Small Population (in the vacuum)
A few days ago I googled myself while writing my one of my last papers for graduate school. This was of course one of the most egregious ways of distracting myself, and fooling around with my ego. I don’t do this very often, but it usually leads to four thoughts:
1. “I wish I was more ‘successful’.”
2. “You know, I’m doing pretty well as an artist.”
3. “I’m not doing very well as an artist. This is hopeless.”
4. “I wonder if anyone from my past ever googles me, and what do they think when they see this stuff?”
After these thoughts this time, I clicked on a link which quite inflated that aforementioned ego of mine. It was a post from a few years ago on someone else’s blog, mentioning how great my blog was. Imagine that. This someone is admittedly a friend of my wife’s but a stranger to me more or less. Summer Pierre. To be honest I can't say whether I enjoy her blog (as I've not really been there before now) and I can't speak about her music as I've not heard it. But Keri likes both, so I figure I would too and should probably take my wife's lead and check them out, as Keri is quite fond of Summer.
Some woman that I have never met writing that my blog is great. The guy I gave a copy of To All Dead Sailors to back in December, sending me a note to say that he loves it, and finds it in heavy rotation in his itunes. Sometimes, these small things are all I need to remind myself that what I am doing is worth my time and valid. That at least someone other than my family and best friends get something from it. Something. That at least the vacuum I live in has a small population.
Leaves and Sons
Yesterday afternoon while raking leaves in the backyard, I was doing what I could to be mindful of every action, every moment. I have been thinking quite a bit lately about mortality, the trajectory of time, and seeking to live more consciously in the present. While the simple tangibility of raking leaves brings me a much enjoyed peacefulness, my task was made more challenging by the incessant honking and whooping coming from around the corner.
Coming home from errands with Keri and Tilden, we saw a group of young fraternity gentlemen sitting on their front lawn holding a sign that read: “you honk, we drink,” with a cooler at their side and large cans in hand. I cannot help but find this terribly annoying. I’m not sure whether I’m more annoyed by the young drunken men, or the passers-by tooting their horns; I very purposely did not honk. I’m not entirely sure why this bothers me so much, but it does. Actually I do know a number of reasons why this bothers me, but I don’t really feel like going into it. As I think about it, I conclude that I am more bothered by the honking as it seems to say something about culture. Or perhaps just Troy, NY. Maybe I’m reading too much into this.
Anyway, I raked the leaves, and tried not to pay too much attention to the youngsters. Perhaps if I had done more (some) of that in college I would understand better. I guess it could be funny for a while, though try as I may, I just cannot imagine myself feeling good about being in that situation. I really only have two stories of drunkenness from that time of my life, and though funny in their way, they are somehow stoic, involving only me and my closest friend; One in a dirty campground parking lot, the other in our rented house, on a rainy spring eve. Something about the lack of sheer numbers.
So I raked the leaves. Having grown up on the west coast, the magnitude of them is rather surprising.
What I should really be writing about though, is that fact that at the top of this post was the name Tilden. Indeed. My wife and I now have a son. Tilden Smith Pitcher. The last time I wrote here incidentally, was a mere three days before his birth. Which perhaps explains why I’ve not written since. (Though I have certainly gone that long in the last few years without words, for no apparent reason.) Needless to say, the last three months have been rather challenging. Beautiful beyond measure, but challenging. I’ve also just finished my MFA and recently conquered the worst flu I’ve had in my adult life. I still cannot hear with my right ear. The flu began nearly a month ago. Ugh. How my wife took care of us both is beyond me.
But school is done aside from a few lingering details, and my plate is nearly clean. I have a few ideas for projects that I would like to begin this summer, not the least of which is spending an inordinate amount of time with my son; which is exciting. I also have three completed records, one of which is due out sometime this summer on Standard Recording Co. (see the front page of this site for more details). The other two are both currently seeking labels, a task I never enjoy. Sure would be great someday if the labels sought me. I recently read a wonderful quote from musician and composer Terry Riley that seems apt:
"The choices I've made have been for the music and my own soul," he concludes. "When I walked away from New York, I knew fame wouldn't have given me any happiness if it weren't based on a musical choice. Pran Nath said, 'Just enough fame to keep doing your work is enough,' and I thought that was good advice. I feel terrifically lucky every day I get up and give thanks for what's happened. What really makes me sad is to see young musicians who are hopeless about their situations. My advice is put it all into the music. That's the only thing you can do, because you don't know what kind of hand fate is going to deal you. At least your own soul is going to be getting some feedback."
