I got a nice figurative slap in the face last night. From Dad, of all people.
Our conversation last night went like this:
DAD – “So have you recorded anything yet? I have yet to fucking hear anything.”
BRETT – “…no, see that’s the whole point, I don’t have any meaningful recording equipment to do that.”
DAD – “What about that tape recorder you have?”
BRETT – “That thing sucks and sounds shitty. There is no point on recording on that thing.”
DAD – “No, YOU are missing the point. The whole purpose is to get feedback on your ideas. If they’re good then they will transcend whatever limitations that a piece-of-crap recording device has.”
BRETT – “….Okay, yeah, true.”
DAD – “It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be something. Put it on fucking tape.”
I’m hungover and can’t process anything right now, so a post of heady self-analysis isn’t really on my agenda today, but these moments when someone knocks you back and illuminates your idiotic self-denial could be called Fight Club moments. This guy, and this guy both do a really good job of explaining what Fight Club moments are and demonstrating how important they are to actually growing as a person. As I said, I could probably elaborate on the subject, but I really just don’t fucking feel like it right now. Some other time.
In other news, two 40-year old cougars thought I was the most adorable thing they had ever seen last night. According to one of them, I could have hooked up with the other one if I wanted to. Didn’t really know what to do about any of this, so I went home and jerked off.
