Confessions of a Snowflake

Have you ever seen American Movie? The exact details are fuzzy in my mind, but it's a mockumentary about the exploits of a clueless amateur filmmaker who (or is it whom?) I can't decide whether to describe as a wannabe or as an outright failure. If I recall, what made American Movie funny was the hopeless obliviousness of the lead character and "The Coven" (which he pronounces 'koh - ven' instead of 'kuh - ven'), his film about a coven of witches. I don't remember much else except for the guy's best friend and production assistant, a blissed out guitar-savant whose role I remember being funny.

Back around 2000-2001 (?), when I watched the film at a friend's apartment, I laughed without considering what it would be like to become a real-life version of the clueless amateur filmmaker. Which is basically what I am now.

I have the knowledge, tools, skills, physical space. I have the time - sort of.

Just to learn music was hard enough for a high-strung person like me. But when I consider certain cultural and social attitudes I've encountered regarding music and musicians ("What's the difference between a pizza and a guitar player?"), added to the fact that my family was not supportive toward my music in my formative years, I think it's a miracle I persevered. Lots of the time, it didn't feel rewarding.

For better or worse, here I am.

Look: God made me a musician; Fortune and my own hubris have emboldened me to "follow my passion", as people often (thoughtlessly) remark. Now, I have roughly over a month to record an album that will be the frutition of twenty years developing a modest inventory of compositional, performance, and production skills. I have lyrics to polish up and plot holes to fill; percussion parts to drill and grooves to bring to life and moods to hone; frequencies to cut, headroom to mind, noise-floors to avoid, compressor release times to shorten; vowels to conform, breath to support, resonance to maximize...guitar, banjo, and mandolin parts to strum, pick, and pluck! (Respectively.) I need to stay focused, intentional, in the zone.

But I can't get off the couch.

Maybe it's too much caffeine and not enough nicotine, maybe I need a little less of both with just a taste more cabbage, maybe I need to quit fooling around with all three.

My arm hurts. Is it from pullup negatives or was I hitting the punching bag a little too hard last night? My neck hurts, too. Damn rye neck. Shouldn't have eaten so late the other night.

I have to urinate, but honestly, I really don't want to stand up. I'll jerk my legs up and down in fitful spasms instead. # it, I'll piss my pants if I have to. I. Don't. Wanna. Move.

The loveseat is only two-thirds my length and it's screwing up my posture, in turn slowing the recovery of my rye neck. What if I can't play guitar? What if I started singing and the music didn't come; what if I sounded overworked, uptight, over-trying, amateur, lame...or worse, what if my lyrics sound stupid today and completion gets pushed out for days or weeks or months or years? What if I never get done, in spite of all the sacrifice, the resources?

In recent years I have joked that "failure, on a grand enough scale, is its own kind of success." I don't know why. Sometimes I contrive what I think are glib, witty remarks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to deploy them. "The Spruce Goose," the rhetoric continues, "can be viewed in a museum as proof." I see now it's not very funny. Faced by my shortcomings, I wonder if my songwriting is as hackneyed as my axiom-coining.

In moments like these, I would feel utterly hopeless if I could miraculously focus on anything other than how bad I have to piss, which makes me wonder, tangentially and unusefully, how many other adults crapped their pants on this most recent flu bug? Sweet Christ on a crucifix that was nasty.

Ok. I'm wearing brand new 501s, shrunk to a perfect fit. It'd be sad to christen their active duty with negligent incontinence. Perhaps, once I've stood up and relieved myself, it'll be easier to justify getting to work.

What in the wide wide world of sports did i just read?????

All i can see is adam sandler saying "peeing your pants is cool"!

I'm not sure what this thread is about, but I have to say it is weird and I gave it a star for weirdness.

What has cabbage got to do with it, cabbage is a sedative, tobacco is a nootropic as is coffee. Why would anyone wear really tight pants that are hard to get off? Is this a Satire?

Don't think of it as a whole album. Break it down into smaller goals that you can motivate yourself to do. Sometimes, such a large goal seems vast and becomes intimidating. You so fear that you will fail at it because you so want to succeed that you don't even try.

So instead of thinking about "the album" ... think about this song or that track, think about laying down this solo or that riff.

One step at a time, whatever you can manage to motivate yourself to actually do and let it all build up until you do have "the album" but don't allow yourself to think about that at all.

a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

You're success isn't determined by what others think of you or your work. You're an artist, listen to your muse, make art and everyone else can just pissoff.

Call your true friends and start a collaboration, inspire each other.
As a filmmaker, screen writer/producer, musician...I know your funky feeling, it will pass. It will pass faster if you go to a bar with live music and dance with a woman with large breasts. It's an old folk remedy taught to me by "the Catfish" an old blues man I used to be a sideman for. It works!!

Those new 501s are your lucky pants. You'll see....

a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

I recommend wearing pajamas.
and

having a spill proof urinal handy.

Wry neck is a pain.
Rye Neck is a school district that serves the public education needs of parts of Mamaroneck and Rye, New York.

a reply to: olaru12

I agree with the muse, live music and dancing.

I was out with my Muse one night.
The bar had a walk around loft setup, that's where the tables and chairs are, with open view of the dance floor.

A blonde, a brunette, and a red head, all dressed up to the nines stepped onto the dance floor and started dancing together.

I said "Wow, check that out!"
My Muse said "That's a 'look but don't touch' scenario."
So I said, "I'm gonna dance with them."
And she's like "Seriously?"
Then I did.

Later, I wrote a great poem and gave it to my Muse. She liked it.

It was kind of like Lucretius' De Rerum Natura, though very much shorter, and not in Latin.

We program ourselves with habits simply by doing (or.. not doing, as it were) the same things over time. It frequently happens whether we like it or not, but we can consciously change our habits as well. The most traction this practice tends to get is with something like quitting smoking, but its efficacy is a lot more general than that. On a slight tangent, Ive noticed more younger folks looking at "habits" as a strictly negative thing, despite its neutrality.

The transition period is the toughest, but the more we get used to the new habits, the easier they become. We grow more comfortable in them, as they become more familiar and eventually creates a situation where sitting on our asses is the one that becomes less familiar and less comfortable as a norm.

Even for those with high levels of pain, disabilities, etc. I would suspect that it generally would lead to feeling better about "things" in general despite aggravating those issues. Theres probably more of a balancing act there than most people face though.

But.

You got a month, so... I suppose its better late than never? The inherent discomfort and conflict in exchanging habits might yield artistic brilliance.

There are also probably members here, or in other communities, that might be able to help depending on the situation.

a reply to: DictionaryOfExcuses

Hi DOE. Nice to read your musings.

Are you a pissed out guitar-savant?

What's the bladder with you?

Perhaps you could install some kind of a funnel, and tubing around the couch, so that you could whiz without getting up?