Last Day on the Job

It seemed like a significant day. My last day on the temp job. My first 6 weeks on a lot were coming to a close. It was a slow day. I blogged about it. Real Time.

Here were go:

8:07am – Swipe my card at the gate.

8:11am – Turn off my computer, which did not shut off properly the night before.

8:12am - Turn my computer back on.

8:13am – Log on.

8:15am – Open outlook.

8:17am – Two emails received. Nothing for me specifically.

8:18am – Check my gmail. A few emails. One for JPC regarding the National tour. He’s probably going to see them at Prospect Park in June. Should be a good show. Agreed. One for my good friend, rockstar, and amazing vocalist, Zolani – she’d love to sing on a song I wrote for a recently deceased family member. I’m thrilled. I called the email I sent her “Long Shot, “ due to her ridiculously busy schedule. She was just in LA from Capetown to shoot a video with Shakira. She was so busy those two days that I never heard from her and never saw her. That’s busy.

8:25 to 8:50am – Check in on the sports scene in Boston. Read an article about the impending Celtics and Cavs series. Read an article about the Bruins rookie goalie who is playing extremely well. They were talking about rookie goalies who’ve lead their team to and won the Stanley Cup. The article made me way to anxious. Doesn’t anyone believe in jinxes? Jesus. Read an article about the Red Sox finally playing better. It’s about time. It’s almost May.

8:55am – Get an email from Halearious regarding her record player. She did it. It’s official. She’s now collecting and listening to records. She actually beat me the piss ant. I’m inspired. I’m going to be buying a record player real soon. I’m actually going to a vintage music store to listen to some vintage gear. Can’t wait to negotiate that price down. Oh, yeah.

9:03am – Drop a check in the mail for a commercial acting class. Can you say triple threat? Making it all happen.

9:05 – 9:15am – Respond to Zolani with the details of the song, how it’s progressing and how I see her on it. Two versions: One where we both sing (since it’s a personal song), and one where she sings alone, since she’s a fucking rock star who sings with Shakira. I may be crazy but I ain’t stupid. I am so fucking excited. We’ve been friends since we were 20. We met in Cape Town, South Africa. I love her. Her voice is like cocaine to me. I can’t get enough of it. I, in this metaphor, am the rat in the cage banging my head against the wall, hitting the switch trying to feed an addiction. Once the song is completed I will listen to it until I die with a smile on my face because she can do no wrong vocally, or in life. I once told her she could push me down the stairs and when I came to a stop at the bottom, I’d say, “Don’t worry Zo. I love you.” That’s love.

9:23am – I check in on ESPN.com. Nothing has changed.

9:33am – Back on boston.com/sports reading about the Patriots’ first round draft pick, Devin McCourty. He seems like a standup kid from New Jersey. Solid family. I’ll keep an eye on him.

9:35am – Over hear some co-workers talking about being hung-over. They went out drinking last night. Good for them. Drink water.

9:41am – Work-related e-mail count: 0

9:44am – Get an email from a co-worker / friend / other temp asking if I’m here. I’m wondering the same thing. Turns out I am.

9:51am – Decide it’s a good idea to document my last day here. In a blog. In a running journal.

10:00am – The time it is right now. We are live.

10:02am – Gchat with my friend MM. She called me to hang out last night. I told her I couldn’t because I had plans to meet a friend of a friend for the first time and I didn’t want to blow him off. I’m trying to make friends. I just revealed to her that he ended up blowing me off, and I should have hung out with her. What a waste. I did watch two episodes of “Breaking Bad” on DVD and that was fun, but MM is cute and super nice. That would have been more fun.

10:05am – Debating when to take my morning walk. I’m thinking soon. It’s looking nice out.

10:06am – Waiting for my boy, JPC, to show up on Gchat. He’s always a good conversation. Fingers crossed.

10:07am – Walk!!

10:09am – It is gorgeous outside. Not a cloud in the sky. Sun is shining. Light breeze. Good decision by moi!

10:10am – Walking along my normal route and I spy a tall, long legged, blonde female walking towards me. Promising. She takes a ramp that will continue to bring her towards my direction, but she’ll be above me when our paths cross. As we approach each other, I keep my head straight, shoulders back, but my eyes are tracking along with her behind my glasses. I realize that she strikingly similar to a character from Avatar in terms of her stature and facial resemblance. Not blue. No tail. As our paths are about to cross, I catch her eyes darting down to check me out. Oh yeah, busted! I love it. I must be doing something right. I’m glad I didn’t shave for two days. Seems to be working out. A good start to the walk.

10:20am – I decided to veer from my normal walk in an effort to traverse through parts of the lot I’ve seen, but never been through. There’s a whole section of old houses / smaller buildings that I’ve always presumed where writing related. It turns out I’m correct.

10:23am – I stop at a plaque entitled “The First Forty Years,” which details the beginning of the movie industry – starting with the advent of cellulose in 1889, the film projector in 1891, the first movie theater in Philly in 1905, the first feature film about a train robbery, and the start of this respective movie studio in 1914 – through the early 1930s. Interesting stuff.

10:35am – Back at the office.

10:36am – Work-related email count: 0

10:42am – Maybe I should ask to leave. I’m not sure they really need me. I’m honestly surprised the didn’t say that earlier this week when I told them today would be my last day.

10:43am – I at least have to stay through lunch. I’ve started this whole lunch click and they depend on me to eat together. It’s been horrible what happens to them on days when I’ve not been here. They eat by themselves. Oh, the horror.

10:44am – JPC is a no show on Gchat. Shame.

10:46am – Co-worker picked me off. She needs help with something. Work-related email count is about to be shattered.

11:00am – Work-related email count: 0

11:02am – Finished reading MM’s blog about high heels. I think I finally get why girls go through the trouble. Thanks MM.

11:04am – I think I may like the jersey that the US team will wear in the world cup.
11:05am – work-related email count: 1

11:32am – Overhearing co-workers discussing the weather and the weekend, I realized it’s Friday!! Fuck yeah!

11:44am – JPC texts. It’s like gchat but less efficient. It’ll do for now. I’m kind of busy.

12:02pm – Just sent out the email coordinating the lunch meet up. The final time I’ll do this. Or at least this time on the lot. I’m choking up. I’ll need a minute. (Luckily, I’ve only got 240 minutes of work left.)

12:17pm – I’ve completed my task.

12:19pm – There comes a point in every temp workers day when there is nothing left to read on the internet, I’ve hit that point. Lunch won’t come soon enough.

12:20pm – I guess I could read the NY Times.

12:23pm – Distracted by the lunch circle emails. The oil spill reached the coast. Damn. I kind of wish I didn’t go to nytimes.com. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

12:35pm – Lunch has been scheduled for 1PM.

12:55pm – Finished an article about Facebook and how they are constantly making changes that effect the user’s privacy, making things more public.

2:03pm – Got back from lunch. It was awesome. We had quite a crew of people who work at the lot for day jobs but pursuing other things at nice (i.e., acting, fashion design, and music).

2:23pm – Actually did more work than I was supposed to do on something. Found out just in time.

2:40pm – My assigned tasks for the day have just vanished. Completed. Now what?

2:49pm – If I was sailing, this would be the ‘duldrums.’ Lord have mercy on me…

3:03pm – Work-related email count: 5

3:11pm – You know you have a football problem when you’re reading espnboston.com and you come across an article about the Patriots signing either rookie free agents, and you get excited about it.

3:21pm – JPC logs onto Gchat. It’s gonna be short cause it’s late in NYC. Turns out my brother is down visiting friends who have been having some lady problems. He’s drinking a 40 already. It’s only 6:21pm there.

3:23pm – Supposedly my brother’s been drinking since 11am. He’s got once speed when it comes to drinking: Go.

3:43pm – Double barrel Gchat: JPC and M from MySpace. Day is going by quicker now. I’m thinking I may want to go for a walk again soon…

4:10pm – A co-worker said she was buying me an ice cream sandwich as a going away present. I just sent an email checking in on the status. I’m getting antsy to leave!

4:15pm – Time sheet has been filled out.

4:23pm - My co-worker shows up with the "Big Neopolitan Iced Cream Sandwich." She was out buying it for me when I sent her the email. I <3 her. :) Nice people rock. She went all the way into another building that only she has access to (of the three temps) and bought me the last one! That's a good friend.

4:30pm - A moment of silence for the "Big Neopolitan Iced Cream Sandwich." It is no longer.

4:31pm - I ate it the strawberry end first, followed by the vanilla, and then the chocolate. Was very yummy. Why does coffee get excluded? Why? Of all the iced creams, coffee is my favorite.

4:35pm - Let the goodbyes begin. I've composed my "sayonara" email and whatnot. To be sent shortly....

4:42pm - Debating leaving early. I've made it this far. Can I make it to 5:00pm? Is there a point? I'm not sure.

4:52pm - Goodbye email has been sent. Blog will be posted. I'm heading around to make the walk and say goodbye.

"A Small World, Indeed"

It’s weird how life is interwoven. It’s weird how life is so chaotic and complex. It’s weird that we find order in disorder. It’s weird that simplicity is the most beautiful thing of all (slightly ahead of symmetry).

And it’s just fucking nuts that my neighbor downstairs in Venice was roommates in NYC with my NYC roommate’s good friend and assistant chef at Franny’s in Brooklyn. What the fuck!?!

My neighbor and I have been running parallel lives now for almost two years.

He lived in Brooklyn for a 1 ½ years during the same time I did. He lived in Park Slope that entire time. He lived with the aforementioned assistant chef the entire time.

I lived in Brooklyn for 1 ½ years. I lived in Park Slope the entire time. I lived with the executive chef of Franny’s.

Our two roommates were great friends. My roommate talked about his roommate all the time – how he was the only one he trusted to run Franny’s when he wasn’t around. Trust and cooking go hand and hand. (As does trust and love, but that’s a whole different subject.)

My new neighbor and I both chilled at Franny’s innumerable times. We both became friendly with the other person’s roommate’s friend (who was the other person’s roommate!). (I know: confusing!)

We, however, never crossed paths in New York.

We both felt out of place in NYC.

We both decided to pack our bags and move to California.

We both decided to live in Venice.

We both landed on the same street in Venice.

We both landed in a blue building. The same building – he on the first floor; I on the second.

Two months or so after being neighbors we figured out we both lived in Brooklyn, in Park Slope. Crazy. A few blocks away. Solid.

It was when we connected on Facebook today that we realized how connected we both were.

We just thought we both lived in Park Slope a few blocks from each other. Turns out we were very connected.

More often than not, things in life seem random. There are instances like this that make things seem less random and really small.

Either way I marvel at the mystery that is life. It’s just weird.

"Yard-sale Heaven"

It was Sunday, April 18, 2010, and I was about to go on a maiden voyage. The destination? Yard-sale heaven. Once you go there, there is no coming back.

Format: Real-time journal.

8:47am: I awake naturally. I see it’s light out. I reach for my phone. "8:47am." Shit. I was supposed to be at Amanda J’s and Richie’s at 9:00am to help with their yard-sale. Shit. Not happening. Gonna be late.

9:28am: I pull past Amanda J’s and Richie’s. No sign of a yard-sale. I hope they didn’t cancel it.

9:33am: I walk up the stairs and see Richie coming down the stairs holding two chairs. Richie, asks, “What are you doing up so early? I reply, “Helping with the yard-sale. I’m a little late ‘cause I over slept.” Richie, “So did we.”

9:34am: I see Amanda J. “Groundswell,” she greets me with a big smile and a hug.

9:35am: I’m carrying down two chairs to the front lawn. (Task-master heaven?)

9:37am: Amanda J’s telling the early bird arrivals that we’re bringing stuff out. I’m starting to feel like we may be prey.

9:47am: Breaking a sweat. I over hear Amanda J responding, “Yes, we have cologne.” She turns to me, “Groundswell, tell Richie to bring the box down with the cologne.” These guys are making requests?

9:53am: Place a large box down on the ground that Amanda J asked me to get. Before either Richie or Amanda are able to look at it, a guy is going through the box in his desperate search for cologne. He rifles though and throws things he’s not interested on the ground. I don’t have time to stop and think about this. I’m off to get more stuff.

9:55am: Getting tired from hustling back and forth. Richie is now manning the sales. Amanda J and I are lugging stuff to the front yard. We have our first official ringer at the yard sale. He’s looking for mens watches, cell phones, and other electronic items. There’s no way he’s working alone, or here for his own personal use.

10:00am: Amanda J suggests I take a break a break for a minute. I’m not arguing. As I watch the melee, it’s like sharks feeding. They’re all hovering around, searching through boxes, asking questions. It seems chaotic. I feel for Richie and Amanda J as they try and respond. The group consists mostly of low income Spanish-speaking and what I would guess would be Indian immigrants.

10:05am: Amanda J and I are back in the house drinking water. It’s a beautiful day outside. Hustling around in jeans and a hoodie have made me sweaty and tired. It feels good. I’ve always liked doing manual labor. (Shut the fuck up Patrick.)

10:15am: The number of people interested in used cell phones is shocking. They’re the hot item.

10:32am: It becomes evident that anything over $20 will not be purchased readily. People pick up the nice items, hear how much they are, and put them down quickly. Richie, working for a video game company has some nice electronics and video game supplies – even at half off the retail price, people are scared. Surprising.

10:44am: The most touching moment of the day occurs when a women comes back to purchase a bottle of Rogaine for a few dollars. She was embarrassed to buy it so we made sure to hide our laughing. (I’m kidding. We didn’t laugh. Although Amanda J and I later discussed this very event back in her apartment and decide it was the “Most Touching Moment of Yard-sale 2010.” Bar none.)

10:53am: I’m hungry.

11:02am: Like most things, the rushes come in waves. They are making good progress selling their shit. Money is flowing in.

11:11am: Amanda J has just discovered that Richie has given away a picture of hers for free. It was $5. She warns that she might flip-the-fuck-out on Richie. We are a little scared. We laugh it off. She then convinces herself that Richie’s joking. He’s not. I watched him do it.

11:14am: Richie asks, “Amanda, how much for those?” Amanda whispers, “I don’t know. I stole those.”

11:20am: "Richie, I can't believe you gave away my picture. That was my big ticket item." We're not quite out of the woods yet.

11:23am: Amanda goes into the house.

11:25am: Richie’s friend from New Bedford breaks out a blunt.

11:33am: I’m really hungry.

11:45am: Debating how old the girl with the badukka-ass is. Anywhere from 15-20 is thrown out. She comes back with her mom. Twelve is the new answer. Amanda J tells us the pesticides in food are making them grow up faster. For real, for real. (There is no way she was under 16.)

11:50am: I need some water. As I am about to walk onto the sidewalk, I look left. No one coming. I’m good. I continue to walk full speed. Whack! My head slams into a lamp that arches over at the perfect head hitting height. I walk towards the apartment building laughing. Ridiculous.

12:01pm: Lunch is being discussed. Hell yeah. The Vegan Joint is getting hit up. I’m down. Amanda J says she’s going to order me a lentil burger and take care of the rest. I tell her that I have nothing but faith. It’s true.

12:05pm: For the millionth time, one of the lamps they are trying to sell is blown over by the wind. We just leave it down. It's now a floor lamp.

12:12pm: It’s discovered that someone stole Amanda J’s pipe that she was going to sell. Not cool.

12:14pm: Amanda J sells a neckless for $2. She then reveals that it cost $1 at the dollar store. She’s delighted.

12:20pm: After another purchase, Amanda reveals that it was gift from somebody that was sold. Turns out a lot of what they are selling are old gifts.

12:23pm: A flock of green parrots are wreaking havoc on the street. Flying around and being all raucous. It’s pretty entertaining. It must be mating season or something because they are up to no good.

12:27pm: A sweet car pulls up in front of the yard-sale. Richie comments on the rims. We all agree - too nice for the yard sale.

12:28pm: It was the delivery car. Lunch has arrived. It’s slamming. The Vegan Joint is the shit. Amanda ordered just as I would have.

1:01pm: A really young kid walks by with some friends. "How much for the vaporizer?" he asks. I'm impressed. Bird-like eyes. He says he'll be back. (He never came back.)

1:04pm: Richie has broken out the Indian flute. He has no idea how to play it. Doesn’t stop us from having fun.

1:15pm: We’re laughing hysterically at the idea of his flute playing driving a neighbor crazy to the point of the neighbor coming down asking how much the flute is, giving him a $20-bill, saying, “keep the change,” and then breaking it in front of us. We think this could be a good way to make money.

1:17pm: A Lexus pulls up to the yard-sale. Just happened to be driving by and makes an impromptu stop.

1:18pm: Two guys get out. They look around.

1:20pm: As the older of the two is looking around, he asks if we’re selling lemonade. We laugh because we were talking about that not too long ago. He then tells us at his last yard sale he sold water, and must have made $80 off of selling bottled water. "$3.99 for a twenty-four pack," he says. We’re impressed. He then gets back into his car. Shortly, his friend follows.

1:24pm: The window rolls down, and the older man, prompted by someone in the back seat who was too good to get out asks, while laughing “How much for those nasty tables.” Amanda says “Five dollars.” He laughs and rolls up the window and drives off.

1:25pm: Let the shit talking commence. Motherfucker.

1:26pm: Who the fuck sells water at a yard-sale? Why don’t you take your Lexus and get the fuck out of here? We were not pleased.

1:47pm: The packing up has commenced. The yard-sale is over at 2pm.

2:00pm: I’ve got a few goodies for the road. Some funny memories and no sunburn (I was chasing the shade like a vampire). It was an all around great way to start a Sunday. Now home to chill.

"Eggplant Studios, The Demo Sessions"

It was a good Friday. Beautiful, sunny, a picture perfect California day. According the the engineer, it was a shitty day to be in a studio. According to me, it was a perfect day to be in the studio. Actually, they’re all perfect days to be in the studio. Except for that time I was recording a song and Giselle wanted to get together – post Leo, pre-Tom – but my love of music got in the way. Still kicking myself for that one.

It was Good Friday. The day Christians celebrate Jesus dying for their sins, killing death, etc. I thought the religious significance was a nice touch to continue the journey on killing my demons. (I just noticed demo is the first four letters of demons.) It has and will continue to be a long fight against my demons, but I think I’m up for the challenge. And, the paying of someone else to record me singing and playing live is undoubtedly the greatest step I can take.

I woke up early. I couldn’t fall asleep the night earlier. The excitement was like Christmas Eve when I was a little tyke – back in the day when I’d wake up at 5am and lay on the bathroom floor watching the minutes tick by until it hit 7am – the time when my father said we would wake up for Christmas. I was in my parents bedroom on the dot.

Up and at ‘em, I was cooking a large breakfast of scrambled eggs with veggies. I knew that I’d want to eat early because while I’m in the studio I don’t get hungry, and eating and singing is never the best idea (phlegm).

I got to the Eggplant Studios in Silver Lake at noon. We were planning a ten hour day of recording and mixing. I was on time.

Darren, the engineer, instructed me to pull around back to ‘unload.’ I showed up around back with my guitar case. He started to laugh. Usually he records people with a ton of gear. It’s just me and Maybelle, my 1996 Larrivee D-9, aka my love. I pack light.

We begin to settle in. He asks if I want tea. I say yes. I love tea. It’s the English and Irish in me. He loves it as well. He’s got a whole cabinet full of organic teas. He takes me through the selection and asks which one I’d like. I tell him I’ll have the Roibos – a red tea from South Africa. Let’s bring it back to where it all started I say. Both for humans, and for my life changing decision to pursue music with everything I got.

While we’re brewing the tea, Darren’s two-year old, Aidan comes into the kitchen stark naked. He’s speaking two-year old English, which only his father can understand, but it’s relayed to me that he’s talking about the card in his hand that is Buzz Lightyear and he’s saying, “To infinity and beyond,” the famous Buzz Lightyear quote from the Toy Story series. I repeat it back to him and tell him how much I like Buzz and the movies. Aidan then starts speaking again, and once again, I don’t really make it out, but Darren translate it and says that Aidan is saying, “Reach for the stars.” I love it. I turn to Darren and tell him that I think Aidan is spitting some pretty philosophical stuff for me on the day I’m going to kill my demons. He laughs and agrees. I take it to heart.

I believe Aidan.

The tea's done, Darren puts in some sort of amazing organic honey and we’re back into the studio.

I’m getting comfortable. I’ve tuned up the guitar; I'm warming up. Darren is getting the mics he’s going to use and setting up the session. I’ve done all this before, but this time I’m watching. This time I’m the “talent.’

Once everything is set up, we get our game plan together. We decide to start off with the easiest, do the hardest as the third one, and then work our way back down to easy at the end. I have 8 songs prepared for the day – of the 25+ I have written in the past year or so.

It’s a good guide. I’ll follow it for a song.

I decide to start with “Sometimes.” “Sometimes” is the song I credit with my musical “awakening.” I wrote it in November of 2008. It’s about being afraid to fall in love. The characters are trying to take it slow during the verse for fear of getting in over their head and getting lost, getting hurt, and all the other fun stuff. The chorus is centered around being depressed – “Sometimes we’re lazy and other days I just don’t care.” The guitar is simple chord structures and the structural pattern is easy. Everyone I’ve ever played this song likes it.

We start off playing to a drum beat, and although this is a great way to ensure consistency between takes, we quickly loose the vibe of the song. We both agree to do away with the click / drum beat / metronome and let me go ‘au natural.’ I am game.

I take off the head phones, close my eyes and sing and play as if I’m in my room. I forget that I’m in the studio as much as possible, and it goes well. After a take or two like this, we move on. “Sometimes” has been captured as is on that day at that time.

I get out of the isolation booth that will be my home for the next 5 hours of so and we listen to the versions. We pick the one we like best and decide to move on. This will be the process we follow throughout the day.

The next song that’s up is “Thick as Thieves.” This song I wrote while I was ‘homeless’ and staying with my Aunt and Uncle in Annapolis in 2009. While there, I reconnected with my cousins from my dad’s side of the family. We grew up together until 1992 and then they relocated to Maryland. Due to technical limitations, we lost touch and things were never the same when we say them. However, this was not the case when we reconnected. We were all older. We could all drink. And, surprisingly, we hadn’t changed as much as we thought. Now, that we had exited the awkward years of adolescence and we had some life experience, everyone had blossomed into a more mature version of who were were becoming in 1992. It was like being home.

One of the first times we hung out again I went up for just the day, but we were having so much fun my plans changed. I soon was staying the night, and we were soon going to my cousin Polly’s friend’s house party. Polly is twenty-three. A recent grad of University of Maryland, she very much still has friends who throw a mean house party. He sister Meryl, is twenty-seven, and like myself, Irish, and still knows how to throw down at a mean house party. It was a blast. The three of us left the party at three in the morning, the last three standing.

At one point during the day, Polly was saying something that was not true, or was funny, or something and I said “that’s just propaganda Polly.”

A chord had been struck. I knew immediately that something would come of it.

After the party, when I was back home I picked up my guitar and started to structure a song that was upbeat, happy, in an effort to capture the feeling I had when I was around them. Within minutes I had “Thick as Thieves.” “You and me, we’re thick as thieves / And, yes, you’re honor we are guilty…(chorus) Miss America Meryl and Propaganda Polly and me / When we’re together we’re just so happy and free / We drink and we smoke, and we toke and we’re drinking again / When we’re together this party will never end.”

After a few tries with the drum beat, Darren gives me the go ahead to play without the beat. I lose the pick as well, and decide to play with just my fingers. Four minutes or so later we had the version of the song on ‘tape.’ I felt that something magical had happened and the song took the structure that I had been struggling to finalize. I listened to it on playback and gave the go ahead to move on.

Next song to record was “Just Like You (Desert Blues).” This song is in the mold of Dylan-esque upbeat blues of the sixties. I remember when I wrote it after I got back from a trip to Arizona in late 2008 to do some soul searching. I wrote it at my mom’s apartment after the Christmas holiday. I remember when I first heard it on playback on my hand-held recorder, smiling, thinking, “I’ve got something interesting here. I’ve been fine-tuning and honing it since then. This song came out easy and I was very pleased with it. It was almost like a blur and I had forgotten how it went when we’d return to mixing it hours later. This is still one of my favorites from the session. It opens, “Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em all down. Let’s let the government know we’re fucking around.”

Staying in the upbeat mode, I decided to record “If God Doesn’t” next. I love this song. Short and quick the main voice in this song takes solace in knowing that no matter what happens if God doesn’t save him he knows the devil will. He’s done and seen it all. And, he’s certain of two things – if god doesn’t save him, the devil will and that his baby loves him cause she told him so. Vaguely based on my life.

At this point in the session, I’m fairly exhausted. We take a break and make some more tea. This time Darren picks a white tea from Asia. The tea and honey will go a long way in soothing my throat.

When we get back in the studio, it’s time to slow it down.

I decide it’s time to do my favorite song – "No Joke." This song is simple and beautiful, and really marked a progression in my song writing, especially of the finger-picking folk style I love some much (think Iron and Wine, James Taylor, etc.) During my ‘awakening’ I developed the ability to finger pick out of nowhere. I relate it to Mama Cass being hit in the head and then being able to sing perfect harmonies with the others. One day I woke up and could finger pick like a motherfucker. I love it. This song is quiet, and slow, but it moves and has intricate melodies in the guitar. If you asked me how to play it, I could tell you the chords, but I couldn’t tell you the finger-picking style. It just happens when I start to play.

The lyrics for "No Joke" are based loosely on my life as a kid, and centered around my dad telling me I could be anything when I grow up – a doctor, a lawyer, or an Indian chief. It’s a great believe to possess. Sometimes, it’s hard to hold on to when you decide to go for Indian Chief. I’ve put it down in words and guitar to never lose it.

I recorded it in one take. I couldn’t hear myself in the headphones or anything. It just felt right. There are a few minor errors, but I still listen to the recording and think, “I can’t believe that’s me.” It’s been a long journey.

I recorded the folk ballad, “I Want to Love You” next. Another mellow jam with finger picking at the forefront, I got the song recorded on two takes. Once again we abandoned the drum beat quickly. Similar to “Sometimes,” “I Want to Love You,” is centered around the idea of wanting to love someone but not want to lie to them. I then constructed a story about a fight that the main character is focused on – at first is a gun fight, and then it morphs into a battle, and then a war. The song ends with the refrain “All day and all night I’m read to fight.” Most likely it stems from the internal struggle of loving music and, therefore, sacrificing love in the more eros form. (But damn I do love girls too. Maybe someday soon I’ll be able to balance both.)

It was getting late and I had to choose which song I was going to do last. I went with a more rocking “My Honey.” My “Mr. Mojo Risin” All of the verses begin with a variation of Mahoney (My Honey, Ah Money, and Ha Money). The song itself is once again finger picked and one of my favorites. We did two versions of it, and kept the second one.

Then it was off to dinner.

I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I ate not because I wanted to, but because I had to.

We got back from dinner at about 8PM. For the next six hours Darren mixed the songs while I recovered. I gave him input here and there, but for the most part I had left everything I had that day on tape. Is it the best thing I've ever done - maybe not. Is it the most important step, without a doubt.

At 4AM, I was packing my guitar into my car.

Thirty minutes later, I was back in Venice. Exhausted, I crawled into bed.

The Eggplant Demo was done.

On the battle that was Good Friday, 2010, the score read Groundswell 1, Demons 0.

To hear the above songs, please visit www.myspace.com/mattmahoneymusic

Rock on,

Groundswell

"The D-Word"

Have you ever laid in bed, clutching the phone picturing what you’d say to someone? Have you ever done this when it comes to someone of the opposite sex? Have you ever done this when you were thirty?

Well, I can safely answer yes to all of these questions. Cause I just did it. Again.

I can remember being twelve years old and wanting to call a girl I was interested in and sitting with my head on the kitchen table and playing out the phone conversation in my head for however long it took me to work up the nerve to call. And, then the inspiration would overcome me, I’d dial the seven digits (pre cellies bitches so you didn’t have to dial the area code every time), I’d hold my breath, and then, here it comes, “Oh, I’m sorry, she’s in the shower. Can I have her call you back?” Seriously? What? Why’d I waste my time? Silly rabbit.

So here I am, eighteen years later, situation is eerily similar. Phone has digits instead of being rotary. There is no chord on this phone. But, I’m still a pussy. I think there may still be a chord attached to my belly button or some shit.

The odd thing is I’ve hung out with this girl several times now. The first time we hung out by ourselves we went to see some live music and we ended up just talking outside the entire time. Literally saw three minutes of total music and that was when we were buying drinks on several occasions. Not sure if it was a date, or if we were just hanging out getting to know each other, not really sure the difference these days. (I’m going to have to ask for clarification from the other party involved.) I went into it thinking it wasn't really a "date" since we didn't know enough about each other, and we really had to get to know each other better for it to be a "date."

The second time I’m pretty sure it was more "date-like" and if it was a date, it was the best second “date” I’ve ever had. Epic. It was awesome. If it wasn't a date, then it was the best second hang out session I've ever had. Epic. It was awesome. (Someday I’ll blog about it, but not right now.) In fact, I had such a good time with her that when I dropped her off I said, and I kid you not, “Thanks for such a good time. This was the second best date, (beat) I mean the best second date I’ve ever been on.”

Did you hear that?

I used the word date in front of a girl.

The “D-word.”

It’s been like four years since I said that and didn’t mean, “Hey, do you know what the date is? The 21st?” Wow. What’s going on here? Crazy. Who am I? And, how did I get so good looking? ;)

I was shocked, and I had a feeling that she was shocked too - judging both by the look on her face, and how quickly she exited the car. But that's okay, it didn't change how much fun we both admittedly had.

I once heard you can only be a pussy for so long and then life forces you to grow up. Actually, I just made that up. And, I am living proof that it’s probably not true.

So, here I am. Thirty-years old, clutching onto the phone, playing out the entire conversation in my head, and then finally, I work up the nerve. I hit send. (She’s in my contact list; Groundswell don’t need to dial her number.) It’s ringing. It’s ringing. It’s her…voicemail. What the fuck? Are you kidding? Jesus (beat, and an octave lower) Christ. The more things change the more things stay the same. I’m in mid-message, stammering over the English language like a drunken zebra, and I hear a noise that lets me know I’m getting a phone call. Hey, look at this. She’s calling me back. Wow. This is an unexpected twist.

The other twist is that she told me on the first time we hung out that she hates it when a guy starts to like her and starts calling her. Haha. Oh, the joys of technology. I’ve been sticking pretty much to text messaging, and keeping the phone calls to a minimum. I think we’re both on the same page, and unsure of this whole “dating” world, and are in no rush to be anywhere where we're not, but we're figuring it out. People always do. Communication is key.

She also told me she had no interest in dating anyone because they tend to get in the way of her friends and her acting. I kid you not. She’s like a female version of me, but instead of the word “friends” and “acting” insert “music.” See, I told you communication was key.

That was of course until she came back from the bathroom break later in the night and the alcohol was kicking in and she told me “well that’s all true, BUT, if the right guy came along….” I’m still working that one out. Sometimes, communication can be confusing, especially when drinking with a beautiful girl.

Where’s my guitar?

So, the phone conversation went well. She said he absolutely would like to hang out again and we were going to hang out on what was, now, this past Friday for my roommate's birthday. Good Italian food and wine - it was a guaranteed good time.

The phone call was quick, painless, and one might even say pleasant. It was, however, entirely different than the one I had played out in my head while lying on my bed. Shocking.

I think the reason the phone is scary is that you can't see the other person's face to get feedback. You have to just believe it's there. When I first talked to her on the phone she had told me that she normally doesn't like to talk on the phone for this exact reason - she can't see the other person's face. I thought this was very astute and made total sense.

But, sometimes, I feel that a phone call is better than text messaging. Maybe I'm old school. Maybe I just like hearing a female voice at the other end of the line. Maybe it's the excitement and adrenaline rush. Maybe it's all of the above. Maybe it's "c." Who really knows. I'm just guessing most of the time when it comes to girls.

The morale of the story (guessing): Grow a pair. Call her. Most girls like zebras, especially when drunk (you can decide if I mean the zebras or the girls).

PS - I talked to her about the whole "d-word" incident this past Friday while we were hanging out again and drinking celebrating my roommate's birthday. Turns out the first time we were just hanging out we were, just as I thought, getting to know each other better, but it was during our conversation that she started to like me. And, me using the “d-word” as we said goodbye after the second time we hung out, totally freaked her out too. She said a wave of anxiety went through her when I said it. Haha. I love it. The two of us are ridiculous, and it makes me laugh. :)

The good news is that when we do hang out it’s always a good time. So why worry about the details? If we're just hanging out or if we're on a "date" doesn't really matter. It's the enjoyment that is important. Fuck the details. That’s what having a day job is for - boring details.

Peace,
Groundswell

"She's Got Legs"

I was at work recently, at a team meeting. There were twenty-five to thirty people there – all of them needed to be there, all of them, except me. I’m a temp worker. I’m enjoying myself. Working with these people is great, they’re all so nice and friendly, but I don’t think this is the position for me. I’ve done stuff like this – 5 years ago – to do it again would be a step back. I moved to California to take steps forward. For the right position, something that would get me my dream job, I would definitely take a step back. Maybe even two. But, not for this job. I was surprised that I was even sent the Outlook invite and listed as required. It’s nice to be included, but in this case I wasn’t sure why.

I showed up for the part. I had a notepad. I had a pen. I had no intention / expectation that I would be using either, but I at least came dressed for the part. It is, after all, Los Angeles.

I took a seat towards the end of the long conference table, next to a new hire, (and new friend). The seat to my right was open, the seat next to that was filled by a supervisor and very nice woman who’s vegan. We started chatting about all things vegan, vegetarian, healthy living, yoga, “Food, Inc,” and other things. Very pleasant conversation. She’s one of the nicest people I work with, and they are ALL super nice.

After a good twenty minutes of chit-chat and settling-in, a beautiful blond takes the seat to my right, and the meeting gets started.

Off to a good start, but as I thought, it has very little to do with me, but it’s fun to be there.

Then, my attention is caught. I’m sitting with my back facing the windows over looking the lot, but I’m looking towards the hallway. My view is through large glass windows, probably ten feet in height, but there is a middle section that is an opaque white color. Above and below the opaque section is a three to four foot section that is see-through glass. The glass runs the entire length of the conference room, which is probably fifty feet long. And it is amazing. Who ever designed this knew exactly what they were doing.

This all hits me as a pair of beautiful female legs saunters the entire length of the conference on display courtesy of a knee-high floral-pattern skirt. These legs are perfect- firm, tanned, long. Judging by the light, airy walk, whoever is walking by seems to be in a good mood, and it’s rubbing off on me. I’m now in a great mood.

And it so happened, it was a beautiful summer-like day in Los Angeles, which meant that dresses and skirts were out like the birds and the bees. For the next hour, I was inundated with a stream of beautiful sets of legs walking by, and it was like art, meets fashion, meets voyeurism. The legs on California females, for the most part, are amazing. Toned, tanned, and long. Accentuated with high heals and a nice flowing skirt, it’s like being in heaven. Faceless, nameless, beautiful legs, and me appreciating every pair, every gate, and every nuance as they walked by on display. I couldn’t have been happier. What a way to start off my day.

(The meeting was great. We are making some real progress hiring people.)

But the second floor of that building is awesome. I need to get myself a job up there, or at the very least, at more conferences in that conference room.

As ZZ Top said, “She’s got legs, and she knows how to use them.”

-Groundswell

"Marketing Madness. Brilliant!"

As I look at my life, and think about how I want to make money, most of the ways include minimal amounts of work, combined with a huge stack of cash: music, acting, writing, etc. But, I’ve often thought that I could do anything, and I’ve noticed a ton of jobs for marketing. So here goes Groundswell’s foray into marketing. I’ve just now come up some new slogans for some well known products.

PeptoBismol
“Everyone’s pink on the inside”

Depends
“When you have to go and just don’t want to move, that’s okay now.”

Toyota
“Accelerate your life.”

Viagra
“More dependable than Mother Nature. That bitch,” or "When nature lets you down, we'll pick you up."

Cialis
“Mother Nature called. She’s jealous of your wood.”

Trojan Condoms
“Only slightly less effect than the Trojan horse.”

Coca-Cola
“We took out the coke, but left the cola.”

Pepsi
“We’re wishing we could put in coke.”

Midol
“You can still be a bitch, but why be in pain?”

Any oil company
“Hey, somebody has to get rich,” or “Don’t worry. We can recycle the environment.”

General Motors
“A second chance to make a shitty impression.”

McDonalds
“99 Billion left feeling like shit.”

In-N-Out
If God made a hamburger, it would taste like this.”

Apple
“Better than you”

Facebook
"When boredom strikes"

Twitter
"Nothing too intelligent, please. We don't have enough room."

The United States Government
“I betcha Britain’s happy now.”

Lindsay Lohan
“Got milk?”

The music band “Jet”
“AC/DC (part deux)”

The Republican Party
“They’re too dumb to know we’re fucking ‘em over!”

The Democratic Party
“We’re not the Republican Party. (That’s it. That’s all we got.)”

Wal-mart
“It’s okay if you're cousins,” or “If you can’t keep it in your pants, keep it in the family. And then shop here.”

Tiger Woods
“You can only try to keep your score low for so long.”

Groundswell
“More with less.”

Not bad for twenty minutes. To all you marketing firms, consider this my application for a 40-hour a week job where I”ll probably only work for 10 to 15 hours. I also require a large desk where I can nap underneath it.

Rock on,
Groundswell