Celldwelling and Charity

For those unfamiliar, Klayton from Celldweller is a profoundly talented musician and lyricist.  Celldweller's Soundtracks and beta sessions are my typical 'go to's for divine inspiration in writing.  While I will always love Luna Sequence and Blue Stahli, anybody would be hard-pressed to fill the wide lands of love I hold for Klayton's music, particularly his recent mash-up with 'Cry Little Sister' from the Lost Boys soundtrack.  (I still insist he does the same for Gary Numan's 'Dark'.

If you haven't had a chance to check it out before, now is the perfect opportunity to explore the music, or expand your library, all while saving money and supporting charity!  For more details, turn your attention to the video below.

Our Lady Peace and Nostalgia

No stranger to writer's block, I tend to deal with it when it comes along.  My favorite method is to dig through old CDs until something sparks my imagination and sends me sailing past the Chapter of Ultimate Evil (in today's case, Chapter 4) and back into the stream of writing.  After some unsuccessful tunes from Godsmack, Gary Numan and even ICP (Yes, I had a Juggalo phase back in the 90's) I came across an old album called Happiness is not a Fish that You Can Catch.  I knew it wouldn't be the answer to my problems, but I threw it in for nostalgia sake.

Maybe I should explain a bit about my guilty pleasure, Our Lady Peace.  Being a Canadian rock band, my southern ass didn't find out about them until one day when I heard their hit song, Superman's Dead, on 97.1 the Eagle.  That same day I bought the Clumsy album.

My first impression wasn't that great.  The music, vocal stylings and especially the lyrics came across as foreign and a bit bizarre, especially coming from a background of Metallica (pre-black album), Megadeth, and Pantera.  But something about it kept drawing me back.  Something in the words spoke to me in places I was afraid to look.  Even now, almost 15 years later I realize that the title track, Clumsy, practically screams my life problems - that is to say that I've all but alienated my dearest friends and have withdrawn deeply inside of myself, never wanting to burden anybody with my own problems. 

A few weeks later, I heard an interview with lead singer Raine Maida discussing the message behind Superman's dead, which ironically came out about the same time as Christopher Reeve's accident.  He described it in a way that I've grown to adore it, that it's difficult for the youth of today with the over-whelming feeling that just being yourself is a mistake and that there's nobody to look up to.  After watching the most recent presidential debates and trying my damnedest not to vomit every time I see a Romney/Ryan sign in a yard or plugged by a friend on Facebook, I must agree wholeheartedly.

When Happiness... came out, I was in the same boat as before.  The music spoke to me, but it did something I'd grown out of touch from - deeper thought with music.  Written entirely in metaphors and dodging cliches like an Olympic acrobat, I found myself in love with Thief, Stealing Babies (no, not literally) and Lying Awake.

When Gravity came out (I never even heard about Spiritual Machines until years later), I was turned off by the single, Somewhere Out There, that kept repeating on the radio.  Up until this point, I'd always felt that the magic of Our Lady Peace was some twisted verbage meant to tickle my ears and scrape the rust from my brain.  I think what really bothered me was that I'd yet to hear a love song from Our Lady Peace, at least not in this sense.  It took about a year before I came across the album and figured I owed the boys a chance.  Needless to say, it's a decision I've never regretted in the least. 

It was with the Gravity album that I finally realized why Our Lady Peace meant so much to me.  More specifically, it was with their song, Innocent.  What you need to know, if nothing else, is that behind Raina's vocal range, labyrinthine metaphors, and awkward chord progressions, Our Lady Peace sings of hope, love, understanding, and peace (who knew?!).  The very things that I've whispered to friends sobbing in hopelessness, lectured to my students, and even tried to convince myself of from time to time, are the pinnacles of each newly released album.

Our Lady Peace broke up soon after the release of Healthy in Paranoid Times, bringing about with it a single broken heart in my area - Never seemed to win any of my friends over to the group.  But I've held my favorites close to my heart, even picking up their 'best of' album, entitled "A Decade".  Even if it was the best of, I was really disappointed it didn't contain Made of Steel and Sorry, a couple of my favorites from the Gravity album.

And today... of all days... I decided to check up on Raine Maida's solo album.  What did I find?  They got back together three years ago!  Have I checked out "Burn Burn" or "Curve"?  No, sadly not.  But next paycheck and I'm all there, firmly believing that they haven't dulled their edges, but bring an ambrosia even sweeter.

So to Raine, Jeremy, Duncan, Steve, Mike, Chris, and Jim - Thank you for years of understanding and promoting.  I've spent half my life admiring your talents; here's to another fifteen years of loving everything you do.

Burning Down the House

 

Yesterday morning around 9:15 I'm reading 'Goodnight Moon' to my youngest daughter for about the fifteenth time.  I glance up to see my other daughter, now almost three and diagnosed with moderate autism, working with her therapist.  She always brings a smile to my face, but the man walking in the backyard quickly changes that expression.

I waste no time dashing across the house and out the back door where I find no less than SEVEN men in uniform pacing my backyard.  No it's not a birthday prank of strippers, though that might've been less embarrassing.  Apparently the table in my backyard, now little more than puddles of shattered glass, had been on fire.  The terrifying thing was - aside from the sirens blaring down my street, I never heard a thing.

Apparently some embers from a poorly extinguished cigar had been caught by the wind, blown into some gardening stuff that had been sitting on the table, and ignited the bad boy.  All other objects on the table - extension cords, a pair of clippers, and a grocery list - were unscathed.  Stupid tempered glass.

The amusing thing about the situation (I can laugh now that it's over and done with and none of my kids were hurt in the process) is that it took SIX fire fighters and the fire chief to extinguish the tiny fire on my table (called in by a neighbor)  Afterwords we sat around and discussed gardening techniques and my dog - a rat terrier - for the next ten minutes.  Oh the joys of suburban boredom. ;)

My second week of being a stay-at-home dad after being forced to resign defending gay marriage in a classroom and I'm realizing that this may be the most dangerous job in the world.

Ironically enough, working part-time in the evenings and NOT paying daycare has our family bringing in the same income.  Who knew!