I got a funny little $1300 voucher and offer for a free 3 day 3 night cruise in the Bahamas in the mail. It had the correct name, mailing address, and the details looked totally sweet. My emotions heightened and I could feel the awesomeness of spending close to a week getting plastered on a beach with rum punches and bloody mary’s. Then I took my head out of the clouds, sighed, and I checked the terms and conditions and the rest of the text to see precisely where they intended to fuck me, and gave them a call.

Me – Hi, my name is Brett Crudgington and I received this envelope containing blah blah blah in the mail. I’m not familiar or associated with any of the companies listed that are supposedly sponsoring this, how did my name get selected?

Travel Rep – We have a database of names we select from.

Me – Okay…well how is the database composed?

Travel Rep – Demographics, income, etc.

[I almost burst out laughing. The purpose of their offers is to entice people to spend lots of extra money at sponsored hotels and perhaps buy a timeshare. I'm poor as fuck, have only held low income jobs, I'm 22, and I live in a very modest part of Brooklyn - exactly the opposite selection criteria for which they ought to be offering shit to people.]

Travel Rep – Okay Mr. Crudgington, I just need to verify some things…etc.

Me – Now, how does this work? I get a free cruise vacation in the Bahamas essentially, plus this voucher for an ‘extended stay.’ I’m assuming my transportation costs from NYC, the rental car and gas, drinks and food, and port and government taxes aren’t going to be included in this, correct?

Travel Rep – That’s correct.

Me – At what point do I need to confirm with you whether or not I’m going to accept this?

Travel – Well, we are only allowed to accept one notification per household, so…

Me – So I would have to confirm, like right now?

Travel Rep – Right.

Me – Where on the Terms does it say this?

Travel Rep – [explains where]

Me – Oh right, my bad.

Travel Rep – That’s okay sure, I’m sure you’re excited to receive this offer.

Me – Yeah, I guess you’re right. This sounds amazing.

Travel Rep – Oh it is, sir. In fact…[explains a bunch of perks of the trip that, in theory, are totally awesome and would make my female candidates for the trip really, really, horny. Then he does the salesman thing and alludes to how bringing 'a special lady' down with me might not be a good idea, what with all the other bikini clad girls walking on the beach. Hearing this, I almost lie and tell him that I'm gay, but I realize that I'm too nauseated by the conversation to fuck with him. My spirit and sense of humanity have been broken by a travel-scam dude.]

Me – [Now fed up and wanting to reclaim some of the mental energy spent on dealing with this dude] Okay, this sounds great. What’s the next step? Do I just confirm the trip with you, give you a date at some point in the next few months and we’re done?

Travel Rep – Okay, at this point I’m going to transfer you to another representative who will record this call in order to insure that you get proper service.

Me – Ha, right. Seriously though, when do the government and port taxes need to be paid?

Travel Rep – Well, sir, they need to be paid upon confirmation of this trip.

Me – Okay, so months from now when I confirm the dates and receive more details or during this phone call?

Travel Rep – After I transfer you…

Me – How much money?

Travel Rep – approximately $99 per person, but this small setback isn’t really going to affect your deciding to take advantage of this, is it?

Me – I don’t feel real special anymore.

Travel Rep – What?

Me – Yeah, I’m gonna have to decline this offer. It sounds great, but I just can’t really part with $200 right now.

Travel Rep – Really, sir? It’s just $200, and you get a free vacation…

Me – Yep. I know. I guess I don’t need the vacation. Or the opportunity to give out my credit info to unsolicited strangers.

Travel Rep – Well, sir, everyone is skeptical, but this really is a great offer you’re passing up.

Me – I know. I’m a douche. *click*

I’m not really sure why I called them up anyway, even thought I’m pretty good at spotting scams. Maybe I wanted the emotional experience of being able to fake-arrange a free vacation. Thank god my entire life is a vacation. It’s a nice feeling to be enticed by a trip to the Bahamas, but actually be sad about the fact that I’d be away from the things I like doing.

Next up on the agenda – write out lyrics and a real arrangement (and get a real fucking title) for”Drunk Kitten” and this other piece I’ve been playing with but haven’t organized yet.

Also, now that The Melodica song and Pear William actually have more definitive arrangements that we’ve performed live, organize them, with updated lyrics and song structure, etc.. and file them.

We now have three songs that we can legitimately perform live. The two listed above, and a Tom Waits song. Let’s keep the cover/original ratio about the same, 3:1. Next step is figuring out a tight and recordable arrangement for all three that we can record using protools and video of us.

Super. Fucking. Excited.

Cats are haughty and aloof animals. They are highly independent, and need very little nurture and attention. You’d think men would thrive in a kingdom full of them…and yet they don’t. Men typically like dogs. Why is this?

Because men are exactly like dogs. Surprise.

1. This is not to say they are stupid…like dogs. However, its a certain kind of intelligence that makes man and dog similar. When dogs don’t understand something, they get confused. If you watch a man’s reaction to dealing with something complicated (like women), his confusion is obvious, laughable even. The visible confusion of a man with his hands on his head, blank and drooling stare, makes the scenario funny, even when we discard the particular facts at hand.

Woman – “[complicated rambling with subtle, indecipherable hints, mixed with emotional and passive-aggressive personal attacks]“
Man – [head cocked to the side, like dogs do when you do something weird]

2. Dogs and men are vulnerable. Human males, being slightly more complicated than a dog, may not seem vulnerable. In fact, there are many more societal inferences having to do with men being emotionally rigid and uptight than there are inferences about them being gushy and weepy. Though, this is changing with the current generation of hipster males. If we were currently living in our ancestral environmental, evolution would have taken care of them swiftly and impersonally.

So why do I say dogs and men are vulnerable? Because when they do finally crack, they crack all the way. As many women have astutely pointed out, cracked men (for a brief span of time) are the most emotionally true and honest species in existence. If you’re a male, think about the times you’ve hit bottom in life.

Yeah. Its pitiful. You can see yourself sprawled out in a chair, bewildered, and emotionally devastated, while your female counterpart stands crossed-armed two feet away, shaking her head. “What have you done with yourself?…” (if you can’t yet deal with or understand real meaningful relationships, use a different proxy than the woman)

I defy you to name a single woman who was honest enough with herself, or anybody, to crack all the way. Sure, they cry more and stuff, but they never really reach the breaking point, where they surrender their emotions and internal projections of themselves to others’ scrutiny.

And to bring this full circle – dog’s are very much like men in this respect. They have delusional ideas about their own strengths and toughness. They carry on and fight the fight. Even the tiny ones. And yet when they break, or get in trouble, they curl up and whimper like apologetic little bitches. They are sorry, but most importantly, they forget to care or consider how their own little pathetic moment might look to others.

What exactly is confidence? Among the criteria for it must be this: Being able to take angry blows, snide insults, and subtle passive aggressive attacks from people who 1) may actually be right, 2) are smarter than you – and being able to weather them without collapsing to the ground in a heap of insecurity or violently snapping at them.

So, has she called you back yet?

Negative, it’s been [   ] weeks since we’ve talked.

That sucks.

Yeah, I can’t understand it. We meshed really well.

So what have you been doing since?

Well, engaging in mildly stalkerish behavior. My thinking is that as long as I can acknowledge this behavior in a mildly self-effacing, ironic, and irreverent way, I can essentially counteract the negative connotations of my stalking someone. At least the connotations as they apply to me.

You…wow. Dude. That little bit of over-examination did not help your cause.

I composed this in like an hour, and it sort of sounds like it. Sorry about the clipping.

Tell me about yourself.

I have a paying job that gives me tons of time to do whatever I want. I work two days a week and fuck around the other days. I’m free, almost. I just know I’ll get to be someone one day, if I stay true to myself all the time.

When was the last time you had sex?

Uh, a month ago maybe? Why is that relevant?

When was the last time you felt affection for someone?

Shit. Years maybe. I don’t think I would know how that felt now, or the difference between actual empathetic affection and liking them because of who they think I am. It’s tricky.

Do you think your reading lots of books and being on creative pursuits makes you special and unique?

Well, technically yes because I am an exception, not the rule.

Forget ‘technically.’ Why do you do these things in the first place unless you felt you had something to prove – maybe not to particular people, but to the world in general?

That sounds…stupid. That makes it sound like some cosmic quest. I would sound like a self-aggrandizing asshole if I talked like that, about my “personal cosmic odyssey.”

So it’s not?

………

Do you wake up scared every morning to start working on your art?

Uh, yes. I almost loathe getting out of bed because I know the task is so huge its almost crippling.

Does the thought of doing something or things different, maybe going to another country, maybe working on a comedy sketch or outline or dialogue, or doing something artistic but wholly separate from the day to day physical act of sitting down to work on your usual art – do these things ring attractive?

Yeah, I fantasize about not having this cloud of “destiny” hanging over my head. This whole idea that I’m “on a quest and doing the art thing and suffering and paying my dues,” well, that’s a nice narrative, but its a fucking narrative. We’re wired to distill even the most trivial events into an explainable narrative. “Ahhh, I’m suffering, but the suffering is necessary to what will come later…” or “That [fill in cosmologically suggestive event] wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t meant to push me along!” Why are there so many anecdotes out there that are woven into the story of success? Where do these ideas come from?  I’ll tell you where – successful people answering questions as to the nature of their success. That’s pleasant. And what about the people you don’t hear from that had similar qualities and work ethics, and yet didn’t become successful? Invisible histories. You don’t hear about them. Sometimes I doubt that “follow your dreams” advice.

So then what are you doing with yourself?

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I just do it because if I don’t, then I’ll REALLY have fucked up my life after having done so much work already. It’s the only thing I have to hold on to. It stops me from thinking too much. I always go into the work thinking, “you know, thank god I at least have this to keep me grounded and sane.” It’s not love. It’s a little weirder, kind of like being in a purely practical relationship. We’ve got our terms, and as long as those terms are met, things work out. Luckily, I’m the only thing with emotions involved in this relationship, otherwise things get complicated.

So you continue because that’s all you know?

Yes, I guess. I mean the hunger is there, but its taking such an insane level of work and mental energy to get there, its shocking, and with no reward in sight, beyond general ‘well-being’ of course. Those infrequent moments of pure ecstasy make it worth it, supposedly, but as time goes on it takes more work to get them more often. It’s kind of like heroin. You get just a taste of the level of depth you’re attempting to go for and it makes you lose your fucking mind. Like a fix. At some point it wears on you, and I’m scared of deluding myself and burning myself out farther down the road. That road lies madness.

If you had 4 million dollars in the bank, collecting interest and providing you means to live comfortably and not have to work, would you still do these same things or go fuck off on an island or country or something?

I’m not sure. No, I guess. Not initially.

Why not, what’s to stop you?

Well, I fantasize about using the money to organize my immediate environment into something that’s conducive to me doing more and better work. Infrastructure, you know, making that stuff airtight so I can devote as much mental energy possible to actually making cool stuff.

So even if you had all the means and money to do (most) things you’d like to do, it still sounds like you want to keep things simple. You speak ill of your craft, with a nonchalant ‘waving of the hand’ kind of way, and yet you’d still pursue it in spite of your new wealth. Why is that?

I don’t like the idea of getting too attached to the whole ‘artist’ thing as an ideal. A lot of people have all kind of naive assumptions about doing the art thing, and I’ve gotta tell you, there are a lot of times these days where I’d just like to have some steady 9-5 job as a financial analyst, get paid a bunch of money, agonize over minutiae, be unabashedly brash to a group of hotshot assholes in suits, get shitfaced on the weekends, and constantly fuck women that are easily impressed by the baser characteristics of male genetic fitness. As it stands, I have no money, no degree, intangible long term goals, am completely unwilling to compromise the mental energy I devote to the craft in order to have a real relationship with people, I have trouble being that ’self-starter’ personality that is SO required in the arts, and I’m always questioning my innate talent, abilities, and validity of my vague and abstract goals that do not yet exist within the confines of acceptable ‘jobs’ that people before me have already created.

But then maybe I’m overthinking this.

You didn’t answer my question — but moving on — you asked for this. You took this upon yourself. You’re responsible for the experiences you have and will have. Why are you expecting anything different?

Yeah, I’m being a bitch, but I clearly underestimated how mentally taxing this shit is. I mean, forget about all the logistical shit I’ll have to deal with at some point, just the sheer level of daily self-doubt is…wow.

Then stop.

I can’t just stop.

Why not?

Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.

So you’re afraid either way?

Yeah, I am. So fuck off.

I don’t think I’ve felt such a strong desire as this to simply prove how much better/smarter I am than everyone else. The day to day consistent and unglamorous work ethic of sitting down at the piano for a few hours feels astonishingly bland compared to the prospect of getting involved in an analytical field that could ultimately reward me big time for being more intelligently disciplined than my adversaries. I feel guilty as hell thinking like this. It is a clear momentary triumph of basic evolutionary impulses versus the existential reality of being a lonely modern man with an artistic passion.

It’s okay to get into your mind and worry about the technical day to day issues that arise, paying rent, finding ways to pay rent, cleaning the apartment, buying food, uncluttering the physical things…just know that it’s a seperate universe from the music universe. The music universe is special, don’t fuck it up by letting too much, or any, of this other shit in. When you sit down to work on your art, it doesn’t matter if it takes you an hour or two to get your mind just absorbed to the point where you can then begin working.