Having fun baking pies for a pie party tonight. Apple and blueberry.
Wild Yeast (sour) croissant. Delicious.
Page 15 of 51
Here’s an interview with a fictitious rockstar you’ll never hear.
Rolling Stone: So, Rob, your shows are legendary. We know the women throw their underwear on stage, you are a man among men, and that the arena goes insane. First, where do you get the energy for these performances, and two, what’s the strangest thing someone has thrown on stage?
Rob: <chuckles> I appreciate that you like the shows. They are a blast to put on and the entire team lives for that energy, ya know? When we’re on the road, prepping, rehearsing; we sometimes don’t eat the way we should. I know I’m guilty of this. We have caterers that bring in all sorts of wonderfully prepared dishes, but we just don’t get much. Frankly, it’s mostly for the crew; we’re just so into the music, man. We don’t have much time to eat. Somebody’ll put a bag of Cheetoes and a coke in my hands at some point, and I’ll munch it down. You know, if I think about it, I don’t know where we get the energy, by all rights we should be zombies. It’s got to be the adrenaline.
Rolling Stone: Yeah, sure, adrenaline, that’s it. <snicker>
Rob: What? <smiles>
Strangest thing thrown on stage? I can’t recall anything specific, but people throw all kinds of crazy shit up there. It’s like some sort of old Testament altar for some people; they’ll throw their favorite book, article of clothing, sometimes food (although I don’t know if that’s because they were unhappy with the show), sometimes children’s toys, demo tapes you name it and someone’s thrown it. People will put envelopes with messages to us, some desirous, others confessions about the strangest things; stuff they wanted to get off their chests. It’s weird. We just kind of take it in. These are people who have poured their hearts into us, our music, and they have this connection that allows them bequeath their guilt, desire, regrets, passions up onto the stage and then leave it.
Rolling Stone: That’s kinda creepy man. These people unbalanced or something?
Rob: No, I don’t think so, in fact, I don’t think they want anything from us that they are not getting. There’s the music. I mean, the smallest amount they paid for the show last night was $75 and it was packed. There must be something they like, right? They are yelling and jumping and dancing and their faces are lit up. It’s infectious, the energy. But if they are leaving behind something, unburdening themselves, it’s so they can go out without whatever it was. The demo tape guys, are young musicians looking for validation a break, something. We listen to most of them, and some are pretty good. We have even gotten back to a few who knocked our socks off. But you see it’s not really about the tape, it’s the act of leaving it. They took the chance, they put themselves out there. That act, I think, is all it was about. It’s like the act of leaving a piece of themselves on stage with us, lets them purge it. They’re all confessions, really. It’s like they are saying, here I am, this is me, unadorned, no pretense. Here are my innermost desires and since they don’t know us personally, they don’t have to worry about being judged. It’ll never get back to them. If the demo tape sucked, nobody has to know. It’s sorta cathartic, i think. It’s all good, man. We’re just stoked that they continue to come to the shows and as long as they let us keep doing it, we’re gonna fucking tear the house down.
Rolling Stone: Pulled it together at the end there, didn’tcha? You’re sort of a rock star philosopher, man. It seems a bit incongruous to the stomping strutting arrogant rock god we all know and love. I know you guys got a lot of bad press for some of the demands in your riders.
Rob: <Laughs> Yeah, sure there’s that. You kinda have to do that, you know. I’m not naturally a dick in real life. I swear. But sometimes for the show you have to act like it. I totally swear it’s necessary up to a point. We’re a focal point of male energy, female desire and to create the illusion sometimes you just have to say fuck it. <Interviewer’s aside: Rob reaches across the table, grabs my bottle of water and pours it down his throat, then tosses it across the room>. That. That was a dick move, but you totally want to be me now don’tcha, bro?
Rolling Stone: <laughing> A little bit.
Rob: There’s a bit of arrogance to being what someone would call a rock god, but I don’t for one second think it’s about me. I strut, I stomp, I stroke my instrument, I sing, but it’s not about me. Sure they came to see the band, but we are surrogates or proxies. Think about it, there’s always some rock god, heartthrob, mega star, diva, whatever. You think those people created the followers, created the fans created the urges to fucking rock? Nah. We’re just like vessels, man. It’s not about me or the band or even about the music.
Rolling Stone: There’s a first, rockstar says it’s not about the music. I mean we all know that about Nickleback, but even they wouldn’t say it.
Rob: Haha, touché. I think you’re misunderstanding. Yes, the music is important, it’s under its auspices that we come together. If it was unworthy, they wouldn’t come… but, and here’s a big but, they would still come to someone. We, the rockstars, are fulfilling a pent up demand. We didn’t create the demand, the human need. They wouldn’t be sitting at home if we sucked. In a more economic sense, they have a set amount of money to spend on food and water, and they choose us.
Rolling Stone: This is turning into either those best or most bizarre interviews we’ve ever done. So let me get this straight, you’re comparing your music to food and water. That’s arrogant even for you. <Snickers>
Rob: FUCKING YEAH! We rock, now worship at the foot of our awesomeness! Being a rockstar is partly an act. D’uh. It’s a shared delusion, one into which we both enter willingly. It’s a collective delusion where the band and I get to feed off the energy of the crowd, to channel it, if you will, and direct it back at the crowd. The crazier they get, the crazier I get. We can’t control it, it’s a collective. We all need to be worshiped a bit and by coming together in these venues, they get to experience that pure energy vicariously. Hell, I experience it vicariously, even when I am on stage. Again, the band and I are not the goal, purpose, or end destination of their energy, just the channels for it. It flows through us, we amp it up, feed it back, and we get more in return. It’s like fucking drugs, man. I sometimes think that’s why a lot of rockstar do drugs. They’re trying to fill the void between gigs. It’s a real letdown, let me tell you.
We all have our roles, you know? Some of us are builders, thinkers, and creators. And some of us are clerics. Not gods, but clerics. We are channels and facilitators for spiritual energy not recipients of it. We’re not rock gods, dude, we’re fucking rock priests!
<flips over coffee table and struts out>
“Mommy, Daddy, I had a terrible dream,” said Javier. We invited him to tell us about it, because it always helps to talk about these sorts of things. “Well, I dreamed mommy was in jail.”
“Oh, no, Javier. Why was mommy in Jail? What bad thing did she do?” I asked with a smile.
“She brought butter into the hospital. They said you couldn’t bring butter into the hospital and mommy brought butter into the hospital, so they put her in jail.”
We all had a nice laugh and no more bad dream feelings.
We’re were all out the other day doing some grocery shopping, when we came upon the canned food isle.
“Hey, Daddy, did you have Del Monte when you were growing up?” Of course they said it as “Dayl MOAN-tay”
“What? Hmm…” I repeated it to myself as they had said it. There was something off, something wrong. In a flash there was an epiphany, a revelation. Del Monte, is Spanish for “of the hill.” It’s a brand as American as can be, and the name is Spanish for of the hill. My kids would see it and assume it was a local thing, something Hispanic maybe Puerto Rican but not necessarily American.
“Yes, we did have as we were growing up. It’s a popular American brand, but we say it; Dehl MAHN-te.”
“Eww,” they all said. That sounds terrible. “You really said it that way?”
“Yes, Del Monte said it that way in the commercials.” I paused letting the wrongness of the words sting my mouth. I realized in that moment that the Del Monte of my youth was gone. I turned to my children with a confession. “I never realized until this moment that the brand name is in Spanish.”
I left them scratching their heads as well, their minds perplexed by the idea of daddy not knowing “Del Monte” was actually del monte.
I’m not even going to go into all the Hispanic baseball players I grew up with but never realized were Hispanic on account of how the sportscasters pronounced their names.
Turns out that Del Monte was named for a brand of coffee in a hotel in Oakland, California. “Of the hill” is a good thing for coffee… not so much for peaches.
I was organizing my home office the other day. Among the many things that needed putting away, I came across a bunch of books my daughter got for me a couple of years ago. There was a school library that was closing and getting rid of many of their books. She gobbled up stacks for everyone in the family based on their interests. Among them were topics as varied as gardening, a guide to herbs, landscaping, some on wrestling, home improvement, electrical wiring, bicycle maintenance, books on inventions, product design, and innovation through the 20th century. I am touched by how much my daughter sees me and knows my interests. I don’t know which I like more, the actual books or the fact that the pile of them reminds me of how much she loves me.
Before
After
Yesterday I did something crazy – well not crazy for me, but something odd for Puerto Rico. When I lived in the States, I commuted to work on my bicycle. It was a great experience. I would get to work, clean up with a wet wash cloth, or shower if one was available, change into my office clothes and get to work. All my commutes have been around 15 miles each way, which makes for a pretty decent workout. The nice thing about bike commuting is the energy you have early in the morning. While everyone else is grasping for cups of coffee like brain-starved zombies, you feel ready to go, oxygenated, pumped, energetic. If I had ever taken drugs, I imagine that’s what it feels like. You feel like anything is possible, the world is at your fingertips.
The ride home is just as cathartic. Maybe you’re a little tired or stressed after a long day, but as soon as you get on the bike, it all melts away as you eat up the miles, reflect on and interact with the city, talk to strangers, see things you wouldn’t see from a car, and stop for a bottle of wine for your lovely wife/husband. These were some of the happiest times of my life – even if the job was brain-dead.
I’d gotten away from that though. Sure, I’d go out in the morning to do grocery shopping and run errands, but it just wasn’t the same. Since I’m a consultant, when I visit an office, it’s usually not for the entire day, or it’s multiple offices in a day in inconvenient locations.
But the other day in a fit of “I’ve gotten so FAT,” I got an idea. Why can’t I just plan a day to take care of all my pending tasks onsite. I usually do them from home, but sometimes working in isolation is not motivating. So I cleared my schedule and okayed my plan with the client.
I took off early in the morning for a 14 mile ride through San Juan into Cataño. The morning was a little wet from a recent rain, but the air was cool, and the bike was comfy. Laura had packed me lunch – a sandwich, orange, and apple – and I had my laptop stowed away in the paniers, along with a change of clothes, washcloth, and towel.
Man, did that feel good. It reminded me of 17 years ago.
Oh blessed unerring document, we must protect its sacred words – or at least that’s what many on the right in the US would have us believe. The US Constitution (including the Bill of Rights), was a complete, although unfinished, document and one upon which we are still working. It is not the unerring words of our “founding fathers,” white men who did not implicitly protect, free speech, freedom of religion, physical freedom for people, free press, right to assemble, or the ability to seek redress from the government for grievances .
WTF, I hear you saying. Go ahead and read it, as it was written, its original text. I’ll wait.
Here’s the first amendment:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
It didn’t say the states couldn’t. And they did. States had state religions, banned literature, restrictions on press etc, all the way until the 20th century.
At that time, the federal government did not explicitly prohibit these things, nor protect them as inalienable rights. It simply said, Congress shall make no law restricting or establishing. I know you’re scratching your head. You thought the Constitution was sacred, handed down by a Christian God. Obama wants to destroy it. He is a tyrant. He wants to take away our guns.
Want to know who else was a tyrant?
Abraham Lincoln. He was a tyrant because he wanted to expand the federal definition of freedom to the states.
Want to know something else? Activist judges were the ones to encroach the constitutional protections to the states. Yes, activists judges (as the right likes to call them) gave you your freedom of speech and press.
When did this happen?
1925. Did you get that? It wasn’t until nineteen twenty-five that case law recognized that the Bill of Rights applied not just to the federal government, but to the states. And it wasn’t even really over at the point. It’s still being fought about.
So, let’s remember that the Constitution is not sacred in its original form. It was a complete document, but we’ve been fleshing it out, still working on it, tweaking it to make it better lo these 230+ years. It also goes hand in hand with just as many years of judicial precedent.
Intentions of our “founding fathers?” Their intentions were noble, I imagine, but short-sighted. They left out women, black people, none-land holding whites, did not protect freedom of speech, assembly, press, religion, did not prohibit involuntary servitude, and a whole host of things.
Once we see the document as above reproach we cease to grow as a nation as a people.
Our story as a nation and our document are not yet finished and they will continue to be written and perfected. They are not perfect, just as we are not perfect.
We/it are works in progress.