I Love You, (fill in the blank)

Updates from the West Side (These are in someway, shape, or form, reminders to write about in longer form):

I'm growing my hair out. It's in the awkward stage.

I joined an online dating site as a way to get myself out of the house. By no means am I ready for the dating scene in LA. I've met some cool girls. Smoking hot bodies, and cars that are way nicer than the Jetta. No connections. I think I'm over online dating.

I may be over dating in general.

I went to the Kings of Leon concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It was slamming. They sounded great. Venue was dope. Partying was lacking.

I went to get my haircut. The hair stylist sent me home sans haircut when she heard I was growing my hair out. She told me to come back in 6-8 weeks and suffer through it.

Doing it.

I went to the shooting range and shot a gun. I don't need to do it again.

I'm starting a band. I'm going to be the singer. Wowzers. And, I don't care if you like it. I think for the first time ever I have the songs and the confidence to do it.

I produced a singer / songwriter / cellist's demo. He is on the verge of getting signed after an advertisement of his showed up in Rolling Stone. I am no longer recording his demo. He's the man though and I'm proud of the work we did.

I had my first 'all access' privilege recently. Went to see a band I had no idea about with aforementioned cellist, and he knew someone in the band, and we got hooked up. Backstage and all (no cute girls). But the band was mad cool and so humble and down to earth. You realize this can happen to anyone.

I've signed up for an acting class.

I'm in love.

No, I'm not.

But, I do love you.

My dad had a heart attack. I think he was faking just trying to get me to come home. He's going to be fine, but he gave us a big scare.

I'm one blackout away from AA.

I need to go out and meet more cute girls.

My brother came out of the closet. He couldn't find his shoes.

I spent the 4th of July in Malibu and then at a ridiculous clambake on the west side. The clambake was run by a real life chef and the food was off the hook. We never made the party with the models.

Halearious told me I'm not allowed to date models anymore. She also told me I need to date a blonde. I'm not sure I agree with either of the two statements, but I'm down to try it out.

I read "The Four Agreements." It was a good book. I am on my way to freedom. It's all I want to be when I grow up: Free. Lesson two: Love is all around and I'm not afraid to tell you that I love you.

haha!

I have found my muse. It's been enlightening.

I gave up playing music for three days. Then I had an experience that showed me how to never give it up. I went and played my first open mic the following day. I played the first song. Silence. And then a younger kid said, "Wow." Then applause. It was all I needed.

Groundswell is getting there.

I wrote a love song. The first one I've ever written in 14 years of playing guitar. That may or may not be true.

Actually, you could say that about most of the things I said in this post.

This post goes out to the girl in the Prudential center reading this at work.

I play baseball for the Minnesota Twins. My name is Joe.

When a girl says we should be friends, it's should be interpreted as "See ya."

I told my brother I was going to be friends with a girl and he said, "What's the point?"

Wisdom.

Speaking of my brother. If you have a conversation with him on the phone that lasts over 2 minutes, consider yourself lucky.

If you are saying goodbye to my brother after a phone call, and the phone isn't already in his pocket when you hit the "g" in good, then both his hands must be busy doing something else.

It's good to have good friends to get you through the good times. It's great to have good friends to get you through the hard times.

If you get dropped in Latin America there are five sayings you need to know to survive.

1) Hablas ingles?

2) Tienes agua?

3) Necessito comer

4) Me gusta tequila

5) Senorita, es una lastima que no este desnuda

When you master these five sayings you will be free.

Groundswell is free.

Peace,

Groundswell

"EpicDotCom.com"

EpicDotCom.com

If I was to start a dating site, which I promise, I never will, it would be called Epicdotcom.com. Fuck the confused masses. This is for the enlightened. Those who’ve read “The D-Word” and are frightened. For to be a member of this dating site, you’d know there was one rule – use the “D-word” sparingly, and only when you want to cause the other member of the adventure severe anxiety. The other, we’ll say hope, is that you’ll have a balls-to-the-wall great time.

And, most events would go something like this:

I pulled into the Silver Lake area around 9:30PM. It was Easter Night. Jesus had risen, and with any luck, so too would my alcohol to blood level, as well as my hormones. I sat at the bar. My lady friend was behind schedule, or I was ahead of schedule. It didn’t really matter either way.

She had suggested “Cantino Malo” a quaint Mexican restaurant with “the best chips and guacamole, and good margaritas.” I was so full from Easter dinner / lunch with my friends that I was interested in the latter. I had no room for the former. I wasn’t sure if this was a “date.” It’s 2010. I don’t think you’re ever supposed to be sure, but it was feeling “date-like.” The place was small, cozy, darkly lit. It had a long wooden bar with a ton of tequila behind it. The bartender was a robust woman, and would be of not a distraction to me as I focused on my lady friend. And, lastly, I was alone. This was how most of my dates had been spent the past four years. Namely, I don’t think I’ve been on a date in four years, and if my lady friend is reading this, I may still not have been on a date in four-plus years.

Something about the word “date” is scary. It implies something bigger. If you’re hanging out it’s simple. You say the word date and it’s like shit, do I have to bring my questionnaire to find out if this person is worth marrying? What? Nah. I just like to have fun. I’m going to play this evening by ear.

I send my lady friend a text and let her know I’m at the bar. Last time she showed up early and waited for me in her car in the parking lot. I didn’t want her to wait in the car this time. She calls shortly thereafter and lets me know that she hasn’t left yet. She apologizes. She didn’t realize I’d get there so fast. I say no worry. I didn’t’ know I’d get there that fast either.

I wait.

I hold out for a bit. I tell the bartender I’m waiting for my friend to get there before I’m going to drink, but I’ll have some water.

I wait.

I get a tequila and ginger ale. She shows up shortly thereafter. It was only a matter of ten or fifteen minutes. It was perfect.

She walks in looking tall and beautiful, and is cool, calm and collected.

We pick up right where we left off the last time we hung out. Talking. I don’t recall anything we talked about specifically. I know we talked about Geology and African studies and what possessed me to major in that. I told her it was for the look that people give me when I tell them my major. Worth every cent of the $150,000+ spent on my education. No regrets.

We talk about global warming. We talk about the earthquake that happened in Mexico but was felt all the way in LA. I, thankfully, did not feel it in Malibu. She did feel it at Easter with her parents. We talk about Easter with her parents. We talk about things that people talk about when they’re getting to know each other.

After about two drinks, the bar closes on us. We move on. We bitch about how it’s only 11:30pm. C’mon. I guess people don’t celebrate Jesus’ rise as much as we do.

We put together a plan. I’ve already revealed to her that I don’t think I’m going to work on Monday. Upon hearing this, she perks up, and mentions a bar she knows to be open quite late in the area. I’m a go.

However, it’s closed.

As she instructs me to pull a 180-degree turn, I see a place that’s open. In mid-turn, I say, “Hey, we could go there.” And as the words leave my mouth, I notice the sign “Gils, Girls.” “Oh, wait,” I say. “Is that a strip club?”

She informs me that it is.

No go on this strip club, but there is a strip club she suggests we go to: “Jumbo’s Clown House.” It’s not like a strip club I’ve even been she tells me. They keep their clothes on. It's a cabaret. I’m game. I hate strip clubs normally. I find them to be a big tease and a bigger waste of money. A place I can use my imagination and be next to a cool, beautiful woman while this is going on, well, that sounds perfect.

Having learned our lesson, we decide to call first. She gets the number from her fancy phone. I wait. I call the digits. No answer.

We’re unsure.

I suggest that we go to a convenience store and pick up some liquor just in case it’s close, and then we can go pack to her apartment and have some drinks if the place is closed.

She sees this for what it is – brilliant. All our bases are covered.

At the convenience store, we pick up a twelve pack of PBR and four pack of Sparks, an energy drink with beer.

We pay the tab. We move on.

As we pull past Jumbo’s, we see it’s open. This should be interesting. We park. She smokes a cigarette. We take a few swills of the Sparks and we get moving.

Dancing through the falling rain drops like a stripper we make it to the door in no time.

Jumbo’s looks like a strip club on the inside. Not so much on the outside. Inside it’s got a small crowd, a small bar, and dim lighting.

On the stage, is a surprisingly beautiful girl doing a surprisingly nimble dance in her underwear.

We get a drink and settle in front row and center. We’re actually the only ones sitting at the stage.

I turn to my lady friend and say, “I thought you were cool, but you just got cooler.”

She smiles and laughs.

We are both shocked at how pretty the girls are. There is a rotation of six girls who all come out one by one and do a dance for a song and then go to the back room. Sometimes, when not dancing, they come and mingle.

Me and the lady are sitting ducks. If a dancer makes eye contact with us, we put a dollar on the stage. When the dance is over, we put a dollar on stage. We pretty much are hemorrhaging money, but we’re having a great time. The dancers are pulling us in. We’re talking in between. We’re handing each other money when the other runs out. It’s quite a show that the two of us are running.

I get up and get us another round of PBRs. I come back to find her a few dollars lighter than when I left. She was all by herself and took the brunt of the attention.

At some point, she wants to go out and smoke a cigarette. I go out to join her. I’m there to be with her – not to see the strippers. We head back to my car. She pulls out a cigarette and smoke it. We pass a Spark between us. We both pick out top three dancers, which is hard because four of the six are smoking hot.

It’s at this point, that we decide it’s time to leave.

Let’s save some money we think and head back to her house.

We drive to her apartment complex and go inside. She pulls out a guitar she has and hands it to me. She asks that I play a song I wrote about a silly text message even that we had between the two of us – really just some anxiety I had when I thought she may misinterpret what I meant by a text message. It was supposed to be a nice text message, and I was overcome by fear that she would be offended by it, thinking I was saying she was dumb and hot, when I was really saying she was smart and hot. Long story. I’m not going to get into it.

I agree to play the song. I preface that it’s still evolving. I don’t know why I’m playing the song as I start it, but it gets her to laugh, and I like making girls laugh. So, it had it’s purpose.

For the next hour or so, we pass the guitar back and forth and play songs we know. Some are originals. Some are covers. Together, we play a version of Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees.” I play guitar, she sings.

At some point, we move into her living room and continue the jam session. She jumps on piano and plays some piano tunes she knows and sings. I play some more originals.

After I play an original song called “Savior,” she suggest we head to her bedroom.

I will forever love the song “Savior.”

Her bedroom is small and cute. She has a single bed there. Nothing crazy happens.

We sit on the bed and talk.

At some point around one we decide to split a medicinal brownie that a friend had given me earlier that day. It’s no more than an inch by two inches. We split it in half. I gave her the bigger half – chivalry is not dead. I’m not expecting much to happen because a girl at the party said it did nothing for her. I’m thinking half of nothing is nothing, so, no big deal.

Maybe it will help us sleep.

We start talking about YouTube and we start watching some funny ones that we know. At first, like with the guitar, we pass it back and forth showing ones we know of.

She knows way more than I do, so after about ten minutes she’s showing me tons of them. Some of the funnier ones are “The News Autotuned” and “Taretdad.” Autotune the News” is a brilliant mix of music, the news and technology. Taret Dad is crazy. Sad and hysterical. It’s during the teret videos that I notice that she and I are laughing hysterically, and it gets to the point where I’m laughing so hard I think I’m going to vomit. I actually have to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to calm down. I put some water on my face. I slow my breathing down. I realize the brownie is working.

I come back. She’s had the same realization. We continue to watch videos until we can’t watch them anymore.

She then takes me thorugh some of her acting work, which is cool to see. I’ve never seen her work before and now I have the ability to appreciate what she does.

I show her my appearance on the “Real World,” which she knew about. She sums it up by saying, “Wow, they really took advantage of you.” I agree and laugh.

We shut the computer and lie down. We’re fully clothed. We’re high. We’re snuggled on a single bed. It’s like I’m a freshman in college all over again. It’s nice. It’s innocent. It’s pure.

It turns out that for the 5’9” frame, the bigger half may have been too much. I reassure her that it’ll be fine. I get her water, and try to get her to focus on other things. She’s appreciative, and together we’ll be fine.

After a while of spooning we doze off for a bit. I wake up after an unknown amount of time and have to go to the bathroom.

When I come back, she wakes up, and is thankfully no longer high anymore. She’s glad to be back down again. I agree.

We lie there in silence. I’m overwhelmed by how good it feels to be lying next to her. My chest becomes a knot. I want to kiss her. I don’t know how. We’re spooning and she’s facing the wall. How can I make a move? I’m going to have to be super aggressive, but does she want to kiss me? Oh shit. I lie there. The knot gets tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

I can’t take it.

I hear myself ask, “Can I kiss you?”

She rolls over, and says “Yes.”

We kiss.

It’s delightful. Slow at first. Uneasy. But then we get into the swing of it. It starts to feel natural and less nervous. We like it.

The kissing goes on for a long time. On and off. We talk in between makeout sessions. I tell her about the knot I was feeling. She says that she had the same feeling.

We kiss some more.

We kiss and hold each other until the sun comes up. Time has flown by. It’s 7:45am. I call into work sick.

We kiss some more.

At around 8:30am, we slip into sleep in each other’s arms.

We’re still in our jeans.

We’ll wake up around noon still in our jeans.

We’ll lie in bed until 2pm in our jeans. Lying in each others arms. Kissing. Talking. Laughing about us residing in “Pantsville.” It’s like we’re back in college. We’re not rushing to do anything.

We’re not rushing to work. We’re not rushing to sleep. We’re not rushing to have sex. We’re not rushing to mess it up. We’re not rushing to get somewhere we’re not. We’re just rushing to stay where we are.

At around 3pm, we decide it’s time to make a move. I’m going to take her to her car, and then I’m going to go home.

When I drop her off, I make the now infamous statement of “This was the second best date (beat) The best second date I’ve ever been on.”

Although this may have caused her some panic at the time, I did mean it.

As I relive the story, I still do mean it.

It may have not been a ‘date’ when we started, but it was when we finished.

Or at least, I hope it was.

I guess it takes two to go on a date.

But, as Ray Charles said, “If it feels right, then it is right.”

This night felt right.

Epic. Dot. Com.

Rock on,

Groundswell.

"The Appropriate Time" and "Bless Your Bones"

Stories to Tell (Two for One)

“The Appropriate Time”

Newspaper format style.

Who: My lady friend and I

What: It’s "over"

When: Thursday night , May 27, 2010

Where: My apartment

How: Read on

There’s a great movie and it’s called “500 Days of Summer.” I love it. I thought it was super impressive and insightful. Well written, well told, well shot, well acted. Well…great. I highly recommend it. There is one of my all-time favorite scenes where the male character is meeting the female character for what he hopes will be a date that will reunite them. On one half of the screen is his expected versions and on the other half of the screen is the reality that took place. It’s amazing.

I’m sure we’ve all been there – when you’re looking forward to something, maybe it’s a date, and you’re excited to see the other person, you get everything ready, you have this expectation that it’s going to go splendidly and then once it starts you realize you’re in for something else.

It’s happened to me several times.

Let me explain a few.

Time number one:

The first was for my prom. I went to an all boys high school and didn’t know many girls. I had met a beautiful girl from Kansas City when I was in Paraguay the summer before my senior year. I was student body VP and had to plan the prom, and although I didn’t want to go, I was forced to go. Luckily, my friend from Kansas City agreed to join me. I was excited. I had a crush on her, but she had a boyfriend (typical). Two weeks before she’s due out to Boston she tells me on the phone that they’ve broken up.

My boys all tell me this is a GREAT sign and that I am in. They broke up because of me.

After days of hearing this from everyone, I buy in, and get excited. I like her. The night before she comes out we’re talking on the phone and she tells me that they just got back together. He’s no fool. I’m bummed.

When she does come out, she’s not nearly as warm and friendly as she was in Paraguay. She’s distant and cold and seems nervous and out of place. My brother doesn’t like her at all. He calls her to this day “The Ice Princess.” I was disappointed and thought she was off her game, but I understood, and I never held it against her. Things happen. I’m still friends with her to this day.

The expectation certainly deviated from the reality.

Time number two:

I dated a girl in college off and on for five years. Towards the end of college we broke up while we were still living together. We were fighting a lot. I wanted to move to LA after graduation. She did not. She was originally from LA and didn’t want to go back. We split up.

Like most breakups, it was not clean. We still loved each other and still had a strong physical attraction.

A few months out of school I was trying to convince her to get back together. She was hestitant. Thought it was a bad idea. But, that didn’t stop us from still visiting and hooking up.

I go away to San Diego for a vacation before I start my first job. While in SD she invites me out to Martha’s Vineyard where she’s staying for the time being the weekend after I get back. I agree. I’m excited. “She’s coming around,” I think to myself.

I get home. I had just bought a car. My first ever. I decide to take a drive. Before you know it, I’m on the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. It’s a week early, but whatever, I’ll surprise her. It will be awesome. I’m so excited about my car and the job and I figure we’ll hang out for a day or two and then I’ll go home.

I get myself to her house via a cab and then walk up the long driveway. Her dogs start barking and she opens the door. The excitement I’m expecting on her face isn’t quite there. Shocked, yes, but there is some dread on her face. She tells me to come in coldly.

I’m confused.

Sitting around the kitchen counter she informs me that she’s not alone. She has a guest. It’s a guy. It’s a guy I don’t like and never have.

He pulls up shortly after I arrive. He comes in. He tries to shake my hand. I look at it, and say, “I’m all set.”

She then drives me to the ferry.

I have never been so confused / embarrassed / hurt in my whole life. I’m shattered. The ferry ride and car ride are an existential blur.

I go home and pick up the guitar, which I hadn’t played in a year. I write a song called “Pieces” and have never put it down since. That was seven years ago.

I've never been back to Martha's Vineyard.

The worst part about it is that I had to deal with this while I was starting my first consulting job. It was not cool.

The expectation certainly deviated from the reality.

Time number three:

Thursday night.

Many of you know I have a lady friend who I’ve met since I moved to LA.

We’ve hung out several times and always have a fun time. We talk on the phone for long periods of time. We hadn’t seen each other in almost a month because of conflicting schedules and priorities.

She texted me on Friday (almost a week before the incident) to say let’s hang out next week. I was down.

We decide on Thursday for various reasons.

I’m down.

Thursday comes around and I’m excited.

She agrees to come over. I’ll make a quick dinner, and we’ll hang out low key.

The last time I saw her was on a beautiful spring day and we had taken a walk around my neighborhood and talked. We kissed goodbye and she got in her car and left.

I’m wodering if we’re going to pick up where we left off and give a hello kiss. I hope so. I haven’t had a hello kiss in ages. I almost can’t remember what is like or how to do it. I think I’m prepared though.

It was also her birthday recently so I had a birthday present for her. I had made her tickets to be cashed in at any point so that we could go to a concert / show / event of her choice, bought her a card, and some flowers. I mean why not. Girls love flowers.

I want to figure out where this is going. I’ve had a month to think about it, and I have no idea what’s going on. I'm not trying to move to fast or anything, but I just want to know what to prepare myself for. There is a part of me that thinks there is a future and there is a part of me that thinks something else is going on, and that she’s pulling away. Sometimes I think I’m in a movie called “She’s Not That Into You,” and that maybe she’s emotionally not available, but there’s always the phone calls that are fun and long and confusing.

I’m prepared to figure out how it will go.

We agree to meet at eight and have dinner.

At 7:45pm I get a text and phone call confused as to what time we said – 8 or 9pm. (At first we had said either or, but I suggested 8pm when I realized I’d be hungry after swimming).

This is unlike her. Normally she’s on time and super punctual. Oh well. No big deal. I’m not that hungry after all.

She calls to tell me she’s here and is walking up the stairs.

I go to the door wondering what will happen when I open it.

I open the door.

It’s cold.

I get a hug.

It’s like we don’t know each other.

Uh, oh. Here we go…

She’s tired. She seems like she’s dragged herself across town and just wants to be home. She’s not excited to see me at all.

Uh, oh. Here we go…

She puts her purse down and pulls out a cigarette. She wants one already? This is normal. J We have habit of hanging on my front stoop while she smokes and we talk and catch up. I put on my shoes and jacket and we head out.

It’s cold outside. For real.

We chit chat about nothing memorable. She tells me she’s tired. Had a late night last night and the night before that as well.

We go back upstairs to my apartment.

We enter the kitchen, she sits at the table where she normally sits while I cook. I start cooking. I can’t help but feel that something’s off.

The conversation is taking serious work. I look over at her and she’s texting away. Last time we were hanging out and she was texting while I cooked she made it a point to apologize and I just laughed. This time there’s no apology – just more texting.

It gets to the point I can’t take it. I finally speak up. “Is something wrong? Are you OK? It seems like you’re not yourself,” I say.

She responds, “No, it’s just that I’m tired.”

I don’t press the issue. She does look tired.

She actually still has her jacket on. Maybe she’s just cold.

I make dinner. I pour myself a glass of wine. This isn’t what I was hoping for.

She’s not drinking.

That’s fine. I am. I need to relax and take the edge off.

We eat dinner. It’s good. We talk. It’s good. She seems to be loosening up. I’m optimistic. She asks if she can have a glass of wine. She’s warming up.

I pour her a glass.

She then wants to go smoke another cigarette.

We go outside.

We talk. I try. It’s hard. Sometimes I think to myself “Why is this such a struggle?” I’ve got nothing to say to her.

We talk.

We talk.

Silence.

She sighs.

I say, “It’s going to be okay.” I don't know where this came from.

She says, “I was waiting for the appropriate time to say this.”

Uh, oh. Here we go…I guess I was right.

I brace for impact. I can see the metaphysical car bearing down on me, but I can’t get out of the way. It’s going to hit me and it’s going to hurt.

What’s it going to be? She must have gotten back together with her ex. I thought this was coming. Fuck.

She says, “We can’t be 'kissy feely' anymore. I can’t do that. I can’t date anyone. I don’t have time. I don’t have time for anything but my acting. Blah, blah, blah, blah."

I've given this speech before. This is my first time hearing come back to me.

She continues, "And, I’m still in love with my ex-roommate.”

Now we're talking. What?

“Who’s that?" I ask.

She tells me.

I think, really? I met him. He's getting divorced and has a kid. Lots of baggage. He did seem nice. I don't think he was too found of me. And let's be honest, he's no Groundswell.

I had ruled him out as a problem a long time ago. She actually had told me she liked him at one point but nothing could come of it because they we roommates (more like housemates), and that her dream guy wasn't a divorcee with a kid.

I’m stunned. Where did this come from?

I’m not surprised about her being emotionally unavailable. I had a good feeling that was the case. I was just hoping I was wrong.

I was more surprised by whom. Haha. I’ll never figure girls out. I've stopped trying.

We have a long talk. She says that this doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want to talk or doesn’t want to still hang out.

We just can’t hook up, date, etc.

It wouldn’t be fair to me or to her. Sounds mature.

I would’ve been down to be friends with benefits. I can be either character from “500 Days of Summer,” but I can understand where she is coming from. We’ve all been there.

We both agree that she probably “pines for him” because she can’t have him. We’ve all been there. It's a matter of self-preservation.

I tell her I'm not going to psychoanalyze her, but I just did.

She tells me, “I just want you to know that it’s not you, it’s me.”

I laugh and say, "I wish you watched 'Seinfeld,'” and then impersonate George saying “It’s not you, it’s me? I invented it’s not you it’s me. You can’t tell me that it’s not me. It’s me.”

She doesn’t quite get it having never seen it before.

I can’t say that I disagree with her. I’m a catch.

She has issues. She told me that from day one. I mean we all have issues. She elaborates on them again.

I listen.

I think about the girl I had met at my buddy’s bday who was gorgeous and was wishing I had been more assertive and had gotten her number. She was hot.

Oh, well.

We talk.

My neighbors are having guest over and one of them walks out the door - she's a beautiful Argentinian girl, but I've heard about her before, and know she's married. Her husband just arrived. Seems nice. Not as good of a catch as Groundswell. Typical. ;)

I joke about her probably not wanting the birthday present. She says no. Presents equal affection and she’s not good with affection – part of her intimacy issues.

I decide she’s getting it anyways. If we’re going to be friends this will be a perfect excuse to still get together.

I’ll hold off on giving her the flowers though. That seems like a bad idea.

We go back into my apartment to get her wine so she can have it while she smokes her another cigarette.

I ask her if she wants to her the latest song I recorded (the next story I’ll tell). She says yes so we go into my room.

I have her listen to the song, and she likes it. Says it’s very heartfelt. Loves Zolani's voice.

We then listen to “Mrs. Robinson” on vinyl so she can hear my new stereo system.

This is totally not going how I thought it would.

I give her the present. She tells me that it’s definitely the most creative present she’s gotten.

The flowers sit in my closet on the shelf. She has no idea.

We go out and she smokes another cigarette, and then it’s time to leave.

I walk her to her car, give her a hug, and tell her to make sure to cash those tickets in.

She says she will.

I turn and walk back to my house. I’m disappointed. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see her again. I walk into my apartment dumbfounded. I go to bed immediately.

I sleep like shit. At one point, I wake up in a cold sweat. Disgusting.

I’m up every three hours.

I wake up at 8am and I can’t believe I have to work. I just get right to it. I want this day to be over as fast as possible.

Work is slow. I can’t seem to shake the feeling of disappointment. Endings just suck especially because girls I like are few and far between.

We weren’t even that emotionally invested, but it still sucks when timing is so off.

When work is done, I make some phone calls to family and friends to talk and help work through the disappointment.

They are all great and supportive and give me the standard advice of many fish in the sea, other train’s coming, girls who just want to fuck, etc.

My favorite comes from a text from my friend MM, and I quote “Out with the dumb-asses and in with the hot-asses.” I think that’s just brilliant. (Not to suggest my lady friend is a dumbass, on the contrary, she's very intelligent. Just confused.)

Friday was a long night until I met up with my neighbors downstairs and chill, but that didn’t start until 11PM. It was lonely before that.

I couldn’t stand being in my apartment so I forced myself out for a drink. I was happy I did.

Saturday morning I was having the most amazing dream and then right when it was about to go to ridiculousness I wake up to her face. Literally her face pops into my head and I snap awake. It's like a ghost. This is not cool.

I need to move on.

That dream was too good. Motherfucker.

I woke up and thought about what to do with the flowers. They were a beautiful set of four roses I picked out. I thought about throwing them away, but standing over the trash I realized they were too pretty to be wasted. So I decided to keep them.

My roommate and I now have them on the kitchen table. (See picture.)

When my roommate saw them, she said “She has no idea what’s she’s missing.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Saturday was a great day spent swimming, buying records, hanging with my neighbors and then my friend Jordan came into Venice and we went out drinking. It was like being back in South Africa again. I was glad he made it out.

Today was a good day as well. I worked. I’m getting over being disappointed.

I think and hope that we’ll still be friends. I’d like to. She’s mad cool.

You gotta respect that she came and told me in person. In this digital age, it would have been so easy for her to just disappear and send me a text or do it over the phone or via email.

I’m sure she was dreading having to say that. It couldn’t have been easy for her.

I was dreading hearing it and I kind of knew it was coming. Like I told her. I'm not shocked by this. I'm just disappointed.

I don’t know what happened in that month we didn’t see each other. Maybe her demons got to her. Maybe something else happened. Maybe the fish I cooked her wasn’t as good as she said. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All I know is that it’s over. The lady friend I had disappeared somewhere after the last time I saw her and never came back. The girl who showed up in her place never even took off her jacket.

I look forward to seeing my old friend at some point...she's as cool as they come.

Morale of the story: Pursuing emotionally unavailable woman, although fun at first, soon starts to feel like you're chasing your own tail. Moving on...it just wasn't the appropriate time.

+++++++++++++++++++

"Bless Your Bones"

“This song is a special song to me for a lot of reasons, but, primarily, because I wrote it the day Aunt Helen passed away, about a very special woman we all love.

My mom and I were sitting in her living room in silence and I had my guitar in hand. I started to play a melody on it and I recognized it as being pretty, so I played it again. After a few repetitions, my mom picked up on it, and chimed in, “You should write a song for Aunt Helen and call it ‘Bless Your Bones.’”

I was more than up to the task. This was a perfect idea.

If there was one saying that I will always remember Aunt Helen for it’s for these three words. I had never heard anyone before or anyone since say them like she did – with so much feeling and so much southern charm. It makes me smile just thinking about it.

My mom and I used to laugh about how Aunt Helen made no bones that I was the favorite. She’d call my mom and my mom would give her updates on my siblings and they could be about to cure cancer and homelessness and Aunt Helen only had the slightest interest. When it came time to talk about me, my mom could say anything – “Well, Matthew’s in NYC in the middle of a three-month bender. He’s got no job. No future. No hope. No real plan. He lost his cell phone again last night,” and Aunt Helen’s response would be unwavering and full of love: Bless his bones.

It’s with this joy in her voice that I sat down in the room by myself to work what was a two chord riff into the song that you’re about to hear. It came out in a blur. I barely remember if it was written in one sitting or over six months. I think it was a little of both. I know it wasn’t so much me who wrote it as much as I was just a conduit for an emotion to be expressed. One that we can all relate to. One that we can all feel.

We will forever be connected with this song, and I hope every time you hear it you think of her. I know I will.

Neither myself or Aunt Helen are with you today physically, but I can assure you that we are both there in spirit.

We are both there in song.

Without further ado, “Bless Your Bones.””

-Groundswell’s letter to his mom so she can introduce “Bless Your Bones” at the memorial service.

I had spent two weeks record the song. I had pulled all the strings I could. I had Zolani from Freshlyground sing it (a surprise to my family), I had an amazing guitarist and better friend play lead guitar, I had a great friend play cello, and I played guitar, recorded everything but the vocals, mixed it, agonized over it, and for the majority of the process was delirious with a fever.

Needless to say, I loved it.

One of the best recording experiences of my life.

It awoke the music producer in me again. All I want to do is produce and write music now.

The cellist liked the song so much that he asked me to produce his demo. Done and done.

I’m ready to get out there and tell people I can do it. I just need to find the right people and the right time.

Music is back and Groudswell is ready to produce it.

To hear “Bless Your Bones,” you can download it hear until June 4, 2010: http://www.yousendit.com/download/dXFYZm1WaTFKV1B2Wmc9PQ

I got this note from the daughter of the lady I wrote “Bless Your Bones” about:

Dearest Groundswell:

I've put off writing you because, frankly, I have NO idea what to say. "Bless Your Bones" is and was the most incredible gesture I think I could ever imagine. That you would do this for my mom is so beyond anything I can wrap my head around that I've truly been rendered nearly speechless. I am so indebted to you, Zolani, Jay and Najeeb that I don't quite know what to do or say. I would NEVER, EVER have thought I would or could describe my mother's memorial service as "uplifting" or "joyous" . . . but in fact that's just what it was. Your lovely song, the words, the music, Zolani's incredible voice, the quality of the sound, the energy and love it conveyed turned an otherwise very somber and sad occasion, and what I was anticipating would be a VERY difficult day, into an absolutely beautiful and perfect experience. I am astounded, I am overwhelmed and I am above all honored with your incredibly touching gesture. On behalf of my sweet mother, who loved you so very much and who I know is smiling down from heaven at all of us, thank you.

With much love to you and your incredible collection of friends and collaborators,

[None of your business]

That’s it from LA.

Go Celtics!!!

Beat LA!!!

Love,

Groundswell

Christmas / Birthday / Anytime Present List

Alright my faithful readers. I know I've been absent for a bit. But, things have gotten busy in LA. I'm working two jobs, recording music, hanging out, and swimming. Writing has been hard to try and focus on.

I, however, just made my record player dream come true, and bought a vintage Marantz 2230 Stereo Receiver, a vintage Sanyo turn table, and some kick-ass old beat up speakers. Everything was dirt cheap but sounds amazing. I love vinyl (just not to wear).

In light of this, I've decided to put my Christmas list together early. All I want for Christmas is...records. Records, records, records, and a beautiful long-legged woman to call my own. Come on Santy Claus make it happen!

Well, I'll leave the beautiful, long-legged woman up to Santy and the Los Angeles Gods of Good Luck and Charm. You and I will have to take care of the records. So, if ever wondering what to get me just remember this list, which I will update as time goes on, and buy away. They can be new or old, I don't care. I just want these records:

(Artist, Album)
Kings of Leon, Because of the Times
Kings of Leon, Only by Night
Kings of Leon, Youth and Young Manhood
Kings of Leon, Aha Shake Heartbreak
The Beatles, Revolver
The Beatles, Rubber Soul
The Beatles, Magical Mystery Tour
The Beatles, Sergeant Pepper
The Beatles, The Beatles (The White Album)
The Beatles, Let It Be
The Beatles, Help!
The Beatles, All their other albums
Prince, Purple Rain
Prince, 1999
Prince, (Any other album you find)
The White Stripes, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
Leonard Cohen, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
Paul Simon, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
James Taylor, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
Radiohead, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
Bob Dylan, (Anything you can find on vinyl)
Nirvana, Nevermind
Any Blues album
Any Jazz album
Any kick-ass / classic album I'm forgetting
Any mind-blowing album I'm forgetting
Hell, at this point, anything you think I'll like on vinyl. If I have duplicates, it wouldn't be a big deal.

To avoid duplicates, another list for you.

Records I have:
(Artist, Album)
The National, Alligator
The National, Boxer
The National, High Violet
Radiohead, In Rainbows
Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde
The Black Keys, Attack and Release
Michael Jackson, Thriller
Modest Mouse, Antarctica and the Moon
Bob Marley, Legend
The Beatles, Abbey Road
Pixies, Doolittle
Pixies, Surfer Rosa
Simon & Garfunkel, Greatest Hits
Jimi Hendrix, Smash Hits
Neil Young, After the Gold Rush
Neil Young, Harvest Moon
Neil Young, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
Neil Young, Live at the Rust
Michael Jackson, Thriller

Paul Simon, Graceland

Arcade Fire, Funeral
Arcade Fire, Neon Bible

Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago

James Taylor, James Taylor's Greatest Hits

Radiohead, Ok Computer
Cookie Monster, C is for Cookie

That's it for now...

But, I will keep updating as I go along.

So feel free to buy and send me records for any reason you want...because you miss me, because you love me, because you enjoy reading the blog, because you want to buy a record for yourself too, because you haven't paid for music in a long time (Halearious), because it's my birthday, because it's my half birthday (August 28), because it's Christmas, because it's Chanukkah (I expect 8 records), because it's Kwanza, because it's Festivus, because you are in a good mood, because you are in a bad mood, or my favorite, just because....

Any questions please email me at: youheartgroundswell@gmail.com

Peace and Love,
Groundswell

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.