Friday, February 20, 2009

thinking about musicians, death, parents, jewelry design.

i am a performer. as a child, i never saw one thing happen on a stage that i didn't want to be up there doing to. i even remember a presentation at the armory in worcester on a field trip in 1st grade. watching the historian or curator or whoever, talking about old weapons and medieval knights, and wanting nothing more than to be up there doing it too. i have a recurring fear that someday i will get up on a stage during i performance i am not a part of and insist to be in the show. similar to my fear that i will jump in front of the train when it's coming down the tracks. i don't WANT to, but there is some tiny, deep voice that is always goading us into doing stupid, wreckless things; right?

but MUSIC... gah, music! i have a hard time writing about music, because it feels so incredibly personal to me; i feel so affected by music i love. and i've been listening to music even MORE intensely lately, which is crazy. i probably listen to music ~24 hours a week, which is more than i watch TV or even watch live comedy. i love music! i've been to upwards of 150 concerts in my time, although very few of those have been post-college; a combination of money and a transferance of interest to teh comedies. musicians, on stage... i don't think i have the same burning desire to be onstage as a musician. it might be framed in slightly more 'fan' way for me.

i wish i had the talent to be a musician. while i find music fascinating and i try to learn about it, i am lazy and never showed any natural ability for playing the guitar or the clarinet when i tried. i am a miserable, if enthusiastic singer. it's not in the cards. but i can't help but think that musicians are fucking lucky. once they write their music, it's done, in a way. onstage, they can banter with the crowd, and get people excited, but then they get to pour their emotions and frustrations out in the music. they don't have to worry about fucking up jokes or having a shitty improv show that just can't seem to fucking get it together or gel. they just get to ride it out. that's not particularly rational, just something i've been thinking about.

my parents used to tell me i could be anything i wanted to be when i grew up; that i had the potential to do anything. a dangerous thing to tell a precocious child who lived in fantasy worlds. once i was a little older, i would tell my dad i wanted to be a paleontologist or an archeaologist; he would counter that those jobs were boring, and i would have to set up a grid and work really slowly, so i shouldn't be an archaelogist. then i decided later i wanted to design jewelry (i am a decent artist, though my skills are purely a decent ability to represent objects on paper; i lack a distinctive artistic vision, i think); my dad went on and on about gross chemicals that jewelry makers have to do, and that i wouldn't make any money.

but now he is inordinately proud that i am living in new york city, trying to be a comedian.

parents are weird!

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