Cheeken.org

Two years ago, after the end of my marriage, I managed to get myself in a relationship.  It was, I imagine, one of those quite-typical reboundy relationships, both for her and for me; one that had some high highs, but some incredibly low and damaging lows.

There’s one night in particular whose emotional and physical ghosts continue to haunt me.  She, I, and another friend decided to go to a concert in San Diego at the Casbah for one of my favorite bands, We Are Scientists.  I was So Freaking Excited.  (Like, think about your favorite band that not many other people know about. Now imagine them playing for You at a venue the size of a small backyard.  Really imagine that excitement.  Yeah.  It was at that level.)

The Scientists were touring for their first (and completely perfect) album, and I was tremendously excited to see them at a venue that I knew was small yet loudly intimate.  Four hours later, the night would end, after going through:

• Way too much alcohol
• Jealous rage
• Violent blackouts
• Lots of blood
• Lots of vomit
• Having to leave the show after three songs
• 45 minutes worth of drunk driving
• Remembering both too much and not enough

I have three scars on my right arm that remind me that it is possible for me to get in Way Over My Head.  To say that this night brought out the demons I had only glimpsed previously is understatement.  I lost it.  It brought to the surface insecurities, distrust, rage, sadness…a ’sleeping giant’ sort of thing, I guess.  I scared myself that night.

It was the ugliest series of events in my life.

A week ago, I learned that the Scientists are touring again for their second (not-nearly-as-good-but-still-acceptable) album.

And I’m going.  The crazy thing is that it’s at the Casbah, in San Diego; same time, same place, almost exactly two years later.  I haven’t been to the Casbah since the last show, and I’ve got all these weird nervous/anxiety-ish feelings about walking in, about being in that space.

It’s like returning to the scene of the crime.  And I’m afraid.

Two of the songs from the Scientists’ first album played like a soundtrack behind the events of that night, and would continue to be the score for that relationship as it collapsed into a messy creature with an agenda of its own.

“Callbacks”

I guess that I should probably leave right now
’cause I’m already kinda sweaty and freakin’ out
I gotta time-bomb headache that’s ticking down
I guess that everything is better when I’m not around

It’s all outta context
There’s nothing I’m into
Call it a complex
It’s really quite simple
I’m tired of these hang ups
I wish someone would call me back
How ’bout it?

Well my tongue is tired and I’m seeing stars
I got a million ugly words for what you are
I gotta busted back and a broken heart
I guess everything is better wherever you are

It’s all outta context
There’s nothing I’m into
Call it a complex
It’s really quite simple
I’m tired of these hang ups
I wish someone would call me back
How ’bout it?

It’s all about context
There’s nothing I’m into
Call it a complex
It’s really quite simple
I’m tired of these hang ups
I wish someone would call me back

I said that I’m so sorry to bring you down
I guess that everything’s better when I’m not around

This one, especially:

“It’s A Hit”

I should’ve known that this would happen from the start
This kind of function’s gonna have to fall apart
I guess before I would’ve sworn that we were friends
Maybe this problem points towards some larger trend

But I still don’t understand
What this whole thing’s about
And all the words that you said
Are somehow stuck in my mouth
And this was going so well
But I don’t know what I did
All I really can tell, is
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit

Well there’s only so much drama I can stand
And this is just about as far as I will bend
So get your hands off my lapel
Because I think it’s time to go
You oughta know better.
You know,
You oughta know

But I still don’t understand
What this whole thing’s about
And all the words that you said
Are somehow stuck in my mouth
And this was going so well
But I don’t know what I did
All I really can tell, is
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit

As I was falling down the stairs
And out the door
I guess I heard you yell my name
But I’m not sure
You know before I could’ve sworn that we were friends
But that’s how these problems always seem to end

But I still don’t understand
What this whole thing’s about
When all the words that you said
Are somehow stuck in my mouth
And this was going so well
But I don’t know what I did
All I really can tell
Is that I always get hit

And I still don’t understand
What this whole thing’s about
And all the words that you said
Are somehow stuck in my mouth
I guess I might take it back
But I’m not sure what I did
All I know about that, is
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit
I’ve been hit

Here’s hoping that I get to stay for the whole show this time.  And no new scars.

I tend to have difficulty in remembering my dreams; last night, however, I had one that seems a little strange.

I was walking around Seattle at night, in a seedier part of town, and I came upon a small group of men, about five or six guys, standing around on a street corner.  I walked over to them, and one of them turned around and said, “Hey, look over there, it’s Ludacris!”

I looked up to find that, right in front of me, Ludacris was standing and talking to the group of men.  I said, “Hey, Ludacris,” and shook his hand.

A moment later, my right contact lens popped out of my eye and got caught on my eyelashes.  I quickly reached up and grabbed it.  Then, right before I put my contact in my mouth to keep it from drying out before I could put it back in my eye, I shouted:

“Oh, shit, Ludacris! I gotta go!”

That’s all I remember.

Overheard between two men in their mid-40s at the coffee shop this afternoon:

Guy 1: Hey, did you hear about John?

Guy 2: John? Which John?

Guy 1: The one who works with Ray.

Guy 2: I don’t know which John you’re talking about.

Guy 1: John the asshole.

Guy 2: Ohhhhh……

So, what’s different around here?

How about my entire life.  Let’s start there.

When I stopped writing here almost two years ago, I was in the middle of my divorce, trying desperately to hang onto my sanity while still going to school and working, and making some really, really unfortunate relationship decisions.  All things that would eventually lead me to take a leave of absence from school, go home to Oregon for a couple of months, and dive head-first into a some fantastic therapy.

At the time, I shut down operations here because it was too much of an outlet; staring at a blank post with So Much Stuff running through my head, but not being able to make any of it coherent, and also not really wanting any/all of my business out there.  And because the daily events and interactions that I once wrote about now seemed to pale in their banality to the uproar that was my situation, I didn’t even feel like I could write about that, or anything.

Further, the blogging-hiatus also seemed to mark the introduction of what art-students would inevitably call my Reclusive Period.

I’m still trying to work out of this odd little hole I’m down in.

I mostly stopped answering my phone, stopped responding to text messages, emails, and myspace messages.  There are people - really close people - that I’ve talked to nine, 12, fifteen months ago.  Not at all because they haven’t tried, but because I frequently haven’t been able to muster up the courage to answer the phone.  I’m not sure how to bridge the year-long gap, which is, of course, the result of me not being sure how to bridge the two-month gap, or the six-month gap…you get the picture.

I’d like to think that the gumption (thanks for that word, Grandma!) I’ve found to get this site back up is part of the larger work of me reconnecting.  I mean, I miss the people I’ve lost touch with.  But I also know that, if you go back through the archives, you’ll see several instances of me saying: “Yeah, I’m out of touch with everyone, but that’s because of [being busy harvesting Unicorn ivories] and now that it’s done, I’ll totally [hire a sky-writer to pen my magnum opus of friendship] to all those that I’ve ignored over the last while.”

Honestly, who knows what this will turn into.  At the same time, I’m trying to not feel any pressure with blogging this time around, because that’s the thing that prompts writer’s block in me.

So, I guess we’ll see how this turns out.  The good news is that since I’m using my old website, I’ve already spent some extra time this morning to knock down the influx of comment spam that was just waiting to be visited upon me.

Welcome back, everyone.  Most of all: welcome back, me.

I’m back.

Archives to be up in a day or so.

Then: I will blow your mind.

Check 1, 2, 3, 4.

My life is, as may or may not be evident to some or all of you, hectic and stretched beyond the limits of the allotted hours in the earth’s rotation. I hear that there are only 24; I keep hoping I can pull out an extra two or three.

I recently spoke to my supervisor about feeling overwhelmed and she suggested that I take a look at all of the things I’m doing and find places to cut back. I then thought that a good way to do this might be to make a Guilt List: a list of all the things I currently have on my plate, and rank then in order of their ability to induce guilt in me. This list is then compared to the Importance List, such that, by the end of the process, I am left with some things that are Important and Produce Guilt (i.e. dissertations) and other things that are Important and Do Not Produce Guilt (i.e. well, nothing currently, as I’m quite behind in most everything). Further, there are things that are Not Important and Produce Guilt - like this website.

As such, I’ve decided to quit writing here. Indefinitely.

In the past, I’ve taken both announced and unannounced hiatuses (not, in fact, hiati, as I had originally hoped), but even then, there was self-induced guilt around feeling like I *had* to get back to writing here.

I’ll leave the site up, I’ll even check to see if there are any new comments and try and respond as time permits, but don’t expect to see any site updates. I imagine I’ll return eventually, if only because this space has been a good outlet over the years, but for now, cheeken.org is done.

Thanks for the support and understanding. And starting now, I should have slightly less guilt. =)

My iTunes Top 25 for August, in the order of Most Listened To.  An interesting mix, for sure, with a couple, uhm…interesting entries.

Song - Artist
Sundrenched World - Joshua Radin
Uninvited - Alanis Morissette
Razor - Foo Fighters
Kindharted Woman Blues - Keb’ Mo’
New World Emerging Blues - The Mountain Goats
Love Blues - Keb’ Mo’
I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At the Disco
I’ll Be Your Water - Keb’ Mo’
Hard to Handle - The Black Crowes
Callbacks - We Are Scientists
Beard of Beez - Eef Barzelay
Every Morning - Keb’ Mo’
That’s It That’s All - Beastie Boys
Part of Your World (The Little Mermaid) - Jodi Benson
Someone Else’s Life - Joshua Radin
Something Good - Maria and The Captain (Sound of Music)
Mad World - Michael Andrews
Whole ‘Nutha Thang - Keb’ Mo’
Put Your Records On (Acoustic) - Corinne Bailey Rae
Best Of You - Foo Fighters
The Great Escape - We Are Scientists
Heaven (Candlelight Mix) - DJ Sammy & Yanou featuring Do
World Spins Madly On - The Weepies
Like a Star - Corinne Bailey Rae
Converting Vegetarians - Infected Mushroom

This may be the single greatest thing I have ever found out about.  The very fact that it exists makes me want to leave everything and move to San Francisco.

StreetWars

I’ve lived in California for almost five years now and, while I’m still not a big fan of it, I don’t not like it. It’s got its charm: beaches and art and good music. And very good people.

But I won’t stay here. Two years ago, I had a conversation with my academic advisor, during which he pointed out that the last 18 months of grad school goes by very quickly, because while adademic things are being finished up, there are still jobs to find, places to explore, and the future to consider.

What’s next?

There have been significant changes in my life in the last eight months that have completely opened up any plans that had been made, or discussed, or evaluated.

So where to go? Having the kind of career that I do, finding good work should come with relative ease; I’ve got a resume’ chock full o’ good stuff, accumulated over the last years of working my ass off.

I’ve promised Scottie P and McGee that Maryland/DC would be in heavy consideration (although Scottie might point out that even “heavy consideration” is an understatement).

My heart is currently in Seattle.

But this last week in Portland has certainly rekindled my love-affair with this city, as well. Housing here is still bizarrely affordable, and the music going on here is Pheeee-nomenal.

The one thing in all of this that I’m still fairly sure of: there will be Very Good jobs offered to me in California, and I will not take them.

That’s the number of miles I just put on my car doing the first solo roadtrip of my life.  I drove from Southern California, up I-5 to Oregon, stopping near the SW coast, and then making my way to Portland.  I stayed with friends and family, and generally had a lovely time.

In some really key ways, it was just what the doctor ordered.  I took notes along the way.  I’ll share them here later in the week.

Thanks to everyone who was a part of it.