SwampLog 3.0

But Where Were The Spiders?

Still waiting.

Have you ever wanted to say something -- it's just gnawing at your brain stem -- but you know for a fact that if the words pass your lips, it will only make matters much, much worse?  I'm dealing with that right now, and have been for the last three days.  Maybe later.  Much later.

No need to review the last twelve months.  I did enough of that in the 'Reemergence' liner notes.  It's time to look forward, and here's what should be in store:

• More time at Rawlings, in an ever-expanding capacity
• Better fiscal responsibility and reliability
• Less emotional baggage
• Fewer impulsive responses
• More travel
• Fifteen fewer pounds

Whatever you end up doing tonight, I have the nagging feeling you should record Regis Philbin subbing for Dick Clark tonight.  Just a hunch.

F the Yankees.

Happy New Year.

I'll Have To Remember That One For Later

Still waiting.

Last night, my friend Laura and I went to J.R. Bentley's.  It was the only place open on Christmas Eve where we could go and drink heavily.  I didn't have a deep, abiding need to get hammered, but after everything we'd both been through in the last year, the last thing we needed was to be alone on Christmas Eve.  (Her boyfriend works offshore, and will be on duty until after the New Year.)

It was quite fun, all told.  We played Texas Hold-Em with the waitress (I cleaned them both out of bottle caps), played $10 worth of obscure music on the well-stocked jukebox, and we shared stories of no consequence.

Marty's out of town, and Thomas is sick.  Woody has his family to contend with this weekend.  And I never get to hang out with Laura because both of our schedules are screwed up beyond compare.  So, I'm quite grateful that we had that time together last night.

Happy Christmas / Chanukah / Kwanzaa / Festivus / free day off.

Someone Set Up Us The Bomb

Still waiting.

"I just don't understand Christmas, I guess. I like getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I'm still not happy. I always end up feeling depressed." -- Charlie Brown

I'll merely say that, while my "holiday stress" is minimal since I don't have any family to worry about other than my standard compliment of aunts and whatnot, this year has been abysmal for me.  I really need to figure out 'What's Eating Devin Pike,' and soon.  My fuse has been shorter and shorter.  It takes less and less to set me off.  And, today, it was wholly apparent.

Today, once I got done with my P1 WAC stint (filling in for BaD Radio from noon - 3:00 pm, which was a riot), I went to Kinko's to print off the jewel case inserts for 'Reemergence.'  In past years, I would have had this done at least a week ago, but pulling the demands of the management gig haven't allowed that liberty.  So, I'm there, trying to get the thing printed from the PDF I have sitting on my server.

Instead, I ended up getting so pissed off at the staff there because they acted like it was 11:00 pm on Christmas Eve.  Their "computer services" department, the only people there who know what a PDF is, closed at 3:15 pm today, and they had no comprehension of what I wanted to print or how to prep it.

When I wanted to call Kinko's customer service to bitch about it, I was told they didn't have a courtesy phone available for me to use.  Then they started hemming and hawwing about letting me use the manager's phone.  I walked out of the store, knowing full well that I would certainly have killed someone had I stayed.

When has December 23 become the day when people take off early?  Not to get all Ebenezer on you or anything, but I do remember a time, not too long ago, when people worked up until 5:00 pm on December 24 before hanging it up.

I'm going out with Marty and Thomas to celebrate the holiday.  Usually, the Amigos go out on Christmas night, but Marty will be out of town, so we have to get our holiday booze on early.

Marty will love his Christmas gift.

Feeling The Burn

The mini-site for 'Reemergence,' my 2004 year-end CD, is online.  Peruse the tracks, read the liner notes, and download the CD jewel case insert, if you're so inclined.

Also, Marty's CD is nearing completion.  He's making noise as if someone other than himself will actually get to hear it.  Unlike mine, his stuff can't be wholly purchased on the iTunes Music Store, so if you want to hear it, you had better let him know personally.

The Teacher Knew I Had The Funk

Still waiting.

Last night, I worked a karaoke show at Rawlings.  DJ Cook, one of the wholly genial Hank's Homies, was celebrating his borthday, and wanted a little of the ol' Devin magic.  At least, that's what Ryan, DJ's best friend, told me when he begged me to work the night.

The karaoke rig at Rawlings is only a working outfit in the slightest of terms.  A Fender portable PA system, a CD+G player for the karaoke discs which would be much happier in its natural habitat of a home, and my iPod for music in between the singers.  The rig is serviceable, but just looks slapdash.  i cringe every time I start a show, knowing it looks about as unprofessional as can be.  Coming from Bravo, where all of the equipment might not be "state of the art" but always looked good, it's a smack in the gob.

The night went well -- there were about two dozen of DJ's friends and family present, and they stayed until the wee hours, buying a lot of booze and making our bartenders a good amount of change on a night that hasn't been a big moneymaker of late.

It was one of those nights where I found myself pleased with the job I had done.  Had it been another, less-experienced jock working, the crew would have left earlier and gone somewhere else.  That's what scares me about training one of the younger servers, Dominique, in the ways of the DJ.  Is there any way I can get everything out of my head and into his on owning the night?  Can I teach him how to get outside his own head and into the head of the people buying a round of shots at the bar?

Should be an interesting experiment.  I hope I don't blow the poor kid's head off.

Cast Your Fate To The Stars

Still waiting.

The liner notes for 'Reemergence' are written, and the disclaimer is almost ready.  I need to get the cover shot done, and then I'll be able to take the damned CD and files to Kinko's.  I'm having them produce it, since I simply will not have time to babysit the duplication process.

One of the things I noticed when I was putting the mini-site together was the lack of photos from this year's adventures.  Thomas is still hoarding his stash of photos from the Carolina trip, and I need to get Marty's cache of pics from Spring Training and the Carolinas.  The majority of my year, though, was spent at the ballpark, working at Rawlings.  There aren't a whole lot of photos to go around of me in a box at the center of a restaurant. 

The reason I keep doing these CDs is for the liner notes.  They force me to look back over the year and remember, from January on, who has made a difference in my life, who I wouldn't be the same without, who I couldn't have made it through without their friendship, love, and wisdom.  I still leave people off unintentionally, but it's rectified with a phone call... most of the time.

The more I listen to 'How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb,' the more I simply love it.  "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" and "One Step Closer" have taken root in my brain, along with "City of Blinding Lights."  This line from "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" keeps resonating with me:

"And it’s you when I look in the mirror
And it’s you when I don’t pick up the phone
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own"

New Year's Eve.  I'll be working at Rawlings.  So, I'm putting the call out: this will be my own damned party.  My music, my entertainment, my friends.  Please consider coming out and spending the first moments of 2005 with me.  You are all invited.  I can accomodate over 700 of you.  I'll even let you crash on the floor if you need to.

One More Time Around, Shall We?

I apologize for the short notice on this, but I thought it deserved an all-points bulletin.

Tonight is the last night I'll work karaoke for Bravo Enterprises, and likely the last time I'll do karaoke as a regularly-scheduled DJ. It's time to hang 'em up, and it's been a long time coming.  I've been doing karaoke for the better part of two decades, and it's time to let other people run the party.

I'm at Broncos Sports Grille (900 Airport Freeway #166, Hurst, Texas 76054) tonight.  The set runs from 10:00 pm until the lights come up at 2:00 am.  I hope you can make it out to see what I hope is something special.  Either that, or an amazing train wreck.  Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Cheers!

Let Me Wear Your Decoder Ring

Still waiting.

I know it's been far too long since I've posted.  Thursday was the first day where I had 24 hours with nowhere I needed to be, and I took full advantage of it by sleeping.  Delicious.

Edison's going to bring the apocalypse upon us if he doesn't quit killing field mice.  Lemme 'splain.

During all hours of the day, you can hear him come in through the cat door.  When he meows to announce he's now returned for more head skrinching, you know he's alone.  When he doesn't, you may hear nothing for a few minutes, or you may hear a high-pitched shriek.  The shriek is the mouse saying "Jesus Palomino, get your damned teeth out of my mouse spleen!"

Invariably, Edison will drop the mouse at the top of the stairs, either to get a better grip on his toy of the hour or to be cruel and watch the poor bastard run around before he pounces on it again.

So, when Marty or I rescue the mouse (if we can), we'll get the rodent and take him to the park across the street from the house.  This way, the little fucker has a chance to make it back to its family of 3000 -- or, more importantly, we won't smell the dead mouse two weeks later when it crawls away from Edison to die. 

Marty told me Tuesday that he looks upon this act of contrition as a way to appease the Mouse Overlords when they eventually take over the planet.  "This way, we can have at least one mouse who says, 'Please don't eviscerate them, Chamberlain!  They showed me mercy when their cat tried to use me as a chew toy!'  They might only put us in a work camp or something."

This conversation took some interesting turns, as you can imagine.  I still think the Mouse Overthrow is doomed for failure from the beginning, since the mice and rats will eventually get mad at each other and begin in-fighting, much like the orangutans and gorillas in 'Planet of the Apes.'  I also have my doubts about the squirrels and their role in the revolution.  They come closer to having opposable thumbs than either mice or rats, but Marty seems to think the squirrels will be too busy watching the decimation of human civilization from treetops and enjoying an acorn or three.

Yes, this conversation went on for 30 minutes.

Pictures from the Nevada trip are now up on the Photo Guys' new e-commerce site, hosted on PhotoReflect.  I'm in very few of them, since I was busy for the most part shooting video.  At least it'll serve to help punctuate the point that this was the coolest wedding I've ever been a part of.  As Greg Williams said, "It's not about how many flowers and lace doilies you can cram in to a church. If people don't like the way this wedding went down, fuck 'em." 

Well said.