Author: emilyzisman

Ahhhhh drinking songs. I LOVE me a good drinking song.

I got curious about drinking songs after falling madly in love with Chris Stapleton and his version of Tennessee Whiskey. THEN I discovered his song Whiskey and You and just about rolled over in defeat. Not only can the man sing his bearded, be-cowboy-hatted head off, he writes some of the most nuanced and insightful lyrics I’ve heard in country music in a long time. It’s the kind of sensitivity I was referring to in my previous entry about Jim Croce.

After tumbling ass-over-tits down the rabbit hole of songs about whiskey, I noticed something curious: The majority of whiskey songs are written or performed by men.

Seriously! I found a list of 68 songs about whiskey and of those 68, FIVE and a HALF, including three half songs, were written or performed by women.

EVEN CURIOUSER, the lyrical content when it comes to men drinking songs verses women drinking songs is striking. According to the songs that women have written or performed about whiskey, they write whiskey songs for a wider range of reasons.

1. Not happy that her man drinks so much whiskey
2. She needs a night off to fuckin’ PARTY!
3. She has a sad.
4. In the case of Wine After Whiskey by Carrie Underwood, comparing a REALLY good lover to a REALLY, uhm….stiff…drink. *cough. (By the way, this is pretty much the same damn song (eye-roll).

MEN, on the other hand, stick to a decidedly shorter list of motives.

1. Women and whiskey as interchangeable metaphors for each other (Case in point)
2. PAIIIIIN AND CONFUSION!!!!

For such a large volume of content, why the limited range of subject matter?

My best guess as to why this is, is that, as a society, we do not bring up all of our beautiful young boys to display the wide variety of emotions that human beings are born with to help them navigate this bizzaro existence. Instead, we socialize them to hide their feels in all manner of ways. So…it stands to reason that a number of these men grow up to hide inside of a bottle of something numbing. Whiskey is one VERY potent (and yummy) option and has been around since before people were pulling bullets out of and cracking limbs off of each other without anesthesia.

Again, this is only a best guess scenario as I’m not, nor have I in recent history, been a man. I’ve only loved a LOT of them and have butted my head up against that beast of an emotional cock block numerous times.

SO! In an attempt to start tipping the exorbitantly uneven scales of songs about whiskey written by women, I’ve written one of my own.

Well…Technically, it’s 3/4 woman song because my friend Andrew Balmat helped me write the bridge, but it’s a start!

Damnit.

ALSO! It’s a sing along, so feel free to sing along on the bold sections.

Whiskey Works Better Than You

There’s a reason there are so many songs about whiskey.

Cause whiskey won’t tell you “no.”

He’ll show up, he’ll go up, your spine without promise

and leave your mind quiet without being cold.

They say “love is work” and the work, it takes two

but all that I’ve seen of this job,

is that he’s always on call, there’s no order too tall.

Baby whiskey works better than you.

Whiskey works better than you, babe.

Whiskey works better than you.

He’s always on call, there’s no order too tall.

Baby whiskey works better than you.

There’s a tireless expression,”follow your passion”

That’s rattled around in my mind.

But I don’t need a lesson. All that I’m asking,

is for something to lead me when passion goes blind.

AND whiskey works better than you, babe.

whiskey works better than you.

He’s always on call, there’s no order too tall.

Baby whiskey works better than you.

It’s not a perfect system, but it’s a timeless tradition

sung by men about women and by women about fools

He works overtime, and he’s worth every dime, baby

whiskey works better than you.

Whiskey works better than you, babe

Whiskey works better than you.

He’s always on call, there’s no order too tall.

Baby whiskey works better than you.

*repeat ad nauseam

Have a song you’d like me to de-mythstify? Let me know in the comments below!

One of the artists I list as an influence when asked is Jim Croce. Not that I’m anywhere NEAR his level of picking, but his keen sense of storytelling and pacing had me rapt from the time I could comprehend language.

Time In A Bottle, Rapid Roy, Carwash Blues, You Don’t Mess Around with Jim, I Got A Name, Roller Derby Queen, New York’s Not My Home… There are more, but those are the songs I could list from memory.

Operator is THE unrequited love story of… my whole life. You know that feeling when you know how the story SHOULD go, because that’s how Hollywood would have written it? I mean, life ISN’T a Hollywood plot MOST of the time, but a good story is a good fucking story, and Operator is a GREAT story told in a VERY ingenious manner. AND he made it sound. SO. easy. I wanted to write stories like THAT.

In fact, Operator was so iconic that when the Martin guitar company released 73 custom guitars in honor of Jim, a 1973 dime was set into the fretboard at the third fret of each instrument as an homage to the final line in the song, “You can keep the dime.” The quantity 73 was not at all random, either. It was to commemorate the year in which he died as was the year of the coin.

Have I told you I’m a ridiculously, irrevocably, infuriatingly stubborn romantic? No?

Weird.

Here’s the thing about this song that makes it age well: It’s VERY specifically set in time. It’s SO specific that, much like the solid wood of a well cared for guitar, it can only grow more warm, deep, and nuanced with age. It’s the kind of song that, if it were an epic poem, it would have translations and Cliff’s Notes and it would be studied in AP English classes.

I’m NOT biased. YOU’RE BIASED!!!

The title Operator (for those of you born after 1980), refers to a particular job called a Switchboard Operator wherein a human person was required to physically connect incoming phone calls from a switchboard within a particular facility.

According to Wikipedia (because my research is lazy AF), “Emily Nutt became the first female telephone operator on 1 September 1878 when she started working for the Boston Telephone Dispatch company, because the attitude and behavior of the teenage boys previously employed as operators was unacceptable.”

SHOCKER

“Reclaiming my time” seems like an appropriate mantra at this juncture….

According to this New York Times article, on October 11, 1983, “Scores of residents crowded around a switchboard (…) and cheered today as the last hand-cranked telephone system in the country was disconnected.”

So, somewhere between the mid 1800s and early 1980s, this was a job people could do. Well….a job women could do.

So. Specific!

NOW, picture this: In order to contact a person via telephone, one would have to dial into a general switchboard, typically by dialing zero, and request that the operator connect you to the desired party. You know, back when humans interacted and shit….

Another thing that makes this song SO sweet is the vulnerability of the protagonist. This dude is in pain. And rightly so! His lover leaves him for his best friend? That’s cold. But it’s how he chooses to process these feelings that gives the song it’s arc. I mean, he COULD have gone all Don’t Mess Around with Jim or Bad Bad Leroy Brown on this motherfucker. But he doesn’t. He talks out his feels. Like an adult.

Let’s break it down. (Usually I’d annotate, but I won’t this time because the story is so good, I don’t need to.)

Operator, well could you help me place this call?
See, the number on the matchbook is old and faded
She’s living in L.A. with my best old ex-friend Ray
A guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated

Isn’t that the way they say it goes? Well, let’s forget all that
And give me the number if you can find it
So I can call just to tell ’em I’m fine and to show
I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well
I only wish my words could just convince myself
That it just wasn’t real, but that’s not the way it feels

Operator, well could you help me place this call?
Well, I can’t read the number that you just gave me
There’s something in my eyes, you know it happens every time
I think about a love that I thought would save me

Isn’t that the way they say it goes? Well, let’s forget all that
And give me the number if you can find it
So I can call just to tell ’em I’m fine and to show
I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well
I only wish my words could just convince myself
That it just wasn’t real, but that’s not the way it feels
No, no, no, no – that’s not the way it feels

Operator, well let’s forget about this call
There’s no one there I really wanted to talk to
Thank you for your time, ah, you’ve been so much more than kind
you can keep the dime (Squeeeeeeee!!!!!!)

Isn’t that the way they say it goes? Well, let’s forget all that
And give me the number if you can find it
So I can call just to tell ’em I’m fine and to show
I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well
I only wish my words could just convince myself
That it just wasn’t real, but that’s not the way it feels

Have a song you’d like me to de-mythstify? Let me know in the comments below!

The Boxer by Paul Simon peaked at No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100.   Rolling Stone ranked the song No. 106 on their list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.^[1]

From the last album Paul Simon recorded with Art Garfunkel – Bridge Over Troubled Water, Simon had this to say to Playboy Magazine about the song in 1984:

Playboy: “What inspired it?”

Simon: “I think I was reading the Bible around that time. That’s where I think phrases such as ‘workman’s wages’ came from, and ‘seeking out the poorer quarters’. That was biblical. I think the song was about me: everybody’s beating me up, and I’m telling you now I’m going to go away if you don’t stop. By that time we had encountered our first criticism. For the first few years, it was just pure praise. It took two or three years for people to realize that we weren’t strange creatures that emerged from England but just two guys from Queens who used to sing rock’n’roll. And maybe we weren’t real folkies at all! Maybe we weren’t even hippies!”

To me, this song is a classic example of the hero’s journey:  Young Boy leaves small town for big city, Boy gets kinda beat up by shitty people and adverse circumstances,  Boy emerges from experiences as the “fighter” that “still remains.”  The adventure of self-discovery, revelation, and acceptance relayed in one of the most widely accesible formats.

Based on the snippet from the Playboy interview above, I believe that this is true whether or not that is what Paul Simon was aiming for.  It’s tucked away into the subtext that I’ve emboldened for your convenience.  Go ahead, re-read it.  I’ll wait…..

There is NO THING blatantly misogynist about this song (Ok…the use of the word “whore” is arguable).  BUT!  It joins a multitude of hero’s journey tales that are classically reserved for the masculine or male experience.   The Iliad, Odessy, Aneid, Paradise Lost…and on and on….

They (dudes) get to hear the “call to adventure.”  They get to “depart” into the greater world, find mentors, test allies and enemies, and they get to ultimately return home a hero.

Sign me the FUCK, UP! 

A typical feminine or female experience is potrayed more prominently in smaller, more domestic sound bites of pithy, interpersonal dramas (see two previous entries) in which the protagonists ultimately get stuck in a circulatory hell of their own making.   *Snore…

I will offer Alice Walker as a counter to this norm.    However, due to the sheer fact that her characters are such underdog heros, the epicness of their plight, when compared to the Godlike or demi-godlike status of trojan warrior ex-patriots is lost on subtler ears.

Another writer who has written tomes of material to counter this trope is Ani DiFranco.   Sure, she’s got some of the classic feminine experiences in her writings, she’s a woman, after all.   But she doesn’t rely on the more generally accepted experiences of her gender alone to tell her stories.    She relies on her experiences as a person who has lived the hero’s journey and writes about it with zero fucks given about her acceptance into the mainstream gastrointestinal tract of pop storytelling.

Dar Williams is another.

Brandy Carlile’s album, By The Way, I Forgive You is chock full of epic anthems from all KINDA angles and perspectives.

But these examples are most sincerely the exception, not the norm AND I digress….

The boxer is such an exquisite example of a hero’s adventure, I wanted to make an example out of it.

Here’s a version of the original that will give you a glorious earful:

For this edition of Deconstructing Lyrical Mythologies, I’m not going to annotate the lyrics so much as I’m just going to appropriate them for the purposes of giving the feminine genders (let’s remember, tis’ a spectrum) a hero’s narrative of similar ilk.  Here’s what I mean by that:

Let’s break it down. 

In bold are the lyrics I’ve altered for the purposes of re-gendering the story.  Truly, I didn’t have to do much to alter it.   Enjoy!

I am just a poor girl, though my story’s seldom told.

I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles such are apologies.

All in defense, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.  Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie

When I left my home and my family I was no more than a girl

in the company of strangers, in the quiet of the free health clinic, sitting scared.

Laying low, seeking out the quiet quarters where the unassuming go,

looking for the places only they would know.

Lie Le Lie…..

Asking only equal wages I come looking for a job, but I get no offers.

Just a come-on from the suits along Fifth Avenue.

I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.

Lie le lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie

Lie Le Lie…….

Well I’m growing out my winter coat and wishin’ I was gone, going home

where the windowed, corner offices aren’t teasin’ me

cheatin’ me, goin’ home.

Interlude

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by her trade

and she carries the reminder, of every bloke that laid her down

and fucked her till she cried out, in her anger and her shame

“I am bleeding, I am leaving”, but the fighter still remains.

Lie Le Lie…

Oh!  BTW, now it’s a punk-rock song.  Here! Have a listen!

Our stories are not cut and paste, but much of the collective narrative at large is categorized quite consistently into certain gendered experiences.

Hopefully the likes of the previous writers I mentioned, along with Lady Gaga and others may eventually change that.

I wanted an adventure and I didn’t see that kind of adventure being demonstrated for women like me.   So, I borrowed one and it feels truthful because, well….a lot of it IS true for me.

I’m willing to bet that if it rings true for me, then it probably rings true for others.

Do you have a song you’d like for me to de-mythstify?   Let me know in the comments below!

Where were we…….?          Ah, yes.   Jolene.

Man, I love this fucking song.

Jolene: Written by Dolly Parton and released in 1973, nominated for two Grammy Awards for Best Female Country Vocal Performance and coming in at No. 217 on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of “the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time” in 2004.

Admit it, my ladies.   There is deep recognition in this song.

It is a rare woman who at some point in her life hasn’t been confronted with the realization that she WASN’T the fairest of them all in the eyes of HER fairest of them all.    And that shit SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS.

Before we plunge our incisors into the meat of this gem, I want to set it up so you can see it properly.    There are a couple of reasons why these lyrics are so effective and why the song grabs you right in the lady-nuts.

1. It leans heavily on the idea (Nay!  The completely internalized, digested, and assimilated understanding) that aesthetic beauty is currency, and that this currency is the only asset with which one can attain love and companionship.  This is especially weighty if you are a woman/girl/female-identified.  But honestly, our perfection-driven consumerism, much like the patriarchy, affects everybody, able or not.
2. That the partner with which the protagonist is so enamored is utterly voiceless and, frankly not to be addressed.  Ever.  It’s not even a consideration.   “Don’t bother the man with your petty feelings, honey.   Let him follow his boners into every pretty face he pleases!  You can’t stop it!!  I know you can see his boner!!!  For GOD’S sake, DON’T TELL HIM YOU CAN SEE HIS BONER!!“

Good?   Great.

Onward!

Here is a rendition by Miley Cyrus because she (and her band) kills it, dayed.

Let’s break it down:

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene”  (Repeating the name of the woman who threatens to come between you and the love of your life opens the song with a mysterious sense of either desperation or romance.  Both?  We don’t know yet.   The song is just getting started.)

“I’m begging of you please don’t take my man” (THERE it is!)

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene” (I’m leaning towards desperation here.)

“Please don’t take him just because you can” (We don’t know Jolene yet, and I’m not sure the protagonist of our story does yet, either.  However, this line appears to hand Jolene the majority of the power in this dynamic.  Is Jolene the kind of woman who would seduce a man even though he is married to another woman?  Are ALL woman THAT kind of woman? In the next verse, we start to understand why the power is skewed toward Jolene and away from the protagonist.  (Fun Fact: Dolly Parton recalls that she wrote this song about a woman who flirted with her then-husband in a bank.  The description of her, however, is that of a young fan that requested an autograph at one of Dolly Parton’s shows.)

“Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, Jolene.” (WhooooooooBoy.  My heart just floats away into pieces every time I hear this verse.  Recognizing the complete and unattainable game of your opponent is…..devastating.   No competition.   I mean, WE know that Dolly Parton is a stone cold fox, ever since she first appeared and now, in her 70s.  But, in this song, we are all NOT Jolene, and that’s the expertly crafted point.)

“He talks about you in his sleep
There’s nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Jolene.” (Here Dolly takes us deeper down the depression hole of “he’s literally speaking Jolene’s name while he’s lying unconscious next to the protagonist.  Maybe this was after they had made love?  Maybe he wasn’t in the mood that evening because she wasn’t Jolene?  Neither scenario is fun, but there you have it and now you know what my mind does when I don’t have it tethered to something productive.)  

“And I can easily understand
How you could easily take my man
But you don’t know what he means to me, Jolene.” (Again, the power is ALL Jolene’s because 1)beauty and 2)unreasonably deaf-mute man.  But “PLEASE.  He means something to me!!!!   SOB!!” 

Here is where I take issue with the song:  How is a relationship with someone that you can’t talk to about your most vulnerable insecurities, meaningful?  Doesn’t he have a say in the matter?  What if he DOESN’T want to be with Jolene, he just mumbles about her in his sleep because the human mind and body are weird as FUCK?  I mean, I have weird sex dreams about people I know all the time, but I DEFINITELY don’t want to be with them romantically.”

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene”
I’m begging of you please don’t take my man
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
Please don’t take him just because you can.” (I know that the function of a repetitive chorus is to be the emotional metronome of a song, but this particular chorus does a genius job of maintaining a quickening sense of desperation.  When paired with the rhythmic and consistent picking of the acoustic guitar, UGH!!  IT HURTS SO GOOD!)

“You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
He’s the only one for me, Jolene.” (Here’s where whatever is left of my heart crumbles and disappears into a puff of dust.  I know that feeling.  That feeling that you logically understand is false, but can’t help feeling it anyway when you first break up with someone.  It’s the feeling that there won’t ever be anyone as perfect for you, ever again.   It is not real, but it feels. so. real.)
“I had to have this talk with you
My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, Jolene.” (Again with giving Jolene all of the power.   I WISH the protagonist would go talk to her damn lover.   We aren’t given a reasonable explanation as to why she doesn’t.  Not even a little.  Is he violent?  Is he emotionally absent?  Is he an ACTUAL angler fish?  I wish this song wasn’t so complacent about this seemingly insignificant piece of the puzzle.    To me, this is the most insidious part.   It’s that it doesn’t seem to matter.  That we aren’t entitled to the man as a presence in our emotional plight, even though he’s a major source of it.)

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
I’m begging of you please don’t take my man
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
Please don’t take him even though you can
Jolene, Jolene” (Enough already.  I’m exhausted.)

I love this song.  I will never NOT love it.  I hope I haven’t ruined it too much for you.   Or….Rather….I hope I’ve ruined it just enough so that you don’t identify as strongly with the protagonist anymore.  Because you are beautiful and you are worthy of unconditional, supportive and nurturing companionship, regardless of who your Jolene may be.

Next up: The Boxer by Paul Simon

Do you have a song you’d like me to de-mythstify?   Let me know! Comment below!

There is something for every type of music connoisseur this week!  Dinner and music, Intimate House Concert, or Full Concert with Strangers!                    Check it out!!

WEDNESDAY!

The Monkey House

FRIDAY!

Speisekammer

SUNDAY!

Red Door House Concert

Hope to see you soon, out in the great big world!

Ok.  I KNOW I promised Jolene first.  But then someone mentioned THIS fucking song, so here we are.

I ALSO know that I said I would “respectfully and lovingly” deconstruct these songs.   So, “respectfully and lovingly”…. 

Fuck it.  I’m re-writing this shit.

I mean, just WATCH this video of Tammy Wynette singing this song.  She’s basically just Stepford-Wifing her way through it….

Let’s break it down:

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman” (Duh)

“Giving all your love to just one man.” (Just one?  ONE?!!  HA!!!!)

“You’ll have bad times” (UGH!!)

“And he’ll have good times,”  (AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!)

“Doin’ things that you don’t understand” (Seriously?!  Let’s not play dumb, honey.  We are not dumb.)

“But if you love him you’ll forgive him,” (Noooope.  No no no.   If you LOVE someone you hold them accountable!  WHY is this still not basic knowledge?!)

“Even though he’s hard to understand” (How can you forgive something you don’t understand?!  That’s not forgiveness, that’s Stockholm Syndrome.)

“And if you love him oh be proud of him” (Wait….we’re giving him a gold star?   For WHAT?! For playing?! Is this where you follow up with “Don’t hate the player, hate the game?” The game needs players or it isn’t a thing!!  WHO DO YOU THINK INVENTED THE DAMN GAME?!?!)

“‘Cause after all he’s just a man” (Oh!  Yep.  Guess what men are!!  Just GUESS!!  They’re HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS!! Not disobedient angler fish, for FUCK SAKE!!)

“Stand by your man,”(Shit….. Why?  What’s he gonna do now!?)

“Give him two arms to cling to,” (Oh, NOW he needs something?)

“And something warm to come to” (Microwave a Hot Pocket, Motherfucker.)

“When nights are cold and lonely” (COUCH!!)

“Stand by your man,” (Boooooooooooo!!!!!!)

“And show the world you love him” (Why does the world have to know our business?!?)

“Keep giving all the love you can” (You BETTER keep giving, so you don’t lose your damn mind…)

“Stand by your man” (Stop telling me what to do!!!)
“Stand by your man,” ()

“And show the world you love him” (Again, none of their damn business)
“Keep giving all the love you can” ()
“Stand by your man” ()

 

Nope!  No more of this driv.

Here,  I re-wrote this shit: 

Stand On Your Man

I see so much amazing happening right now.    SO. MUCH.

This may be a very odd thing to read from me, especially at this time.  Especially because I’ve been spitting a million furies on my social media feeds.  Especially because much of my music is spiced with frustration borne of my own, sloppy relations with the menfolk.

Trump, Kavanaugh, Weinstein, Louis CK, and all the other fat, old pukes that can’t, for the life of them, understand how basic, human civility works.   What ARE women…really?

But let me assure you, I believe this is a good thing.   The Band-aids are coming off hard and bringing a few short-hairs right along with them.  Painful?  Yep.  But, to quote a character from one of my favorite children’s tales The Never-ending Story, “It has to hurt if it’s to heal!”

Women everywhere are stripping back the bandages that shield their raw and fetid wounds.   In doing so, we are also stripping off the coverings of what the menfolk did to wound.

Good.    Keep pulling.

Pull harder.

These pullings are revealing the depth of what it means to be under a patriarchal system.  It is crouching in every crevice of our culture and has been for hundreds of years.   We are ALL living it, and we are ALL (men, women, girls, boys, and every single human living on the entirety of the gender spectrum) oppressed by it.  In fact, I believe that ironically, the patriarchy is the MOST inclusive system out there.  Nobody is safe and we ALL suffer underneath it.    Yes, even the bloated old goats of the 1%.  They are the most miserable and fearful of us all.  Seriously, stop kicking us.  We are already down here.   sheesh…

The stories are being revealed in  the music industry, the tech industry, the gig economy…..new Hollywood AND old Hollywood!   Just check out what Molly Ringwald has been talking about lately.  Sigh…….poor John Hughes….

I want to help.    I want to keep this unveiling going until we have shined this light in every creepy-ass corner.

Here’s what I’m going to do to contribute: 

I’m going to lift the veil on some of the most beloved songs I know.   I’m going to destroy them for us so we can start writing them again.    I’m going to do so in the most loving and respectful manner that I can, so that when I do hear, sing, or play them in the future (and I will), I will do so with a new reverence that I have built around them for myself.   They won’t hold me in that awkward “I love this song but it makes me feel weird” limbo any longer.

Deconstructing Lyrical Mythologies will be my contribution to the lifting.

You will be able to find one song a month, deconstructed and/or re-imagined from the inside out.  I’ll probably share them on social media too, but they will all live here.

There is so much lifting we still need to do and we could use all the muscle we’ve got.  Lift wherever you feel inspired to lift.

I’ll start with Jolene by Dolly Parton.

Did I mention this is going to hurt?

I’m sorry.   I love you.

The biggest free show in San Francisco is coming up and we want to get you all warmed up for it.   We’d like to be your “musical fluffers”, if you will.

 

We know there is no alcohol on the festival grounds, save the folks selling tall-boys out of coolers in the woods.  So, if you’re hankering to get a stiff drink in your system before rolling out to the park, we’ve got you covered!

Catch my band and the Curt Yagi Trio from 4-6pm at Milk Bar on the historic Haight Street!  We will keep you entertained while you fill the tank and wait for your favorite bands to hit the stage at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.

Saturday    October 6th     No Cover!!    21+     4-6pm  Milk Bar

 

See you at the Sideshow!

I recently gave notice at my place of employment.  I have been there for 12 years.   I’m terrified.

This wasn’t something I did out of spite for maltreatment at my job.  It wasn’t out of exhaustion (though, some days I wonder how I managed to squeak by), it wasn’t because I was angry or felt undervalued.  There may have been a bit of boredom involved, but that’s MY fault.

I have been batting this idea around like a lazy tabby for a few years.  Most of my close friends and family are well aware of my ongoing waffling.  But all of this doesn’t lessen the shock of having done the damn thing.   I’m not going on to any other company, nor am I planning to seek traditional employment for a while.  Our current economy is not kind to my kind.  I will have to sign up for Obama-care, I will have to seek other support for dental/mental/physical care.  Tax season is going to be WEIRD.   I will have to fight for every dollar in a manner I have not had to do in the past.   I recognize how big of a deal this is.

Have I mentioned that I’m terrified?

This place took good care of me.  It anticipated my needs, it encouraged my growth, it challenged me to seek out my own blind spots and supported me in enlightening them.  Additionally, it actively noticed my talents, even if they had nothing to do with my day to day responsibilities AND provided a platform in which to play in THOSE areas as well.   This place made it clear to me that it valued me and wanted me around.  It invested in me in ways that I never expected a job to do, which is why it took me so long to tell it that I wanted my leave.  It’s totally all me, not…..it.

It feels like a SUPER amicable breakup where I get to keep most of the items I’ve accumulated over the years AND I get joint custody of the campus pets I’ve come to pet-sit over the years.   We may even hang out again in the future, who knows!!

I need to see if I can do this.  I must know if I’m truly fashioned for this kind of a life.  I need to see what would happen if I dedicated all of my time to this musical aspiration of mine.

Part of me feels too old.  I’m almost 40 and I’m starting NOW?  Sure.  What else am I going to do with the 60 years I have left, more or less?  Who am I going to be THEN?  What bullshit thought forms will I have sloughed off in the process? What bullshit thought forms will I gain? Who will I meet out there?  Friend or foe?  How much more music can I possibly make!!?!

This is the sort of shit that keeps me up at night.  And I LOOOOOOOVE sleep.  For the sake of my sanity, I must find out.

So, this is my formal announcement to the world, universe, God, Source…..whatever you want to call it.

I have to go do this thing.  Please write?

That what we observe of each other isn’t fact, it’s an invitation.