Stuck In My Head: I Ain't Ever Satisfied

I Ain't Ever Satisfied 
by Steve Earle

I was born by the railroad tracks
Well the train whistle wailed and i wailed right back
Well papa left mama when i was quite young
He said now "one of these days you're gonna follow me son"

Woh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
I ain't ever satisfied
Woh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
I ain't ever satisfied

Now i had me a woman she was my world
But i ran off with my back street girl
Now my back street woman could not be true
She left me standin' on the boulevard thinkin' bout you

I got an empty feeling deep inside
I'm going over to the other side

Last night i dreamed i made it to the promise land
I was standin' at the gate and i had the key in my hand
Saint peter said "come on in boy, you're finally home"
I said "no thanks pete, i'll just be moving along"

Stuck in My Head: Be Good To Yourself

Be Good To Yourself
by Journey

Runnin' out of self-control
Gettin' close to an overload
Up against a no win situation
Shoulder to shoulder, push and shove
I'm hangin' up my boxin' gloves
I'm ready for a long vacation

Be good to yourself when, nobody else will
Oh be good to yourself
You're walkin' a high wire, caught in a cross fire
Oh be good to yourself

When you can't give no more
They want it all but you gotta say no
I'm turnin' off the noise that makes me crazy
Lookin' back with no regrets
To forgive is to forget
I want a little piece of mind to turn to

Be good to yourself when, nobody else will
Oh be good to yourself
You're walkin' a high wire, caught in a cross fire
Oh be good to yourself
Be good to yourself when, nobody else will

C2E2 And the Problem of Higher Expectations

So, I went to my first Chicago Comics and Entertainment Expo, or C2E2, over the weekend.

I had a good time. Hung out with friends, saw some cool stuff, and generally came to the realization that there is no real reason to ever buy a three-day pass to this convention. I am spoiled by the San Diego Comic-Con, and fully admit it.

My favorite thing at a convention are panels. I have written in the past of the great panels that I've seen in San Diego, the giants of the industry that I've witnessed responding to fan questions. The old-timers who've shared stories that are, bluntly, passing into memory. I guess my expectation was that there would be some of this sort of stuff at C2E2.

What I found were promotional panels for everything from comics to games to goddamn beer. There was a panel on brewing companies, and how their business is similar to comics. Really? Now, that's not bad, I am interested in DC pitching new Vertigo products, or a preview of Marvel's new MMO game. But beer?

Now, being fair, lots of Golden and Silver Age comic creators have retired to southern California, so it's easier to book them for San Diego. Still, how about panels focused on some of their special guests? I saw that J. Michael Straczynski had a couple of dedicated panels, how about one for Len Wein? Michael Golden? These people were in the building. Sure, they had tables in Artist's Alley, but there is nowhere on the floor that is conducive to the kind of give-and-take possible at a panel.

You also need, seriously, to re-vamp the online guide. I tried to plan out for panels before the weekend started, and the online guide is damn near unreadable. And completely unhelpful. It should be a simple thing to look and see what's going on in each room, but it's simply not laid out that way.

I did spend most of Saturday in panels, starting with Patton Oswalt's spotlight panel. A delight. Star Wars or Marvel movies...so stop asking him how to break into directing, or about what J.J. Abrams is going to do. Also, please do not look at a Q&A microphone as an attempt to do your stand-up material for him.

Hilarious, and inspirational. Particularly enjoyable was when Brian Posehn began heckling via text. "Nice answer, Dinkledge!" and "Go back to Dagobagh!" were particular favorites. One comment here, Oswalt is a comedian and actor...he is not a filmmaker, and he has no direct connection to upcoming

Then we saw the '66 Batman panel, which was supposed to be Adam West, Burt Ward and Julie Newmar, but West was ill. According to the panel, he threw his back out walking a dog, or something. I can only...I don't even really want to go into it...but "train wreck" comes to mind. Ward clearly didn't want to be there, Newmar seemed completely out of it, and the questions were, for the most part, insipid.

We caught the tail end of a Vertigo panel notable for the truly thrilling participation of Brian Azzarello, who became the first panel guest to truly answer a question (about a famously unprinted story from Garth Ennis' Preacher) in the most direct and honest way possible, with the emphasis needed, "why the fuck would you ask that question?!"

I am now, officially, asking that Brian Azzarello appear at every convention panel, nationwide. We certainly could've used him during the Patton Oswalt panel.

We wrapped up with a lovely, truly lovely spotlight panel for my personal favorite Doctor Who, Peter Davison. A charming, warm and personable man. He answered a string of questions that he's probably heard a dozen times before with wit and good humor. It finished the day well.

Sunday...we left early.

"...I do what I want to do and what my band wants to do. And we continue to do that."

"I don't do this for what people tell me I should do with my life, or my band. I do what I want to do and what my band wants to do. And we continue to do that." 
- Jerry Cantrell






I read that, a quote from Jerry Cantrell of Alice in Chains, regarding fans who thought the band should've broke up after the death of original vocalist Layne Staley, and it reminded me of all the times I've compromised myself. Times I've capitulated to the wishes of others over a desire to belong, or to be liked. Where I could feel myself diminished by giving in, even if the ultimate result was, generally, a success.

I find that I've had a hard time communicating to others how I, personally, measure success in a project. I don't really care if "everybody," or even a lot of people, like a project I've attached myself to. It's FANTASTIC if they do, and I don't shit on that, or poo-poo it. I am thankful that they enjoyed it, and appreciate the support, with all my heart...

But the greatest satisfaction that I get from my work, and it really doesn't matter if it's acting, music, writing, whatever, is the feeling that I get in my chest, the sense that this, whatever it is, means something to me. That my heart, my soul, my body is engaged in this enterprise, and there is a literal feeling I get that wells up within me. When it's not there, I can feel the emptiness, I actually begin to feel ill. Physically ill.

I've met people who just don't get it. Who seem to see the nods in their direction, the applause, as the ultimate reward. The work was good, because people liked it. There's certainly nothing wrong with that, and, as I said, I do, very much, appreciate when people enjoy my work...

But greatness, satisfaction, for me, it can only come from within myself. It can't be forced upon me, and it can't be dictated to me. I have given performances that were fairly widely praised, which I knew, in my heart of hearts, were nothing more than goon-show mugging. I have accepted roles I knew I really didn't want to play because I felt like I should. For myriad reasons, of course, because it was a good paycheck, because it was a higher-profile company, because I felt like I owed somebody something, etc, etc.

All I want is to work on creative endeavors that challenge me. That make me grow, that push me to dig deeper into myself for answers. What I've learned is that there are people I will work with who don't really care about that, at all. Who think of acting as finding the perfect "bit" for a moment, or music as finding a really complicated riff. I've learned I have a very hard time working with people like that, if they don't give me the space to do my work in the way that means the most to me. If I don't get that, what was already difficult becomes very nearly impossible.

I guess I write this because I can feel the depression coming, in regards of my acting, the same sort of, "I just need to throw in the towel and retire" lack of enthusiasm that I felt before The Copperhead fell into my life and re-invigorated me. I feel like I've been backed into a corner, in terms of the choices I've made. I feel like I'm not in a position to control my own destiny, in as much as any actor ever really does that. I can see roles that are exactly what I want to do, and I feel them slipping out of reach.

I'm back looking for a "dare to be great situation," but the hardest thing, the most frustrating thing, as an actor, is that you need to convince somebody to think you have that greatness in you, to trust you, and give you the opportunity and space to  reach for it. As opposed to music, where I feel I can create my own opportunities. Sometimes, I truly wonder if those opportunities, that trust, have escaped me. 

OK, Amanda Palmer, You Win the Internet, but Let's Have a Chat

My feelings about Amanda Palmer, and her concept/concepts about funding art, and herself, are pretty well documented. Today, however, we move past that.

On Sunday, April 21st, 2013, Ms. Palmer published a poem on her blog, called A Poem For Dzhokhar, which I like. I found it a nice little meditation on the events since April 15th. I don't read it as "pro-" or "anti-" anything. Simply a series of random thoughts an comments that came to her as this drama played out around us.

Good for her. If I HAD to apply some sort of larger "concept" to the thing, it'd be "pain is pain" (for lack of anything more clever coming to mind). That everything that confronts us, be it the crisis of the past days, or the supermarket only offering 2% milk, are all painful. They're all things to be overcome.

But that's my interpretation. Yours may vary. Everyone's will vary...because that's the nature of "art." If you, as an "artist," want to put this sort of creation out there, 6 days after such an event, you better be willing to take the proverbial slings and arrows that come with the passions that are running high.

In fact, I'd have to guess that's EXACTLY why Amanda Palmer did it. Her concept of "asking" for funding is predicated on staying relevant and in the public eye. Just like every internet-based business, she lives and dies on site hits, and the more people who view the page will increase the number who'll hit that "donate" button. Both to The One Fund, to aid Boston victims, but also to her own fundraising site.

So, Ms. Palmer, once again, you win the internet. Your self-promotion continues like a unstoppable freight train. I have to admit, I admire the determination and seeming laser-focus you are able to employ.

And, y'know, good on her. You create something, you put it out there, and set up a way for those who admire it to support the victims, and yourself. Well done, and I mean that sincerely.

Then...things get hinky.

Of course she received criticism. It was inevitable. It was predictable. It was unavoidable the second she hit "post" on that blog. The instant you picked that title for a piece that, literally, could've been called dozens of other things ("millions" Palmer says). Of course, those other titles wouldn't have guaranteed the same kind of search engine responses, would it?

I think the people who criticized the poem are idiots, frankly, but there are a ton of them in the world. There's nothing there that's truly incendiary or awful...and, in fact, most of it seems unrelated to the Boston bombing/manhunt, at all. So, Amanda (which seems presumptuous of me, but whatever), I like your poem, I think most of your critics are overreacting.

Then, however, you committed one of my few cardinal sins...You didn't just let the work speak for itself. You wrote another blog. A blog in which one of the major points is that her poem was "misinterpreted."

And, y'know what? That's bullshit. It's utter and bald-faced bullshit. It's not bullshit because of the poem, it's bullshit because Amanda Palmer decided that her poem didn't say enough, that it had to be explained, at worst, or the reader had to be guided, at best. In either case, you've just ripped the heart out of your creation, your "art" and stomped on it.

This all connects to a thesis I've long held to, in that creative people, such as Ms. Palmer, and myself, need to fucking stop calling ourselves "artists," and what we create "art." Why? Because we don't get to make that call, our audience does.

What we create? A poem, a play, a song, a book, whatever, is not art until someone else calls it such. Until that point, it's, for lack of a better term, a thing. It can be a very personal thing, with huge gobs of ourselves in it, but unless that communicates to someone else, it ain't fucking art. I feel like calling our work "art" just gives us an out to make indulgent bullshit. It gives us an out to make impenetrable crap that when people don't understand it, we can't step back and excuse our lack of success, our lack of communicating something, because "they just don't get art."

That's bullshit. It also generally means that every creative endeavor is art, because someone, somewhere, is sure to get something out of it. Thing is, what they "get" might not be what we intended, at all. As a creator, you have to be prepared for, and accept that.

The most annoying thing in that entire second blog, for me was this moment:

many people – even the people who loved the poem – thought this poem was directed “at dzhokhoar”.
 
as in: you, you, you.

read it again.

No, no, no, Amanda, because after you put your creation out into the world...it is no longer your place to tell people how to read or interpret it (asking to be paid for it, another matter). The fact that you're out there trying to guide people in, like the dude with the flashlights at the airport, just makes me feel like you are not confident in your creation.

Oh, and the "happy national poetry month" as a sign off? Way to be passive-aggressive. Big turn off.

If A Poem For Dzhokhar doesn't say what you want it to say, all on it's own, frankly, take it down. If, as I suspect, it does..then leave the whole damn thing alone. Let your creation stand on it's own. Live or die, succeed or fail, on it's own merits.

Stuck in My Head - Voodoo Child (Slight Return)

Call me a philistine, but I love Stevie's version better than Hendrix....


Voodoo Child (Slight Return)
Performed by Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble

Well I'm standin' next to a mountain....
Choppin' down with the edge of my hand
Well I'm standin' next to a mountain....
Choppin' down with the edge of my hand
Pick up the pieces, make an island....
Might even raise a little sand
 
Cause I'm a voodoo chile....
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile
 
I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time
Give it right back to you....
One of these days
 
I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time
Give it right back to you....
The rest of my days
 
I won't see you again in this world....
See ya in the next one
 
Don't be late....
Don't be late
 
Cause I'm a voodoo chile yeah....
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile

I Am So Happy To Post These Videos

Rush is in the Hall of Fame.

About goddman time.