The Search For A Perfect Bassline

When my husband went to Ohio to work last year, he joined a heavy metal band for awhile and played some live shows. Metal rules in Ohio, I hear. They are sort of stuck in a Pantera Time Warp, and Bob Seger is still THE MAN. So when he came home, he was eager to put together a new band, get out there and make some noise. Of course, he likes metal, but not in Birmingham. We aren‘t going in that direction. More punk/country alternative/rock (if that is a genre)… Sadly, our bass player for the last 9 years decided that he was too busy being drunk and unemployed to find time to practice, much less learn new songs. He had inherited some money, and like the song says, it changes everything.

Now we have an ad in a local news magazine looking for a bass player. I can’t afford what my son quoted me to do it. When we don’t have a bass, I think most songs sound naked – there’s no thumping drive in it. I can only do so much as drummer! I’m sure we’ll meet a few nutjobs before we find someone with the same musical taste, ambition, sense of humor, etc … it’s complicated. You just know the right person when you meet them.

My husband met our current guitar player, Cory, a couple of years ago. He is a wonder to hear; talented young man just doesn‘t cover it. He started playing with us during the summer. He was lured away by a country band a couple of months ago, but has come back into the fold. Thank God. We had worked up a version of Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” (he can really play that riff!) — I sing it and play the drums. I played it after he left with another guitarist sitting in, but I couldn’t sing the lyrics. I was emotional. I am such a girl.

Unless you play music with someone, or are in love with them, or write a book with them, it is hard to understand what I am talking about. But when you find someone who has a chemistry with you: musical, sexual, intellectual, or otherwise, it feels like you have known that person forever. When Cory started playing with us, we knew he was special. Taking his age into consideration, awesome is a small word to describe his ability. He plays like a much older man. There is a wisdom in his fingertips. His talent is genuine, like the heartbreak or joy his young hands can express on that guitar. Honestly, I have such a crush on him. And I’ve got it bad.  Something makes me wants to take care of him. But I’d rather have him as a friend and guitarist than not at all. Sometimes you take what you can get.

When he and Stephen launched into a perfect version of “Breathe” by Pink Floyd, I think we all knew it was meant to be. And like any new relationship, we find ourselves feeling our way around each other, so we didn’t really talk about it. To overanalyze it might spoil the magic. But I think silently we were each basking in the glow of finding the perfect mixture for our musical recipe. 

I’ve been playing drums for almost nine years now. Started a little late in life, but my husband needed a drummer. I had free time. It made sense to me. He taught me some of what he knew… and I just kept at it. I’ll never be as good as he is, but he can play anything. He is one of THOSE. Perfect pitch. Can pick out any song on guitar. Won’t suck even if he doesn’t know the solo. A genius. I’ve said it before, it’s like living with Einstein. If he played guitar.

Sometimes it feels like the band will never get off the ground. But sometimes the fun is in just giving it a try. Getting really good at something other people cannot do. Feeling that weird, mystical connection to the people you make music with. Sometimes you find yourself part of the most beautiful sounds. If it doesn’t last, at least you are part of one musical moment imprinted somewhere in time, and you have the memories. It’s a creative outlet if nothing else… I know I have to have mine.

And I’m not that good at golf.

Some Wisdom For Working Women

OMG, it’s like, so hard to take orders from someone who is, well, so inexperienced and immature. It really is.

When I started working at age 19, the “boss” I have now was about 5 years old. I feel the fact that she is a woman in an office of mostly women may bring out certain social issues, but I am addressing my experience alone.

Even though I have never been in management, I have 23 years of watching co-workers screw up, seeing the cluelessness of supervisors and making plenty of mistakes myself. I learned the hard way…. So for my sisters in the workforce, especially those going into management, I share this advice.

One word for women in the workplace: discretion. Very important. Especially if you are in a leadership position. And if you have a husband at home and a boyfriend at work it’s really essential. My supervisor hasn’t figured that one out yet. I used to wonder “why don’t appearances occur to her?” but I guess now I find it slightly amusing. Eventually, she might choose to keep the drama at home, but it will probably take a few dramatic scenes, a divorce and ten more years of bad decisions.

Another important trait of the working woman, especially in management, is keeping your thoughts to yourself. At one time, my manager expressed her intent to stop working since she had enough staff to carry the load. It upset the employees who heard about it, and we lost some of them. Karma was in full effect when she found herself back working late.

A sorority-like atmosphere prevails in our office. In meetings, our supervisor will often reprimand us for gossip or catty behavior. It is almost funny, because in the office, she is right in the middle of the sewing circle. Her friendships with certain employees are obvious, and not handled in a professional manner. It is clear who she favors. Certain employees don’t have to take vacation or make up time they missed. Others do. Some get first dibs on vacation days. The rest take what is left. A good manager would never let that happen.

Since I am older than most, and do not tolerate bullshit, I am liked and probably disliked (strong women usually are disliked by someone.) In our office, I know who my friends are. But I don’t really pay close attention to the childish behavior going on around me. It is like being back in 8^th grade. Only now I am 42 and couldn’t give less of a f*%k.

The sharing of personal information no one needs or wants to hear is another no-no that I’ve experienced a lot. I have worked with several people in their 20s who didn’t know that talking about their sex life, hygiene, or other “didn’t need to know” subjects is tacky, inappropriate, stupid and also laughable (as soon as they walk away.) It is really hard to listen seriously to someone you have heard crying on the phone to her Mom, or watched as she freaked out in the parking deck after work.

I doubt that anyone higher up in the chain of command is even aware of what is going on in our office. Since our department is scheduled to be closed, and we will be gone, no one really cares about us. People leave and they aren’t replaced. People who were promised raises or overtime aren’t getting them, and they are intimidated into working extra hours. As long as we get the work done, we are just waiting on the end, whenever it may come, like terminally ill patients. There won’t be any extra measures taken to save us.

I would gladly pull the plug right now. I’m tired of 8^th grade.

The Morning After: A Holiday Hangover

God, I hate Christmas in the middle of the week… especially if I don’t get any time off. I was supposed to get off early on Christmas Eve, but our branch manager didn’t seem to realize it was even a holiday. What an idiot.

So it was right back to work this morning, and I was actually surprised at how exhausted I am. I heard a co-worker say the same thing… and I realized we had a holiday hangover. All that loving family time sure can take a lot of energy… even if you aren’t the one entertaining. And if you had people over, you may fall asleep before the end of this post.

So it is finally over, and the clean-up begins. I have learned the hard way to find all my user manuals to all electronic gifts and not accidentally throw them out with the warranty cards and packaging.  Then there are boxes, to save or not to save? The bows, which ones are keepers? And where will I keep all that left over wrapping paper?

Of course, I have to put up all those decorations too! Jesus Christ (no pun intended!) Funny how I get the exact opposite feeling taking them down as I felt putting them up. Where there was a mixture of excitement and hope is a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Because honestly, I can only take so much of Christmas. Get the tree out. I’m glad it’s over… and I have six or seven whole months before the music starts up again.

Christmas Day went well; everyone loved their gifts and generally got along. The adorable puppy (a 6 month-old Jack Russell terrier) we adopted for my in-laws peed on my comforter. But if that is all that went wrong, I’m thankful. I needed to have it cleaned, anyway. My favorite gift this year is the XM radio for my Avalon. (Extra points for my husband!!!) My son gets the credit for my voice recorder… in support of what he views as some comedic talent on my part. What a compliment.

We went to dinner late, but everyone was still eating. It was hard knowing that Dylan was hungry but wouldn’t eat. Before we left, he didn’t even want any rice. It casts a shadow over my feelings about holidays to come, knowing that he may not be able to enjoy them like everyone else. It doesn’t seem fair. His cousins are all on the heavy side of healthy, but he is rail thin, his body never absorbing the nutrients it needs to thrive. If something doesn’t help him, I don’t know how we’ll cope.

So now that I can take my wreath off the door, knowing one of the worst years of my life is almost over, I am not sorry to see it go. I know that nothing really changes with the arrival of a new year, but it’s nice to symbolically get rid of the last one and try to move on. As for resolutions, I don’t bother. I have too much reality in my life right now to half-commit to false promises conjured up by my own self-loathing. Besides, any time is a good time to change, not just January 1^st. Who needs the added pressure of knowing everyone else has made resolutions too? It’s a timetable for collective failure. By February, everybody in the breakroom is depressed, giving in to the vending machine.

I think I dread the holidays not just because of family issues, but because of this feeling I get when it’s over. An inevitable, vague disappointment settles in on me, and probably a lot of other people, because Christmas is always anti-climactic compared to the holiday fantasy we have built up in our minds. Nothing makes us feel inferior like knowing everyone else is having a better time than we are. That is where my disgust with retail advertising comes in, because that is their main selling tool: using our lack of confidence against us.

Maybe one day I’ll spend Christmas day in my own home, with my own grandchildren. I’ll be older, hopefully wiser and probably more grateful. I hope I can learn to enjoy the parts of Christmas I really love and avoid the dread and stress. I want to be more zen, more able to relax.

If I can just keep the cats out of the tree….