Hooray for Firefighters!

I went down to LA this past weekend to attend my brother's graduation from the firefighter academy. My brother was always kind of the bad-boy of the family, but look at him in the front standing at attention! What my parents would have given to get him to stand like that for just 5 minutes!

My dad pinning the official firefighter's badge:

Posing with the new firefighter:

Horrible car accident with conflagaration. Good thing all these firefighters were there to put it out:

All geared up:

This is a lazy post today. I'm going camping, and hopefully I'll have more interesting things to blog about after that.

13,413 Baby!

That's right! I came in 13,413th place! Not bad considering there were something like 63,000 people and also because it took us 16 minutes to even cross the starting line. My official time was 1:58:51, but by my watch, it actually took 1:42.

Boy oh boy, what can I say? Where do I start? Well firstly, this is a really fun race, and if you're in the Bay Area the third Sunday in May, sign yourself up for the Bay to Breakers race. 12k sounds like a lot, but it didn't feel like it at all. I ran it with my friend Mary and her little sister.

We got there just before the starting time, and were greeted by a huge crowd in different stages of dress (and undress--I saw way too many bare butts by the end of the day, but none of them particularly picture-worthy):

There was some strange tradition of people throwing tortillas. I tried to get a pic of the hundreds of flying tortillas, but couldn't quite catch them while any of them were airborne.

It got pretty nasty closer to the starting line because the whole pavement was covered in trampled tortilla paste. It had been raining the night before and that morning, so it was gross and slippery.

With so many people starting the race at the same time, it took us a while to move forward past the starting line, and I was beginning to wonder if we would even know where the starting line would be once we passed it, but alas, the start:


It was really crowded, and the jog was a nice slow and steady pace. It was actually the perfect pace--it let you have enough breath to talk and point at the naked people and laugh at people's costumes and just take it all in. I was soo prepared for this. I mean, I could have run faster, but was totally enjoying it all.

And the Hayes Street hill. Did you know I was stressing a little over this? When I saw it on tv in years past, the hill looked so steep and daunting, but you know what they say, the camera adds 15 degrees to the steepness of a hill, so it actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and I had been training on steeper grades than that. A lot of people were walking, so we had to come to a walk too, but that was fine. A perfect photo opp:


Come on, look at those smiles! Was I really stressing over this race? I mean, I think it was great that I put so much training into this, but I'm even more glad that this was a fun event and not some grueling and hellish test of my will. What also made it easy was Mary's cool, laid-back, and downright optimistic attitude. For her, the race had only one hill at the beginning and the rest was all downhill from there. It's really good to bring along an optimist for these kinds of things. The mile markers flew by, we rose from out of the busy commercial districts into the residential neighborhoods and into the cool, green embrace of Golden Gate Park and finally into the wide open arms of the Pacific Ocean:


I'm so proud--check out those breakers behind me! I did it!

Time is Running Out

The BIG RACE is on Sunday, and time is running out. Running. Get it? Time is running out? Cause I'm going to run that race? Could I be any dorkier? Last weekend I went to R.E.I. and picked out a running outfit. I was so tempted to get a tank/jersey thing with a super-hero looking symbol on the front that would have matched perfectly with my running shoes, but I didn't. Instead I just got a very practical tank and a pair of running shorts. I hate running shorts by the way. They've got those annoying underwear things stitched inside and they're way too short. In high school we had white running shorts that were practically see-through. And with all the rain and cold weather we had, my legs are shark-bait pale. Oh well. I'm ready. I've trained for 6+ months. My legs are ready, my lungs are ready, my outfit is ready. Even if we walk half the race I don't care. All that matters is that I cross the finish line.

I just need to say that I am proud of myself. Or maybe impressed. Or maybe both. After I got back from LA in December I was so down, so depressed, so weak, so sad, so exhausted. But I pushed myself every day. I'm not quite sure how I managed to go from breaking the 30-minute ceiling I had created, to going all the way up to 75. I guess it's good to have a goal, and to have people to push you, and to just be so darn stubborn. Every time it hurt, I was like: Keep going! Push yourself! You have no idea what real pain is, so you just keep running because it's not going to kill you! And it didn't kill me, even though there were days when I thought my legs would fall off, and I swear maybe they actually came a little loose, but I guess they fixed themselves. And it's not just with running. I managed to find my way back into taiko, and there are new, exciting, challenging, and even scary things on that horizon. But I'm so into that now--doing the things that scare me. Like when someone asks, "Hey Kathryn, how about standing up in front of a bunch of people and talking and teaching and stuff?" And inside I'm thinking, no way! but instead I say yes because I know that I really do want to do it, and I can't let being scared keep me from doing cool stuff. So I won't, ok?

I'm telling you, it's all about the rider

Last night we played a gig for the art school in the City. We played at the swanky Phoenix Hotel, which is the hotel all the cool rock stars hang out in when they visit the Tenderloin. Anyway, the gig was a private party for the advertising students and it payed 600 bucks and we were supposed to get two hotel rooms thrown in (to do what with, I'm not sure). So when Susan asked us if we should do it, we thought it was a good deal for two 15-minute sets. That's like $20/minute for all you accountants out there.

Anyhow, there were only 4 of us, so we packed the van and headed over the bridge to the City. Did I mention the theme of this party was supposed to be Zen? Do any of you out there know what Zen really is, and how it relates to parties, and how, for godsakes, Zen relates to taiko, especially Emeryville Taiko, the genkiest taiko group around? Susan mentioned this Zen idea when she was first talking about this gig. That should have been a warning. That should have set off all kinds of warning signals in my head, but did I listen? No. I saw dollar signs. I don't know about all you other taiko players out there, but good-paying gigs are few and far between, and opportunities to raise $600 for the dojo for half an hour's work sounded pretty good to me. When we arrived, we pulled up to some people setting up the check-in table and piled on the table were cheap prayer beads. Not prayer beads even--cheap, hip wooden jewelry that were supposed to be prayer beads. I was kind of appalled. I mean, it's one thing to have a Zen-themed party, but to be giving out prayer beads--what's up with that? Oh, but it gets worse--keep reading.

We were met by a guy named J--. Let's just call him J, and anyhow J had us set up next to a lovely pool, and directed us to one of our two hotel rooms, which were, by the way, reserved for all the people who were helping out at the event, so it was more like the waiting rooms you see in an American Idol episode. Anyway. Here's a picture of our lovely drum set-up:

Looks good, huh? But as soon as we wheeled in the big odaiko, the manager of the hotel came running out and had words with J, and had words with Susan, and the consensus was that they wanted "quiet" taiko, which I guess is what Zen taiko would be if there were such a thing. J was pissed, since it was his party and he paid a lot of money to rent the space. Manager-lady wanted peace and quiet, I'm guessing because of the other guests at the hotel who weren't there to listen to Zen taiko. We were amused. Susan was trying to be convincing that we could play quiet taiko, but really, how convincing can a person be with that giant drum looming in the background?:

There was an open bar, and everytime we saw J, he had a drink in his hand, and every time we saw J, it was because he was telling us that we just had to wait a little while longer. We were the openers. This being an arty event, everything was running late. An hour after we were supposed to start, we were sitting in our cramped hotel room waiting for the go-ahead. Satan was so bored, she passed out:

Then, a troupe of martial artists joined us in our tiny room. I think they were supposed to be Zen too, but I don't know. They were all under the age of 20, overflowing with testosterone, and extremely hyper. Nice guys, I have to say. And acrobatic. Their thing was to do karate kicks and backwards sommersaults simultaneously. At one point, the plan was for them to do their kicking/flipping around us while we played taiko. They said they could do their thing to whatever beat we were playing. I don't know if that was comforting at all. As they were warming up outside I was thinking, oh my god they're going to kill me while I'm playing Heiya or they're going to kick me into the pool, or I'm going to knock their teeth out and then they'll kill me. Really.

And do you know why we were running late, or one of the reasons, anyway? It was because the "Dalai Lama" was late. I thought the Dalai Lama was that Tibetan holy man who is in exile. Seriously, I didn't put it past them to hire some guy to look priest-like and say a few words to add to the Zen ambiance or whatever the hell (or should I say nirvana) they were trying to go for. But then I heard the organizers say "Oh good the Dalai Lama is here! We can start soon." And I looked up, and who was heading into our tiny room but a real Buddhist monk. You could just tell he was a real monk, and not just some guy off the street in an orange robe. At that point I was just so ashamed of it all. I mean here we were, the performers, all serious practitioners of our respective arts: martial artists, taiko musicians, Buddhist monk, and they had us all crammed in a room, on call to perform for their show--for what, money? I cleared a chair of boxes for the monk to sit down on (he politely refused). We talked about the basketball game on the TV.

Well, the show started, and we played horribly. We had to rework Heiya for 4 people, and we missed all our cues, but managed to keep the song together. It was fine. I was waiting for the ninjas to knock me out, but I guess they decided not to kill us and instead they just did their thing after we were done. Then the monk came out and gave a blessing, but you could totally tell he knew that they hired him for his image and played right in to the stereotype they hired him for. I hope they paid him well.

True to our word, we played the second set, even though I was sure the manager-lady was going to jump out of the bushes with handcuffs to drag us away. We played Saidai, which is our loudest most hotel un-friendly song, and even though I didn't see her, Susan said she saw manager-lady after we played the song (perfectly) and she had steam coming out of her ears. Yeah, we were loud and proud. You can imagine how fast we packed up and got our Zen-taiko butts out of there.

I just want to say that this should be a lesson to you all. Gigs are for the money. But if you want to drive home from a gig with more than just a check (say, your dignity for instance) make sure you have a rider. Make sure you get a contract saying that you're going to go on at such-and-such a time, and that you get your own green room and your own case of bottled water and the check ahead of time and if you don't get all those things, well you just pack up and go home and cash your check asap. Get it in writing. It really is important.

Oh and one other thing--don't ever do a gig for anything that includes the word Zen. Believe me. Just don't go there, it's so not worth it.

It's Official!

I got my Bay to Breakers bib in the mail yesterday, and it's official! I'm number 18325! If you're in the bay area watching it on tv, be sure to look for me! 18325! Yeah right. I did, however, run for 75 minutes without stopping. I have to be honest: I'm impressed. I never thought I could run that long. When I first started running again, I thought running for 10 minutes straight was going to kill me, but it turns out it didn't. Turns out 15 minutes didn't do me in either, and 30, 45, 60--hey, I survived! My friend Mary estimates it'll take about an hour and 15 minutes to run the thing, so I think I'm in good shape. I mean, if I blog after May 21st, then you'll know I made it and didn't get crushed under a stampede of Elvises or anything.

Ouchie

Don't you love it when you wake up the morning after a particularly hard taiko workout and are achey and sore and it just feels good? You suddenly realize: oh, well why does that hurt? I didn't even know I had muscles in there! But it's all good. I'm not complaining.

It's matsuri season again. We didn't play Morgan Hill this year, which was sad, but kind of a relief since things are a little, uh, in-transition, at the dojo. But we are going to be playing again at the Cupertino Cherry Blossom Festival, which is something we do every year. Last night I went to an extra class to try to remember one of the songs I played perfectly fine at that concert, but have since completely forgotten. It's something of a power song with lots of ka's and kiai's. Did I tell you? Since we have our new space, we've been playing the drums without those stupid pads on them. We're loud and proud, baby! Special emphasis on the loud part.

And training for my big footrace in May is coming along, but in the past month it's rained every day except for one. I am one of those people who just wilt if the sun doesn't come out, and I'm telling you, this rain-every-day thing is not making me very happy. It's mid-april. The sun should be out, everything should be in bloom--but no. Give me a heat wave any day.

Saint Stupid Day Parade!

And you thought I was going to say something sacreligious about taiko or drumming, but no, my drumming was legitimately stupid last Saturday, aka, St. Stupid's Day, aka April fool's day. That's me in the middle/back in the blue wig--not bad, eh? I was going for Smurf-On-Vacation, or whatever. I looked more like a troll doll.

About a month ago, Janet asked me if I wanted to help her drum in the Saint Stupid's Day parade, which happens every April 1st, and has been happening for the past 28 years. First off, being asked to drum with her in a parade was so wonderful and exciting, but she made the idea absolutely titillating (I love that word) because as we sent emails back and forth, she would put in the subject line "St. Stupid Marching Band," and then, "Stupid Drum Corp," and then just "Stupid Drumming." Ok--so these are not my words! Stupid Drumming! It's real!

I guess the parade has various weekend and weekday routes, depending on when April 1st falls, and this year it fell on a weekend. We started out at the Transamerica Pyramid in the Financial District and headed up Columbus Avenue. As we were leaving, Janet leaned in and said, "stick to me like glue," which was easier said than done. It's hard to play a drum slung over your side--you know, George Washington style, while being surrounded by a surging crowd of crazy people dressed up like--whatever they were dressed up like. Our first stop was at the Church of Scientology, which in itself is kind of weird, and then basically the whole crowd of us, led by parade organizer Bishop Joey, gave a cheer which included "L. Ron Hubbard," and some profanity which I won't repeat here:


Then we continued up Columbus Avenue, giving a good show to the tourists in Little Italy and on the cable cars. We stopped at Cafe Trieste and sang Happy Birthday to the guy there, and then on to a park, which wasn't Washington Square Park (which was soggy from something like 6 weeks of rain, and which, I found out at this parade, is home to a statue of Benjamin Franklin) but some other park whose name eludes me and is probably not that important :



From here, there was a little concert from some goofy rock and rollers, a two-minute talent show, and also a visit by Wavy Gravy. I think that if I were 15 or 20 years older, I wouldn't consider Wavy Gravy a Ben and Jerry's ice-cream flavor, but would know him as the actual clown he is. Anyhow, he was one of the most hilarious moments for me in this whole parade experience. The old guy is 70 years old and was at Woodstock. He's kind of round and frail and brought along his own portable stool. Oh, and he also brought a rubber fish on a leash. I don't know how to describe a rubber fish on a leash to people who haven't seen rubber fishes on leashes before. Anyhow, he got up on the makeshift stage, stripped down out of his clothes into a 1920's-era red and white striped unitard thingy, and then mooned us. Then he sang us a song, and the really funny part, was that he held his fish like a ukelele, and his assistant tried to get a microphone up in the fish's mouth, and when that didn't work, Bishop Joey himself just lay down beside Wavy Gravy and held up the mic at the fish's mouth. I think he gave up when he realized that the fish wasn't actually making any noise, and when he realized there wasn't any other ukele-like noises being made either, just a whole crowd of people making rasberries with Wavy Gravy:

Anyhow, stupidity abounded on Saturday. Janet says next year she'll find the missing pieces to her spare bass drum and strap that thing on me. So until next year, stay stupid.

Here's a Teaser:

Stupid drumming.
Really.
Stupid.
But not really stupid.
Just stupid.

Could Be Worse

I went to the shoe store today. As you know, I hate buying shoes, but I went. I've been training for Bay to Breakers but lately my legs have been killing me even though the rest of me is ok. Breathing is fine. Endurance fine. It's just these old legs of mine. Last time this happened, a new pair of shoes really changed everything, and since it's been a year since I got my old pair, I figured it was time for a change. You're supposed to get new shoes every 300 miles. I don't know if this is really true, or just some myth the shoe industry made up to get you to buy more shoes. Whatever.

Now the last time I bought shoes, I bought the ugliest shoes ever. They were silver and blue and emitted their own light. When I went to the store today, I wanted to get better-looking shoes. Is it too much to ask for comfortable and good-looking running shoes?!!? Apparantly it is. First I asked to try on the good-looking ones, but the girl told me they were all out of them in my size. She asked me, "Do you want these shoes because they look good, or do you want them for a specific reason?" I told her that I wanted cushioning shoes, and she went in the back and got me a few pairs to try on for just that reason. I'm sorry to say that the most comfortable pair of shoes they had were not their best looking:


But ok, I have to say that they are really comfortable and they could be worse. Just like my old pair of shoes--my first impression was pure luxurious padded joy. My feet love these shoes. But good-looking? Um, er. I'm quite fond of the color light blue. But what is it with shoe-makers and silver? I mean really. What is up with silver accents? I'm not going to wear these on the moon. But at least these ones don't have as much silver as my last shoes. And at least the track I run on is all muddy, so the shoe-as-light-source phase will end soon.

Oh whatever. If my legs are ok with these shoes, then I'm ok with them too. So when I cross that finish line, look for them!

Road Trip!

Since nothing particularly blog-worthy is happening in my life right now, I thought I'd take you on a road trip with me to LA to attend a dinner my dad was throwing.

I leave at what my dad calls the "crazy hour," which is somewhere in the 3-4 am range. I guess it's crazy because you have to wake up super early, but you miss both the Bay Area and LA traffic, so it works out good. The first couple of hours are darkness, and there ain't much to see in the dark:

I downloaded a couple of albums onto my ipod for this trip, and I saved playing them until I got out on the road. One of the albums was Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska." If all you know about Bruce Springsteen is "Born in the USA," then you're missing out. I'm glad I saved this album for playing on the dark highway. You totally have to try that.

Leaving at the crazy hour gives you the opportunity to see the sun rise:

And the blossoms on the roadside fruit trees were all alight. Much prettier in real life, but picture-worthy nonetheless:

Is that snow on them thar hills?

I hate driving in the rain. About 10 years ago I was driving the treacherous Highway 17 out of Santa Cruz and got myself into a nice 3-car fender bender--in the rain. I was actually on my way to the hospital to get my broken ankle checked up on--what bad luck that winter. But anyway, now whenever it rains I drive around like an old lady, white knuckles and all. I swear that at any moment I will lose control of my car and spin around and around until I wind up in some nasty tangle. People in California have no concept of the rain. They drive around in their giant SUVs during downpours like nothing unusual is happening at all. Oh, is that water falling out of the sky? I wouldn't know--I'm on my cell phone and who cares cause I drive a giant hummer. LA is a desert after all. Why would they know what to do in the rain? Once I was driving out of LA and there were so many accidents I lost count. Really bad ones too--you would think that one accident would serve as a warning to everyone else, but no. Anyhow, my point is is that I hate driving in the rain, but I've decided that I hate driving in the snow even worse. Seeing the mountain all covered in snow in the early morning light didn't put me at ease at all. As I approached the Grapevine, I asked the mountain to let me pass without incident. Luckily the snow had stopped falling, and lay beautifully on the side of the road:


Fortunately the mountain let me pass safely. Thank you, mountain.

When I got to LA, I tried to nap, but I was so wired from coffee that I couldn't. Eh, who needs sleep, right? The dinner was the same night, so I got gussied up. Now, when I packed for this trip, I figured I'd wear my suit and a nice greyish t-shirt (Gap favorite tee--a wardrobe essential). But when I got to LA I had some time to kill, so I was like: well I'm in LA, and this is the land of malls, why don't I go and get myself something more fun than a boring grey t-shirt. You must realize I am such a hopeless shopper. I should never go shopping for "fun" things unsupervised. I should never go shopping for "fun" things period. I walked through a bunch of stores and saw tons of stuff, but none of them were what I was looking for. I'm not even sure what I was looking for. I have a bad habit of getting all the way to the store and I just skim the racks. Like if there's a shirt I don't like on a giant rack of clothes I'll just walk away without even looking at all the other clothes on the rack. Hopeless, I'm telling you. Finally I found the Ann Taylor store, which usually is a tad bit too fru-fru/expensive for me, but I figured I'd been everywhere else already. And as soon as I walked in I looked over and there it was! My "fun" shirt, sitting folded on the shelf. It called out to me. It said "Kathryn! Here I am! Buy me!" I loved it. I didn't even think twice about it. It was exactly what I wanted:

Can you believe it? It's the same damn shirt but only in a new "fun" green color. Hopeless, I'm telling you. Jeezus!

The restaurant was pure carnivorous gluttony. I loved it. Check out the meat:

They wheel that cart around and ask you how raw you want it and then they slice off a big chunk of it. My brother wanted his so raw they had to go into the kitchen to find a piece raw enough for him. I swear I heard his piece moo. I could only eat half of what was on my plate. So good though!

Have you ever had creamed spinach? I recommend it. And the Yorkshire pudding. Boy my dad sure knows how to put on a dinner. My parents loved to go out and eat, and since we were commemorating the 100 day mark of my mom's passing, we did it in style. My buddhist friend said that you go put the dead's favorite food on their grave, but I know my mom would have thought that a terrible waste and would have wanted us to eat the food instead. And eat we did. All 44 of us!

Afterward, my old college friend Mary and I waddled out of there and into the cold Los Angeles night. It's been a cold winter this year. Whenever I think of LA, I think of it as a warm place. Or relatively warm. Somehow Mary and I are always out there shivering in the dark. That's how it always was, she and I, haunting all the dark places in the cold.

Let me remind you: I left at the crazy hour, and leaving at the crazy hour means getting up insanely early, which for me was something like 2:45 am. But really, my eyes popped open at 1:30 am because I was scared I'd oversleep. By the time I got out of that dinner, I was exhausted. We drove around LA, and wound up at the sea, where we froze for a bit before moving on. She and I always wind up at the sea. I only get to see her every once in a long while, but I think that almost every time we get together, we somehow wind up there. Then we drove around some more, me trying to keep my eyes open, and she trying to find a place for us to go. We ended up in the UCLA area, and we found a pub with sporting events playing on every TV. It was nice because all the other bars were teeming with college kids, but ours was relatively mellow.

You gave me permission to post your pic, right Mary? That's her. And that's me. I think she took half a dozen pics of me and I'm wearing the same expression on every pic. I think I must have been napping with my eyes open.

I think she kept me up for more than 24 hours. Quite a feat if you ask me. So worth it though.

No trip to LA is quite complete without a visit to the best French Dip sandwich joint in the world. It's a place called Philippe's and it's been around for like a hundred years. (Ok, 98) My Dad is a true LA native, and he knows all the good eats.

They serve coffee for a dime and have sawdust on the floor:

And the apple pie--to die for.

And as we left LA in the rain, there was the gorgeous view of city hall, or whatever that building is.

I drove out of LA at the crazy hour. It was dark, but the moon was full.

And the skies threatened rain and finally delivered 100 miles from home. So beautiful.

And I wanted to save the best for last. You get to see a lot of truck grafitti on I-5, but this one was my favorite. It's message was so primal, yet at the same time so concise. It was as if the grafitti writer didn't want to waste time on poetics or lame metaphors or even take a moment to show off his artistic side with a drawing. The message, simply:

Boobs!!! And then, as if you didn't get it the first time, he wrote it again, but instead of the 3 expressive exclamation points, he resorted to the understated underline, again, 3 times. Boobs. Yeah, that's what I say. Boobs.

Why I'm NOT going to Hell

My officemate and I each decided to try to sacrafice something for Lent. We're both bad Catholics, but I'm way worse than her. At least she went to church and got her ashes. Anyway. I'm giving up shopping at amazon for 40 days. Geez. If you have anything free and email-able, send it this way cause I'm fasting.

Why I am going to Hell

On my deathbed, I know that I will be crying out for a priest--a Catholic priest would be best--but in this life, I live a life of sin and blasphemy. I do. In more ways than one. I call my Buddhist friend, lovingly--I swear--I call her a heathen. I think it's just because I'm jealous. If I were a Buddhist, life would probably be better for me. I think deep down my mother was a Buddhist, even though she converted Catholic to smooth out any wrinkles in the hearafter for her life and her new husband and for the life of all her yet unbegotten offspring, and those that her offspring begat, and so on and so on. Once I tried to read the Bible cover to cover, but they start if off with the book of Genesis and all that juicy drama, and then they go into who begat who, and it really turns off the 8-12 year old crowd, and well, that's just another reason why I am going to hell--short attention span. I think this whole post will get me several millenia in pergatory. Eh, more time with my Buddhist friends, that's what I say.

But before I totally turn off the whole religious contingent of my viewing audience I'd like to get to the whole point of this entry, which is to say, that I think that I have replaced religion--with all its austere ceremony and history and significance--I have replaced all that with music. All my life nothing has made more sense to me than music. You would think that would make me some kind of music virtuoso or something, but it hasn't. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out what makes a song in six a song in six, (since it's made up of 6 quarter notes, which still doesn't explain why they're not 1/6 notes!!!) or how to even read music. I just know that listening to some music brings tears to me, or makes me weep on the inside, or makes me just want to sit there as patient as anyone inside a cold church on a Sunday, enthralled by what is being presented to me, would. Sometimes I want to cry, listening to music that cries for me--do you know of those songs? The songs that weep for you. That mourn for you. That pull you in, take hold of your hands and express all the complex emotions that you are feeling and just get them out there so that you don't have to do anything but just sit there and listen, and, if you must, clap your hands, or put out a little kiai, even if it's just the slightest of hups.

I am a taiko player. I live for that. But there is music out there that is so powerful for me that it doesn't need the strong downbeat of a don or obvious lyrics or anything but itself to take hold of me and get me to listen. Baaba Maal. Ali Farka Toure. Innocence Mission.

There is nothing in my life that makes more sense to me right now than Baaba Maal singing his heart out even though I have no idea what he is singing about. I just know that I hear the notes of his guitar and the tone of his voice and I can feel what he is trying to convey. Sometimes I am so sad that the tears do not come, but I can listen to Baaba and then I don't need to cry anymore because when I'm done listening to a song everything I needed to feel has already been felt--and I feel better--as if I had cried already.

I don't know if this is a fair comparison with religion. You see: I commit blasphemy. You see, I must truly be a Catholic deep down if I keep insisting that I'm going to hell for making inappropriate comparisons. I am a taiko player. It is who I am. Every song I hear brings me closer to that. I guess what I am saying is that when I came upon my darkest time, the thing that I looked toward to bring me comfort was the music. The thing that made the most sense to me was the music.

How did this post become so philosophical? Go out into the world and expose yourself to as much music as you can--that's all. Or if you can find your own peace in the world with whatever it is that brings you that peace--then so be it. Just make sure it brings you happiness, because that's the most important thing.

Back to School

Ok, so I'm not really going back to school. I'm still paying off the 30 grand of debt I accumulated from my last school. I am, however, looking for things to learn (beats, rhythms, two-handed coordination excercises, claves, rhumbas, 6 time patterns--whatever), and making a list of the things I want to learn, and printing out and downloading and copying out the things I want to learn. And I'm learning some of the things, and I'm planning on learning the other things, and it's all good. I have this habit of wanting to learn things, and then figuring them out, but then I don't really get them into my system. So it's like yes, playing a clave is easy enough, but can I remember it? Do I walk down the hall playing a clave pattern to my steps and do I tap out claves on my desk, and clave the time away while I'm sitting at a red light with my blinker on? No. That's the difference between knowing how to play something, and really having it in your arsenal to recall with ease when it comes time to play that solo or whatever.

Learning is different when you're doing it on your own. By the time I was almost finished with grad school I was sooo ready to be done with school. I remember thinking about how nice it was going to be to just sit down with a book and not have to underline in it and analyze it to death and think about thesis ideas for the next 25-page paper. I read some good books after that. But I think my problem is that I like the pressure of having to learn a pattern by such and such a time. Plus, when you get the pattern down, then you get to play with the other guys and then all the patterns come together and, if you all did your homework, they lock. But I guess all this is preparation for the future, and I need to get the basics down before I can really move on.

Oh and guess what? My friend and I signed up to run Bay to Breakers on May 21. It's a 12k. Did you hear me people? That's right, a 12k. For those of you who suck at math, that's something like 7 miles. Basically we're going to start out on one side of San Francisco (the bay-side) and run all the way across the whole city (which has a giant hill in the middle of it. Giant. Hill.) to the ocean (the breaker-side). I'm telling you, it's insanity. Some people dress up in elaborate costumes. Some people don't care to dress at all. All I want is to finish, and I want my friend to finish too, but we'll see about that. I think they take your picture as you cross the finish line, and I'll post that when it happens. Until then, I'm officially in training.

Of Life and Bad Metaphors

Last night when I was walking home from assisting a beginning taiko class, I felt something wet dripping down the side of my body. Lo and behold when I looked down, I realized that my water bottle had somehow opened up in my taiko bag, soaking everything inside, including bachi (which are somewhat water resistant if you catch it in time) and my cell phone and my metronome. Now, 24 hours later, the cell phone is barely turning on and not picking up any kind of signal. The metronome sounds awful when you turn it on--it sounds like what a metronome would sound like if you tortured it. I'm just glad because I was this close to bringing my new ipod along, which would have been in the bachi bag. Then I really would have been sad.

But really, when I got home, I just felt defeated. I felt like life was making a really bad metaphor at me by giving me a soaking. I mean, my metronome is broken, and my heart is broken. And my cell phone is all funky and can't talk to the rest of the world any more and neither do I. I feel like one of those cartoon characters who have their own personal rain cloud following them around. Everything just goes bad. I was even watching the football playoffs and choosing (at random, basically) teams to root for, and they all lost.

Anyhow. A couple of years ago, my office underwent a leadership change and things were all shifting around and people were getting cranky and upset because all the normal things were changing. Some people quit, and some people went a little crazy and then quit. I was kind of cranky too, because I like things to stay the way they are, but then I realized (for the first time in my life, really) that no matter what you do, you really can't stop things from changing, and that you sometimes just have to go with it. I also realized that when things change, you can totally use it as an opportunity to get new cool stuff. Ok, so yes, I had more work to do, but I was one of the first people in the office to get thier computer upgraded, and I ordered a bunch of cool pens and post-its and a chair that went up and down. And so do you know what I did today? I went and got myself this:


This baby not only keeps time, it plays different rhythms and allows you to create your own rhythms and it has a stopwatch and a backlight and a headphone jack and a bunch of other features I don't understand yet. I decided this morning that I will spend some time just trying to work on basics and rudiments and just developing technique. These are things that I would like to have in my arsenal, but don't necessarily have time to work on under the pressure of getting ready for a performance or whatnot. Don't tell anyone, but I'm actually thinking of composing a song--but that's just a nasty rumor and you didn't hear it from me. Uh-uh. I just need to work on getting me back in shape.

Pushing Through

Every day is hard. Let me tell you that much. Every day is hard, but the reason why we keep going on is because we have to. Or I have to anyway. A friend emailed me, a friend who lost her father, and she said that I had to just keep going on, or in her words, "keep taking my vitamins" and try to stay healthy, even if I had to force myself. So every morning, I eat my healthy breakfast and take my multivitamin and chew my 2 calcium caramel pills and eat my fiber-rich cereal and I run my 30 minutes a couple times a week because I have to. Another friend said that I didn't have to do anything. That there weren't any have-to's. Ok, she said this before I talked to my other friend about the vitamins. But I think they were both right (even though the anti-have-to friend is actually a doctor, a PhD in psycho-something-or-other). But really--they were both right.

I had a dream the other night that my teacher said, or exclaimed rather--even in dreams people can speak to me in exclamation points--she said "come back to class already!" And by class she meant taiko of course. But anyway, she said come back to class already(!) and I think I ought to. I mean, I did go back to class once, but it was downright painful. It wasn't an Aiko class, just regular class, and my exclaiming teacher wasn't the one teaching, and we were kind of struggling our way through one of the Aiko songs we played for the concert, but it just wasn't the same. I was kiaing in an effort to get my other classmates to kiai, because a kiai is such an essential part of a song. I wanted to create a kiai-contagion, but it wasn't catching on, and the spirit of the class just wasn't the same as with the Aiko group. It's depressing because there really isn't Aiko anymore. Not that there's anything wrong with the regular class, but it's just not the same.

But really, that's not why I'm depressed. Or maybe that's part of it.

I googled "taiko" and "grieving" and the hits that came back were either kind of campy in the touchy-feely way "writing" and "grief" will get you on google, or just not applicable. I don't know--you know sometimes people who are writers will try to make a few bucks by holding workshops in writing that will help you get through your grief or whatever it is that's holding you back by basically getting you to journal your way through the process. Oh my god--yawn! (Rolling of the eyes).

I guess why I didn't get any good hits was because maybe taiko and grief just don't go hand in hand like that. I mean my whole thing is that you don't play taiko without a kind of joy in you. You always have those gigs where you play taiko at weddings, but never at funerals. I was actually wondering about when I died, and I would want taiko at my funeral, but what song in the whole reparatoir (sp?) of all the taiko that I know in the whole world would I want played?

What happens when all the joy in you has left you and the only good thing you remember from that other life you had--the life before grief--was taiko. That's my happy thought--you know, like when Peter Pan (or Robin Williams in Hook, anyway) needed the happy thought to get his ass off the ground and soaring again--taiko is my happy thought, but it's not there anymore. Not in the same way. Aiko was always an experiment, an experiment with no guarantees going on beyond that one concert in November. I need to find a way to get beyond that.

Ugh. What would you do? If you're out there reading this, which I don't know that many people, or even just a few, are, then please tell me. What would you do? What keeps you going? How do you push through?

Starting Over

Happy 2006 all. I don't know where to begin. I guess I can begin by saying that I filled up my Moleskine notebook. I started it at the beginning of 2005 and I used up all the pages by the end of 2005. That's quite a feat if you ask me. I am the world's biggest sucker for notebooks, and have started way more notebooks than I have ever actually finished. Stationery stores are horrible places for me to go to because I know that I can't just walk out of there empty-handed. No. There will always be some sort of notebook I find that I think I can absolutlely not function without. I love paper and notebooks are like beautiful little paper museums.

I hadn't really meant for this notebook to document a particular year. I originally had started using it to make little sketches for future art projects. Then I decided I needed a notebook for Taiko Conference, and I grabbed it as I headed out the door for L.A. And then I figured since I had some taiko notes in there already that I would use it for making notes for the Aiko Taiko pieces we were learning. Then I started carrying it everywhere I went so I could practice the taiko pieces. Then when I felt the urge to write stuff down in a journal, this notebook was there, so what the heck, it's a journal too. And then it was a good place to stuff papers I didn't want to lose. The only problem now is that I'm really attached to this notebook, but it's full. I've never had this problem before.

But you know what? I've got to let it go. I'm going to start a new notebook. This is just like the other one, but it has more pages. And my new notebook was given to me by my mother. We lost Mom in early December, and that's why I haven't really blogged for a long time. And my heart is all broken, and I haven't really touched my bachi since the concert, and my shime is sitting in the same place I left it, no tension on it, silent. Like me. 2005 was the best and worst year all wrapped up into one.

Now it is time to start over. Have you heard Baaba Maal's album, Missing You? If not, go out and buy it. It is heartache and hope, and it is beautiful. Words fail me. Listen to that album. That is what I feel like. I miss her.

Today I saw my writing teacher. Did you know that I am a writer? Only, I am a writer who does not write, which means I am not a writer at all. If you're a writer, or you know writers, then you must know that they are very strict people, most notably, strict on themselves. And so self critical. Like if you don't write everyday, then you're not a writer at all. For writers, serious writers, writing is life, and you continually flog yourself into writing until you can produce a paragraph or a page or a chapter. That turns me off about writing. There is always the threat of failure. Maybe that's why I'm a writer that does not write. Anyhow, my teacher asked me if I was writing, and I told her no, not really, and that it had been a while, but that I was thinking of writing again. She was taken aback a little. She asked, have you regressed so far back that you are only thinking about writing? I told her that even thinking about writing was a feat in itself. I think she was disappointed. I think there is a book in me still; I told her this. We parted ways.

You know, the thing that I love about taiko is that there is no guilt in it for me. No self-inflicted flogging. When you write, it is always a struggle. You can't be satisfied until you produce pages of text, and even when you do, every word choice and character is something that should be critiqued and doubted. When and where is the joy? I'm sure there are writers out there who can argue with me. I don't care. I love the immediacy of taiko. You hit the drum and it responds to you. You feel its don. You rejoice in the ka's. And when you play with other people, it doesn't matter what language you speak or how old you are or where you come from, the thing is is that you're playing together and you're connected and the taiko community is so kind and supportive to one another. My approach to taiko is that don't bother playing at all unless you bring your joy to it. Don't play taiko unless it brings joy to you.

If there really is that book in me, it will come. I won't force it. Maybe I'll even scribble some notes for it in my new moleskine. On Monday, I think I'll go back to taiko. I've been away for a long time, but my hands remember. They play the desk and my lap without me telling them to. They remember ratamacues and pieces of all those solos I worked so hard on. My soul could use a big ol' don to rattle the bones. There is still joy in me somewhere.

And ANOTHER thing!

I just forced myself to watch Mokuyobi--you know, the song where I thought I had stepped all over Carolyn's solo and just felt so bad about--and guess what? I didn't step on her solo!!! Everyone else just missed her ending cue! I was right! I was right!

Phew!

OMG I just saw the video of the concert

Or DVD, to be exact. Steve made a wonderful DVD of the concert with bonus features and slick cover and all that. Super professional. But OMG I watched it and realized that what I experienced and what I remember first-hand is completely different from what it looked like on the DVD. I thought I was more genki. On the DVD I look dorky. And the worst thing of all is that in watching the DVD I realize that it was MEEEEEEEEEeee who messed up the Kai to Ryu sequence! MEEEEEee! I just want to crawl under a rock and stay there. Aw, man! I thought it was someone else. But it was MEeee.

Sniff, sniff. I'm gonna cry.

But the DVD will be made available on line and maybe in a few local stores in 2006. You too can experience the power! The drama! The heart pounding rhythm that is EMERYVILLE TAIKO!

Or not.

If I can stand to look at it again maybe I'll decide that I need to work on my kata. And projecting. And anything else I discover--if I can bear to watch. Sigh.

Pics? You Want em? You got em!

Ok, so I have nothing I feel like posting to the world about at the moment. I do however, have some great pics that I can take absolutely no credit for. Pics in rehearsal (think, street clothes and tennis shoes) were taken by the fabulous e-taiko beginning II master, Matthew Kertesz. The pictures of us in full Aiko regalia (think, tabi and nicer t-shirts) were taken by Wadaiko Newark photographer John O'Halloran, who I have yet to meet, but sure do appreciate. Props to both of you.

OK, now to the pics



Photo by Matthew Kertesz
The blue-light of setting up and lighting and testing and whatnot. It's all about the dramatic effect, yeah?


Photo by Matthew Kertesz
Heiya run-through. This is right before we get airborne and fly and swoop over the heads of the audience and then--eh, you had to be there.



Photo by John O'Halloran
John Foster and his Handsome Band.



Photo by John O'Halloran
This is me during Laban. I seriously don't know what the heck I'm smiling about, but I'm so into it! Yah!! Watch out!


Photo by John O'Halloran
Carolyn during Laban. She is SO in the groove.



Photo by John O'Halloran
Steve providing groove in Kanki no Wa. Groovalicious.



Photo by John O'Halloran
Steve grooving for Susan during her Kanki solo.



Photo by John O'Halloran
Plenty of shots of bachi-wielding hands on John O'Halloran's website. I don't want to brag or anything, but those are MY HANDS! WOO-HOO! MY HANDS! Not that anyone would know or care.



Photo by Matthew Kertesz

And this is my most favorite picture of them all. It's of me and Janet during the Heiya run-through. I think I'm soloing. And I just love the fact that Janet is back there, behind my back where I can't see her, and she's just laughing at me while I'm wearing this strange, humorous expression on my face. That's totally my whole attitude toward this is all. That she can laugh, and I can laugh and we're all having tremendous fun while being challenged (by solos, among other things, my god) by everything, to make this great show, with great people, on a night that can never be re-lived. You just had to have been there.

The Show! The Big Show!

I can safely say I did not drop a bachi (I have never dropped a bachi on stage. Knock on wood). We did, however, royally mess up Kaito Ryu. Heiya was about as much fun I've ever had on stage. My Kanki no Wa solo was awesome, if I do say so myself. We made it through Timbuktu and Laban, and even though the sax guy missed his cue in Timbuktu, we taiko players, being the pros we are, managed to save it without a hitch--I don't think so anyway. I couldn't see anyone but Janet. Mokuyobi went fine except for the fact that I think I may have stepped all over Carolyn's solo and then was like a deer in the headlights when I realized I was totally in the groove of my own solo and was doing just fine until I looked up to see everyone else playing my solo CUE-IN, and there was that terrifying moment of WTF because everyone was just looking at me like what the freakin-frack is she doing? I don't know if I saved my solo or what, but I managed to play the second half of my set solo kinda-sorta ok. I knew before going into this show that I was going to have a short and sweet solo because the only one soloing after me was Janet, and this would be her last solo of the show and her last real moment on stage, so just give her the spotlight already and be done with it. I know that Mokuyobi is a strong solo song for her because she's been playing it for so long and teaching it to people all over the country. I've heard two versions of it on CDs of her group, and have memorized them down to the kiai's (that's not always a good thing, cause you're kiaing the exact same thing the composer is, and I have to admit, that's kind of embarrasing, because, like, you want to be all original and spontaneous but it's hard because the composer is standing next to you and saying the exact same thing). Anyway.

This concert was all about trying to give all that I could give, and I totally got into it. After the concert people were saying how it was all about my facial expressions, and I have to admit I was trying to put some effort into that. I am absolutely sure that when I see the video I am going to DIE of embarrasment. Oh well. I gave 110%. No, that's so inaccurate. There's no percentage to explain the effort I put in. I gave this concert my soul, and that means more than any percentage could. A soul is so much more than any word or any analogy or any mathematical equation. It's one thing to just beat the crap out of a drum and say that that was 110% because now your arms ache and your hachimaki is soaked in sweat, but it's another thing to play with all your soul so that when you're done you just want to cry because you just left a bit of your self out there in the music.

After the concert, in the quiet of a backstage dressing room, Janet said, "You break my heart when I see you play." I was a little confused; I wasn't sure what to make of that. She must have seen it on my face because then she said, "It's because when I see you play I know that you love this more than all of us." I wanted to ask more, so much more. But I think in my heart, I knew exactly what she meant.

And so I said, quietly, because it was all I could say, and all that there was to say, "Yes, I think I do." And then I walked away, because my heart was a little broken too, because my heart was broken before I even walked into that theater. Over a year ago, when she first came up with the idea for the ensemble, I was elated because the thought of being able to make music with someone like her was so exciting. I tried so hard, worked so hard to learn the music and the kata and the solos and the timing and the sequence and how to put more of myself into the kiai's and how to put more of myself into the performances and the solos. Everything was going so well. I had the music, the encouragement and the inspiration. It was in me.

And then, just weeks before the concert, I had to suddenly go back home, home-home, back to the one who first brought me rhythm, my first heartbeat. There was the blur of days and nights and cold rooms and the news that the first heartbeat I ever heard would eventually fade away, like something stolen in the night, a decrescendo. Not yet, but. The music left me then. This performance would have been the first time my mother saw me play taiko, but since she wasn't there I had to play with my soul so that the music could transcend the 400 miles that separate us. Around my neck I wore a heart-shaped ring she had given me.

I couldn't have done this if it weren't for the passion and confidence to play taiko that Janet gave me such a long time ago, and still continues to give. I remember once when we were learning something new and hard and instead of her saying that we weren't playing something right, she suggested that what we did was good but that we should try it again, and this time let's try it this way and see how it sounds. It's her spirit of "I know we can do this" that is so heartening. This concert was hard and so emotionally difficult but I think I got through it because I knew I could do it. Janet taught me that.

I really think we made something I can be proud to give to my mother.

tomorrow

Rehearsal last night and again today, pads off, drums naked, loud and uh, loud. I finally got to really hear what my shime sounds like in action and it's beautiful. My solos went ok when we played them. I've worked so hard on my Kanki no Wa solo and I'm proud of it. Kaito Ryu was a disaster. The others stopped playing, and it threw me off, so now I know that if I really know what I'm doing, then I MUST KEEP PLAYING. I was doing ok too.

When Echo sings her song, it makes me cry. Today, literally, I was crying. Even through Timbuktu. So beautiful. I just want to make something beautiful for Mom. I'm glad that my friends will be there in the audience, and my other friends will be on stage all around me, and we'll all be there making this wonderful music composed by wonderful people and that I can give something to her that comes from my heart, from the place that is really at my center of who I am and what I love to do and am passionate about. Tomorrow will be all about her. I hope that I have the strength and spirit to play with everything I have so that I can do this for her.

I'm doing all of this for Mom.

ack

I'm working on an ulcer, but hopefully after Sunday I'll get my stomach lining back into shape. Last night we had rehearsal at a very nice church in Berkeley that let us practice there. Did I mention yet that we're semi-homeless? Yeah, the week before the big show and we have no space. Stupid landlord man got what he wanted and we had to move out, but I think karma is going to come down hard on all those involved. Doesn't matter anyway because we've got a bigger better space that just needs some things taken care of for zoning and permits and stuff and all that isn't done yet. It'll be ok in the future.

Saturday we get to take the pads off the drums and play for real. It's gonna be loud. Hope everybody studied their transitions!! Including me.

Concert is the day after tomorrow. Susan is starting rumors that it might sell out, but I don't and won't believe her, but it does get the stomach angry when I think about it. AAACCCK! That's what I want to do. I want to yell AAACKKKK!!!

sigh

I don't know what else to title this blog entry.

Last night we had our tech run-through at the theater. I'm annoyed that I'm a perfectionist and I'm annoyed with myself because I get impatient when other people aren't perfectionists (for some things anyway). We had specific instructions on what goes where and who moves what, but last night people were still running around not knowing what they were doing or what song was next. Too much talking. Come on people, we worked on this on Saturday. We've all got notes. Everyone should have studied them before this tech run-through, which was only 3 hours long. We should have spent our time messing with the lights and sound levels and all the stuff you can only mess with at the theater, and then maybe we could have had a little more time actually playing the drums instead of only doing the beginnings and endings of the songs.

But then I think it's bad that I'm so impatient about it. Gotta be more composed and understanding. This is probably the first show for a lot of people. Ok there. That's about as much composure as I've got.

I'm too high strung, huh?

I'm also kind of sad because I don't know what's going to happen with Aiko once the concert is over. There are no promises. Aiko is such a good thing in my life. Sigh. I shouldn't think about it. And then there is stuff I have to begin to deal with after the concert, and I know things will just get harder before they get any better.

But I should concentrate on the concert for now. Yeah?

I Take it Back! I Take it ALL back!

Remember that time we debuted a new song at the Marin Arts festival and Janet said all I needed was another year on stage, and then I was all like (insert slightly defensive tone here) "What is she talking about? I'm not nervous! I love to perform! Blah blah blah." OMG. I totally take that all back. Janet is totally right. She may even be wrong about that one year part. Maybe I need two.

Tonight we did a run-through of all the songs with transitions, and although the sequence of songs went ok, it was my solo sections that needed work. Ok (to go off on a tangent here), so I really like deer, because I think they're cool and they're messengers to the gods (in Japanese folklore) and I like the idea that drums are also a way to speak to the gods or the heavens or whatever. Deers are kind of like my theme-animal. Like if you had to choose an animal to represent yourself, then for me, it would be a deer. But you all know that when deers are suddenly faced with the blinding headlights of a Ford F150 on a dark country road, it's not uncommon for the deer to suddenly freeze in its tracks and either react and jump the @$*# out of the way, or get run over. Tonight I got run over. Or maybe partially run over. It was like I knew what my solos were supposed to be, but my hands were not clued in on it. It was the pressure. All the other E'ville members were there, so it was like we had a mini-audience, but I cracked. I'm so frustrated and actually, I'm frightened. If I can't perform in front of our own members, how am I going to perform in front of a whole crowd of strangers?

I think my plan of action is to just go through my set solos and just drill and drill and drill until my hands get the clue on what the @$*# I'm supposed to be playing. So it becomes automatic and actually, part of the song--for me anyway.

Oh, and another song we've been working hard and long on, Kaito Ryu, is in peril. I can play it 90% of the time, meaning I can play the song with 90% accuracy. Like maybe I'll forget to play 8 beats instead of 6, but if everyone else is ok, then overall we do ok. But there are other people who are like maybe 75%, or who get thrown off when someone else messes up, and then it just goes into train-wreck mode and we stop. I keep begging them not to stop when they mess up, but it just becomes apparent that it's time to stop. I stand behind Janet who I know has her spots of mistakes, and she knows when I have my mess-up points, and she plays next to Susan who has her moments of mistakes, and it's like we all feed off each other--making mistakes until we get derailed. But we've fought so hard to get that song to sound right and to sound good, and we just keep getting butts kicked. It may get cut.

Sigh. OMG. Sigh. Ok, I thought I wasn't going to do this, but let's check the calendar.

9 days.

That's do-able, right? If all I need to do is polish my solos for say, (realistically) 5 hours a day (in between working on applications for you know, my real job), times 9 days, is 45 hours, 45 hours of solo honing. I have 3 solos I am realistically going to work on, so that comes out to 15 hours a solo, so that's a long time, and I can do that. Right? 15 hours? I'm not going to ask who am I kidding, because that would be a waste of time, so hey--I'm going to give it my best.

And just to reiterate. Janet was right. I was wrong. So I'm going to work on my solos.

For a year.

Top Secret

I'm probably not supposed to be posting this for all the world to see, but since you are my devoted, caring, loyal fan(s), I'm giving you the sneak preview of what the new Aiko shirts look like. Isn't it pretty? We've all got different styles of shirts, but they've all got the basic concept of the katabami mon on the side there. My shirt is manufactured by American Apparel which I am very happy to say is sweat shop free and made in my great hometown of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de la Porciúncula, or L.A. as I like to call it.

Concert is in 12 days. OMG. I shouldn't have just counted the days. But 12 days it is.

I've been working frantically on solos. I've been playing solos on my desk a lot lately, and I've decided that desk solos sound fantastically, wonderfully groovy. Oh and thank goodness I have the best office-mate in the world. She has never once yelled or even looked over at me annoyingly as I'm composing these fantastically, wonderfully groovy solos. She must be immune to my constant tapping, or just really forgiving. But anyway. I've discovered that desk solos sound great, but they don't always translate to fantastically, wonderfully groovy solos on taiko. I'd say maybe 50% of the time they sound good. I've been composing a solo on my desk and I really liked it, but when I finally got to play it on taiko, it just kind of sounded blah. Now I have to figure out how to unblah the solo--oh, and I have to do it in 12 freakin' days.

But didn't I say I wasn't going to stress so much? Here's a secret to living stress free: don't count the days until the big ol thing that's causing you stress in the first place. One day at a time.

No Puppets Here

What IS IT with all these hits on my site counter from Europe???? Not that there's anything wrong with Europe, or hits on my site meter, but you guys are getting me all excited like maybe you think I'm interesting, but really you folks are just interested in that pic of that drumming puppet I put up a long time ago. I'm sorry, but that puppet must go. I gotta remove him from my blog. You'll all know who I'm talking about anyway without a pic of that bad boy.

Better

Last night I went in to practice early and Carolyn and Janet came early too and we worked on stuff and now I feel SOOO MUCH BETTER. It's not like we had any big breakthroughs or anything, but we just got through a bunch of songs and dusted off some cobwebs and I feel better about things. I know that one of my solos is polished and I don't need to worry about it. Another solo is progressing. A third solo is in the crock pot right now and you can smell it, but no tasting yet--still needs to cook. I'm still debating on what the heck I'm going to do about that 4th solo in six time. I'm either going to not work on it till the very end, or just fake my way through it. I don't like the second option very well, but we'll see what I can do. I just know that I don't have that feeling of despair and feeling overwhelmed.

Did I mention we were there for 4 hours last night? Put in a full day of work and run to the dojo without dinner and play drums for 4 hours till your arms fall out. I had to send J and C an email with extra thanks because I realized what a long day it must have been for them. I hope they get double reward points for their karma.

So until the concert, I'm just going to try to relax and work extra hard. Is that a contradiction? Maybe. But how else am I going to do it?

Things you can't get on ebay

I need a couple of solos and some sleep.

Concert is 3 weeks away and I 've been having to spend some time away from taiko and I feel so overwhelmed I just want to cry. If there is one thing I need to work on in the future it's how to not be so hard and self-critical on myself. That's holding me back.

Carolyn and Janet volunteered to come early to practice tonight just to help me out. Can you believe that? That's one of the nicest things to happen to me all year. I so appreciate it.

Oh, but those solos. Stress. Ack. Help . . .