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“I wanna laugh and I wanna cry. I wanna spit, but my mouth’s too dry.”

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New directions: It’s funny how they sometimes find you instead of the other way around. I mean, seek clarity all you like. Pray for it. Ask for it for Christmas. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ it.

I spent the lion’s share of my twenties engulfed, inexplicably, in some sort of cocoon of misery. I was angry at everyone and everything. Happiness was something that taunted me, coming close only to elude my grasp at the last minute. My motivations to propel myself in a forward motion were thwarted time and time again by an invisible barrier.

Fighting an imaginary enemy is exhausting and endless. People who are innocently trying to love you will suffer for their efforts. The downward spiral of shame and self-loathing becomes an oasis which you will fill with alcohol, tears, emotional blackouts; weapons of your own choosing. It’s no way to live. It’s barely living at all. When suicide is not an option, but every day you wake up filled with a sense of dread, what is one to do? How does one get dressed and go to work? How does one get out of bed at all?

When I reflect on that time in my life, I feel tremendously grateful that I found a way out. There was no magic pill involved. There was no epiphany. There was no mental breakdown in a sweat lodge. I just evolved beyond it. I just kept marching forward. Eventually, the anger that I used to carry just below the surface of my skin began to subside. My smile became genuine. I started cutting myself the occasional break. I could look within and see something besides the ugliness that once clouded my vision of who I was. I started to love little me. I started to embrace my life as something worth living, worth cherishing. I don’t know why this happened any more than I know why I slid so far in the opposite direction. There isn’t always a satisfying answer, despite our desire to sew it all up and put a big bow on it.

My thirties have been a decade of solidifying. My sense of self worth, my personal identity, the direction in which I hope to take my life; all of these things are very clear to me now. They are no longer concerns that I lose sleep over; that I drink a bottle of wine over. Knowing what you want out of life is a powerful thing. Knowing you may not get it and being okay with that, even more so. Allowing myself to be in the flow of life, taking what feeds me, getting rid of what holds me back; these are the actions of a functioning adult. They aren’t things that I take for granted because they are not abilities I have always had.

Lately I have been basking in the satisfaction of a life lived well. I am proud of who I have become, happy with the choices I have made, amazed at how things seem to be falling into place effortlessly. In other words, I feel as though I am living as I ought.

It’s a new direction.

It’s a good’n.

Black Lips – ‘New Direction’

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this your first tuesday with tara. tsk on you. you should have started this months ago.

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“You got the drunken letter home. I can hear him on the telephone.”

Somehow, it was inevitable, our friendship, like two shoals of ice, drifting helplessly on a certain collision course. I was young, dislocated and sad. You were half-cocked and clinically divided. We were both thirsty and so you took me to your bar.

I was impressionable and you poured your words into me. Three drinks in, teetering on my bar stool, Portishead on the jukebox, a cigarette dangling from my dry lower lip, I received your gospel, hung on your every postulation.

We held on to one another on those late night walks home. We couldn’t have made it any other way. Like two characters from a Bukowski short story; singing show tunes in a pizza parlor, soaked in booze and goodwill, turning out our pockets in hopes of finding enough left for a slice.

But you disappeared. Often. You weren’t just quirky, no. You were schizophrenic. For this, you needed medication. But there were months when the money ran dry. And there were months when your mind wandered elsewhere just long enough that you fell off the page. Your lights were all blazing, but you wouldn’t pick up the phone. I watched you from the street, pacing like a furious animal, holding your cat to your chest, smoking on the fire escape. I called to you. You finally looked down at me, but you could make no connection with my face. I felt that you were not there. I knew no one could bring you back in that state. So, I waited. There was nothing else for it.

You fell for a girl in your building. I say girl because she was just shy of twenty and yet she seemed to me to be pushing sixty. She was brash and bawdy, mouthy and coarse. Her language and mannerisms were aggressive to the point of being abusive. She immediately took a dislike to me, being the only other female with whom she felt she must share the stage. When I made the others laugh, she glared at me with heated malice, wishing me away, wishing me harm. It bothered me that you wanted her. It bothered me she knew it; took advantage of it. I wanted to protect you from the world and people like her were a big part of that. But you did what you wanted. You went your own way. It was something that I deeply understood.

And in much the same way that you blew into my world, you blew your way out. Without much of a warning, you were gone. Looking back, I probably could have seen traces of a goodbye in your hug, your wave at the door. It’s not anything I would have wanted to admit to myself which is why it would only register many years later.

The worst part of it for me has been the not knowing. The suspicion that you may have gone far away and taken your own life; that you may have just given up the constant wearying battle. That you did what you wanted. That you went your own way one last time.

Joel Nicholson – ‘Bobby’

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for many, many, many more tuesdays with tara, visit her archives.

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well, thanks, little nephew of mine.

it’s been a helluva year, since my last birthday…

let’s see:

- Josie and I spent my 34th cruising on Absurdity in the South of England, if you learn to sail, you can have her [boat].

- after that, I went to go see Nico [he'll be a quasi-uncle to you] in Paris and had the time in Paris that everyone wants.

- but I got into a little bit of trouble with the U.K. government, and had 30 days to leave.

- so, naturally, I dragged Josie to Vietnam. to live.

- we stayed there for a few months, but ended up going our separate ways. she to Australia to work. me to Oregon to finish a book.

- a few months into my stay in Bend, I finally got to meet you. and that very day, I started writing another book.

- a month of so after that, I flew to Perth to see Josie for her birthday. we took a campervan around wine country. it was fun.

- a few months later, I left Bend for a month in Oklahoma and the promotional run of the book would be released. it sold out.

- a few weeks after that, I got the call that I never thought I’d get – I was about to take a job in New York fuckin City! I’ve now been here a little more than 4 months and it’s been amazing. I’ve been sending you little postcards and stuff, hopefully one day you’ll be able to check them out.

- my birthday was spent with a lot of friends. which, considering how short I’ve been here, should tell you how lucky I am.

… so there you go, nephew – it’s been a fun 34th year. you just started walking and by the time my 36th [ugh] rolls around, you might even be able to talk with me on the phone a little bit. a lot of your and my birthdays will be spent on the phone, but I’ll try and make that up to you.

so, thanks for the card and the cheeky little grin. I showed this to a lot of people here and they all thought you were amazing.

and I think so too.

love,

Uncle Aric

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being from Oklahoma has it’s advantages.

- weaker beer.

- stronger antique value.

- being raised right.

now, as much as I love New York City, lost is the art of holding open doors, nodding to strangers on a nice day and walking in-between the lady and the road, as all seem to have been sequestered for anyone south of the Mason-Dixon. why, just this morning at the gym, I had words with some putz who decided to take up the entire changing area with his stuff – toiletries and dirty towel on one bench, his clean clothes on the other, and him standing right in the middle.

‘you kiddin’ me with this?’ I said only because I was slightly taller and younger than he was, hoping I wouldn’t have to drop to the fetal position wearing only a towel to escape a smack.

but manners – yes, they’re not here. everything else, just not manners.

and nowhere is this more evident than in our building’s elevator – which shall now be called The Shitiest Elevator Ever To Be Called An Elevator.

it’s slow.

it’s hot.

it jars between the 3^rd and 4^th floor.

and it smells. [much in part to NYC being a melting pot and the EU accepting anyone these days.]

but the worse part is those who ride it seem blissfully unaware that there is a protocol for riding in American Elevators.

so, people of 9– Broadway, let me kindly help you out with a few things:

1. remember that time I sent you a transcript of a conversation between my Mother and I? no? probably because I didn’t send it. because you weren’t meant to hear me talk to my Mother. nor do I want to hear you speak to yours. stay off of the phone – it’s only a few minutes.
2. face forward. I’m pretty sure that your feet pointing anywhere but towards the door is enough to get a visit from Homeland Security.
3. the only person who could get away with public whistling was Mark Twain. and he did not live in the time of elevators. so don’t.
4. pushing the ‘close’ button over-and-over has the same effect as pushing it once.
5. yes, it’s a quirky fun thing that ladies in Manhattan do, wearing their running shoes under a power-outfit. it shows you’re going places. and if you’re going to change your sweaty New Balances whilst squished between 3 or 4 others, there might be one more place you’re headed.
6. feel free to talk to yourself only if there are more than just you and one other person in the elevator. 2 people = scary as shit. 3+ = we can make fun of you as a group.
7. if you must speak [IE: fire, flood, the Met’s actually winning something], point your breath down. even if you think your breath is nice breath. it’s most likely not. and this is a contained box.
8. crop-dusters will be dropped down the shaft. shame on you.
9. if you having to take off your wheel and hold your bicycle sideways doesn’t tell you that you shouldn’t be bringing it up with you, then let me.
10. nothing says ‘America’ like tucking into your Dunkin Donuts while waiting 12 mins to go all the way to the 2nd floor.

every time I go to write something, I usually don’t write something because writing takes effort. and I’m trying to enjoy the downtime between this book being officially released [read: on Amazon in the next few weeks, ebooks, etc.] and the next one starting. it’s a collection of short stories between Dec ’08-present. I’m looking forward to starting it, and I’m looking even more forward to being done with the first one. did you know I’ve never even read it? it’s sitting right next to me, as I had to reference it for a slight design change, but I’ve never picked it up. I should though, it’s a good book. but I digress…

this shall be the most random of catch-ups. I’m doing it more for me than you, but that shouldn’t come as a shock:

- it’s a shame we lost in the final minutes of the Women’s World Cup. it’s a shame we don’t give a shit. but well-played [for the first 108 minutes, at least], girls. you actually made female professional sports exciting. weird.

- the Vespa Saga continues. that actually deserves its own post and I will – as soon as I’m official – post the entire headache. if I do it now, I’ll just be annoyed.

- speaking of annoyed. I can no longer hide my insane jealousy for Mel and Nick’s choice to put their stuff in storage, quit their [very successful] careers and took off sailing the world for a few years. the only thing that outdoes my envy is my intrigue. and respect.

- this has been a favorite summer song for some time, and it is again this summer. hey, you should make it one of yours.

- oh! the second day in Philly I wanted to tell you about? the crazy castle [yes, castle. see below] we went to, built by the eccentric tile-maker James Mercer? one of the coolest places in the States, I kid you not. the website doesn’t do it justice. well worth a day trip from Philly. no photos allowed inside, but I got a few of the exterior.

- the hair stylist convinced me to get something called a ‘keratin blowout’ done to my locks. I’m still confused to what happened.

- the ’101 best sandwich’ attempt died out [shocking!], as they were all a] more than $10 and b] beginning to not be within walking distance from my office.

- my office is in the exact area the term ’23 skidoo’ was coined. good band as well.

- I haven’t picked up my Leica once since moving to NYC. this hipstamatic stuff is brilliant.

- ah. yes. photos and NYC – that reminds me. took a shot of this the other week and made a point of going back when it was open. one of the coolest shops I’ve ever been in. worth a trip to Park Slope. am pretty sure it’s a Dave Eggers project.

- speaking of iStuff. if you have an iPad, download this. Brother Scott did the music for it and it’s been charting for weeks now on Apple.

- while I’ve always been mildly interested in the occult, reading ‘The Serpent and The Rainbow’ has elevated my curiousity in voodoo and black magic to a point of virtual hopelessness. I’m obsessed. have never seen the film, but have it downloaded for when I’m done.

- speaking of things to watch, I get about 40 minutes a week of time to do it, but Californication is one of the smartest shows ever to come out of the States. season 5 especially.

- this also looks amazing.

- NYC is a fucking fun town. has anyone ever said that before?

- Brother Ben [remember Brother Ben?] has a new project he’s working on and needs help. am hoping to interview him before the deadline, but if not, try and wrap your head around this.

- I rarely drink beer these days. if you email me, I’ll let you in on the best kept secret in the wine world. I’m buying it by the case and would love to say ‘and I’m even dropping some weight in the process’, but no. it is good, though. and cheap.

- please stop using photos of your child for your profile picture on Facebook. Brother Cohn wrote last year that ‘I’m friends with you, not your child’ and it caused a shitstorm. why? I don’t know. photos of your kids on Facebook? of course! photos of you + your kids in your Facebook profile? sure! photos of your kids as your profile photo? no. stop it. it’s weird.

- this little blog is about to have some major changes happen to it. I’m kind of excited. I hope you like it. it’s cool. and exciting… thus, the excitement.

- a copy of my book was handed to Annie Clark [St. Vincent]. I’m totally keeping an eye out for her next album to see if I’m mentioned.

- I’m turning 35 in a few weeks and change. please don’t forget.

- this is a fun town.

- see ya later.

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Heather Rogers, at UpStart in Australia, had the amusing task of calling me late one night [read post below to get an idea of the setting] and then transcribing all of my cultural and life wisdom into an interview about the book. she might now be rethinking journalism as a career. although I hope she doesn’t.

‘I have an idea’ said my friend David, a few weeks ago on the phone, ‘it’s kind of weird, you might get wet and probably can’t stand up in it, but it’s something…’

sold.

David, who I hope will let me write about him more in the coming months, was someone who I’d always wanted to be like… but more on that later. what I did know is that he had a very quirky/artsy side to him and I knew that if he was suggesting it, then there had to be a major draw.

so I said ‘yes’. right there on the phone. before even seeing it. he wanted me to come by and check it out, but I already knew that I would like it.

I live in a basement, in case you weren’t following. and I can’t stand straight up when walking under the beams – but that’s okay. it does get wet here when it rains, but that’s okay because 90% of the time, I’ll have a dry home.

wait – I can picture your face right now. that nurturing look made when reacting to someone’s silver lining. but let me stop you right there. I’m making money. a decent amount of money. and I could easily afford to pay $1500 a month to share an apartment with a stranger I met on craigslist.

but I don’t want to pay $1500 a month to share an apartment with a stranger I met on craigslist.

I want to live here.

… I want to live here and I do.

I live in a basement.

more photos to come of the house itsself – I mean, in-suite laundry, a backyard with a bbq grill [unheard of in nyc] and we have a baby grand piano in the middle of our kitchen. banjos hang on the walls and are played whenever bourbon is served. books overload the shelves. an original print from ‘mr. brainwash’ hangs behind me. it’s the most funkiest of places with the funkiest of people [two roommates musicians/sound designers, two of them in theater] and it’s in the gorgeous tree-lined area of park slope. at night, if you look down our street, you can see the statue of liberty.

so – to recap:

- I get a job with a very hip ‘zine in manhattan [more on that in a bit].

- my first weekend in town, I spend it in a 50-million dollar hampton beach house.

- two days later, I have a book launch party that a lot of people showed up to.

- that next weekend, I move here.

…

it’s all gone a bit silly, if you ask me.

I’m on a bus headed to the Hamptons. and last week, I moved to New York City. it’s all gone a little bit silly. the other night I had to stop and walk into a tattoo parlor and get a new one. it was one of those moments when I wanted to remember. walking with friends, through Brooklyn. I had just moved to New York City. for a good job – and I hate writing that for many reasons. how long I had wanted no part of it. one of my bosses reads this sometimes, so admitting that I walked into the most amazing opportunity means negotiating for more money won’t ever happen. but that’s okay, ’cause I’m being given a very good salary and every day I cross that wonderful bridge and see Manhattan. now maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you or maybe it does – but there’s a magic that happens every morning when I see that skyline. I write like no one has ever said this about New York City before.

I’m late for meeting friends cause I’m too busy taking photos. that’s what this was about, an apology for bein’ away and then I’d point you to my daily little shots from around this town. I’m done posting the diaries – if you want to watch ‘em, they can be found here. they’ll help the book make sense. I wrote a book as well. I wrote a book and then I moved to New York City. today my nephew turns 1 year old and I can’t wait to tell him about his first birthday I’ll be celebrating up in a gorgeous house. you won’t believe this house, brother. I didn’t believe I was moving here. last year I got a little tipsy when he was born. my nephew, that is. he turns me to mush. this town makes me say the f-word a lot. and a few times I found myself sayin’ ‘hey, I’m pretty fucking [see] happy about right now’.

there’s a really pretty girl who’s far away and I wish she could see all of this stuff, but then again, I might want to fix up the basement before she comes. oh yes, I’m moving into a basement tomorrow when I’m back from the Hamptons.I moved to New York City and now I’m headed to the Hamptons and then I’ll come back and move into a basement of a cool house and then I’ll wake up on Monday and go to work, a work I like and then that night, I’m going to have a launch party for the book I just wrote.

ain’t that a kick in the pants.

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a funny thing happened the other day in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

granted, a lot of funny things happen here – even more if you leave for a while and then come back; but this one happened to me. see, my parents have a big ole patch of land, and it takes the better part of the day to mow it – even with the lawnmower we have, which rivals the size of a Smart Car. but I offered to do it, hoping it made up for being the 34-year old son who’s single, unemployed, homeless and someone who justifies his current state by calling himself a [cough] writer.

walking outside with my Dad [62 years old last week, if you can believe that], I asked him ‘where the property line ran to’, as we’re nice enough folks not to need things like fences. he looked at me a bit strange and said ‘all of it, man’, and then showed me where the spare gas can was.

and so I mowed – all of it. all of the land we had been looking at. it wasn’t all of our land, a good portion of it was owned by the neighbors all the way to the right, and all the way to the left. it took me, as predicted, all day. but I can’t moan too much about it, seeing how all I did was sit and occasionally turn the wheels. I wasn’t bitter about the ‘all of it’ statement, I just wondered what that was all about.

but I let it go. he might be 62, but he’s still my Dad. and, save for my years of 12-19, he’s never been wrong. so it was forgotten quickly.

this past weekend, he and Mom went out of town. while they were gone, I told them that I’d paint one of the spare rooms. I managed to find a roller + paint, but couldn’t locate a regular paint brush. having stolen, wrecked and, even one time, lost one of their cars growing up, I was understandably not allowed to drive theirs while they were away. meaning I couldn’t get down to the hardware store to buy a brush to finish the cutting-in.

they came back today, Mom, of course was thrilled at what a good job I had done [which I had, thank you. and if you must know, I also did an excellent job of finishing my muffin this morning] as was Dad. but he had to ask:

‘what’s going on with the trim?’

‘oh, right’, I said. ‘I couldn’t find a paintbrush.’

‘did you ask Ray?’

‘who’s Ray?’

he looked at me funny again.

Ray lived to the right of us. a few days ago, our lawnmower cut his grass. today, I could’ve gone over and gotten a paintbrush.

I got the funny looks, ’cause in my 16 years away from Oklahoma, I had forgotten what being a neighbor was all about. these days, I guess they’d be someone who I’d wave to if I drove by. but only if we talked on occasion and were Facebook buddies.

Dad, and Ray, seemed to think differently.

Over the past few years, I’ve been pretty hard on my roots; sure, a lot of them are simple folks who aren’t always up on the newest bands or social networking scene, but that’s also kept most of them from being assholes.

see, without all the iGreed or hell – even iAwareness, they’re not going to TweetPic a Instagram photo of traffic to your Facebook wall as an excuse for not coming to the Linkedin party you posted on Upcoming.org. if they say they’re coming, then they’re coming. there seems to be still value here put on things like the spoken word and honoring promises. I like that. I had forgotten that there were still people like that. I was reminded of why I liked that. and in my short time here, I’m going to go back and revisit all of those wonderfully simple things that make Okies some of the nicest people in the world.

I’m gonna revisit as many of them as possible.

and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to revisit, well – all of it… man.

“I get eaten by the rust you create and eat the dust.”

Whilst going through the usual morning motions today, I stumbled upon something that gave me pause. It was a link to a thread on reddit. A man, using the moniker lucidending, announced that he now had only fifty one hours to live. He has been suffering and deteriorating from cancer which, he felt, was robbing him of all dignity. He is a resident of the state of Oregon (where I am currently living) and has legally won the right to die today through the Death with Dignity Act. I had no idea that Oregon had a law like this on its books. It makes me even more proud to live here.

I was drawn into the thread by the seeming humility of this man. (“Who I was doesn’t matter. I’m in pain, I’m tired and I’m finally being granted a small shred of respect.”) He made no statements that could be construed as antagonistic. Though there will no doubt be those who will say that it is all a hoax, I feel that can only reveal a deep cynicism within those people. The man opened the thread with the intention of fielding questions that anyone might have about ending one’s life consciously. There was a lot of naked humanity in that thread. When asked how he felt, knowing that his death was imminent, he merely said that he hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much; naturally, he was afraid, and he felt sorry for those he would leave behind. I’ve given the subject enough thought to say that I would feel much the same, though who can know how much an inevitable reality might change those thoughts?

lucidending has had an eventful couple of days, according to the thread. People from all over the world stopped by to say hello/goodbye/aloha. People began posting pictures and videos of where they were so that he might feel he had been there. When he regretted never having seen the Northern Lights, a man from Iceland signed in to say that this was something that he witnessed so often, he took it for granted. And here was someone, on their death bed, who had always yearned to see it. It gave him pause.

And on and on went this chain reaction.

A young college student spoke of losing a loved one to cancer. He posted a quote from Socrates that he said helped get him through. It was one I couldn’t believe I’d never heard:

“To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise, without being wise, for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For anything that men can tell, death may be the greatest good that can happen to them, but they fear it as if they knew quite well that it was the greatest of evils. And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know?”

Many years ago, on an unassuming afternoon, something monumental happened to me. A very good friend of mine was terminally ill. Our friendship had been largely reduced to bedside visits. Though he was virtually staring death in the face each and every day, he always found the energy to be a delightful host. The stories he told and the way he made me laugh! I was so happy to have him in my life. And then one afternoon, he knocked the wind out of me.

Our conversation had taken a morbid turn. I suppose I knew this was an eventuality. He had recently increased his pain medication. His nurse, an implacable woman, grew largely quiet. He told me that the he was having trouble seeing the point of being around much longer. He was slowly decaying and falling apart. Did I have any idea what that felt like? I was a healthy twenty something, so of course, this question was nonsensical.

He asked me if I loved him. It went without saying, but I said it anyway. He asked me if I would help him, should the need arise.

He asked me if I would help him die.

I immediately burst into tears. Why was he asking me this, I had to know. He knew that I was an advocate of the right to die. He knew I was strong. He grossly overestimated me in this second point, evidently.

I left that afternoon with the heaviest heart imaginable. I told him that I would have to give the matter some thought. But what was there to think about? Of course I couldn’t do it. Aside from the fact that it would be considered a crime in the state where we lived, I knew I was physically incapable of such an act. I once had to conduct a mercy killing on a suffering chipmunk. I suffered the memory of that act for days on end, with a heaving bosom.

Today, when I read about lucidending, I couldn’t help remembering this friend of mine, and how he had been made to suffer until the bitter end. I wish he could have had the chance to make amends and say his goodbyes. I wish that he had been given the benefit of maintaining a semblance of dignity. He was robbed of all of those things in the end and it makes me angry to think of it.

By the time you read this, lucidending may be gone. May it occupy your thoughts for some length of time.

Deertick – ‘Christ Jesus’

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‘tuesdays with tara’ – archive.

tara noble herself.

see that?

that’s me.

I was 16 years old and on the cover of a magazine. back in the day, I used to be able to jump. some people even confused that with me being able to play basketball, but it was really just being able to jump. if you can get that close to the rim, most shots were high-percentage. I only averaged about 3 points a game, but two of those were usually something like you see here, so the cool kids at lunch let me sit with them.

jumping was my thing.

and if you’re reading this and you are in high school/middle school, I cannot emphasize enough how important it is to have a thing. don’t worry too much about being cool, just be different. granted, some people can be mean and take your uniqueness as invasive, because nothing is scarier than something that can be neither explained, nor emulated by the masses.

so stick to it – it’ll get easier. later on in life, when you reconnect on Facebook, most people will say ‘oh yeah! I remember you used to __________.’ and that’s all you need, kid. do something they’re not. and if the cool kids are as smart as they are well-dressed, they’ll bring you in to their group, for fear that what you’re doing might one day catch on, and it’s a safer investment to their inner circle to go ahead and let you in, then be without your zeitgeistial premonition.

so find your thing.

and stick to your thing.

trust me.

-

the funny part of this was that it wasn’t what I sat down to write at all – I was going to talk about how I played basketball for the first time in 2 years the other night and hard it is coming to the realization that your mind now ages slower than your body.

but I guess a few things are more sore than my legs were this morning.

I just Google’d ‘Nostalghia+the+next+big+thing’ and got nothing.

and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.

because very, very soon, someone smart is going to realize they’re doing something amazing – and I’ll be the lucky kid who penned that title first.

trust me, though, I’m not the first person to say it – just write it. everyone who hears them and then hears that they’re not already snapped up by a major label says the same thing… they’re going to be big. very, very big.

a few weeks ago, I was in Los Angeles visiting my good friend and writing mentor J.W., and even before we could open a beer to toast his recent success as a screenwriter, he made me sit down in a big comfortable chair.

‘listen to this’ he said, barely whispering the ‘this’, as if he knew something that I didn’t.

he did.

after seeing my reaction, he called them – Ciscandra and Roy – over for drinks and from the moment they walked in, it was easy to see that they were put on this earth to make something amazing.

I begged them for an interview and they accepted – whether or not they’ll approve of my playing the first 5 tracks off of their debut ‘I Am Robot Hear Me Glitch‘ album is a different story. but I couldn’t pick one and I couldn’t pick a favorite.

I apologize… but give me a few minutes and you’ll understand.

-

Nostalghia – ‘Golden Horse’

Ciscandra, describe you and Roy:

Both of us are hacks. Like, real and in the flesh, hacks. Except that Roy kicks major ass on drums and percussion. I wasn’t really allowed to pursue music the way I wanted to as a kid. Persian families, though close-nit and lovely in their own way, can be really close minded. Asking them to buy you a guitar, is like telling them the hour of your death. My Uncle didn’t make it easy for me. He was a musician, had drug problems and all that jazz, so my mother thought it was the devil. I saved up lunch money, and bought my first guitar. Then everyone just started dumping their sad instruments on me. Both Roy and I like picking up random shit, and playing the hell out of it. The other night we were jamming with the ropes of a hammock. It was cool.

Nostalghia – ‘MechANICal’

how about this track ‘MechANICal?’ [above] I heard that Roy made you play it by use of an interesting coaching method.

Well, it was mainly about trespassing; trespassing property. There’s nothing like stepping over caution tape. It’s like Walt Disney creating this wonderful Disneyland of adventure, and then saying  ’Sorry, not for you!’ I mean, the campus wasn’t a Disneyland, but in a sense, anything hidden is worth learning more about. I was curious, and so I did it, and ended up with a song. One of the first songs I’ve ever written. When I got on campus I took off all the caution tape and made this giant BobDylan/Einstein-esque face with it on the grass, chalked up the sidewalk with the question why. (And really, why?!? I mean, if you really want people staying off campus, tape isn’t the best barrier. Get magical evil dogs or something). And then I ran in the fountain. This is where Mechanical was born. Sitting drenched in this fountain, that I still swear had eels in it. I suppose through rebellion, I felt more in touch with something bigger than myself – freedumb. My mother told me the song was awful, and it almost never saw the light of day. Until Roy put a gun to my head and forced me to play it (true story).

Nostalghia – ‘You and I’

so… that’s the occasional recording method. how about the writing process?

Oh god. I don’t know if I’d call it a process. More like a psychosis. I write songs in ten minutes. Then I walk up to strangers and ask if they can screw me up a bit more before I hit the studio, just a little jab to the brain. No. But I do write in ten minutes, and insist on recording the basics of it right away. Roy loves recording to a click track. I want to kill them. So for at least five minutes I’m telling him how much I hate click tracks, and he’s saying, ‘Well, we don’t have to use it, it’ll just make it more difficult if we don’t’ and I’m swaying back and forth, until eventually I’m set up to a click track. One day, I’d like to record in the middle of a forest. Or on a long line, that lets me run through the sand, and really feel alive. Right now, we record in Roy’s bathroom, not as exotic, but he does have a nice floral spray.

Nostalghia – ‘I Am Robot’

it sounds like this – making music – is something you both knew that you were supposed to do:

Roy always wanted this. He spewed from Pennsatucky and straight into the jaws of music. I feel very lucky to have met my musical soul mate at such a young age. I sort of, always innately knew, that music was it for me, I just didn’t believe I was any good. I didn’t know I could sing until about three years ago. I was always a writer, pen to paper all the time. I tricked my parents into buying this karaoke machine (if I was singing other’s songs it was deemed safe), and used it as a tool for hearing my voice back. I slaved for hours in my room, trying to figure out if I had vibe. My mother would walk in and I’d be playing concerts for the world. It was embarrassing. But that silver piece of junk really helped me solidify what music was to me. It boiled in my blood, and when playing, I was a goner, transcendent. It really helped to meet Roy, he was one of the first to truly believe in what was pouring out of me, and now he helps make my spewage into something pretty.

Nostalghia – ‘Love Will Make Us Insane’

[web exclusive! join the band's Facebook page and get a free download of this track]

and lastly, seeing how you have a show coming up – your range is something that would make even Jeff Buckley blush, but what about the live gigs? I saw a video of you on YouTube sitting down [below] seemingly bleeding all over the floor with emotion, but then I hear a new track like the gypsy-influenced ‘Love Will Make Me Insane’ [above]… what’s the best mindset/physical expectation of you all performing in the flesh?

Live shows are my favorite, I get to be however I feel, and my capsule doesn’t matter. I am bigger than myself on stage, all my blood rushes to the white of my skin, to my palms, I am you, and the man next to you, and the woman behind you, I am raw, and real, and what everyone feels like doing but only some do. I am dust. Nothing. Just blood, and guts, and truth on a fancy clubs floor. And I’m fucking lucky to have a beautiful band (even strings!) to withhold me. I play a lot of strange instruments, and often I’m pulled to the ground. Not because I’m shy, but because I like how it vibrates when everyone plays, like taking off in a spaceship, and I’m allowed to be alien. Roy is a madman on stage. He plays a bunch of weird shit, and makes it sound incredibly cohesive. He lets me be, and lets me bleed, and lets me breathe, and lets me move, and lets me do whatever the hell I want. And I just cross my fingers, that maybe some people will walk away feeling more…human…alive. I want to wake people up, and I want to tell them that it’s okay to feel.

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if you’re anywhere in the L.A. area on February 2nd, do yourself a favor and catch their show at the Paul Gleason Theater.

also! visit their Facebook page for an exclusive listen to ‘Cool for Chaos!’, the first single from their upcoming sophomore album.

… a few more photos are up here – more to come.

I also wrote a piece on ‘Bend – America’s Best Kept Secret’ for Converse All-Star and obviously struck a nerve of some sort.

happy monday[s].

Nick Jaffe is one of those guys who does the things you’d like to do but probably caved to the plethora of reasons not to.

In one of his adventures, he took a sailboat from the U.K. to Australia. you don’t have to be a sailor to know how long of a trip that is. and if you are a sailor, then you’ll know how much harder of a trip this already hard-sounding trip actually is.

after stumbling upon his homemade videos taken along the way, I selfishly looked him up for questions about my own trip, but after trading a few emails back-and-forth, I realized this his journey and struggles should be shared with more than one person.

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you’re known for crossing the Atlantic single-handedly. and filming it. when did you first decide to make this trip?

Ah! I thought it was my charm and wit… Nevertheless, there are worse things to be known for I guess. Sailing across the Atlantic solo with a camera in a small boat is something I completed in 2007, arriving in Barbados from the Canary Islands – A passage of 30 days (I later also crossed the Pacific). I first decided I would like to sail for the purposes of adventure and exploration in around 2004. I was hiking and came across a steel ketch laying at anchor in Wilsons Promontory (a beautiful national park around five or six hours drive from Melbourne). It was seeing that ketch which was circumnavigating Australia that really made me think. Initially I was exposed to the idea of long distance sailing through the efforts of Jesse Martin. I had read his book when it came out, even though I had never sailed, or really had any interest in it – At the time, I read the book simply because we were the same age.

It wasn’t until I was hitch hiking from Stockholm up to Narvik in Norway, that I decided that perhaps I should look back into sailing as a means of transport & adventure. I had a little savings, and it was just enough to put a deposit on my boat (a Contessa 26), and convince the owners to let me pay the rest off over six months, at the risk of losing all my invested money if I were to miss a payment. It was a mad situation, but I pulled it off. At the time, it was 2006, and I was living in Berlin, Germany. I’d moved there on a one-way ticket out of Australia, as my family roots had originally come from the Berlin area, and their history intrigued me (my great-grandfather and great-uncle were prominent German composers & pianists). I found some family remnants in my name (originally, Scharwenka), but to my knowledge I was the second (and now last) living relative. With the purchase of my boat, I then decided upon the destination: Australia.

you mentioned a ‘mad situation’, so be completely honest with us here: did you have enough money for the payments? or did you have to hustle? and have owners been known to, well, track down their boat and come repo it?

Basically the mad situation was a couple of things. Firstly, I had agreed that if any of the monthly installments were missed, they could keep my deposit and any money I’d given them. This was incentive for them to sell the boat to me over six months, at a discounted price. So, there was a ton of pressure, especially towards the end, because if I missed my last payment, they could technically have taken everything I’d given them, and even keep the boat. The last payment was particularly difficult, because the company I was working for at the time was a sketchy operation, at best. It was just a single-man company, which was attempting to build and deliver a piece of software the owner had written himself, without knowing anything about software development. He was taking enormous loans from UK banks to bankroll the venture, however I was the only person developing the software. The owner of the company kept running out of cash, and consequently the little I was actually being paid would take weeks, if not months to be paid on to me… At one point I had absolutely no money, and collected bottles on the streets of Berlin to pay for food. Berlin had a system where you could collect bottles, and put them into a supermarket dispenser, which would print off credit at that supermarket. My invoice was long overdue with my employer, and he had since stopped replying to emails and calls. I had to shut his computer systems down and demand payment. He claimed it was extortion/blackmail, and put lawyers onto me for ‘hijacking his investment’. I didn’t know whether that was possible – I just wanted my last payment so I could pay the boat off and quit this ridiculous job. I returned the computer system, and this action got his attention enough to get another overdraft and pay me. That was the last payment on Constellation, and we were home free.

I then moved to England and got a simple job as a bartender. I got paid regularly.

which was harder – the physical or psychological? one of the only times you seem to come across flustered is when you were sitting in no wind.

The psychological aspect of the trip was definitely the most difficult overall. There were definitely times of total fatigue and frustration that were demanding physically, however, most of the effort and energy was on the psychology of the trip. During the times of sailing, it was the mental effort to stay upbeat, focused, and sailing. In between the passages it was of equal psychology difficulty trying to just keep going – Financially and otherwise. It is a very hard undertaking to do something like this alone, and often one simply loses their ‘mojo’ …Which must be maintained for multiple years in my case because it took that long to actually sail from the UK to Australia.

There were many other times I became angry/flustered/frustrated which did not make it to camera. The problem with filming oneself, is that you only take out the camera and talk to it when things are going well. It is very hard in the middle of a difficult situation to pull the camera out and start talking. Therefore, there were many moments not caught on film. That’s not to say I was angry all of the time, however I’m just mentioning the conditions in which things were actually recorded… If that makes sense.

give us one of those moments not video’d that you would have liked to have been recorded and put in your film.

There were some real moments of total joy. An unexplainable feeling of connectedness and wonderment I guess… Total happiness and comfort in the world. It was the kind of experience one may have during an LSD session. However obviously it wasn’t drug induced. This happened a few times, and in some ways changed my outlook on life entirely. My outlook and feeling of the world became more akin to a strong, quiet, and reflective atheism of sorts. I could really only liken it to a Buddhist outlook on life – A connected wonderment, and incredibly strong realisation of the finite, and genuine realisation of how little and pointless we are in the grand scheme of the universe. It was a great feeling of comfort, to feel ones problems and pettiness wash away with the sea. I think maybe these kinds of spiritual glimpses are the kinds of things people work to experience and feel in continuity. While I can fondly think back to these moments, the humdrum and complexity of modern life quickly takes over, and they are hard to remember in times of difficulty. So, as you can imagine, trying to capture those kinds of things on camera are difficult.

On a more practical level, I experienced tremendous electrical activity in the Bermuda triangle for many days. It was impossible to capture on camera because it was too dark – However, at one point there were swamp fires I think in South Carolina, that were blowing smoke 500nm offshore to where I was located. The sunsets were a very dark, ominous orange unlike I’d ever seen before, with electrical activity slamming across the horizon. I was terrified of being hit.

sleeping patterns – some live by the ‘up every 15 minutes’ rule, others sleep when and for how long they want to… yours?

During the beginning of my solo nigh sailing, I found it very hard to sleep at all. I recall sailing across the coast of France, and needing to do my first real overnight solo sail. I was terrified of hitting something. I refused to leave the cockpit. Thankfully it was only a 24 hour sail, so I could stay up for that period of time. It wasn’t until I was doing 4+ day legs that I could relax a little into sleeping with the boat unattended. The 15minute rule is very dependent on where exactly you are. If you’re sailing across Europort shipping lanes, or across the straits of Gibraltar, obviously it’s fairly important you keep some semblance of a watch. However on multi-week voyages, it’s very hard to maintain this rhythm, and probably pointless. I ran a MerVeille radar detector on my boat, and as I crossed the Atlantic, I would
generally sleep in intervals of up to 2 hours – I also found that I would naturally wake up whenever the boat movements changed. I saw just two ships on my transatlantic. Both of which were picked up by the radar detector before I spotted them visually.

how much money did you spend going from the Canaries to Barbados?

There was nowhere to spend it, ha. But, to answer in regards to provisioning, etc, I spent roughly $500 US dollars on food and water (I carried bottled water because my tanks could not be used).

but a daily budget here. obviously you did some cruising and stuff, so take away the large purchase of the boat, how did it look for you per day? and did you fish? I saw you eating some ramen in one frame. bacially, total money spent from the UK to Australia?

A few dollars a day I would guestimate across the Atlantic. I was really, really low on cash, and ate a TON of ramen. Most of my Atlantic crossing I ate fried potatoes with onions because both of those vegetables lasted well at sea. Eggs also lasted about 2-3 weeks usually. I did fish, but, I had some crisis killing them out there. I became quite superstitious and felt there would be some kind of karmic backlash if I started killing en masse. On my entire voyage, I probably killed no more than five fish. I did crave fresh fish though… desperately. The superstition thing was odd – I just really felt so much of sailing alone has to do with luck – There is nothing you can do about being rundown in the middle of the night, or running into a submerged container, etc…

I honestly couldn’t tell you how much it cost for the entire trip. Via Paypal on my website, people (friends, family, people I’d never met) probably donated around $9000. I had a job at one stage which earned around $8000. So probably about that over two, to two and a half years…

a quick peek to your bio says you’re into cycling… how difficult is that, going from seaman-to-landlubber, having taken your boat now, from Europe to Australia?

This question probably isn’t particularly relevant, because I was not a competitive cyclist. I run an online bicycle store, and have had an interest in fixed gear & track bikes since 2004… I’m the co-founder of some tech stuff here, primarily in the realm of web hosting and cloud computing. I also have some side projects related to boats. I also work with the ocean rower Roz Savage doing her web stuff, and more than likely also some of her onboard tech as she crosses the Indian ocean next year.

film talks?

There is a feature length film being produced right now. Betweenhome has all the details – I am not really part of this venture, it is independent of me, and made by a filmmaker based in Berlin, named Jack Rath. He visited me in many locations to film – Coupled with my footage and his, he is making a full length documentary, which is due out next year.

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on top of everything else, Nick has a few planned voyages with SV Harmony, which includes Mexico next year, and
Pitcairn & beyond in 2012. He also co-founded a company that does such things as environmentally friendly web hosting, high performance cloud computing and he maintains websites for sailors and ocean rowers such as Roz Savage.

also I wasn’t the first one to realize Nick’s story was a good story. a lot of other newspapers and magazines picked up on this way before I did.

“Some people’s love is so new, they just can’t keep it inside.”

You have a box. It’s a little box of us. It’s a time capsule, really. It charts a progression. It starts and stops. It sharply reveals a gap; a chasm of time. It’s when we let go; when we put it to bed. Only it didn’t stay put, which is how I can be in your room now reading about how I felt in 1994.

There was a time back then when all we had were letters and the phone. Thousands of miles stretched between us. Both of us, on separate coasts, struggling to find ourselves in new environments. We talked to each other; and I mean really talked. It was safer for us then when we couldn’t see the other’s face and yet it caused us hardship. It’s what we had to work with and we did what we could with these limited tools. I will always argue that we did the best we could.

And so you called, late at night, and you weren’t sober. It was just easier for you that way and I understood exactly why because I felt the same way. I sometimes wondered how often we must have been feeling the same way without realizing it. We weren’t in a position to use such knowledge to our advantage then. You once said to me, about us, that we had to be tempered by life to have this at long last. I agree with you. I believed that truer words could not have been spoken of us, and so very many words have been spoken of us. You saved more than a few. You gave them a home in that box. You carried them all of these years and treated them with a reverence. I like what it says about your character. I like what I said on July 8, 1994 after we spoke on the phone:

“Have you ever swam in a pool in the summertime, right after a thunderstorm, in the dark? The water is so warm and it’s so dark that you can’t make out your body in the water and you just sort of melt away into the warmth and the darkness and the smell of grass post-storm. That’s how it felt to hear your voice. It was like squishing my toes into mud or wet sand. It was like closing my eyes in the snow and letting the flakes collect on the shelves of my eyelashes. It was like waking up and feeling my kitten’s breath on my tummy as he curled up next to me. It was like being back in my fuzzy zip-up pajamas with the feet. It was like waking up in the middle of the night on a family road trip and finding out that we were in a new state. It was like how I feel when I look at a picture of me, my sister and brother, laying in a circle like flower petals, our heads touching and autumn leaves covering our bodies. Let me know if I can elaborate any more on this matter.”

And we have this because you kept it. We have this because it mattered to you.

It’s sixteen years later and we no longer need the phone.

Donovan Woods – ‘Phone’

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Tara appears every Tuesday here. and almost every day there. ‘that’s a lot of Tara!’, you might say, until you read her and then you’ll realize it’s not nearly enough.