Incidentally, I looked into starting up my old Web site dedicated to my former band, along with reclaiming the old domain name (hadrians-wall.net), since I'm starting to rev up the old, creaky engine that is my music career.
It's been taken by Rocket Search, which appears to be some sort of spammy advertiser search engine thingie.
I feel robbed. Please feel free to join me in sending them unhappy e-mails. I'm not entirely sure what Rocket Search has to do with Hadrian's Wall, but then it's a failing of mine always to search for meaning in the meaningless.
Friday, May 31, 2002
I got to spend tonight at a meeting of the Tempe city council, invited by my friend Mike for a public hearing on the fate of Nita's Hideaway.
Nita's Hideaway is a rundown dump of a place that also happens to be just about the best club in the Phoenix area for all manner of live music, from singer-songwriter shows with 20 people in the audience, to bluegrass, to punk and all points in between.
It also sits on a plot of land the city of Tempe wishes to redevelop. So they looked into places to move. There's an old, defunct steak house not far from where my father lives in east Tempe (wherein also used to reside a gay bar, incidentally) that the owner of Nita's identified as the ideal place. Big enough that he could expand and hold his larger shows indoors instead of in the parking lot, it also has easy freeway access and sits in the middle of a dying strip mall that would finally see some life again.
Neighbors and churchgoers got wind of it (there's a Baptist church and school across a major street and behind a couple of buildings away from it, but they apparently feel threatened by the proximity). Much drama is ensuing.
Tonight's speakers ran the gamut from "think about the children! The CHILDREN!" weepers to bouncers from the club to cranky old people who think their lives are suddenly going to become a hailstorm of bullets, beer bottles and abuse from Nita's-goers who will be driving recklessly and drunk through the neighborhood.
Nita's patrons are, by and large, music lovers, and as such tend not to be dramatically alcoholic, violent or loud. The site is already zoned for commercial use. The nearest houses are hundreds of yards away, and it's likely the the noise from the adjoining freeway is louder than will be any music coming from the establishment. The way the traffic flow is structured, it's nigh-impossible that any Nita's patrons would accidentally find themselves in the residential area on its streets, as well as highly unlikely that anyone who didn't actually live in the neighborhood would purposely drive in there.
It seemed largely like the fundies were trying to ground their crusade to kill artistic expression and the consumption of alcoholic beverages in platitudes others would be more likely to listen to, and they trotted out Boy Scouts, little girls with Bibles, the old folk with their walkers. All the men on that side of the issue wore neatly-pressed shirts and ties. Perhaps it's cynical of me to see this as manipulation, but it struck me as most disingenuous.
By and large, their arguments reminded me of my college speech class on logical fallacies -- straw men, false dichotomies, specious arguments, etc., etc.
And in the end, they'll probably win and Nita's will go away.
One down and depressingly few to go before Phoenix is one big, quiet, uneventful suburb. And art and music will suffer.
And as a corollary, I just wanna say I think stupid people shouldn't be allowed to vote.
Nita's Hideaway is a rundown dump of a place that also happens to be just about the best club in the Phoenix area for all manner of live music, from singer-songwriter shows with 20 people in the audience, to bluegrass, to punk and all points in between.
It also sits on a plot of land the city of Tempe wishes to redevelop. So they looked into places to move. There's an old, defunct steak house not far from where my father lives in east Tempe (wherein also used to reside a gay bar, incidentally) that the owner of Nita's identified as the ideal place. Big enough that he could expand and hold his larger shows indoors instead of in the parking lot, it also has easy freeway access and sits in the middle of a dying strip mall that would finally see some life again.
Neighbors and churchgoers got wind of it (there's a Baptist church and school across a major street and behind a couple of buildings away from it, but they apparently feel threatened by the proximity). Much drama is ensuing.
Tonight's speakers ran the gamut from "think about the children! The CHILDREN!" weepers to bouncers from the club to cranky old people who think their lives are suddenly going to become a hailstorm of bullets, beer bottles and abuse from Nita's-goers who will be driving recklessly and drunk through the neighborhood.
Nita's patrons are, by and large, music lovers, and as such tend not to be dramatically alcoholic, violent or loud. The site is already zoned for commercial use. The nearest houses are hundreds of yards away, and it's likely the the noise from the adjoining freeway is louder than will be any music coming from the establishment. The way the traffic flow is structured, it's nigh-impossible that any Nita's patrons would accidentally find themselves in the residential area on its streets, as well as highly unlikely that anyone who didn't actually live in the neighborhood would purposely drive in there.
It seemed largely like the fundies were trying to ground their crusade to kill artistic expression and the consumption of alcoholic beverages in platitudes others would be more likely to listen to, and they trotted out Boy Scouts, little girls with Bibles, the old folk with their walkers. All the men on that side of the issue wore neatly-pressed shirts and ties. Perhaps it's cynical of me to see this as manipulation, but it struck me as most disingenuous.
By and large, their arguments reminded me of my college speech class on logical fallacies -- straw men, false dichotomies, specious arguments, etc., etc.
And in the end, they'll probably win and Nita's will go away.
One down and depressingly few to go before Phoenix is one big, quiet, uneventful suburb. And art and music will suffer.
And as a corollary, I just wanna say I think stupid people shouldn't be allowed to vote.
Thursday, May 23, 2002
Working for a home health care agency, I get an interesting, even unique view of life. And also death, I suppose.
Working as a receptionist, I take calls from doctors old, delusional and senile enough to be patients. I take calls from patients who fabricate emergencies sometimes just for the company.
As a staffing coordinator, I have to press overworked nurses into service to go see patients who are near death's door.
Working in the file room, my curiosity and tendency to latch mercilessly onto things that interest me leads me to read the paperwork, narrative notes and doctor's orders that paint pictures of life that make the ordinary dramas and ups & downs of life seem positively inane.
There was one patient, and his wife, who took their anger at his poor condition, and I suspect some media brainwashing about the disgraceful state of the American medical community, out on us. When scheduled to visit once a week and we normally went out on Thursday but tried to go out on a Wednesday. This to them was proof that we were trying to defraud Medicare by making more visits than we were authorized. We were leaving more supplies than he immediately needed in the home in a conscious effort to overbill Medicare.
Then there was the patient who had left psychiatric care against medical advice and was a constant thorn in our side. One nurse was too fat, one was too old. Luckily we never tried to send a male nurse out there. He called us constantly demanding nursing visits he didn't really need, wheedled his insurance into demanding medical equipment he didn't really need. He was very manipulative and not terribly pleasant.
There are the patients who are clearly close to death, but the nurses list their life expectancy as 'greater than six months' two days before they pass away. These same patients refuse hospice care because going to hospice means accepting their own mortality.
Children, relatives and significant others display varying mixes of compassion, fear, anger, dominance and submission, often in almost the same breath.
And through it all, nurses faced with their own personal, health and life problems, bury it all inside so they can give the best possible care and comfort. They work insane hours, make themselves perpetually available to worried patients and their families and receive not horrible, but certainly substandard, pay. They are my new heroes.
And my life is a piece of piss in comparison to the diseases, injuries and sheer bad fortune most of our clients have experienced. I'm very lucky.
Working as a receptionist, I take calls from doctors old, delusional and senile enough to be patients. I take calls from patients who fabricate emergencies sometimes just for the company.
As a staffing coordinator, I have to press overworked nurses into service to go see patients who are near death's door.
Working in the file room, my curiosity and tendency to latch mercilessly onto things that interest me leads me to read the paperwork, narrative notes and doctor's orders that paint pictures of life that make the ordinary dramas and ups & downs of life seem positively inane.
There was one patient, and his wife, who took their anger at his poor condition, and I suspect some media brainwashing about the disgraceful state of the American medical community, out on us. When scheduled to visit once a week and we normally went out on Thursday but tried to go out on a Wednesday. This to them was proof that we were trying to defraud Medicare by making more visits than we were authorized. We were leaving more supplies than he immediately needed in the home in a conscious effort to overbill Medicare.
Then there was the patient who had left psychiatric care against medical advice and was a constant thorn in our side. One nurse was too fat, one was too old. Luckily we never tried to send a male nurse out there. He called us constantly demanding nursing visits he didn't really need, wheedled his insurance into demanding medical equipment he didn't really need. He was very manipulative and not terribly pleasant.
There are the patients who are clearly close to death, but the nurses list their life expectancy as 'greater than six months' two days before they pass away. These same patients refuse hospice care because going to hospice means accepting their own mortality.
Children, relatives and significant others display varying mixes of compassion, fear, anger, dominance and submission, often in almost the same breath.
And through it all, nurses faced with their own personal, health and life problems, bury it all inside so they can give the best possible care and comfort. They work insane hours, make themselves perpetually available to worried patients and their families and receive not horrible, but certainly substandard, pay. They are my new heroes.
And my life is a piece of piss in comparison to the diseases, injuries and sheer bad fortune most of our clients have experienced. I'm very lucky.
Sunday, May 19, 2002
I really should write more often. I've just been hella busy in recent days with one thing or another. So to recap recent events, ...
Mason went back flying May 9, so he's an air mattress again ;^). The nights alone are a little weird, and they come reasonably frequently, but it's good to see him when he's home and the contrast in mood from his previous misery is delightful.
Speaking of mattresses, there's a new one here, courtesy of his federal tax return. Since I'm someone who's always slept on small or cheap beds or hand-me-downs (except for the waterbeds during the Joseph Years), I didn't fully appreciate the difference a new mattress makes. Hooray for quality sleeping furniture!
And let's see. I'm going to be a real Banner employee come September, with a real job with a real job description. I've been kind of a floater from job to job, and classified as 'pool', which means technically that I come in only as needed (haven't had a day off yet, though) and I don't get any benefits. I'll take a small pay cut, but the benefits far outweigh that.
I'm also a graduate student now! After finally reaching the breaking point and writing a rather angry e-mail to the director of the School of Information Resources and Library Science, they miraculously found me a seat in a class, so I'll be doing one Web-based course for the summer. It's at least enough to keep my eligibility to register alive, and is really quite enough between the job, my own musical endeavors and running Devine Celtic Sounds.
DCS is doing well, and I'm on track to have a record-setting month for May. I just put in an order for $400 in inventory, my largest order yet since taking over the business. I'll be vending at Highland Games in Salt Lake City and San Diego in mid-June, so I'm spending a good portion of my own money to prepare the inventory for the double-whammy of those two consecutive festivals.
I'll be accompanied to San Diego by my mom and probably my sister, which will make the work load much lighter. But for Salt Lake City, it looks like I'm alone, unless Mason can miraculously get free of work for the weekend. It's a long drive and it's tough to work a festival alone. But the money's good and it's a hell of a lot of fun.
I'm gradually taking over Mason's laptop, which is much newer than my Model-T version (a zippy Pentium III or 4 with a DVD drive, versus my old Pentium-90 sans MMX, without so much as an internal CD ROM drive). I gave it a test run with my cheap and cranky but still pretty cool GPS unit today. It will prove invaluable in Utah's relatively unfamiliar environs.
I'm working on outfitting it with QuickBooks or something and a barcode scanner so I can work some semblance of technology into my festival sales. It would certainly be quicker and more accurate than the old pen-and-paper method. But with all the money for travel, vendor's fees and inventory, I'm positively skint. This is going to be a very lean two weeks till my next payday.
Had a brief period of time (almost a week) during which my cell phone was inactive, since someone who shall remain nameless but shares his name with a brand of jar didn't pay my bill in return for the rent I paid and was owed but didn't receive. I paid the bill (and the DirecTV bill, etc.) so at least I don't need to worry that we'll be cut off from the rest of the world.
But if we were, at least we've got a really good DVD collection to entertain us while in repose!
OK, so now that that's all cleared out, I can get back to slightly more focused and interesting journal entries ...
Mason went back flying May 9, so he's an air mattress again ;^). The nights alone are a little weird, and they come reasonably frequently, but it's good to see him when he's home and the contrast in mood from his previous misery is delightful.
Speaking of mattresses, there's a new one here, courtesy of his federal tax return. Since I'm someone who's always slept on small or cheap beds or hand-me-downs (except for the waterbeds during the Joseph Years), I didn't fully appreciate the difference a new mattress makes. Hooray for quality sleeping furniture!
And let's see. I'm going to be a real Banner employee come September, with a real job with a real job description. I've been kind of a floater from job to job, and classified as 'pool', which means technically that I come in only as needed (haven't had a day off yet, though) and I don't get any benefits. I'll take a small pay cut, but the benefits far outweigh that.
I'm also a graduate student now! After finally reaching the breaking point and writing a rather angry e-mail to the director of the School of Information Resources and Library Science, they miraculously found me a seat in a class, so I'll be doing one Web-based course for the summer. It's at least enough to keep my eligibility to register alive, and is really quite enough between the job, my own musical endeavors and running Devine Celtic Sounds.
DCS is doing well, and I'm on track to have a record-setting month for May. I just put in an order for $400 in inventory, my largest order yet since taking over the business. I'll be vending at Highland Games in Salt Lake City and San Diego in mid-June, so I'm spending a good portion of my own money to prepare the inventory for the double-whammy of those two consecutive festivals.
I'll be accompanied to San Diego by my mom and probably my sister, which will make the work load much lighter. But for Salt Lake City, it looks like I'm alone, unless Mason can miraculously get free of work for the weekend. It's a long drive and it's tough to work a festival alone. But the money's good and it's a hell of a lot of fun.
I'm gradually taking over Mason's laptop, which is much newer than my Model-T version (a zippy Pentium III or 4 with a DVD drive, versus my old Pentium-90 sans MMX, without so much as an internal CD ROM drive). I gave it a test run with my cheap and cranky but still pretty cool GPS unit today. It will prove invaluable in Utah's relatively unfamiliar environs.
I'm working on outfitting it with QuickBooks or something and a barcode scanner so I can work some semblance of technology into my festival sales. It would certainly be quicker and more accurate than the old pen-and-paper method. But with all the money for travel, vendor's fees and inventory, I'm positively skint. This is going to be a very lean two weeks till my next payday.
Had a brief period of time (almost a week) during which my cell phone was inactive, since someone who shall remain nameless but shares his name with a brand of jar didn't pay my bill in return for the rent I paid and was owed but didn't receive. I paid the bill (and the DirecTV bill, etc.) so at least I don't need to worry that we'll be cut off from the rest of the world.
But if we were, at least we've got a really good DVD collection to entertain us while in repose!
OK, so now that that's all cleared out, I can get back to slightly more focused and interesting journal entries ...
Thursday, May 09, 2002
So after the Great Computer Debacle of the Day Before Yesterday, it looks like fate is really trying to give me a break. Bought a Bingo card at the gas station over lunch. Won $150. Life is good.
Oh, she's giving the computer to her son now. And he's paying the taxes. I was not pleased, since that was the first offer I made and was soundly rebuffed. Ach, well. Such is life.
Oh, she's giving the computer to her son now. And he's paying the taxes. I was not pleased, since that was the first offer I made and was soundly rebuffed. Ach, well. Such is life.
Tuesday, May 07, 2002
So, covering my day backwards, we just returned from Alanis Morissette. Good show all around and I'm very happy, although no show will likely ever compare with the show in Honolulu where those of us assembled got to watch them celebrate the end of their nine-month tour.
Ryan Adams was nigh-brilliant, although he seemed more suited to sweaty bars and clubs than the Dodge Theatre.
So now on to the earlier part of the day. By way of explanation, our temp worker, Jori, has made it her mission the last couple of weeks to try to win me a laptop computer. I had mentioned that I needed one for my business but couldn't afford one. The radio station we listen to every day gives one away each day, and we've been trying to win for some time. But today we decided to get serious.
So when the time came today, she got on one phone, I got on my cell phone and one of the file clerks, a 62-year-old woman named Marianne got on the third.
You can maybe surmise which of the three of us had the luck to be caller #10. That would be Marianne.
She proceeded to be completely unenthusiastic, having to take prompting from us as far as choosing the laptop and saying the appropriately celebratory and appreciative things. She also proceeds to tell them the computer is for the office, and to tell the flunkies after the on-air part that she was going to donate it to our employers.
Later, she professed ignorance about the plan (which was nigh-impossible, considering how much we talked about it constantly), but didn't change her stance. Then, as time passed, she complained more and more about how she didn't want the prize to complicate her taxes. No matter how I promised to pay any applicable taxes, how I insisted I would make it up to her, she would not be moved.
It will probably go unclaimed.
We were all rather angry.
I'm still pissed off.
The other file clerk, an extremely nice lady a few years younger than her who I've never heard raise her voice or say a truly unkind word, let alone curse, referred to Marianne as a 'shithead.' I was shocked and delighted at the same time.
So in retrospect, thanks for the effort, Jori! We'll try again tomorrow, I guess.
Ryan Adams was nigh-brilliant, although he seemed more suited to sweaty bars and clubs than the Dodge Theatre.
So now on to the earlier part of the day. By way of explanation, our temp worker, Jori, has made it her mission the last couple of weeks to try to win me a laptop computer. I had mentioned that I needed one for my business but couldn't afford one. The radio station we listen to every day gives one away each day, and we've been trying to win for some time. But today we decided to get serious.
So when the time came today, she got on one phone, I got on my cell phone and one of the file clerks, a 62-year-old woman named Marianne got on the third.
You can maybe surmise which of the three of us had the luck to be caller #10. That would be Marianne.
She proceeded to be completely unenthusiastic, having to take prompting from us as far as choosing the laptop and saying the appropriately celebratory and appreciative things. She also proceeds to tell them the computer is for the office, and to tell the flunkies after the on-air part that she was going to donate it to our employers.
Later, she professed ignorance about the plan (which was nigh-impossible, considering how much we talked about it constantly), but didn't change her stance. Then, as time passed, she complained more and more about how she didn't want the prize to complicate her taxes. No matter how I promised to pay any applicable taxes, how I insisted I would make it up to her, she would not be moved.
It will probably go unclaimed.
We were all rather angry.
I'm still pissed off.
The other file clerk, an extremely nice lady a few years younger than her who I've never heard raise her voice or say a truly unkind word, let alone curse, referred to Marianne as a 'shithead.' I was shocked and delighted at the same time.
So in retrospect, thanks for the effort, Jori! We'll try again tomorrow, I guess.
Thursday, May 02, 2002
So tomorrow I make all those years of obsessive record collecting pay off by mailing a parcel to EMI Records in London.
It seems that they're putting together a box set of Spandau Ballet, one of my favorite bands ever and certainly my favorite quote-unquote '80s bands. It'll contain hits, rarities, demos, live tracks, a sizeable booklet, that sort of thing ... according to rumor anyway.
But it seems that they were missing the original artwork for two of the band's singles: "Lifeline" (which probably none of you have ever heard) and "True" (which you'd have to have been dead for the past 19 or so years NOT to have heard). Well, one person came up with the "Lifeline" single, and the "True" single fell to me to provide. So I searched through my box of singles and came up with the most pristine copy. It goes in the mail tomorrow.
For my trouble, I get an autograph by Gary Kemp (guitarist/songwriter for the band and the compiler of the material for the box set) and the satisfaction of knowing I directly helped out. I'm quite happy.
It seems that they're putting together a box set of Spandau Ballet, one of my favorite bands ever and certainly my favorite quote-unquote '80s bands. It'll contain hits, rarities, demos, live tracks, a sizeable booklet, that sort of thing ... according to rumor anyway.
But it seems that they were missing the original artwork for two of the band's singles: "Lifeline" (which probably none of you have ever heard) and "True" (which you'd have to have been dead for the past 19 or so years NOT to have heard). Well, one person came up with the "Lifeline" single, and the "True" single fell to me to provide. So I searched through my box of singles and came up with the most pristine copy. It goes in the mail tomorrow.
For my trouble, I get an autograph by Gary Kemp (guitarist/songwriter for the band and the compiler of the material for the box set) and the satisfaction of knowing I directly helped out. I'm quite happy.
Wednesday, May 01, 2002
Just back from the Great Big Sea concert here in Phoenix. Damn, I like them! High-energy Celtic rock from Newfies.
Technically not the best band around, and the lead singer really seems to think he's God's gift. But damn, they're fun, and they're really in their element in a public house. I highly recommend checking them out.
Even picked up a tour shirt, something I rarely do anymore, and advised a nice middle-aged woman on the ideal CD purchase.
There are just times when I need some Celtic music to authenticate my soul and rejuvenate my energy. This was just the thing I needed.
Next up: Rent on Saturday!
Technically not the best band around, and the lead singer really seems to think he's God's gift. But damn, they're fun, and they're really in their element in a public house. I highly recommend checking them out.
Even picked up a tour shirt, something I rarely do anymore, and advised a nice middle-aged woman on the ideal CD purchase.
There are just times when I need some Celtic music to authenticate my soul and rejuvenate my energy. This was just the thing I needed.
Next up: Rent on Saturday!
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