May 4, 12 pm
Dublin Retirement Village
6470 Post Road
Dublin, Oh
May 6, 1 pm
First Community Retirement Community
1800 Riverside Drive
Upper Arlington
May 11, 1 pm
Trillium Place Retirement Center
Trillium Crossing
Columbus, Oh
May 13, 12 pm
North Broadway United Methodist Church
48 E. North Broadway
Columbus, Oh
May 18, 12 pm
Cardinal Health
Dublin, Oh
May 20, 1 pm
Abbey Theater
Dublin Recreation Center
5600 Post Road
Dublin, Oh
May 23, 1 pm
Military Families of Union County, Readiness Group (Fundraiser)
Veterans Theater
233 W 6th Street
Marysville, Oh
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Lost
I (like many people I'm sure) have always identified myself by what I like to do in my spare time. When I was young, that was music. Okay, before that it was BMX racing, but that was short lived. I really liked playing music. I practiced all the time. I took lessons every week. I went to concerts all the time. I was a musician.
Granted, there was a year or so when I was a motorhead. My friend and I pulled the motor out of my '76 Camero and wedged it into a fully customized '73 Vega. Fun stuff indeed. That is until I wrecked the car and could only afford to replace it with an '82 Chevette. Then it was back to music.
Music was it for me too. I parked cars during the day and practiced with my band every night. We even moved out to L.A. to try to make it, but that didn't work out so well. Even so, I played all over South Jersey and a couple of the bands I played in had a pretty decent following.
Come about 28 or 29, I started to realize that I wasn't going to be the rock star I'd anticipated. That, in addition to a major character flaw that kept me from wanting to starve for my art, made me cut my hair and go to school for computer programming.
But that was okay. I had a knack for it. That became my new identity. I got a good job as a programmer and even spent my weekends writing code. I tried to keep up with music a little, but without the promise of superstardome, my heart wasn't in it. I even bought a mountainbike and tried to make that my off time thing, but one nasty encounter with a tree put an end to that. No, I was a computer guy. That was my thing. And it was good because people were willing to pay me good money to do my thing.
So I fell in love and had kids the way people are wont to do, and my thing helped us a great deal along the way. I even sold my bass guitars and amps. Didn't need them anymore. But after several years of being paid to do my thing, I didn't like doing it anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still did it because it paid the bills, but I began looking for something else to identify with.
Then I walked into a Harley dealer. And that was it! I was a biker. I loved riding the bike. I rode in the winter, I rode in the rain, I rode all of the time. I did all of my own work on the bike, tearing it down and putting it back together. I was the real deal. Except I wasn't. I didn't really fit in. I tried to do the poker runs and toy runs and such, but these weren't really my peeps. I preferred to ride my own ride. The problem was, it was a very solitary thing. I liked riding with Tammy, but the bike was too small for riding any real distances for the both of us. Plus, money was getting tight and friends were getting in accidents and it was time to sell the bike.
In an effort to find a new me, I tried woodworking. I built a few things and they turned out ok, but I didn't really enjoy it. It was a chore.
Then I tried mountainbiking again. Epic fail.
So, it was back to music for me. I restocked my bass arsenal and even started playing upright bass for a fresh start. And I've been trying to make this my identity for the last five years. The problem is, I'm not sure it fits anymore. I feel lost in it. I can't find myself in it.
A big part of the problem for me is style. I listen to several different styles of music and like them all: rock (hard, heavy, classic), jazz (bebop, hard bop, swing) and even country (old school stuff mostly). I just don't know where to go. Or more accurately, I find it highly unlikely that I can go where I'd like.
I don't want to play classic rock covers. I don't find anything wrong with it, it's just not something I've ever enjoyed doing and can't see myself being happy with it now. And while I certainly like listening to the heavy stuff, I don't see that working out very well for this aging body. Loud music makes my head hurt and my back can't lift Marshall stacks anymore.
Country has never really been on the table. I like to listen to it, but I don't own cowboy boots or a cowboy hat and probably never will.
Jazz is nice. Listening to it makes my feet move and has, on occasion, brought me nearer to tears than anything I've heard since "On My Own" from Les Miserables. But I can't play it. In order to play believable jazz, it needs to be in your soul. You need to eat, sleep and be jazz. And you need to do so early on because it's a lot to absorb. I've only been dancing around its edges for 5 years or so.
I have recently replaced the motorcycle, but I only ride it when it's really nice out. I don't plan on working on this one either. I'm past that stage now.
People have told me (in the most positive way) to just shut up and play. But I can't. I'm envious of those who can. That's never been me. I need to have a direction. A purpose. An identity. And until I find that, I'll remain lost.
Granted, there was a year or so when I was a motorhead. My friend and I pulled the motor out of my '76 Camero and wedged it into a fully customized '73 Vega. Fun stuff indeed. That is until I wrecked the car and could only afford to replace it with an '82 Chevette. Then it was back to music.
Music was it for me too. I parked cars during the day and practiced with my band every night. We even moved out to L.A. to try to make it, but that didn't work out so well. Even so, I played all over South Jersey and a couple of the bands I played in had a pretty decent following.
Come about 28 or 29, I started to realize that I wasn't going to be the rock star I'd anticipated. That, in addition to a major character flaw that kept me from wanting to starve for my art, made me cut my hair and go to school for computer programming.
But that was okay. I had a knack for it. That became my new identity. I got a good job as a programmer and even spent my weekends writing code. I tried to keep up with music a little, but without the promise of superstardome, my heart wasn't in it. I even bought a mountainbike and tried to make that my off time thing, but one nasty encounter with a tree put an end to that. No, I was a computer guy. That was my thing. And it was good because people were willing to pay me good money to do my thing.
So I fell in love and had kids the way people are wont to do, and my thing helped us a great deal along the way. I even sold my bass guitars and amps. Didn't need them anymore. But after several years of being paid to do my thing, I didn't like doing it anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still did it because it paid the bills, but I began looking for something else to identify with.
Then I walked into a Harley dealer. And that was it! I was a biker. I loved riding the bike. I rode in the winter, I rode in the rain, I rode all of the time. I did all of my own work on the bike, tearing it down and putting it back together. I was the real deal. Except I wasn't. I didn't really fit in. I tried to do the poker runs and toy runs and such, but these weren't really my peeps. I preferred to ride my own ride. The problem was, it was a very solitary thing. I liked riding with Tammy, but the bike was too small for riding any real distances for the both of us. Plus, money was getting tight and friends were getting in accidents and it was time to sell the bike.
In an effort to find a new me, I tried woodworking. I built a few things and they turned out ok, but I didn't really enjoy it. It was a chore.
Then I tried mountainbiking again. Epic fail.
So, it was back to music for me. I restocked my bass arsenal and even started playing upright bass for a fresh start. And I've been trying to make this my identity for the last five years. The problem is, I'm not sure it fits anymore. I feel lost in it. I can't find myself in it.
A big part of the problem for me is style. I listen to several different styles of music and like them all: rock (hard, heavy, classic), jazz (bebop, hard bop, swing) and even country (old school stuff mostly). I just don't know where to go. Or more accurately, I find it highly unlikely that I can go where I'd like.
I don't want to play classic rock covers. I don't find anything wrong with it, it's just not something I've ever enjoyed doing and can't see myself being happy with it now. And while I certainly like listening to the heavy stuff, I don't see that working out very well for this aging body. Loud music makes my head hurt and my back can't lift Marshall stacks anymore.
Country has never really been on the table. I like to listen to it, but I don't own cowboy boots or a cowboy hat and probably never will.
Jazz is nice. Listening to it makes my feet move and has, on occasion, brought me nearer to tears than anything I've heard since "On My Own" from Les Miserables. But I can't play it. In order to play believable jazz, it needs to be in your soul. You need to eat, sleep and be jazz. And you need to do so early on because it's a lot to absorb. I've only been dancing around its edges for 5 years or so.
I have recently replaced the motorcycle, but I only ride it when it's really nice out. I don't plan on working on this one either. I'm past that stage now.
People have told me (in the most positive way) to just shut up and play. But I can't. I'm envious of those who can. That's never been me. I need to have a direction. A purpose. An identity. And until I find that, I'll remain lost.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Cardinal Health Chamber Orchestra Winter 2009 Performance Schedule
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Thursday, August 27, 2009
What It's Like To Be Me
Late last week I applied for a new job within my company. This job entails using new technology and is aligned with the future of the company. It would be a great move for me.
Early this week, I accepted the job offer with a nice increase in pay! Great, right? I should be skipping down the halls, right?
Instead, I've been depressed all week. Why? Because I'll never play bass as well as this guy: Rufus Philpot.
This is what it's like to live inside my head.
Early this week, I accepted the job offer with a nice increase in pay! Great, right? I should be skipping down the halls, right?
Instead, I've been depressed all week. Why? Because I'll never play bass as well as this guy: Rufus Philpot.
This is what it's like to live inside my head.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Nostalgia
I went to South Jersey last weekend for the first time in several years. The reason for the visit was my 26th year high school reunion (it's a long story).
The weekend encompassed a roller coaster of emotions for me. Of course, it started with the joy of seeing Atlantic City again and noting the improvements that have been made since my last visit. This was followed by the reunion itself. What a wonderful evening, seeing old friends and acquaintances from high school. Reminiscing about the "good old days". I had so much fun I really didn't want it to end. In fact, some of us stayed out until 3:00 am in an effort to continue the party.
The next day began the downhill portion of my roller coaster ride. I drove the family through my old neighborhood, pointing out to the girls the 5 miles I had to ride my bike in the snow uphill both ways to school, and the houses of my friends who, in one way or another, were no longer around. Then we went to Ocean City. I told my family of the endless nights we spent trolling the boardwalk, from one end to the other. The days we'd spend on the beach catching some rays. At this point I found myself mourning my youth. I saw all of the young people walking around as I used to, and realized that I'd never have that feeling back again.
Driving back to AC, we took the route I used to take when I worked at Resorts. It was then that I started reliving the loneliness that I felt during those days. The years of driving home from work to an empty apartment, dreading the weekends when I would hardly speak to another living being. This is a time that I did not mourn.
But of course, those times led to meeting my wife, buying a house, having kids, moving to Ohio...the things which cured my loneliness and gave me purpose.
That evening my family and I had dinner with some old friends from high school. It was at this point that I came back to the present...and enjoyed it. I was in a bar with family and friends in a town that raised me. This is what it means to be happy.
The weekend encompassed a roller coaster of emotions for me. Of course, it started with the joy of seeing Atlantic City again and noting the improvements that have been made since my last visit. This was followed by the reunion itself. What a wonderful evening, seeing old friends and acquaintances from high school. Reminiscing about the "good old days". I had so much fun I really didn't want it to end. In fact, some of us stayed out until 3:00 am in an effort to continue the party.
The next day began the downhill portion of my roller coaster ride. I drove the family through my old neighborhood, pointing out to the girls the 5 miles I had to ride my bike in the snow uphill both ways to school, and the houses of my friends who, in one way or another, were no longer around. Then we went to Ocean City. I told my family of the endless nights we spent trolling the boardwalk, from one end to the other. The days we'd spend on the beach catching some rays. At this point I found myself mourning my youth. I saw all of the young people walking around as I used to, and realized that I'd never have that feeling back again.
Driving back to AC, we took the route I used to take when I worked at Resorts. It was then that I started reliving the loneliness that I felt during those days. The years of driving home from work to an empty apartment, dreading the weekends when I would hardly speak to another living being. This is a time that I did not mourn.
But of course, those times led to meeting my wife, buying a house, having kids, moving to Ohio...the things which cured my loneliness and gave me purpose.
That evening my family and I had dinner with some old friends from high school. It was at this point that I came back to the present...and enjoyed it. I was in a bar with family and friends in a town that raised me. This is what it means to be happy.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Meet Penelope
So, my wife says to me on Father's Day she says, "Let's go to the Harley dealer."
I had been hinting around at wanting a new bike for a couple of months now. I sold my old bike about 4 years ago and missed it. One of the reasons I sold it was because it was too small and Tammy didn't ride with me very often because of this. I couldn't afford to upgrade at the time and just wasn't having as much fun with it as I should have been.
I knew what I wanted this time around. I wanted a touring bike. In particular, I wanted a Harley Davidson Road King. I looked at other brands, and no one offers anything like it. I looked at other Harley models, and would have been perfectly happy with an Electra Glide, but to me the Road King is the epitome. But I also knew what I wanted to spend, and finding any touring bike in my price range would be next to impossible.
So, we go to the dealer and there she sits:
She already had the upgrades that I would look to add, most significantly the tour pack (trunk) on the back. She was a color that I like. (I hate the blue/silver that so many RKs wear...looks too much like a Dallas Cowboy's uniform.) Even though she's 11 years old, she only had 14,000 miles. And best of all, she was in my price range!
So, why the name Penelope you ask.
When I was a young child, I had to have my tonsils removed. This was back in the day when they removed tonsils if you sneezed. I had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days and wasn't happy about it, so my parents got me a stuffed animal to keep me company. Why they chose a pink horse, I don't know, but that's what they gave me. I immediately named it Penelope after who I now recognize as my first crush, Penelope Pitstop. Penelope the iron horse is an homage to Penelope the pink horse, and of course to Ms. Pitstop.
I had been hinting around at wanting a new bike for a couple of months now. I sold my old bike about 4 years ago and missed it. One of the reasons I sold it was because it was too small and Tammy didn't ride with me very often because of this. I couldn't afford to upgrade at the time and just wasn't having as much fun with it as I should have been.
I knew what I wanted this time around. I wanted a touring bike. In particular, I wanted a Harley Davidson Road King. I looked at other brands, and no one offers anything like it. I looked at other Harley models, and would have been perfectly happy with an Electra Glide, but to me the Road King is the epitome. But I also knew what I wanted to spend, and finding any touring bike in my price range would be next to impossible.
So, we go to the dealer and there she sits:
She already had the upgrades that I would look to add, most significantly the tour pack (trunk) on the back. She was a color that I like. (I hate the blue/silver that so many RKs wear...looks too much like a Dallas Cowboy's uniform.) Even though she's 11 years old, she only had 14,000 miles. And best of all, she was in my price range!
So, why the name Penelope you ask.
When I was a young child, I had to have my tonsils removed. This was back in the day when they removed tonsils if you sneezed. I had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days and wasn't happy about it, so my parents got me a stuffed animal to keep me company. Why they chose a pink horse, I don't know, but that's what they gave me. I immediately named it Penelope after who I now recognize as my first crush, Penelope Pitstop. Penelope the iron horse is an homage to Penelope the pink horse, and of course to Ms. Pitstop.
Monday, April 20, 2009
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