repentence and deconstruction

It took me a whole day realize how stupid the below post is. Good lord.

As with all freak outs a several things collapsed on me at once, and I over-reacted. Also, I don't take criticism well. Don't criticize me for that.

The below rant is mostly an inability to remember to count my blessings. It is also a fear of not getting what I want so much. I think that is normal.

Also, I said some silly things about the "product" I sell, and I want to make clear I don't mean like...my music. I mean...I think I can do better. And I feel like a 2nd grader who wants to do Calculus. I know I can do it but I don't have the tools yet. Or something. So while I will not force everyone who has bought my CD to burn it, I just hope...I can do better. That's all.

I am a whiny jerk. I love my life. I do. Sorry.

crank.

i am freaking sick and freaking tired. i don't even know of what. i am tired of scratching my way up this "thing" i have invented in my mind called a "path" that is probably going to disappoint me whatever way it turns out. i fear i have talked myself into one route to happiness. maybe should accept life as it is. and maybe i can't do anything better than a CD that is in my brain riddled with flaws when i listen to it. yeah, that's right. it ticks me off to listen to myself.

i am tired of sycophants i meet in this "music world" who falsely boost my ego probably because maybe i don't even know why. i've met some jerks lately.

i don't want to be a just another folk songwriter that maybe luckily uses "different words" to describe the same emotion every freaking human being feels and understands and doesn't need to be reminded of anyway. oh look, i can thumb through a thesaurus. i'm special.

i don't want a profession that can't solve world hunger and poverty. and nothing has so far. so i guess i'm out of luck. too bad.

i am sick of listening to music and comparing myself to it. i am never good enough.

i am tired of little conquests that keep me trying for the next week until that little conquest and false ego boost wears off and i am stuck with myself again.

i want to freaking move to freaking boston or alaska or paris where i don't know anybody and i won't meet anybody so no one will know me at all and maybe i'll write a crap book and they'll publish it when i die in my apartment alone because what a weird little hermit she was. geez. crap.

i am tired of working around people who seem to be self-actualized or who are at least working on something they feel passionate about. i am tired of phoning it in. i am jealous of them.

but as per the above rant, what the crap am i SUPPOSED to do? am i supposed to shut up and sit down and QUIT trying to "find myself" or am i supposed to just accept that life usually doesn't work out according to all those unhappy people wandering around out there?

maybe i'll regret this in a week. whatever.

Imogen F-in' Heap

Oh my. I just saw an amazing concert. Now, I realize that whenever I see a concert, I say: "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen and it has changed my life," but really...it's usually true. This time I learned a whole lot from a British girl with a fluffy pink dress, Bride-of-Frankenstein hair, and a see-through piano. Miss Imogen Heap, meet my list of life-changers.

She is pretty hypnotic and trance-inducing on her album "Speak For Yourself," but I was not prepared for the level of rock and roll goddess that Imogen is...she had the whole venue jumping up and down and she grooves like...well, a British girl on speed. Or something. She really is so very British, and says cute British things between songs. "Roight. Well then, are we all doing all right? Good." God love that accent.

That is one of her many keyboards that she hauls out and loops and mixes and it's insane. She starts the show by introducing her "band" -- and runs us through her whole set up from her Mac to her MIDI interface to her see-through grand piano shell that houses more electronics. It is so bizarre. It all worked well tonight, though her blog documents an equipment meltdown, which I am sure occurs sometimes. It's almost enough to make me sell my guitars and buy a keyboard and a pink dress, but then I think maybe wood and strings are a little simpler for me to handle. But maybe I can start hopping around. I'd like that.

Gimme Some Sugarland

Well. After deciding that the American work week should be 35 hours MAX, and more like 30 hours...and after catching up on my sleep finally, and after spending my birthday week contemplating my finances, future expenditures, savings, and investments (yes...I have investments now)...I took some time to chill with my newest vice acquisition. CDs (and NOT certificates of deposit, sorry) will always be a weakness. Screw iTunes. I wants me some liner notes and a disc I can rip and burn and rip again.

Oh yeah, so the new Sugarland CD kicks. I was a bit sad because after kicking the folky-songwriter member out of the band, it is utterly clear they are going for Nashville superstardom. But I have always harbored a secret love and admiration for the Nashvillians, and while I hate a lot of them, a lot of them make dang near perfect music. It's like a well-crafted pop song. You can't deny it's good. And Nashville music to me means giant stadiums full of pulsating fans and maybe a lead singer who can play an instrument...with song that speak to us all on a general level. Thankfully Sugarland offers that. (I guess secretly one day I want a giant stadium full of pulsating fans. Yeah, pretty much I want it).

Anyway, to put a fine point on it, Jennifer Nettles offers that. Man. I mean really. I own her pre-Sugarland albums from the folky days to the jazzy days to the rock days...and even if her music is different her voice sure as heck cannot be hidden. Beth once described Joss Stone's voice as "liquid sex," I think (right, Beth?). I think Jennifer's would be like..."liquid Southern sex on the rocks." Or something. I am just babbling now. Quit laughing, Beth.

And the songs address a lot of what I have been pondering..."normal lives" and "settling down" versus following dreams and all that junk. In a happy Nashville package. I win.

Up for this week: 3 days o' work and then Thanksgiving in the country!!! Log cabins and all!

Woman sakes alive.

I love saying "man sakes alive" and I have no clue where I got it. People think I'm weird.

Ok so my neighbors who succeed in blowing me off all the time (and perhaps they think they same of me but I swear I have tried) just got "DirectTV" or some such crap that requires a satellite dish attached to their railing which I swear makes the whole landing that I walk up every day very ugly. If I ever have to move furniture that sucker is "accidentally" going down. Ugh. Why spend the cash to have a dish that makes you sit inside all day and uglifies the outside when you can not have it, sit outside, and enjoy the view?

So I got played on two podcasts this week. That was pretty cool. NetteRadio, a show out of Dallas, even like...bio'd me. She bio's everyone on her show, and I dunno how many submissions she gets a week, but I felt pretty kickass for 30 seconds there. Then I got over it and did my dishes.

I think I dislike working not because of anything visceral...in fast, my new office has a lot of very nice people in it and I foresee myself getting to know many of them quite well. However, I feel like I do not earn my money every day. I do work all day (unless I am checking email haha), and I am useful, helpful...all of those things. But it's like my paycheck is disconnected from my job. The money floats in randomly and I don't feel my work as being of any greater use except making my office's paper flow work better. This is clearly a temporary situation. I need to last a year, if not 18 months, though. I need the cash. The disconnected cash. at least at CAPS I believed in their greater mission AND I was involved on a personal level with my employers. I guess I had it good back then.

I much prefer playing a gig, getting paid after putting my guitar away, and enjoying my night. I feel like I earn things that way, instead of just having it bestowed on me whilst I waste away in a climate controlled asbestos free office.

Some might call me whiny. My mom calls me special. ;)

Mmmm Texas. New Mexico. Seattle.

I am sitting out on my patio in my $6 Target canvas chair (green) with my laptop sufficiently mooching wireless internet. It's about 60 degrees and lovely.

I made it back with nary a scratch on myself or my car...New Mexico was good. Texas is good. I dunno...I like both places. I was a little scared I would either:

a) realize how much I miss home and cry a lot when I had to come back
b) realize I somehow hated NM and never knew it (a little silly of me)

Neither happened. I realized you can't beat the view of the Sandias against a blue sky, or the smell of cedar in the air, or gathering in person with a large group of friends, or Mom's ribs! However, I guess I still have some things to finish. Or start. Or something. Bizarre. The fact that I will be back to NM in a little over a month is also comforting. Right now I feel very much like an American citizen but not necessarily as belonging to any state. Hrm.

When I was wandering around Seattle in February of this year, a rotund street preacher guy stopped me outside of Starbucks at Pike's Place Market, and he said, "Miss Jana, the Lord told me to tell you that this is your year. He's got so many blessings for you that you won't know what to do with them." And I told him thanks and kept walking.

But I think he might have been right.

Bah, I say!

Just bah.