A Least I'm Announcing It This Time

You may see a sizable gap between this and my next post. I just don't get much out of these like I used to.

I'm going to try and focus more on my book. Really the biggest obsticles to this venture are this:

And my own inability to sit my lazy ass in front of a keyboard and not be distracted by the Internets many time sink land mines. Plans are in place to remedy or at least lessen these obstacles.

Catch you on down the trail.

Lana, Sing It To Me One Time

By the time you read this a week of lasts will have already begun. A journey that started with fighting off nausea and the corresponding opposite end of the body equivalent will begin to come to an end.

A little more than two years ago I started to journey to work. The first two days were way more than a struggle; in reality a test of wills. A combination of withdrawal flashbacks, a broken air conditioner at home in July, and worry about what I thought at the time would be the last job I’d ever have would be like.

I didn’t listen to Lana on those first two days. More than likely it was Morning Phase by Beck, home to a song that would culminate in a three part blog series. A series that was one of the few I managed to put out during my time at my current job. A job I very rarely could ever stop thinking about, even during weekend, family functions, laying in bed at night.

The soothing melodies of Morning Phase helped me that first day as I contemplated whether I would make it all the way to work or not, my emergency barf bucket in the seat next to me.

I drove and counted the mile markers. I was more concerned about that opposite end of my body, no real bucket for that kind of emergency.. I know, TMI, but buckle up there is a lot more where that came from.

That first drive after I calmed down somewhat and I realised I was actually going to make it, a new wave of nervousness washed over me. The feeling of warmth, heat, panic washing over my body. ‘What will happen once I get there?!’

Well I did. I elbowed my way in on the first morning meeting even though I wasn’t supposed to. In theory I just wanted to get it over with, get in the building. Despite a morning of staring into a fan and trying to get cool enough to get to the A/C of my car without vomiting on the way, I was still very early.

As I worked up the courage to enter the building of my new job the heat and noise of nearby I-80 was broken by a loud, familiar and comforting sound. The sound of a diesel locomotive horn making its way through the industrial area just behind the building across the parking lot. She was dropping off cars at nearby industrial buildings and I thought to myself ‘Maybe I can do this after all’.

That comfort felt like a million miles away from how I started the morning. Laying on the bathroom floor, with my knees in my chest pressing against my stomach, the only way to fight off the panic once it reaches my stomach. I stayed in that position my finger over the ‘call’ button, all set to dial my recruiter and tell her I couldn’t do this ‘thing’ after all.

During the panic of realising I was going to make it to Omaha without vomiting or shitting my pants, I contemplated turning around and calling the boss I had for less than a week at my old job. The whole thing was so crazy surely they’d have me back.

I had been told by my old company that they had made a mistake, had lumped me in with the wrong department and my old job was mine to keep. This was after a verbal offer from my new job and hours before a written offer was to come. I informed my week old boss, one of the few who hadn’t been fired, and he just smiled and understood. He said he was afraid this would happen and wished me well.

I never thought twice about staying. I wanted to go somewhere I was wanted, somewhere that wasn’t so dysfunctional they couldn’t even be bothered to figure out what department I was in before laying me off.

When things change in my life they happen in a flurry just like they did a little more than two years ago. Things remain the same 99% of the time but when things change, they change all at once, and just beforehand a bout of deja vu precedes the sea change.

This flurry was no different. I’m still waiting for a new flurry, a new deja vu bout. I need it, badly.

After the meeting and introductions, my new colleagues, then only two of them in the office and one working remotely, offered to take me to lunch. I passed, leary of a stomach that was still teetering on the brink.

My recruiter called or was perhaps tipped off by the handler that dropped me off. Word got back to my supervisor and thus began a long string of attempted accommodations by my new job to help with something I was battling that I don’t think they ever fully understood.

My new boss said take an hour, drive around, get calmed down. They cared about me, worked with me, treated me like I mattered. That’s why I hung on, perhaps hung on longer than I should have. Hung on until a voice deep in my brain refused one last time, stared out onto the interstate, before returning to the building and resigning.

The third day I can remember how relieved I was signing the direct deposit papers, that way I thought, no matter what I’ll get paid for the few days I survived.

I could go on and on about every moment of my time at my soon to be ending job, but as I was cleaning my car this afternoon in preparation for a week of lasts I knew I had to write about Lana.

Lana Del Rey. The sometimes pouty, sometimes deep, sometimes almost rapping and some would argue overly sound engineer enhanced voice sang me to work during that first summer. As I cleaned out my car I made the decision that I’d listen to her during my week of last commutes. My last monday commute, Tuesday commute, etc.

Fittingly my car needed cleaned out from my last withdrawal based disaster, a road trip with my brother he and I had looked forward to for months. The whole thing came crashing down when I realised late into the night that I had forgotten an important medication and that warmth corsed through my body. My brother drove me home, our hotel room left empty, he understood, supported me, just like all my friends and family during these last two years.

As I threw away the unused second baseball games tickets, the reason for the failed road trip, I wondered if that’s how I could  identify with someone who sings about falling in love with a James Dean look-a-like. I could always hear the support of my loved ones in her voice. My wife's voice in particular in her lyrics.

I told you that no matter what you did I'd be by your side

Cause Ima ride or die

Whether you fail or fly

Now I’m calling on Lana one more time. I’ll take her “like a vit-a-min” as I drive down the interstate into the darkness of the unknown.

Life is cyclical. In a lot of ways after everything I’ve been through I’m back where I started. I have a pregnant wife just like I did when I started the job, I had no idea what the future held or if I could handle it.

Not everything is Groundhog Day two years later with me or with the album that got me through that first summer. I discovered the extended edition with eight more songs. Will I mix in those new songs just like I’ll mix in what I learned at my soon to be over job? I haven’t decided yet, but I do know that I will listen to a little “Summer Time Sadness” or the soaring fire works backed “National Anthem” during my week of lasts.

After I come home with my last load of desktop paraphernalia I’ll have nothing but a frantic job search. I’ll be staring down the barrel of a fear that added to the cocktail of worry on those first days. The fear of running out of meds and going through withdrawal. I’m sure I’ll take a break or two to play “Video Games”.

So sing it to me one last week Lana as I drive down the Interstate into the unknown.

A Little Bit Sad

I don’t believe in guilty pleasures in the traditional sense. I like what I like and I’ll tell you if you ask. I don’t care if you make fun of me for listening to Lady Gaga or finding a sort of dorky beauty in Napoleon Dynamite. It’s what I like, I’m a grown man, I don’t have to preface my interests with “It’s a guilty pleasure…..” translation: “I’m self conscious you won’t think I’m as cool if I told you what I REALLY like”

I do have a different kind of guilty pleasure though. This time of my own definition. This guilty pleasure is literally so because I feel guilty for spending whatever amount of time I spent on it. Literal, actual, guilt. I’m sorry I forgot to water your plants while you were on vacation and they died guilt.

This guilt lives on Reddit. A site declaring itself “The Front Page of The Internet” and I believe accurately so. I believe they could go a step farther and say “The Front Page of YOUR Internet” because it is made of a countless number of sub-categories called “Subs” for anything and everything you can imagine. This site is sort of the rule 34 of things you could possibly be interested in. If you like it, there is no doubt is a “sub” for it. So much so there is a sub made up entirely of posts about the bizarre often mind boggling variety of subs that exist called “Of Course It’s a thing” or r/ofcoursethatsathing in reddit verse.

* A link to something that plays every episode of “The Simpsons” simultaneously.

* a sub reddit devoted to spiders in erotic positions

* Mallsoft (or Mallcore) - a subgenre of vaporwave inspired by elevator music meant to evoke the feeling of being in a mall

* An unironic sub for organizing meet ups for anti-social people

* Lego French Fries

* A magazine (yes they still print them) devoted entirely to Fidget Spinners

* Mail Me to the GOP - a website that will send your cremated remains to the GOP if you die because of your health insurance being changed

* Officially Licensed Air Guitar strings

* r/SaveBrendan an entire sub dedicated to resurrecting the career of actor Brendan Fraser.

* r/Counting literally people taking turns posting the next number in a sequence

And a couple strange ones I actually came to enjoy

* r/WtssTaDaMiT an acronym for the surprisingly erotic and tasteful When. the. Sun. Shines. Through. a. Dress. And. Makes .it Translucent.

And

* r/DesirePath “A desire path (also known as a desire line, social trail, goat track or bootleg trail) can be a path created as a consequence of foot or bicycle traffic. The path usually represents the shortest or most easily navigated route between an origin and destination. The width of the path and its erosion are indicators of the amount of use the path receives. Desire paths emerge as shortcuts where constructed ways take a circuitous route, or have gaps, or are lacking entirely.”

THAT is a mouthful and yet an entire community of folks are devoted to it, posting pictures of new found “Desire Paths” daily. This isn’t my guilty pleasure, and actually I didn’t find it on r/ofcourseitsathing. Instead it came to me as a question on one of the default subs, askReddit; subs that you are automatically a member of or at least initially are when you sign up for a free reddit account. Things pretty much everyone is into, like r/pictures, r/funny, and r/awesome. These starter set subs have a name in the reddit verse but I can’t recall it at the moment.

The question came to me in AskReddit. Finally, my guilty pleasure. Remember when we were talking about that? No? Well I’m sure their is a sub devoted to forgetting things in blogs…..anyway.

The question was simply “Why do I find ‘r/DesirePath’ so enjoyable?” Like most things on the internet, and Reddit is no exception, I assumed it to be pornographic so I tepidly gave it a gander. Relieved, I responded something like “Don’t spend too much time trying to figure out why you enjoy something, just enjoy it.” A good answer but as I sit here I’ll be damned if I could tell you why I like that sub either.

Like any other question on askReddit this question couldn’t be answered with a quick “Yes” or “No”, didn’t use the textbox (for which the mods are quite militant about), and some other rules I can't remember.

Just like everything else these days gamification is used to add an unnecessarily unfair spice to the mix. You get points based on how popular a post of yours is, or your comment on a post. Of course you can “upvote” or “downvote” a post or comment too. The result is everyone racing to make it to the front page of whatever sub they are on. AskReddit’s competition can be quite brutal.

That clickbait about “20 things Cops admit to doing on the job” your Aunt emailed you this morning? It was probably just yesterday’s top askReddit question. Sometimes they don’t even bother stripping the reddit formatting off said articles.

I’m addicted to askReddit. Not so much concerned with racking up points, but answering questions. Yeah, it hurts when I get downvoted or get responses that are mean, but I’ve built up quite a tolerance for it. I guess that is another good thing I hadn’t thought of.

Question after question, some don’t apply some do, but I just can’t stop and I feel guilty for just how long I’ve been answering questions.

Instead of going to the front page where the upvotes and posts are in the thousands or tens of thousands, no one is going to see your post there, I always spam the “new” button. These are the freshest questions and they never stop. Eventually I do, but not before I feeling guilty for lost time.

Sure some good has come from it. I believe I legitimately helped a young man think of mutual interest to ask a friend of his out with, and how and when to do it. I got zero karma (the tally of upvotes) out of the deal but I felt like I helped him.

One question stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t answer it right away. Not the best question in the world but it stopped me, and stuck in my memory days later and unfortunately I found the answer. The question was “What do you find a little bit sad?”

I didn’t have an answer and I can’t remember if I saved it. You can save posts if you like. I do so when I have nothing to contribute but still want to know how a blind guy knows when to quit wiping his ass or a question similarly interesting. Those questions take time to bloom though, so I save them for later, like checking a net I’d thrown overboard hours earlier. Sometimes you get a bumper crop and sometimes you get nada.

Switching gears quickly. When I work from home I often stand for the conference call that is my morning meeting. We all say what we’re going to do that day and I only have to pay attention enough to know when it’s my turn to talk. As I did so over the spring I noticed a happy little play set. Consisting of waterways and bridges and a crane on my deck. It had a truck, boat and a piece of bulky child safe plastic cargo that could fit in either and be moved about by the crane. Stop lights made of stickers to tell the truck or boat when to go or stop. A bridge for the truck to go over the water and little stopping arms to make little locks for the boat.

Rain water normally made the boat float and I always vowed to play with it with my daughter or even by myself. Back to the original guilty pleasure definition…...I don’t care if you think I’m three decades too old, that shit looked like fun.

After the call is over I would go back to my desk and hammer away at work for nine hours and forget all about the little boat.

One day not long ago I peered over the deck after pacing about as I often do. I don’t smoke or have any other reason to go outside, but I still like it out there, so I pace. Down in what used to be a rose bush area were the various pieces of the play set. Abandoned in the dirt and soon to be forgotten about. I got a little bit sad and finally found my answer.

My calls to work are now a little bit sad. I don’t know where the set came from, I don’t know how it got knocked clear across the deck and onto the ground below and I don’t know if it ever got played with, but life goes on.

As an adult who is married to a wife that runs a daycare I’m no stranger to derelict toys; Barbie shoes without a match, tiny chairs and closets and all sorts of things that hurt like hell when you step on them, but this set,....this set was different.

I remembered how lost or broken toys filled me with sadness as a child. I tried to be good, but I was a kid, that’s what they do. To this day I’m really hard on stuff no matter how careful I am.

I suppose it’s good the little dock’s ultimate fate is now just  “a little sad” to me as an adult. I’ve grown, I’ve gotten tougher. Just like my skin in those particularly nasty barbed comments directed at me in askReddit. Speaking of which I’m at my laptop and askReddit is just a tab away and I’m starting to get the shakes.

For pictures of the crane in (before and after) check out the official twitter: @The SmittyBlog

Sketch

Sketch: noun a rough or unfinished drawing or painting, often made to assist in making a more finished picture.

Or my prefered definition of the comedic variety of a sketch (skip to the 4:51 mark if it doesn’t do it for you automatically).

Although these are both excellent definitions of the respective variations of a sketch, I’d like to create one of my own.

I haven’t come up with a catchy title, but I’m envisioning a written version to add to the above two types.

I don’t write fiction often, but when I do I get a clear single image or images in my head and write in great detail about that scene. I have no idea where this image comes from or where this ‘written sketch’ is going. I make no plans, no outlines, just feverishly describe with great detail what I see. I get the feeling that in the unlikely event I should ever finish a short story, the reader would drown in Chekhov's guns. I sort of delite in the idea, not in drowning readers but in breaking rules and restraints on how and what I should write.

In order to rebel fully though, you must actually finish something. Yet this is not the case. I invariably walk away from the keyboard with the full intent to continue on whatever sketch I just created later, but I almost never do. What is left is a written version of a few buildings, a lake or peninsula with mountains in the background and so forth.

The sketch gets filed away in its own folder and forgotten about. I daydream about continuing this sketch or that sketch but nothing ever comes of these thoughts.

So I’ve amassed a written sketchbook over the years. I can only think of one short story I’ve finished. The rest are just “rough” and “unfinished” chunks of texts taking up space on the google cloud. Some are only a few words long hinting at bizarre dreams from the night prior.

This used to bother me. It used to even make me angry or depressed. To the point where I would start thinking of these sketches, or have a flash and WANT to write out what I see but can’t at the moment. Instead I write a prompt and file it away. These thoughts angered me because I thought “what is the point?” I might sketch them, I might not. Even if I do it won’t amount to a completed work so stop thinking about it.

I usually can’t though, adding to the frustration.

I’m not sure when it happened or why, but I just came to accept them for what they are, vague, rough images used to quell whatever need to write I felt at the time. Yes, I suck at finishing things, especially written, fictional things, but at least some internal purpose was served and in the unlikely event I feel the need to revisit that scene, I know just where my sketchbook is.

In the spirit of sketches I thought I’d share one that is particularly fitting. I didn’t realize how fitting until I reread for the first time in a very long time. The very first line was the flash that got me going. Everything else was leading up to that line and made on the spot (during the feverish stage I mentioned above). In the story the main character laments the lack of desire to write even though he spends most of his workday wanting to. So I figured, right on topic for this particular blog.

“Maybe part of the motivation is that you’re NOT supposed to be doing it.” She questioned taking another long drag from her cigarette, staring off into the distance deep in thought.

I had never really considered myself the rebellious type but that could indeed be part of my problem. Still, it didn’t quite fit. I wanted it to fit, needed it to fit, but yet somehow, like the missing ingredient in the family recipe, something was just not quite right during the taste test.

“Nah” I said, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Or maybe you’re just fucking lazy.” She scratched her head with her right hand and her left held her cigarette at length while individual strands of blond hairs danced about her face in the early fall breeze. They seemed to have minds of their own, tiny tentacles reaching into the air for microbes to feast on.

I followed the tentacles back to their source, her dark brown roots had covered a lot of area on either side of her part. I’d never seen so much root on anyone else. Was that the ‘in’ thing now? Nah, she wouldn’t be bothered with that crap. Everything about her was so beautifully unplanned and out of control. If it was ‘in’ it would just be an annoying coincidence to her.

Unfortunately that lack of caring seemed to extend to me as well.

Suddenly she snapped back to reality. “Hey! Did you hear me?” she said before adding “I just called you fucking lazy.” Her head tilted to the side as she immediately started lightly laughing while flicking her cigarette.

‘She did didn’t she?’ I thought. And she didn’t care one bit about how I would take it. With her head turned and mouth open in a light laugh I admired her teeth. I couldn’t really describe them to you but they were special, special in a way that growing up with a parent who couldn’t afford to get you braces made teeth special.

I suddenly really hated my teeth. Then I suddenly realized I hadn’t said anything in a really long time.

Quick, say something, my brain urged! But be cool,......pretend you haven’t been Facebook stalking her since 8th grade.

“I….” was all I got out and probably for the better. I don’t know what was to follow but it couldn’t have been great. In fact, it would probably have been an immensely embarrassing bramble of words that would go in my hall of fame of awkward utterances to attractive females.

“Later” she had interrupted unknowingly, while ashing her cigarette right there on the handicap ramp in the back of the building. She didn’t know she interrupted me, which brought me some solace, but I felt like I was in a dream where a monster was chasing me and I couldn’t make a sound.

Instead the monster was up, swirling effortlessly around. Up the ramp it went, no hair flip exposing the neck, no look back at me.

An unbuttoned black and blue plaid shirt flapped uncaring in the wind. Only parts of the plain black shirt underneath could be seen as the plaid was tossed about by the wind. Her jeans were ripped in all the right places and black Converse shoes quickly made their way up the ramp.

And just like that it was over. After a summer where I had just so happened to end up interning at the same place she worked. A crush thought lost then brought back to life with all the subtlety of high voltage resuscitation paddles.

I stood there in a mannequin-like state until the metal door slammed on its own, jolting me back to reality.

In retrospect I should have given myself more credit. I’m surprised I managed to say anything. Then I began the first replay of the events that just happened for the first of what would be many many replays to come. I had been writing at one of the outdoor break area benches.

The voice had hit me like lightning, so fast and bright its source I didn’t immediately register. She had asked in a bored tone “Whatcha’ writtin’?”. After turning though, the sound of the voice resonated in my head. As it did so, I responded on autopilot, again perhaps better that way.

While her two words tried to penetrate my thick skull, the memories of our shared youth clouded the inside of my skull’s thickness. I managed simply, “They’re supposed to look like meeting notes, but everyday day during our morning meeting I write a little bit on a story. I’m not supposed to, but I’m so bored……...I always promise myself I’ll work on it more when I’m not busy or at work but I never do, and I never know why.”

My thoughts coming full circle, I was once again aware of where I was, in a small courtyard at the bottom of our building. At some point I must have stood to face her, although I have no recollection of doing that. I must have taken the elevator back up to the office, but the butterflies in my stomach could have probably gotten me up there just fine.

Favorite Song: Part 3

Almost six months ago I left off with songs that didn’t quite make the final four. This time I PROMISE I’ll wrap things up.

To review, the final four from the last installment are:

1. “Electric Heart” by Sia from “1000 Forms Of Fear”
2. “Slim Pickens Does The Right Thing…..” by The Offspring from “Days Go By”
3. “Heart Is A Drum” by Beck from “Morning Phase”
4. “Wood Chipper” by John Hiatt from “Mystic Pinball”

I remember where I was when I saw a bunch of twelve year old girls’ heads on boxes with wigs on singing while another danced about. I was about to get an MRI or a CAT scan or some other expensive test and Ellen was on mute in about the third waiting room I had been in so far. I remarked to my wife as I watched that I was getting old because I had no idea what I was looking at.

Later the song would come up as recommended in conjunction with a new interest of mine and another “almost made it” Lana Del Ray. I loved the song “Electric Heart”. I’m a sucker for edited chopped vocals. The tune was infectious and I listened to it A LOT. It got a heavy play count and so it made it on my list. Favorite song? Of course not. I led with the song, did you think I would just open up with the winner and then drone on for three pages? Nope. Sorry Dia.

The next song has roots in my first “favorite band”, “The Offspring”. I played my cassette copy of Smash over and over. Countless walkman double “A” batteries were lost. I also went back and purchased their previous albums. For a long period in my life I felt “Ignition” was the perfect album in that their was no filler on album. All the songs were awesome, at least to me at age 14.

Another interesting side note, the lead singer of the band, Dexter Holland, is why I grew my hair out. I wanted braids like his. Then when he lopped his hair off and went with the spiked look with the sunglasses…...you probably never wondered where that look came from but there you go…...

Aside from allowing me to steal heavily from his look, Dexter himself is a very interesting character. In addition to making hits like “Self Esteem”, “Pretty Fly For A White Guy”, “Come Out and Play” and so forth, he graduated as valedictorian of his high school, took a break after the mega hit “Smash” to finish his bachelor's degree in Biology, and get his masters and PhD in molecular biology from USC. He then co-authored scientific papers like “Identification of Human MicroRNA-Like Sequences Embedded within the Protein-Encoding Genes of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus”. In other words, he’s published papers detailing his breakthroughs with HIV/AIDS research.

He also is a registered airline pilot, flight instructor, skydiver, surfer, skateboarder, collector of a very specific set of stamps and he even created his own brand of hot sauce.

So being my first favorite band, influencing my style, cranking out albums that always manage to hook deeply into pop culture and shake it about violently as it should be….is that enough to make my list…(oh yeah and the AIDS stuff too)?

No, not quite. A little bit extra was still needed. Was this ‘extra’ to be found in John Hiatt’s “Wood Chipper”?

I remember just where I was, playing Minecraft and coming down with a cold. I had enough vacation days to take a whole week off every for my birthday at my old job. I was listening to his album “Mystic Pinball” for the first time. I was stopped mid pick axing as I swear I just heard the narrator get shot in the middle of the song. Yep...I sure did.

“One bullet to the head

Before I hit the ground I was dead

I guess I'm tellin' you this before you go fishin' now, Jimmy”

The rest is pure genius.

John Hiatt is like the human equivalent of “Dr. Stranglelove” it’s a movie you’ve probably never heard of, but it’s influence is so deep in pop culture that you know it better than you think you do. Some so ingrained that one clip and you find yourself saying “OH! THAT’S where THAT came from!”

Fun fact: The Offspring nominee? A direct reference to Dr. Strangelove, another reason it made the final four, anyway back John and that woodchipper…….

The story is a classic example of John’s dazzling ability to be relatable yet cut deep with simple yet powerful lyrics.

The grocery list at the end is nothing short of brilliant, almost comically humanizing a sad story so very poignantly yet making your heart ache all at once.

So is this textbook John Hiatt work of art the favorite song we’ve been after for all this time now? Nope.

That leaves just one song, Beck’s “Heart Is A Drum” with the last of the four this surely HAS to be the favorite song after ALL this time right……….

Well not so fast. In the long time I’ve been writing this 21 Pilots put out an album called “Blurry Face” full of painfully relatable songs including “Stressed Out” something that hits just about all my sweet spots. Fear of growing up, stressing out, worrying what others think despite a desire not to, not to mention razor sharp use of double meaning:

But it would remind us of when nothing really mattered

Out of student loans and tree-house homes we all would take the latter

Although I like to think of it like this:

But it would remind us of when nothing really mattered

Out of student loans and tree-house homes we all would take the la(dd)(tt)er

Mmmm….lyrical deliciousness.

Coming along just as I was struggling with my new job, all the stress involved, being an adult and the pressure of “You gotta make money” and this song could have very well snuck in and stole the show,....but did it?

No. Close, but no. If I was to pick an album I could relate to most it might just be “Blurryface” but it still misses that something extra.

Yes, Kayla (Remember her? She’s the one that asked me like a year ago and started all this?) my favorite song of all time is “Heart Like a Drum” by Beck.

It has everything. A narrative about the passage of time, dealing with aging, longing for youth all with a reference to percussion which has long held a special place in my heart. Something my loved ones have always said I had a knack for, drums. Speaking of hearts and drums:

“Your heart is a drum keeping time with everyone

Everyone, if they drown from the undertow

Need to find someone to show me how to play it slow

Or just let it go”

Long have I struggled with the idea of growing old and the desire to go back but being unable to. I remember being very young, in North Platte (so less than five), crying because I didn’t want to be an adult, I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to stop playing. Yet my heart kept beating like a drum.

I know eyes will roll at this, but I truly believe I went through a midlife crisis at fifteen, when all my anxiety mixed with puberty and the realization that adulthood was less than a decade away. If I was lucky I would find a job and before I knew it….I’d get caught in that undertow. And the fact that I was miserable during this time,....made things worse.

Still, I soldiered on. Now I’m an adult and I hate it, just like I thought i would. The fact that I saw it coming at age less than five doesn’t help and I knew it wouldn’t which made it even harder at the time.

During this same time Beck’s “Odelay” hit’s like “a good drum break” and I loved it. I liked “Loser” too and that’s what ties all this into a big knot.

The video is one of those rare times where it couldn’t have been done any better, the symbolism is there, vague enough to make some lost and see Beck as being “Random” or “What kind of drugs is he on” while others can see through the haze to understand Beck’s classic Kaleidoscopic view of the world, in this case time.

Space men, the grim reaper, Beck peering in on himself, love, death. Beck walking alongside a guy dressed like him from the “Loser” video. The video is full of references to his first smash hit video from 1993. The spacemen make an appearance, this time repurposed to represent the future, Beck from the Loser video complete with stocking cap and dance from “Loser” representing his adolescence. The grim reaper is obvious. Although I didn’t notice until I rewatched “Loser” that even the grim reaper was also in “Loser” if only briefly. The young blonde boy, childhood (I would almost put money on it that “young Beck” is actually his real life son). All of these Becks take turns walking up that road while the drum keeps time. Even the guitar the old man plays and the casket he gets out of in the Loser video make an appearance, although the old man doesn’t. I would venture to guess that that guy is no longer with us as he looked pretty rough even in 1993. Could even his lack of appearance and therefore indication of his death be yet another reminder of our own mortality? Perhaps, or perhaps I’m reading too much into a small part of the video.

In the end they are all walking together, all headed in the same direction, no going back. The fact that they are walking away from the camera is no mistake either. What about the dying woman and the priest? I would go with lost love. Beck’s break up years ago while unfortunate for him made for some great heartbreak music, just a part of life and therefore death. The priest, I suppose representing religion, something all of us use to help deal with that always beating drum of life towards death. Simply, to deal with one's own mortality. The flower handed to the grim reaper, probably acceptance of that ultimate fate.

Stacked on top of all the meaning and deep personal connection to myself is the visual and musical gap of growth of Beck as an artist. The same guy who wrote “Satin Gave Me A Taco” and “Cut in Half Blues” has grown exponentially to “Heart is a drum”. I’ve been there for every album in between and never been disappointed. Each album is so different from the rest, so much fearless musical experimentation, yet never a let down. This juxtaposition, while perhaps not intentional, is just another reminder of how we grow and change as our hearts keeps time.

And the growing and changing doesn’t stop. Just when you think you have Beck figured out he drops “WoW” which harkens back to his Odelay days. Even if the song features what seems like trademark Beck meaning disguised in what appears to be irregular lyrics it’s not without references made by an older, wiser Beck:

“It's my life, your life

Live it once, can't live it twice

So nice, so nice

Smooth like a tidal wave, take you on a getaway

My friends, your friends

Livin' everyday like it's just about to end”

Continues:

“It's your life

You gotta try to get it right

Look around, don't forget where you came from

It's just another perfect night

We're gonna take it around the world”

Yes, around the world and back to that favorite song, that question, so many drum beats ago.

So Kayla, my favorite song…..Beck’s “Heart Is A Drum”. Sorry it took so long to answer kiddo. Enjoy your youth. May someone teach you how to play your drum slow….or….just let it go….