also from an early age, I listened to a lot of Irish music. My folks were big fans of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. On summer trips to Cape Cod, we often spent afternoons at the Happy Hour of a local pub, eating and listening to the Irish bands playing there. So being a drummer, I figured playing bodhran would be a natural choice for me. I took lessons at the Irish Cultural Center in Canton, Massachusetts, and hit up a few sessions, and did that more or less as a hobby for a while.
Now back to that fateful night at the Gobshites' show. During their second set, the pub's owner jumped up on stage with one of the decorative bodhrans that adorn pretty much every Irish pub in existence, and started banging away. In between sets, Pete turned to me and said "You know how to play that, right? You're in the next set." And then he handed me a pint of Guinness, which went a long way towards overcoming any objections and/or stage fright.
After the last set, we chatted for a bit about the fun we'd just had, and when Pete asked me if I played anything else, I mentioned that I had a tin whistle that I'd been trying to learn. "Cool" he said. "Practice is on Monday nights at the Feeney's." And that was that. My learning curve on the whistle was pretty steep. I had to learn three sets worth of songs, plus a bunch of traditional Irish tunes we were going to record for our new CD, and I was pretty much learning on stage, in front of the audience. It was daunting, sure, but that's also what I liked about it. It took me way, way out of my comfort zone, and introduced me to a whole new crowd of friends and loved ones at the same time. And having become bored and disillusioned with my standup comedy career, it couldn't have come along at a better time.
Recently, after we went through a succession of drummers, I was pressed into service at the last minute during an outdoor brewers festival. It was only one 45 minute set, but at the end of it, my arms felt like they'd been rope-a-doped. Still, even for not having played regularly in years, I managed to pull it off reasonably well. And then this past weekend, I was asked again to sit behind the kit, this time for three full shows. I was nervous as could be, but amazingly, my body held out through all three nights. I guess it helps that I've been hitting the gym on a regular basis. So now, I've taken over as the regular drummer for the time being, while still practicing the whistle for recordings and such. I was a little hesitant to take on the new role, but I guess it boils down to what can I do to help the team, you know?
It's still fun, and I'll keep at it until it isn't. Check out our website for upcoming dates, and stop in if you're in the area. We're a good time.
I grew up playing drums. My dad was a tenor drummer in a drum & bugle corps growing up, and when I was very young he bought me a pair of sticks and a practice pad and taught me how to do a five stroke roll and a paradidle. When I got older, he signed me up for drum lessons, and a few years after that bought me a used drum kit that served me through various bands in high school and college. Most of them never did much of anything, except Suckerpunch, a late 80s-early 90s Boston Hardcore band that had gained most of its' notoriety before I came aboard to replace the original drummer. That was my last band, and my last regular drumming for a long long time.
Also from an early age, I listened to a lot of Irish music. My folks were big fans of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. On summer trips to Cape Cod, we often spent afternoons at the Happy Hour of a local pub, eating and listening to the Irish bands playing there. So being a drummer, I figured playing bodhran would be a natural choice for me. I took lessons at the Irish Cultural Center in Canton, Massachusetts, and hit up a few sessions, and did that more or less as a hobby for a while.
Now back to that fateful night at the Gobshites' show. During their second set, the pub's owner jumped up on stage with one of the decorative bodhrans that adorn pretty much every Irish pub in existence, and started banging away. In between sets, Pete turned to me and said "You know how to play that, right? You're in the next set." And then he handed me a pint of Guinness, which went a long way towards overcoming any objections and/or stage fright.
After the last set, we chatted for a bit about the fun we'd just had, and when Pete asked me if I played anything else, I mentioned that I had a tin whistle that I'd been trying to learn. "Cool" he said. "Practice is on Monday nights at the Feeney's." And that was that. My learning curve on the whistle was pretty steep. I had to learn three sets worth of songs, plus a bunch of traditional Irish tunes we were going to record for our new CD, and I was pretty much learning on stage, in front of the audience. It was daunting, sure, but that's also what I liked about it. It took me way, way out of my comfort zone, and introduced me to a whole new crowd of friends and loved ones at the same time. And having become bored and disillusioned with my standup comedy career, it couldn't have come along at a better time.
Recently, after we went through a succession of drummers, I was pressed into service at the last minute during an outdoor brewers festival. It was only one 45 minute set, but at the end of it, my arms felt like they'd been rope-a-doped. Still, even for not having played regularly in years, I managed to pull it off reasonably well. And then this past weekend, I was asked again to sit behind the kit, this time for three full shows. I was nervous as could be, but amazingly, my body held out through all three nights. I guess it helps that I've been hitting the gym on a regular basis. So now, I've taken over as the regular drummer for the time being, while still practicing the whistle for recordings and such. I was a little hesitant to take on the new role, but I guess it boils down to what can I do to help the team, you know?
It's still fun, and I'll keep at it until it isn't. Check out our website for upcoming dates, and stop in if you're in the area. We're a good time.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
If ADHD Were a Person, It Would Look Like This
So I have ADHD, and as I said in my previous post, I was officially diagnosed with the condition (along with depression) a little over four years ago. It was a little bit of a shock to the system, to be honest. I had always assumed that would have been tested for much earlier in my life, but no. I was told, first by the staff psychologist at the Massachusetts General Hospital Weight Center (who wasn't qualified to give an actual diagnosis), and then by my therapist (who is so qualified), that I had it, and probably was carrying it from childhood. Holy crap. All these years trying to figure out why I couldn't seem to keep it together and focus on things, even things I was very much into. I thought maybe (because I'd been told by many adults) I was just chronically lazy and unambitious. But the truth is, I had a lot of ambitions, and there were a lot of things I wanted to do. For some reason, I just couldn't get started with any of them. So I started to doubt myself, which leads, nearly inevitably, to depression, which is another possible result of ADHD.
So I went on medication. Wellbutrin at first, and then after my gastric bypass surgery, my therapist added Provigil, a milder stimulant than is normally prescribed for this condition. The reason for that is that one of the side effects of the stimulants they use to treat ADHD is a decrease in appetite. And where I just had a surgery that ensures that you eat a lot less than you used to, they didn't want to cause problems with my ability to get proper nutrition. The meds worked, although there was no moment of "Aha! I think I'll start training for the Boston Marathon." It's more you just sort of notice, after a while, that you're starting to follow through on things more, and your thinking is a bit clearer. You know how, when you take medicine for a headache, and then you realize at some point that the headache is gone, but you can't put your finger on when, exactly, it went away? There you go.
Unfortunately, about two years into my treatment, I lost my job, along with my insurance. And since I couldn't afford COBRA, I also couldn't afford to continue taking the meds, or seeing the therapist. So I stopped. I got a new job about four or five months later, but the schedule there wasn't as flexible, and so I couldn't really get back to see my therapist, and so I (stupidly) let it fall by the wayside. And now, two years after that, I'm finally trying to get in touch with her again to see if I can get back to that place where I was able to finish what I started and follow through on my ambitions.
There's really no way to describe the cloud you get stuck in with this condition. Add depression to that mix, and you're really lost. I've struggled to write (both comedy and otherwise), my position in the band was threatened, and it's caused a major strain on my relationship. All of these things I'm working desperately to try and resolve and work out now.
So I've got a call in to my old doctor, and I've started writing here again, and practicing (I promise to talk more about the music in a later post. I realize I haven't said much about it besides the fact that it exists), and trying to do everything else I can to get back on track.
So I went on medication. Wellbutrin at first, and then after my gastric bypass surgery, my therapist added Provigil, a milder stimulant than is normally prescribed for this condition. The reason for that is that one of the side effects of the stimulants they use to treat ADHD is a decrease in appetite. And where I just had a surgery that ensures that you eat a lot less than you used to, they didn't want to cause problems with my ability to get proper nutrition. The meds worked, although there was no moment of "Aha! I think I'll start training for the Boston Marathon." It's more you just sort of notice, after a while, that you're starting to follow through on things more, and your thinking is a bit clearer. You know how, when you take medicine for a headache, and then you realize at some point that the headache is gone, but you can't put your finger on when, exactly, it went away? There you go.
Unfortunately, about two years into my treatment, I lost my job, along with my insurance. And since I couldn't afford COBRA, I also couldn't afford to continue taking the meds, or seeing the therapist. So I stopped. I got a new job about four or five months later, but the schedule there wasn't as flexible, and so I couldn't really get back to see my therapist, and so I (stupidly) let it fall by the wayside. And now, two years after that, I'm finally trying to get in touch with her again to see if I can get back to that place where I was able to finish what I started and follow through on my ambitions.
There's really no way to describe the cloud you get stuck in with this condition. Add depression to that mix, and you're really lost. I've struggled to write (both comedy and otherwise), my position in the band was threatened, and it's caused a major strain on my relationship. All of these things I'm working desperately to try and resolve and work out now.
So I've got a call in to my old doctor, and I've started writing here again, and practicing (I promise to talk more about the music in a later post. I realize I haven't said much about it besides the fact that it exists), and trying to do everything else I can to get back on track.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)