I just wrote a letter to a woman with the title “knowledge
broker” at the Sawfish research center in Western Australia. I wrote it because
I want to know if I can work studying sawfish in the wild. I was more eloquent
in the letter but that was the point.
I told the lady that I wanted to work with Sawfish because I
was fascinated with them and had been reading research papers on them ever
since I went to the zoo. That’s partially true but mostly I just think that
would be a good interesting next thing for me. Sawfish? Those things are wild.
And like 90% chance she’s like “Who are you? This is for
Doctorates and students, You’re not even from here.” But like whatevs, 10% I go
have an awesome weird job for a while. What would you do if you all you had to
do was send a semi charming email?
I’m on my way out the door to perform at an open mic. This
time playing music, at a place called Solbar. I’m super nervous, Do I have a drink
first? I’m driving. Where I grew up if you had a drink and drove you may as
well be crucifying kittens. I had tea too, to keep me awake. I hate regulating alcohol
and caffeine. And food and water. And sleep and wake... and work and play.
Really I just think I hate regulation.
Performing solo makes me the most nervous. That’s what I’m
doing. Playing “At The Zoo” off my little children’s album. You can get it over
there to the right. Rightttttt…. Scroll down a bit… there.
Stand up is always solo and I’m very love/hate with it. I’m
an individualist, where I think self-responsibility is the most important
thing, so performing alone should be pretty second nature. But I really fear
it. I don’t get nervous for too many things, but stand up always.
When I sing with a band, it’s like pouring water out of a
bottle. It just flows out, it was supposed to be down there, and you had the
cap on, you idiot. It’s so easy. With just a drummer you can always rock out,
he’s got your back beat and you got the front. It’s easy. Your job is just to
provide the energy. He’s the pilot, you’re the gunner. He’s the operation, you’re
the sales. He’s the code, you’re the GUI. You don’t even have to sing well if
you can make people feel things all the same.
I’m jittery, did I drink too much tea again? I literally two
hours away from have to do anything. I don’t have a tuner, I don’t have an amp?
Are they going to like me? They don’t have to like me fuck them. They’re the
worst. They’re terrible. I’m not going. You have to go you wuss. You’re right.
I’ll have a drink when I get there to calm down. What if you get too drunk? One
drink can lead to another and then you’re a mess and you can’t play. And then
how’re you gonna get home?
If you get too drunk you can sleep in your car. In fact that
sounds an awful lot like the rock star life and dedication to your craft you so
cravenly desire. Cravenly? What’re are you Dickens now? Grow up.
This internal dialogue continued for the drive. But I did
pass a building called “White Lady Funeral Home” with the tagline “A woman’s understanding”.
There are a couple new stereotypes here. White women have their own crematorial
processes? Is this a threat?
And women have a better understanding of death? WHAT DO YOU
KNOW??
Sorry, just riffing.
New things make me nervous. I mean everyone is uncomfortable
with changes. But very basic mechanical things put me on edge.
There's this snack bar at the pool I went to and eventually
lifeguarded and I remember the first time my mom sent me to go get a snack
alone. I couldn't handle it. I was given money, going to talk to strangers and
ask for food. That's insane. My 6 year
old self didn't have these abilities. In fact. I may have been 8.
It still happens like this. The first time I went to
chipotle I had to have people guide me through it. It's a process! You have to
hit your beats! You can't stammer or ask questions, there's food to be served!
These simple things are still like mental hurdles for me.
Flying to the other side of the world though, no sweat.
Honestly easier than ordering a burrito.
So I got to the “gig” and it’s pretty sparse, and I promptly
spill my beer. I clean it up and flirt with a bartender. But I’m pretty sure I’m
tomato red, when I have unwanted attention on me I blush like a fire hydrant.
But I got on stage and
I was fine and not so nervous and chatted and told a lil story about singing in
a hair metal band and then making a children’s album before playing my song.
Melding my two performance types. People laughed. An old man with a cane said
my song was very clever. Thank you, it is clever.
My performance was followed by Jeff Buckley incarnate. He was
seriously spot on for his cover of “Lover You Should’ve Come Over”. And I hated
him for it. I’m a very jealous person, especially when it comes to the stage. I
don’t go to concerts, cuz they really just bum me out. Either I’m mad that I’m
not that good, or think that I could do better. Rarely, I enjoy them as “worship”
where you see your heroes do battle with the Gods. Even then I feel distant at
best, from the rest of the crowd.
New Jeff boy (whose name is James) brought up some other
people. Including Dylan, who I had been talking to, and the cute bartender.
They all jammed cuz they were in a band. Afterward I Dylan and I exchanged
numbers. We’re all foreigners.
I’m glad I got to chat with Dylan and we’ll probably jam
soon. My Sim’s esque social meter had been hovering in the yellow zone, since I
work long hours and I’m not in a hostel or around young people at all really.
If you drop from yellow to red then you end up seeing Donnie Darko rabbits and
I don’t want that happening. So hopefully I’ll travel up and see them all again
soon.
The song I recorded for this post is “With Ears to See and
Eyes to Hear”. I hate stupid long titles and band names like that, but whatevs.
It’s from a pop screamo band, Sleeping With Sirens, who under normal
circumstances I wouldn’t like. But they put out this acoustic-versions-of-our-songsEP and it’s awesome and really let me see the musicianship behind it. And the
singer, Kellin Quinn, is like the tenorest tenor. Which is why I attempted this
song.
