Archive for June 13, 2003

the older

The older I get, oh wait hold on that’s one of those things that translates to, I really hope to beat this idea into mind till it becomes a rut. Anyway, I lost what I was saying by trying to hide my intention with the first statement. My mom sent some confusing e-mails today like shuffling the cards of an opening paragraph and finding only an attention grabing decide inbetween. e-mails first about faxing my M.A. program letter of acceptance to my Dad and then something about packaging up all my stuff so we can move the 20th. You missed that didn’t you? It was set today that I depart Orlando june 20th. In a huff of rage I imagine my Dad with some dissapointed look on this face saying you know shouldn’t be moving etc. but I have a desire to work and there really is no work to be found. Let’s imagine for a second were in the age of Regan, the coin is worth cardboard and we’re all out on the street. We’ve already hyper-extended this fantasy for Garnett says the eighties was a magical time, but there’s previous posts to prove that far from it, Houston, TX was a loser of a town in the supposed boom of an era that even Biz Markie correctly identified as being far from Rich (unless like him you sell crack).


And then I wake up and Jecie nustles by the door, “yeah he’s awake,” she says and I wonder out after an e-mail and there’s these two german guys in the hall way. Their not euro-trash, they seem generically hip in chuck taylors etc in some anonymous fashion that I’m assuming now transcends Americana invading even Germany, England, and maybe some places in Prague. did i miss something? the flight is scheduled for 16:28 according to Ralf’s instructions, but these 2 german guys are pissed even though they have an easy going vibe and a kinda from the stix type of feel about them it’s about 2 p.m. 14:00 military/ airport time. Drive them to their hotel after they complain that my car is filthy, which it is but fucking a your all decked out in your post-alternative rock seasoned by hippy duds and your complaing I’m a slob? your whole fucking image demands that you be tooted around by folks wearing trucker hats and keeping it real by embracing poverty which of course their not. Second hand records they want, but they can’t specify, Jelinek + Fehlman new exactly what they wanted Jan even had a list. The hotel takes them and puts my credit card for incidental expenses which means Mike or Chris call home and I’m instantly over my limit again.
A drive home can have several different feels, the quick stop where your just avoiding the place entirely, the apathetic dive where you wanted to get it on over at her house but ended up crashing at yours sans girl, and the I’ve been away for awhile feel (what is that like anyway?), and the fuck everything I’m going home and sleeping till the apocalpyse type of thing. The later has a tendency to wear off in the sub-conscious’ deep boon. Ahhh yeah, this was a returning home to check mail type of thing and this big package from England holds a new mego DVD plus some thing that is a ucf letter. acceptance letter. got accepted. e-mail then call parents. Dad seems to be willing to let me stay here for a few more months. He isn’t paying rent anymore. Rent is cool for this month, after all we sold 40 pre-sales to Funkstorung we’re gonna have over 200 ppl at this plus the 100 I already paid her from selling the DVD and VHS means I should have a total of 300 for her all I gotta due is pawn the television and maybe the gamecube and I’m up to the 500 terrority which doesn’t happen.
I greet my acceptance to UCF with both a reserve and a horror. I have to be in Orlando for 2 more years. The problem resises in my in-ability to escape the duty of being a human being who is realiable and mildly honest. I’m really tired of running this push night and while many would claim I don’t run it, I do run it although Dave does too, dealing with the owners, promoting out at UCF (which he seems to do a good job of), and getting Angel to work the door. More or less the problem resides in that I am a freebie for the scene when I need to be paid as much as the artists do. Their might not be a profit with this night, but I need to get paid for my services something which has been skipped on me 2 weeks running now. If I’m brining Push Button Objects, if I’m promoting it, if I’m booking it, if I’m securing gear for it, then come July 10th I need everything from the door except what goes to paying DJs and part of the fliers, which will probably be everything. Where else?
Funkstorung, a line deep and re-freshed from napasorn gets up and plays. it’s empty music. made with complex beats it doesn’t really hold the weight of bigger acts: it’s pop music. With Jelinek I could feel my mind move even though his formula owes a great deal to the Ministers De La Funk only w/o the cheese vocals that bounce off that 2 piece 3 deal combo of soul and disco strings. Otto was a similar experience, his beats coming from the head but so enraptured in their own possibility they really can move you. Funkstorung felt flat, like a mix tape that couldn’t have happened if we didn’t know the mixers before hand and has some economy of exchange based on social abilities (aka their friends of ours). Although SPS did cut up the records nice and Will did a great job. Oh yeah and at the end of the night the bastards wouldn’t even give me a shirt even though they got paid more than their contract asked for from Fred and I printed out Ralf’s flight times and showed them that Ralf had really fucked this up. And yes, no, but you already no that money can’t be made. It’s not about money, it never was, but I have no time for anything that’s not money right now. I can’t live right now and despite Fred’s I’m just in it for the love of it, I know he’ll be bitching 2 days down the line when he asking for a weekly part of the pot that never comes. This isn’t slave labor for me, it’s a consistent decession to avert actually aiding myself to help others don’t need assitance as bad as me. Some years off when it’s more formuliac (somehow) than it is now, and Funkstorung’s number one single is as big a club anthem as the minister’s believe then it will make money, but the older I get the more I realize things don’t move in circles the way texts do.


June 13, 2003 at 6:17 am Leave a comment


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