Blogs are like Tattoos

OK, so I've now managed to leap into the year 1998 and start my own blog. This decision has very little to do with a feeling of profundity or self-importance. My hope is that it more closely resembles a time capsule for my boys. I'm now well in to my thirties and realized that my almost shaman-like ability to avoid photos has left my kids very little to see of their Dad during his early adulthood. If I'm really hoping to impact them once they get older I might as well let them see how I approached the decisions life poses, from the mundane to life-changing. Who knows, they might marvel at how dear old Dad made life seem normal despite his tricky combination of neurosis, narcissism, and borderline self-destructive tendencies. I doubt it.

I've wanted to write for a very long time. Nothing formal. Nothing too deep. I think it comes from my background in music of simply wanting to contribute to the conversation. Jeez, now that I think about it, that summarizes a lot of my successes and embarrassing failures in life. I've always desperately clung to the fact that I should be a part of the conversation. This is more likely a greater sign that I've always been terribly afraid of irrelevance. Like I said above, narcissism.

However, let's recap my music contributions. Starting at an early age, I felt like one of those toy dolls whose string you would pull to hear a witty joke, song, or whatever. I started singing in public (church) at about age 5. I still remember the "side show" feeling of embarrassment I had when my Mom would drag the stool on the stage for me sit on while I sang. Blue hairs everywhere clamored with anticipation as I would squeakily repeat back the contemporary Christian hit of the day. Picture it if you will, tiny little pleated slacks strapped on with a braided belt straight out of the JCPenny's catalog, an incredibly starched button down shirt, and the uncomfortable pinch of a clip on tie hoisted on to a stool in front of 400 people. Smiling cheesily through the impenetrable fear, not of singing though, of falling off the damn stool. Who would ever forget the memory of such a fluffy bowl cut flying through the air to the gentlest of thuds. Thankfully, I was spared.

I guess that's always been my view of performing something that's not your own possession. It's self-indulgent and just a tad fraudulent. I realized this in college when I could not force myself to watch other people sing. We would go to our performance lab class, and a string of terrified undergrads would, one by one, sing through a selected piece to hopefully satisfy their voice teachers and not bring about unwarranted ridicule from their contemporaries. These were the most painful days of my college career.

I would stare at the floor for a half-hour as these poor guys and gals would "interpret" the required sheet music, with their chests' puffed and heads' held high. I didn't do this because they sang poorly. I didn't do it out of intimidation. I did it because I feared that the culture of competitive undergrads, and their ignorant and snarky comments had invaded my perception of performance. All I ever heard were mistakes. I couldn't help it. When you break yourself down for so long, shooting for perfection, how can you expect to not do the same to others? That's it, it was ruined. Time to close up shop and move on.

The pain subsided over time, and I began to cling to creators, of all kinds. Comedians, writers, thinkers, and especially musicians. I, however, never tried to create, only emulate. I also never got a tattoo. Now, I don't have any ignorant negative stance about body modification. I'm not a straight edge. Many cultures have marked their bodies for different purposes, be it religious, birthright, coming of age, or most importantly, self-expression. At least that's what 8 minutes of uninterrupted Discovery channel tells me. My issue is much more related to my lack of confidence in my own creation. I can't fathom an image that I would tattoo on my arm, that I wouldn't mock myself for five minutes after the ink dried. Plus, needles hurt.

This is also how I feel about writing music. It's a fear that I never want people to give each other knowing looks as they all simultaneously realize that I don't have the required originality needed to keep their attention. So, to stretch my creative legs and work out some of these demons, I've decided to blog.....Holy Cow Jamey, what a courageous decision! (loser)

See, the mocking begins already......

So, let's set some blog ground rules. That's right, my creativity still has to have boundaries.

1. I don't care about your negative opinion. This should be read as "Oh my God, please don't make fun of me!" Seriously, if you have something positive to contribute, by all means do so.

2. Caution: Language Warning. Now, occasionally I might use language in this blog that you may find offensive. So, what. I'm not using this language because I don't have a vocabulary strong enough to overcome it. I do it, because I think it's funny and can be eloquently descriptive.

3. Much like an advertiser I must put a disclaimer. "The views and opinions of this blog are in no way a reflection of the views or opinions of my wife, Amanda Nolan." hehe

There, that should do it for round one. Roll Tide!