I take photographs. Sometimes videos. And alter them.
I play music. Bass. Uke. Mando. Harmonica. Trumpet.
I paint. Acrylics. Bold colors. Broad strokes.
I cook. Organic. Asian. Italian. New American. *Fusion*.
I have a bike. A lock. A helmet.
I want to wander off into the empty wilderness. The beach. A mountain.
I write. vox clamantis en deserto.
And I have a two year old that takes up all of my time while he is awake. Not to mention the financial constraints of a single income family and the expensive nature of my "hobbies".
I find it difficult, with my limited time and funds, to really fix an identity, to decide that I am the guy who does this thing. Whatever thing. I don't have time to practice, to get out and do any one specific thing. And so I dabble. A little of this, a little from column b, and presto chango alla kazam (jack of all trades and master of none). Also I'm lazy.
I like buying new things. Or the idea of buying new things. Experiences, experiential materiel, the ideas notions and progression towards experiences. New instruments, better amps, a fancier camera and lenses, handmade kitchen knives, survival tools, tents, bug out gear, books that I will eventually get around to reading, movies I hope to watch, music I might listen to at some point. I like thinking about the things I would like to buy, the things that would allow me to become the guy who has these things who can use them to do these other things. Everything would Neal verify adjust s bit more money, &c &c, and the rest of that tired routine. It's not a matter of solving all my problems, but it is a hope for an easy way out. When practice is the only way and there is either time to practice or time to sleep ...
You may say that I'm a dreamer but I'm not
in this case.
Actually, I probably am.
I'm certainly rambling. The point is I have several contradictory life goals. I want to live on a beach with no electricity while I play a hollow body bass through a giant stack. I want to live out in the mountains away from the rabble of society while writing (hell, blogging) about pop culture, allusive, recursive, self-referential. I want to become a survivalist in an electric blues band taking photographs of light and human detritus. I haven't been able to fully work out the kinks. I guess there is nothing specifically impossible about the combinations. Unlikely. But not impossible. Sort of a time share thing. A shack on the beach, a cabin in the woods, satellites, and touring in between (writing and shooting pics in the downtime, cooking when hungry).
Of course crushing student loan debt and a rambunctious two year old slow the process down rather significantly. But you can win the lottery without buying a ticket, right?
No purchase necessary. Some restrictions apply.
"Next time, Gadget."
- Dr. Claw, D.Div.