Beep Beep… Beep Beep…
I just set my alarm for 7:30 and got excited because that would mean I get to sleep in tomorrow…
“Sleep In”
God, I should kick my own ass for saying that…
Beh…
I’ve been having a ‘Beh’ day today. It’s been like having a good day and a not-so-good one at the same time. Kinda like drinking 5 cups of coffee and taking a Valium; two forces fighting over who gets to drive. Methinks thinking about it would be of no good, so I’ll sum it up in a song…
Download link
Avishai Cohen - Ani Maamin
This came on while walking home from my last class today, and I left it on repeat ’til I got home. A simple soothing rhythm with an enchanting melody that refuses to play along with the beat. Half of you wants to tap your foot with the underlying pulse but you find yourself nodding up to meet the melody.
Sighhhh…
(BTW, ‘Ani Maamin’ stands for ‘I Believe’ in Hebrew… And that’s nice… At least I’ve got that going for me.)
Have You Got Any Singles?
Yesterday, after making sure I slept ‘til 5 o’clock in the afternoon just to spite all the 6:30 alarms clocks I had this week, I headed over to Nate’s for a little video game bonding time (Girls got their actual conversations, we boys got videogames. [By the way, Katamari Damacy rules…]) Good times had by all, except those who were daring enough to stand in range of our machine guns…
Later on, after Nate, Edurne and I had eaten some tapas and drank some cañas in a old Galician bar decorated with a disturbing amount of key chains (I stopped counting after 9, but I’m sure there was over 4,285.), we headed off to some bar to meet some friends of Edurne and Nate’s for a birthday celebration. We arrived about 30 minutes late (naturally), which meant that we of course were the first ones to arrive (naturally.)
The place was practically empty, and we were about to leave when I spied a group of people on the upper floor. We went to investigate, and no sooner had we entered the room than we were approached by a woman in old Victorian Masked-Ball dress.
Yeah, kinda like that but in all white and more frills.
She didn’t hesitate to give us the customary two kisses that two people who already knew each other would give, so I naturally assumed that this was just another one of Nate and Edurne’s quirky friends. And naturally, I was wrong.**
It seemed we had wandered into a singles party.
Before I had any idea that none of us actually knew this fluffy looking lady, she had attacked our shirts with numerous stickers that any one of the participants in the night’s festivities could use to strike up a conversation. Most notably was the sticker with the name of ½ of a famous couple. Nate was the Tarzan to some lucky Jane wandering around the bar. Edurne was the Juliet to some rather dashing Romeo. And I got fuckin’ Quasimodo…
Seeing as not a one of the three of us was single nor looking for second companion, we sidestepped out of the room and headed back downstairs to, thankfully, see the first of their friends to arrive.
Needless to say, our stickers were an amusing conversation piece for the rest of the night (and after a few good drinks we actually went BACK upstairs with the rest of our group when we learned we could get free stuff for finding our other half.), but it also got us talking about the idea of ‘Single’s Parties.’
I personally thought that they were a bad idea; it’s a bunch of people huddling together with their small group of friends, awkwardly looking around to see if there’s anyone looking in their general direction, and only after a few stiff drinks do they get the courage to wander outside the safe area and strike up a conversation with some other stranger who’s doing the same thing…
No sooner had I said that than I looked around to see, although we were no longer upstairs at the S.P., the place was full of people doing the exact same thing down there (except they didn’t have the convenient stickers to help initiate first contact.)
I had been arguing that, in my opinion, the best way to find your significant other would be by doing something that interests you and meeting someone through that. Taking painting classes, doing a sport, ballroom dancing lessons, hiking clubs, or, God Forbid, while doing a job you really love and meeting someone else who feels the same way. Even the romantic in me could see sitting next to a girl in a café and her reading the same book I am as a legitimate way of meeting the future Mrs.
But when you boil it down to what it really is, reading that same book is no different than noticing that that girl on MySpace likes Jeff Buckley too; “You paint trees really well” is no different than “Nice boots…” - It’s just an excuse to talk to another person.
Taking a survey of the rest of the couples we were with, it didn’t surprise me to find out that almost all of them had met at some kind of party/bar/dance club. Hell, Annelies and I met at Pimps n’ Hos party. That must have been a tough choice for her, Pimp #1 or Pimp #2… Alcohol – the greatest equalizer in the world. Who has time to start a hobby in order to meet someone when after only a few drinks, “It’s not easy being a piiiimp.” becomes deep conversation.
I guess, after thinking it through, my problem is with ‘Velocity.’ Sure, alcohol and dancing is the fastest way to make that new friend, but I’ve noticed that this Fast-Food approach to dating doesn’t stop after the ice is broken; I’ve seen people go from first contact to spending the night together in less than an hour; which isn’t so bad if you’re looking for a one night stand, but a different story if you actually call them the next day.
We go from complete strangers to going steady in the time that it took people to find the courage to hold each other’s hands in the 1950’s. Granted, that’s one extreme to the other, but that doesn’t necessarily make either one right… Since when did ‘Taking It Slow” become sex on the second date? Are we just really friggin’ sexually repressed and can’t keep it in our pants?
This is a disturbing trend that I’ve noticed growing in the world around me and in myself – we feel there is an excess of things we need to do/learn/be and therefore we try to find the easiest and fastest way to get one thing done and onto the next. If I play a major scale twice without making a mistake, that doesn’t mean I’ve mastered it. Just because I looked up ‘Water Polo’ on Wikipedia doesn’t mean I’m an authority on the subject. The same goes for relationships, just because you’re spending 4 nights a week together within the first 2 weeks of dating doesn’t mean you have any idea who that person you’re laying next to is.
Instead of being Jacks of all Trades, have we become Jacks of Life? When did ‘half-assed’ come to mean ‘thoroughly’? Does the word ‘Consistency’ still exist?
In a time when our accomplishments are achieved and measured much in the way an assembly line pumps out some plastic gizmo; when was the last time you took the time to whittle something into being, giving it definition one single, small stroke at a time?
**Today’s blog is brought to you by the letter C, the number 9 and the word ‘Naturally.’
I Think I Need To Start Taking Drugs…
Or start complaining more, I’m not sure which yet.
I’m starting to think that there’s a therapeutic value to complaining when stressed/overworked… I dunno, maybe it releases some kind of hormone or chemical in the brain that acts as some form of release valve for all that built up tension that’s slowly but surely taking over control of your brain. Kinda like a reset button… Your boss is piling work up in your ‘IN’ box, you have to use your lunch break to find the time to go to the bank/doctor/post office, everyone you work with is an idiot, you come home and you still have more work ahead of you and that’s not including maintaining a normal household and cooking for yourself… Most people I know that would probably nod their heads while reading this usually just complain a lot and/or get drunk and/or smoke a joint; and BOOM, reset - start over again…
But I really like what I’m doing. Teaching is still interesting to me; it challenges me to think and to improvise, keeps me on my feet… Music school is great, I love the classes and the people who teach and study there are all wonderful people. I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend my day…
But, seriously, my brain is starting to hurt… It’s been on the ‘ON’ position for too damn long. I really DO need 30 hours in a day to do everything that I want to do every-day. But right now, my stamina for prolonged periods of thinking/processing is rapidly diminishing. After a 12 hour work/school day, I get home and pick up the guitar to practice and within 20 minutes I can hardly focus… I guess this is why people turn to speed… or Adderall, which is what my friend Wacki recommended me this afternoon. And I’m actually considering asking my doc about it…
Does anyone know any other more natural ways of getting the brain to work overtime without seizing the engine? Or a local Ritalin dealer?
(**Edit: I guess my ‘complaining-makes-you-feel-better’ theory is shot down… my head still hurts…**)
A Little Known Fact…
Paul’s Skin Condition - Album
Here’s a little known fact about me that most people don’t know: I have the coolest skin condition ever.
I know, I know - the words “Skin Condition” make me sound like a leper, but trust me on this one; the ladies love it.
Take a more-blunt-than-sharp object and scrape it across my skin, and within 5 minutes, a welt appears in the same place. Be it a line, a circle, a girl’s phone number or, as the good people at Ze Frank’s - The Org have seen, a duckie…
It’s called Dermographia - AKA: Skin Writing, and some people say this condition has ruined their lives; forever living in fear of getting an itch on their face or having to get change from their pockets. I personally think it’s pretty nifty, probably because I spend less than 2 seconds in front of a mirror each day, so I’m not the one who has to put up with looking at me.
Above is a link to my photo album of when we tried using my back as a canvas one night… Not bad for 5 minutes and a few pints of beer…
Thank God It’s Friday!!!
Oh shit… It’s Monday… again… crap…
And here I am, at work, sitting in front of this computer… again.
Wasn’t I just here?
These weeks are flying by too fast man… Working a full time teacher’s schedule condensed into a few hours of intensive non-stop didacticism coupled with a full time student’s schedule in the afternoon is beginning to grind on me. Mind you, I’m not complaining about what I’m doing, in fact I love it. It’s just the juggling act of making it all go together is not as easy as it seems.
It used to be that somewhere around mid afternoon on Friday, after my last class when I realized I was done for the week, I would let out a long well deserved sigh and finally let my body relax – and look forward to two days that I could let my batteries recharge for the next weeks festivities. But as each week passes, the sooner I start to feel the effects of the toll it’s taking on my body.
Kinda like leaving the house for the day and within a few minutes, your cell phone starts beeping and flashing red because the battery is about to crap out. You know no matter how close you are to home, you can’t go upstairs and sit for 2 hours while it takes its pleasant time charging up again. You’re going to have to find a way to make it through the day without letting that status bar reach 0.
That annoying beeping warning usually starts its singing around Wednesday afternoon…
It’s a small wonder that I’ve never tried cocaine… Thank God it in no way appeals to me. I guess I have a knack for finding 10th and 11th winds.
In other news:
The concert went well last week. It wasn’t my first time on a stage playing music nor my first time playing with other musicians, but it was the first time the world got to see my improvisational chops. It didn’t go bad at all. I did about as well as I expected, and will probably be much better next time I’m up there in June. Little by little. I should really start a band, just so I can get more used to the idea of playing in front of people.
Anyone out there interested in joining? We’re looking for all sorts of musicians: pianists, bassists, drummers, harmonica-ers, triangle players, knee slappers, hand clappers, and, of course, yodellers.
M. Ward
New video from M. Ward. If you haven’t heard him, go get any one of his CDs, make a nice tall glass of lemonade and go sit on your front stoop and watch life go by. (You may have to wait a few months to do that last part.)
REQUIEM:
Another awesome video:
CHINESE TRANSLATION:
Paul - Live in Concert (…almost)
Well, If you can’t make it to Madrid tonight for my show; to hang out in some smoky bar, sippin’ on a few bottles of brew, you can simulate the experience by planting yourself in front of your computer, glass of tap water in hand and listen to it on your super awesome computer speakers. The show starts at 11:00pm (Madrid time) or 5:00pm (For you Connecticuters)
Just imagine less trumpet, more guitar, sax and trombone, and a sober bass player.
Here’s the playlist:
Take the “A” Train - Duke Ellington
Black Orpheus - Cannonball Adderley Quintet
Four - Miles Davis
Take The A Train Baby…
Tomorrow night I’m playing my first gig as a jazz guitarist… I don’t wanna talk about it right now; I’m kinda nervous. But you can listen to one of the songs we’re playing if you’d like to get an idea of what it is I’ll be playing tomorrow. This version of ‘Take the A Train’ is by Duke Ellington.
A Confession…
Exactly when was it that I stared to scoff instead of having my interest piqued when I read the words, “Based on a true story”? Has Hollywood turned the True Story into a distorted, biased interpretation one too many times? What is the “True Story” then? IS there a true story? Isn’t every story, be it true or not true, based on a selection of information either gathered from observed and/or recounted “real life” events, or imagined ones which are then pieced together to form a picture that we will then call our own version of “The Story”. Although we draw a rather concrete distinction between “imaginary” and “Real Life”, how on-target is that “real life” version to that which really happened?
Much as mathematical statistics can be pitted against each other to further the agenda of just about any one who knows how to distort them well enough, aren’t the snapshots of reality that we take in and sew together using the thread of assumption no different? It’s not that we’re actually lying, the liberties we take every day to piece those tidbits of actual information we receive is just our way of coming to an understanding with the world around us. It’s only Hollywood’s version and the liberties IT takes with those stories that come under fire because there are more people to go up against who either know more about it or have taken different liberties with their own versions. I’m sure if you were to recount half of the things you know about the world to a large audience, you’d get your fair share of “fan mail” telling you that you don’t know jack.
So, I have a confession…
I told a fib in my last blog entry. In the introductory section, which turned out to be a long blustering account of my life “the way it is” so as to ultimately arrive at a penis joke, I mentioned that I was lounging in my bedroom, dressed only in my PJs, giving class over the telephone to some French person. It’s not that I don’t teach telephone classes in my PJs from my bedroom – it’s just that I’ve done that only 3 days of the 700+ days I’ve worked as an English teacher here in Madrid, and I thought I would use that image to make the story more interesting on the eyes.
This is where the “patching together snapshots of reality using the thread of assumption” comes into play. I mentioned in my blog that now you’d all have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing here. I’m afraid that now, if anyone were to ask, “What is that Paul Gladis up to these days?”, one who had read my blog would say, “Why, he’s off in Madrid teaching English classes in his underwear!” And although they would technically be right, they’re far off from the truth of the matter (which is I go to an office, sit in front of a computer and teach from there… clothed.) The same misrepresentation exists, just we don’t do it intentionally nor conciously (hopefully) - we work with what we get.
So, if we are all just as guilty as Hollywood of fashioning our own adaptation of “True Life”**, just not called out as often as they are, should we really be complaining about these movies that we just don’t consider to be as based on The Truth as we think they are?
In other words, should I just go see “The Pursuit of Happiness” with Will Smith and stop thinking so much???
**Ok, ok, maybe not AS guilty as guilty as Hollywood, but I’m leaving out the differences between the degree to which we do it as to make the fact that we both do it seem more relevant. Wait; am I now the one distorting the facts to serve my own argument? I’m confused.