Wow, the procrastination is going strong this week. So far, instead of “working”, the
website’s gotten a complete overhaul, I’ve put in ±12 hours on a photo unfucking job, and many household honey-do list items have been at last checked off.
I even cut my fucking hair, which ain’t that big a chore, as many of you undoubtedly know. Grab clippers, hack & slash, and that’s it.
—
It’s strangely relaxing watching the EQ meters bounce up and down on well mixed/mastered music… and not-so-strangely depressing when you start watching your own anemic meter action, heh.
—
And now the remixing (which takes care of the “learning new software” step too, heh) has begun. My band Whoregasm is approaching a level of tightness I didn’t think possible, and the other side project glows with potential.
If I could just win the lottery or something to enable the quitting of my shit-ass job, well, things would be extra-super peachy. As it is, aside from the 9% pay cut, the pending move to a new location due to the company’s landlord issues…
…more on that. The company used to own the building. They sold it to another guy, with grandfather clauses in place that are only hinted at in the most oblique ways, and are paying rent to said guy. For the building they used to own…
…if someone could make that make sense to me, I’d spend my workdays just a little less stressed out.
—
Fuck it. That there’s a sideshow, nothing more. The play’s the thing, y’all. And in a couple of weeks (3Oct2009) Stan fucking Ridgway’s coming to town for a show. At a new(ish) venue that just popped up in my own neighborhood! The place (The Woods) used to be a mortuary, even. Eighty years with the dead, and now it’s a venue. Sometimes I really love this place.
See y’all in another seven.
-rg
P.S. I’m out of paid plays at Jango.com, but you can still click in a little love by checking out the page. And even if’n you’ve clicked the “like” before, every click still counts. Molto messy grazies, yo!
DIY Hell – Week Three “Unreasonably Optimistic”
Wow, the procrastination is going strong this week. So far, instead of “working”, the website’s [http://www.pats-lies.com] gotten a complete overhaul, I’ve put in ±12 hours on a photo unfucking job, and many household honey-do list items have been at last checked off.
I even cut my fucking hair, which ain’t that big a chore, as many of you undoubtedly know. Grab clippers, hack & slash, and that’s it.
—
It’s strangely relaxing watching the EQ meters bounce up and down on well mixed/mastered music… and not-so-strangely depressing when you start watching your own anemic meter action, heh.
—
And now the remixing (which takes care of the “learning new software” step too, heh) has begun. My band Whoregasm is approaching a level of tightness I didn’t think possible, and the other side project glows with potential.
If I could just win the lottery or something to enable the quitting of my shit-ass job, well, things would be extra-super peachy. As it is, aside from the 9% pay cut, the pending move to a new location due to the company’s landlord issues…
…more on that. The company used to own the building. They sold it to another guy, with grandfather clauses in place that are only hinted at in the most oblique ways, and are paying rent to said guy. For the building they used to own…
…if someone could make that make sense to me, I’d spend my workdays just a little less stressed out.
—
Fuck it. That there’s a sideshow, nothing more. The play’s the thing, y’all. And in a couple of weeks (3Oct2009) Stan fucking Ridgway’s coming to town for a show. At a new(ish) venue that just popped up in my own neighborhood! The place (The Woods [http://thewoodsportland.com/]) used to be a mortuary, even. Eighty years with the dead, and now it’s a venue. Sometimes I really love this place.
See y’all in another seven.
-rg
P.S. I’m out of paid plays at Jango.com [http://www.jango.com/music/Rabid+Garfunkel], but you can still click in a little love by checking out the page. And even if’n you’ve clicked the “like” before, every click still counts. Molto messy grazies, yo!
The Last Word